Chapter 1: Jonathan
June 1, 1988
17:47 Hours
Outside of West Woodburn, Northumberland, North East England

I found the boy.

He lay still and peaceful, skin having turned blue and begun to bloat. He was face down, floating buck naked in the River Read.

The child's parents had reported him missing this afternoon. He'd last been seen walking into town, West Woodburn, yesterday evening from their family's home in the countryside. The child was young, no more than ten. His name was Jonathan Hyatt.

It was fairly obvious what must have occurred. The River Read ran through the heart of West Woodburn, beside the road that he would have walked upon. With all his clothing missing, it was more than likely he had gone for a late evening swim and been somehow caught up in the gentle currents to find his death.

I turned and looked upstream. The thick covering of trees and riverside vegetation made this small tributary all but invisible from town. It seemed likely he had entered the river somewhere upstream, drowned, then his body had been carried here by the current.

I reached into my policeman's belt and gently withdrew a pair of specially formed latex gloves, careful not to nick or break them. This part always frightened me so. I had to be watchful that my thick nails didn't rip any holes in the material. My mind shied away at the very thought of what that might set into motion.

Gloves firmly in place and double checked, I reached out to the small body that bobbed in the water a fathom from me. I had to stretch out one hand while grasping the low hanging branch of a tree behind me to slowly pull him to shore.

There is always that singular moment when one finds a body lying face down. That short time when no matter how firm you believe your identification is you still wonder who you'll find when you gently turn them over.

I stared into the still eyes of young Jonathan's face. There was no mistaking him now, the decomposition had not yet progressed so far as to make him unrecognizable. I knew him well. He was one of the few in West Woodburn who would stop to speak to me.

I sighed, not disturbed at all by the strong smell that already emanated from the body. I'd been trained to withstand far more alarming odours. It was the scent, in fact, that had drawn me here.

His parents had mounted a search of their own for him last night. I had enquired about it during my evening rounds, but they had refused my assistance. It wasn't until this afternoon that they had come to me, somewhat unwillingly, to file a formal report of their missing child.

The paperwork for such a request had been short and to the point. Time is obviously of the essence in such a situation. Well, it was of no consequence now. The child had likely been dead before his parents even suspected anything was wrong, it didn't matter much at what point they had involved me. Pity.

It had only taken me a short time to find the boy once I'd set out to do so. They had reported when and where he had last been seen, and I had simply put my nose to the ground and followed until his footsteps had disappeared into the river.

A single snatch of the trail was all it took to track him. That was when my training had kicked in. That, and my genetically modified physiology.

I'm a Police Dog. Male. Registration number K-9-78081842. The product of current top of the line breeding and genetic modification programs. German Shepherd line. My body and mind cost the UK tax payers approximately one hundred thousand pounds sterling. And I'm assigned to West Woodburn, a town a stone's throw south of the Scottish border with a population of less than a thousand souls.

Reaching down, I hefted the corpse from the water. My tail stood out perpendicular to my body in an effort to counterbalance me, poking out through a hole in my standard issue uniform trousers.

Fat drops fell from its skin as I lifted. The body was lighter than I'd expected. Perhaps a dry drowning? Odd, but not unheard of.

I set the corpse down on a sheet of white plastic that I had brought expressly for the purpose. This was not strictly standard police issue, but I couldn't take the chance of any blood contact. Neither from the water or the body itself.

I gently wrapped the body in the plastic covering alongside my now contaminated gloves. Moving slowly and carefully, I did my best to show the young boy all the care and humane treatment I could. He had been kind to me, I was sorry to see him gone.

---

The Hyatt household was located just off the country road on my walk back to town. The current of the River Read had carried the body down and away from West Woodburn. It was a long walk back.

It wasn't proper police procedure, but West Woodburn was too small for a morgue. I may as well have them identify the body now. It would only make things more difficult for us if I waited until it deteriorated any further.

The home was a small two story white stone structure surrounded by fields on three sides, the river and road on the fourth. I placed the tightly wrapped package out of sight before I let my brown furred knuckles rap on the worn, red wooden door.

It was opened a moment later by Richard Hyatt, the boy's father. He was a man of some stature, but he still had to look up to meet my eyes. His voice was gruff and rushed as he spoke. He smelt of farm work... and worry. The scent of fear for his son cut through the air.

"Where is he, Dog? You didn't come back without my son, did you? I don't know why the government even breeds you useless freaks of nature."

I let my eyes drift closed. It wasn't what he had said, I was long used to such things, it was what I was about to tell him.

"Yes, Sir. I've located your son."

The look of surprise was plain on his face when I opened my eyes again. "Well, where is he?" A smile was just starting to creep to his lips when it froze mid motion. "No..." He'd figured it out.

He shut the door softly behind himself and followed me meekly down the cobblestone steps, towards the nearby wooden barn.

"I'm sorry, Sir," My voice was rough. They had taught us exactly what to say in these situations. 'Compassion training' they had called it, but it hardly seemed compassionate to lead a father to the body of his dead son, no matter what the circumstances. "I found him drowned in the River Reid." I wanted to reach out a hand to the man, but fought back the silly impulse. "We will need to wait for a coroner's report, but he was likely long dead by the time anyone even knew he was missing."

