The moisture clung to the collar of my uniform.
I clutched the empty leather harness, a heavy, double-stitched piece of equipment that had cost the department eighty-five dollars, now useless in my hand.
Gerald was walking half a step behind me.
He tapped his heavy metal flashlight against his thigh, the regular clicking rhythmically marking our steps.
“The tracking signal broke down right next to the slipway, Commander,” Gerald said in a quick, thin voice.
“If he jumped, he could end up anywhere in the water.”
“Delta doesn’t jump off the docks, Gerald,” I said.
I adjusted the strap of my black leather watch, tightening it by one notch.
The dog had never managed to free itself from its collar before, let alone escape from its secure enclosure.
The port was enveloped in a thick grey fog, reducing visibility to ten meters.
Further along, the silhouette of the public bench was taking shape near the edge of the quay.
A man sat there, his shoulders hunched in a faded olive-colored country jacket.
Next to his boots, a large German shepherd sat perfectly still.
I stopped three meters away.
“Sir, move away from the dog,” I said.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
The man did not move quickly.
