DeAngelo nodded and led the dog away. Jesse went to the office door and stuck his head out and yelled for Molly Crane.

"Call around to some vets," he said. "Describe the dog, see if they know anything about this one."

"What kind of dog is it?" Molly said.

"Dalmatian. They're not all that common."

"Male or female?"

"Male," Jesse said. "For crissake, you're a cop. You're supposed to be observant."

"I'm an Irish Catholic girl," Molly said. "I don't look at penises."

"Not even human?"

From the cell block in the back, they could hear the dog begin to howl.

"Especially not human."

"Always in the dark," Jesse said.

Molly grinned at him. "Always. With my eyes tight shut, thinking of Saint Patrick."

"It's good to be aware of your heritage," Jesse said. "Tell Suit I want to talk to him."

The dog's howling was now steady.

Molly smiled at him. "Dog's lonely," she said.

"Ain't we all," Jesse said.

"Not the way I hear it," Molly said and went out.

Jesse watched her as she went. She was small and in shape. The blue uniform fit her well. The service pistol looked too large. He knew she was sensual: the way her eyes were. The way she stood. The way she walked. He knew. And she knew he knew.

"There's a dog in cell number one," Simpson said when he came in.

"Got him for soliciting," Jesse said.

Simpson hesitated. Jesse said everything in the same sort of serious way, and Simpson was often uncertain if Jesse was kidding. But you couldn't arrest a dog. He laughed.

"He got a lawyer?" Simpson said.

The dog howled.

"I think he'll cop a plea," Jesse said.

"Yeah," Simpson said. "He's already starting to sing."

"You want to make some overtime?" Jesse said.

"Sure."

"Go out to the lake where we found the girl, and walk the perimeter. Take Eddie Cox with you. See what you can find."