"Jonathan..." The man's voice was high and pained as he knelt down next to the plastic wrapped body, still not having seen the corpse directly.

"Richard? Where are you?" The soft voice of Mary, the boy's mother, came from behind me, back towards the home.

"Mary, no!" Richard turned towards her just a moment before she came within sight of the body.

A single piercing scream ripped the clear country air. It left my teeth on edge and my whiskers tingling.

She ran towards the body. From behind her I could hear Richard calling out, "Stop her, Dog!"

I reached out a single hand to the woman, curling it around to draw her smaller body to my chest as she tried to run past. Feeling an illicit thrill, I gently cradled her head into the cloth of my shirt, not to mention the thick bushy pelt that lay beneath it.

She sobbed in my arms for a moment. This was a rare treat for me. It was almost unheard of that I should touch a human being. It wasn't that there were any laws against it, it was quite common in some parts of the country. Some places such as London where Dogs are more respected, but not here. Never here. I could count on one hand how many times I'd felt the warmth of someone else since earning my commission.

She looked up into my face for a moment before startling and gently pulling from my grasp.

"Um, thank-you..."

"Forty-Two," I offered helpfully. That was my name.

"Yes," She paused, "Thank-you, Constable." She turned and walked slowly back towards the house. The moment she rounded the edge of the barn I could hear her begin crying again. It was soft and quiet, but my ears still twitched at the sound. The wet stains of her tears were still fresh on the front of my uniform.

I turned to Richard, his face was far more stoic than hers had been. He had that bruised and weathered hangdog look that seemed only to come to a man who is held under a great sadness but unable to cry it out.

"Let's do this, Dog," His voice had softened a half-measure. "Let me see my son."

I pulled a fresh set of gloves on my hands, careful as always to check for the tiniest of holes that might let blood through to my flesh. He watched me as I made my checks and double-checks, never saying a word.

At long last I pulled the white plastic sheet back to expose the child's naked body. He was lying face up, arms crossed before him and eyes now closed. I had made sure to do at least that much. For his expression I could do nothing. I was no mortician, and feared spending too much time tampering with the body.

Tears welled at the edges of Richard's eyes. The dams he had erected were slowly breaking as his carefully constructed weathered appearance began to dissolve.

"That's my son." He covered his face, turning his back to the body. "God, that's Jonathan. That's my son."

"Thank-you, Sir. That is all I need." I moved to cover the corpse back up. "I'm sorry for having distressed you and your wife so." I paused, but he didn't say anything, so I continued, "I'll have to take the body back with me for transport to Hexham, you understand. While this is likely no more than an unfortunate accident, an investigation will need to be performed."

He turned on me, undirected anger alight in his eyes as he stormed a step closer, likely thinking himself an intimidating sight. I stood impassively. Richard Hyatt may be a large man, but I out massed him by the better part of ten stone and stood a good two feet taller. Not that either truly mattered.

"Why! Why couldn't you have just found him like you were supposed to, you useless mongrel! He's dead! My oldest son is dead because of you." He pulled back his fist for a swing at me before thinking better of it at the last moment. Dejected, he fell back against the wall of the barn, the fight having fled from him as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry, uh, Forty-Two. You're just doing what you were brought into this world for." He turned from me, gazing off into the empty horizon, "Do you know what it's like to lose a son?"

I cleared my throat behind him, not quite sure how to answer. This particular question hadn't been covered in my training. "No, Sir. I haven't any offspring. Only the breeding pairs are permitted to mate, and they don't leave the Kennel back in London."

My response must have sent him for a loop. He sputtered for a moment, almost seeming to forget what lay at our feet. "Ah... well... they don't, uh, geld you fellas, uh, do they?" He turned and stared openly at me for a moment.

I shifted slightly, nervously rocking on my toes. People normally stared at my face, even my hands, not generally... there.

"No, Sir. I am fully, how shall we say… intact. It is, however, an offence punishable by termination for me to attempt to procreate without the express permission of the Police Canine Authority." When a human used the word 'terminate' it generally meant losing their employment. I suppose it did with me as well.

The difference was that my kind were born and bred for our duty. We were the property of the government, just like any other animal in its service. If we lost our commission we were disposed of in the same way that any other genetic reject would be. Euthanasia.

I cleared my throat again, redirecting his attention back to the matter at hand and away from my nether regions.

"If there is nothing more to be done here, I'm sorry to say I must take the body in for storage and transport. The mortician in Hexham will contact you shortly with instructions for proceeding with the funeral. That is, of course, if that is your desire."

Richard waved his hand in my general direction as he looked down to his fallen son again, eyes beginning to redden.

"You'll be gentle with him, won't you?" He didn't look up at me, "He always liked you. I never knew why, but he was always talking about 'that Dog in town' every time he came home."

I felt my gut flip. I'd hardly spoken to the child a half-dozen times. I'd had no idea.

"Of course, Sir." I tried to soften my voice, but my rubbery lips were ill-suited for it, "I will show him every compassion I am able." I paused for a moment, "And I would bring him back if I could. He was a good boy."

"Ay, that he was." A slight Scottish clip slipped into the man's voice, "He was a good boy." He turned and began to walk away from me, "And, please, don't tell my other son, Trevor. He idolized Jonathan. I don't know how I'm going to handle this."