Chapter 8 - THE POISONED MORNING
Cora woke at 5:41 Saturday morning to Nero screaming.
Not barking.
Screaming.
She ran barefoot across the estate.
The kennel door stood open.
Nero lay on his side.
Foam covered his mouth.
His legs kicked uncontrollably.
“Oh God.”
Cora dropped beside him.
“Nero!”
His pupils were enormous.
She shouted for help.
Dr. Hart arrived within fifteen minutes.
Damian arrived in six.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know!”
Cora’s hands shook.
Nero convulsed again.
Dr. Hart inserted medication.
“Hold his head.”
Cora did.
“Come on, baby.”
Another seizure.
Then stillness.
Cora’s heart stopped.
“Nero?”
Dr. Hart checked.
“He’s breathing.”
Cora cried.
She did not notice the police cars entering the estate.
Not until Marcus appeared in the clinic doorway.
His face was strange.
“Cora.”
She looked up.
Two uniformed officers stood behind him.
“What?”
One officer held a clear evidence bag.
Inside were veterinary syringes.
Cora stared.
“We need to ask you some questions.”
She stood slowly.
“About what?”
“Medication was found in your room.”
Her face emptied.
“What medication?”
“Sedatives.”
Dr. Hart looked up sharply.
“That’s impossible.”
The officer continued.
“Several empty vials.”
Cora looked at Damian.
He said nothing.
“Those aren’t mine.”
“We also found blood.”
“What?”
“Dog blood.”
Cora laughed from shock.
“You think I hurt Nero?”
Nobody answered.
The officer read from a report.
“A witness says they saw you striking the animal last night.”
Cora stepped backward.
“No.”
“Cora,” Damian said.
She looked at him.
His face remained unreadable.
“Tell them where you were.”
“With Nero until nine.”
“After?”
“My room.”
“Anyone see you?”
“No.”
The police searched her locker.
They found a hidden shock device.
One identical to the type Warren once used.
Cora nearly vomited.
“This is planted.”
The officer remained calm.
“Your fingerprints are on it.”
Cora stared.
Then understood.
Of course her fingerprints were on it.
She had removed Warren’s collar from Nero two years earlier.
The original equipment had been stored in evidence on the estate before later being archived.
Someone had saved it.
Someone had planned this.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was beneath your mattress.”
“No.”
The officer reached for handcuffs.
Damian stepped between them.
“Not yet.”
“Mr. Thorne—”
“My attorney is coming.”
“We have probable cause.”
Nero began whining weakly.
Cora looked toward him.
The officer took her wrist.
Nero growled.
Even half-conscious, drugged and shaking, he tried to rise.
“Nero, stay.”
His legs failed.
Cora started crying.
The handcuffs clicked shut.
Six in the morning.
Exactly as the nightmare had begun.
And the only thing Cora could think was whether Nero would eat without her.
The officers led her away.
She turned once.
Nero dragged himself toward the clinic doorway.
Dr. Hart tried to stop him.
Damian stood motionless.
Nero looked at Cora.
Then barked.
One broken sound.
Cora disappeared into the police car.
Damian’s phone rang.
Marcus answered it.
His face changed.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“News already has it.”
Damian looked toward the road.
Too fast.
Far too fast.
Someone had not merely framed Cora.
They had prepared the public story before police arrived.
And Damian finally understood.
The attack was not aimed at Nero.
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It was aimed at Cora’s reputation.
Because once everyone believed a poor dog caretaker had abused a helpless animal, nobody would ask who had put the evidence there.
