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Teddy took off his glasses, plucked a tissue from the box on the front counter and polished them, more a habit than anything. They weren’t dirty. But it gave him time to think. He wished the whole situation would go away, but he owed it to September—and maybe Molly—to dig deeper into the story. He hoped it truly was only a “Fish” story.
“It’s been a long, hellacious day. I want to lock up and go home.” Doc Eugene rubbed his own eyes. “The patients have already been walked and fed, Timothy took care of that before he...” He turned away, busied himself gathering and stacking file folders.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Teddy carefully placed his glasses back on.
“Tim’s family needs to be notified. Do I do that? Or the police?” The veterinarian slumped into a chair. “When my wife died, I got a call from the cops. I was out of town at a conference in Houston. It was our thirtieth wedding anniversary, did you know that?”
Teddy didn’t know what to say.
“The blizzard grounded planes, and I couldn’t get home for three days.” The hurt remained raw, his words bitter. “She’d be alive today if it wasn’t for September.”
“September thinks so, too. And you’re both wrong.” Teddy held up a hand to stop angry words. “A lot of people were hurt. I lost a dear friend, and I’m terribly sorry for your loss. September will punish herself forever. Yet the only thing she’s guilty of was trying to save the lives of her sister and nephew. And your wife helped her do that.”
Doc Eugene started to say something, and then shrugged. “Pam never needed to be asked twice, that’s true, she loved SAR work, hands on with the dogs to save people’s lives.” He smiled. “Seeing Shadow today was a treat. He’s from one of the last litters Pam bred. I’ve placed his littermates with people who will help the pups reach their full potential. I don’t have time to run a practice and train the dogs, too. And frankly, the dogs that are left—Heike, Uschi and Bruno—just remind me of my loss.” He picked up a picture from the desk, of Pam surrounded by her dogs. “Bruno didn’t eat for a week, thought I’d lose him, too. God, they were a sight together, especially on the trail. Don’t know who enjoyed it more, Pam or the dogs.” He turned the picture around for Teddy to admire.
“Good times, too. Right?” Teddy reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. “My wife Molly looks the same. But she’s only really present now and then.” When the veterinarian tipped his head, questioning, he said, “Alzheimer’s.”
“Aha. Sorry.” Doc Eugene stood again and shuffled through the files he’d stacked, pulling one free and opening it. “That’s why you’re so interested in this.”
“Mad cow disease. Here in Heartland.” Teddy shivered.
“I didn’t say it was spongiform encephalopathy. Far as I’m aware, prion disease has never been reported to affect dogs, but there is a feline spongiform encephalopathy thought to relate to the bovine form. Then there’s scrapie, which affects goats and sheep. I don’t know what this is, but the signs are similar.” The veterinarian met his eyes. “There are other prion diseases that affect wildlife, rarely. Mink get it, and chronic wasting disease affects deer and elk. Again, that shouldn’t impact the pet population, or humans. If it did, the CDC would already be here with sirens wailing.”
Teddy shook his head. “There was a scare some years ago about infected cows and contamination of the food supply. I thought they cleared all that up.”
“Right. There was a major outbreak in the UK back in the 80s and 90s. They test for it now so it can’t get into the food supply.” The veterinarian shrugged. “Mutations in a gene can cause spontaneous prion disease, no contamination necessary. But in people it’s damn rare, maybe one in a million every year, with an incubation of months to decades, so nearly impossible to track even if it gets diagnosed. Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease is the human form, and it’s thought the variant of that arose from the bovine disease. The only way to diagnose is to examine brain tissue. Tiny pinprick holes develop in the cortex and turn the brain into a sponge.” He tapped the stack of folders. “That’s why I sent off samples of that dog’s brain, it appeared suspicious. I don’t know what this is, maybe something entirely innocuous. Coincidence does happen, you know. Like September associated with another murder.” Despite the wry tone, the joke fell flat. “Sorry, I know she’s a friend.”
Teddy didn’t acknowledge the comment. He shared the man’s bitterness over life’s random attrition. He couldn’t shake the notion—hope was too strong a word—that something other than Alzheimer’s might be the cause of Molly’s illness. Maybe something treatable, if it could only be identified.
Teddy didn’t know what mad cow looked like, only that it affected the brain. “They banned beef imports for a while, right? From Canada and the UK. I forget all the details. Me and Molly still had our dogs then, and I remember she wouldn’t buy beef for us and switched to a lamb and rice food for the pets.” He smiled sadly. “At the time, all the experts said it wouldn’t affect cats and dogs, but that didn’t matter to Molly. Price of beef plummeted, but nobody bought it for a while. Not if a rare steak could drive you mad.”
The doctor shook his head. “A cooked steak is as infectious. Cooking doesn’t kill prions.”
