Sacrifice Read Online Free Page B

away.
    “You have a good day, John. Good luck with your case,” she said in a strained voice, not turning to look at him as she hurried off.
    He watched her walk back to her car and drive away, following the ambulance. He wondered if he had done the right thing. But he remembered how Detective Torres had told him Trina had snatched the gun from Harry after Dale resurrected her and then walked over and blew Dale’s head off.
    He knew he’d made the right call just now. There were some things we just should not know.
    Detective Malloy looked from Detective Lassiter’s car to across the street at the victim’s house, where a huge black Great Dane sat on the porch contentedly licking blood from its paws. John’s stomach lurched, bile scalded the back of his throat, and he had to suck his lunch back down into his stomach.
    Then he got angry. “What the fuck are you idiots doing?”
    The skull that lay beside the huge dog had half the flesh eaten from its face and the scalp was peeled back like a bad toupee. It had holes in the top of the cranium from where the Great Dane had bitten into it. Several officers were crowded around the porch inching closer to the dog with guns drawn, trying to decide whether or not to shoot it to retrieve the evidence.
    “Jesus! Get that thing away from that dog! He’s eating the evidence!”
    The three nearest officers looked at each other and then over at the tremendous canine. Ropes of blood and viscera coated its fur.
    “We’re trying! What if he’s rabid or something?”
    “Shoot him if you have to!”
    The officers crept hesitantly up the walkway, nervously preparing to confront a mad dog the size of a pony. But the dog turned out to be somewhat less than mad. The massive Great Dane rolled around on the porch waving its tail excitedly, bathing in its master’s blood, batting the skull around with its huge paws like a cat with a chew-toy filled with catnip.
    The first officer, a young, clean-shaven Latino named Miguel Cruz who seemed more amused than wary, drew closer to the porch, and the dog trotted over to him, wagging its tail. It licked his hand, smearing it with blood. Cruz leapt back as if he’d been bitten. He smiled self-consciously when he realized the dog had only licked him.
    Instinctively, the young officer reached down to pet the dog while its tail waved frantically. The other two officers lowered their weapons and looked at each other in amazement.
    Detective Malloy shook his head. “What the fuck are you doing?” He took a deep breath and slowly unclenched his fists. He ran his palm down his face and looked heavenward, hoping for some sort of heavenly assistance as he watched the man-eating Great Dane with a face encrusted with gore roll on its back like a lap dog while the young officer scratched its belly. Finally, the other two officers walked up onto the porch and plopped the victim’s head into a trash bag, noting with revulsion that its tongue had been torn out and eaten, no doubt by the very animal now happily playing with their fellow officer.
    Detective Malloy wasn’t taking any chances. “Cruz! Stop petting the suspect and get a leash or something on that thing! Tie it to a tree and call animal control before it gets hungry again.”
    “But I don’t have a leash,” officer Cruz answered. The dog had licked his face, and now the officer was covered in the victim’s blood.
    “Jesus Christ. Will you look at yourself! Go check inside the victim’s house for a leash or use your belt. And clean yourself up while you’re in there before the media arrives. Bag anything you get off your face! It’s still evidence. Who called the meat wagon?”
    “I called them the minute I called you,” Officer Patrick said, a young Irish cop Malloy recognized from the precinct. He was sitting on the hood of his car with his eyes glazed in shock. He’d been the first officer on the scene, and although he had the benefit of having no one around to see him throw up, he