Teddy leaned on the counter. “If it’s mad cow disease making the pets sick, it could affect people, too.” He paused, and then asked the money question. “Can it be treated?”
Doc Eugene pushed the file to one side. “I know what you’re asking. Alzheimer’s disease is heartbreaking, but there are medications that help slow the progression. There’s nothing for prion disease.”
“Something’s making people sick. Not only folks Molly’s age, but youngsters, too. I know of at least two people in their thirties recently diagnosed with what the doctors say is Alzheimer’s disease.” He emphasized the word to show his doubt. He poked a finger at the file belonging to the infected dog. “Of course, they’d have to eat the same infected food as the animals, I suppose. How many people feed their cats and dogs steak? How often does wildlife get to chow down on prime rib?”
The veterinarian shrugged. “Coyotes and raccoons eat anything. They’re scavengers, raid garbage cans like it’s a smorgasbord, so theoretically the same food source could be accessed.” He opened the file in front of him. “Then there’s the raw feeders and home cookers. Mr. Benson’s been feeding his dogs a raw ration for years.”
“Raw?” Teddy made a face. “I like my rare beef as much as the next Texan, but that sounds like it’s asking for trouble.
Doc Eugene laughed. “The veterinary community’s shared your concern for years. Nevertheless, lots of my clients’ pets get fed raw or homemade diets. That massive food recall that poisoned so many pets also created a whole new cottage industry. People lost faith in commercial foods and started mixing up their own recipes.” He shrugged. “It can be done. Takes more time and there are some downsides. You gotta do it right. Sometimes I recommend home prepared foods, but consider them more of a therapeutic option for special cases. Some of my alternative medicine colleagues beg to differ.” He laughed. “There’s a reason they call it the practice of medicine. Often it’s more art than science.”
“But you say this Mr. Benson’s dog got sick and he feeds raw food? Any of his other dogs sick? Do the other sick pets also eat raw food?”
“He’s a hunter. You probably know him from that new reality show.”
Teddy made another face. “Not a fan of reality programming.”
“Well, it’s pretty popular. Mr. Benson’s become a local celebrity. He only brought in the one animal, but I’m sure he feeds all his hunting dogs the same. The other animals, don’t know if it’s the same illness or similar signs. Good idea to research common food sources. I investigated at Mr. Benson’s behest. But it could affect commercial pet rations as easily. I think Mr. Benson uses a commercial supplement.”
“What’s that? The supplement?”
“Usually a vitamin and mineral pre-mix that makes sure the homemade recipe is balanced. Lots of them out there, the internet lists millions of self-proclaimed expert recommendations.” He flipped through pages in the file. “It’s documented here somewhere. I don’t carry such things anymore, not worth the trouble when so much is available cheaper. The internet again.” He closed the file. “It’ll be a couple of days at least before the pathology on the brain tissue comes back. Until then, we’re guessing.”
“None of this helps us find September, either.” Or helps Molly, he thought. If she’d caught this “new” disease, it’d be trading one horror for another. “If September had her phone, I could’ve used GPS to find her.” At Doc Eugene’s surprised expression, Teddy offered a sheepish expression. “You could say I have certain skills that allow me to bypass official channels. Only for good.”
“Right. The geriatric Lone Ranger.”
Teddy barked a laugh. “I like that.”
Doc Eugene suddenly straightened and drew in a deep breath. “I wonder . . .” He held up one hand, and flipped once again through the stack of file folders. “GPS. We’ve got a new product we’re trying out. Tracking device for pets, mostly used to keep hunting dogs from wandering too far. Timothy thinks it’d be—I mean, he thought the product would make a great holiday promotion.” Awkwardly, the veterinarian corrected his tense. Teddy knew it would take a while before the young man’s death felt real.
The doctor pulled out Macy’s file, flipped it open, read, and paused. “Well how about that?” He turned the chart around so Teddy could see. “September bought a collar tracking system for her cat. If Timothy’s killer still has Macy, we can find him with the cat’s GPS.”
Teddy’s pulse quickened. He pulled the file closer, but frowned. “Wouldn’t the unit have to be charged?” The veterinarian handed him a duplicate of the product and he quickly scanned the information, and pointed. “See here? It runs on a rechargeable battery.”
“Timothy made a note. He charged the unit and put it on Macy’s collar before the cat was released.” Doc Eugene smiled again, and reached for the phone. He had one of the detective’s cards in his hand.
“Wait.” Teddy stopped him. “The unit has to be configured. September didn’t have time to do that. Or would she give Timothy access to her phone or computer codes?” The veterinarian shook his head, disappointed. “You define acceptable territory, and then tell the GPS feed to send alerts to a designated account.” He paused, thinking.
The veterinarian’s face fell. “Oh. Right. Guess that’s no help.”
“Not necessarily.” He polished his glasses. “Did I mention I have skills?”
