Chapter Text
Robin pushed away from her desk and stood to stretch. She had been pouring over paperwork all morning and had forgotten to stand at regular intervals. Her joints popped pleasurably as she extended her legs after what had felt like only a few minutes, but had in fact been nearly three hours. Looking at her watch, she saw that Wardle was due at the office any minute.
Just as she located her phone to text Strike, she heard the heavy footsteps of her partner on the metal stairs outside the office. She heard a second, much lighter set of footsteps with him, and what sounded like a squeak toy.
Their new client owned a dog training business and suspected one of her employees was selling drugs from the premises, but she had been unable to catch him in any wrongdoing. Strike and Robin had quickly decided they needed to get inside the training facility to keep a closer eye on the employee. Robin had suggested using Rowntree or Wolfgang for the undercover operation, but Strike wanted a dog that was trained to detect substances such as narcotics, weapons, and even cash. So, they had called Wardle for help, hoping he could arrange for them to borrow a police dog for the case. By the incessant squeaking coming from the stairwell, it seemed he had come through.
Strike and Wardle appeared at the door, followed by a dog carrying a red dinosaur in his mouth, squeaking it over and over again.
“This is the brilliant police dog you promised me?” Strike asked loudly over the continued squeaks from the poor dinosaur. He looked skeptically at the distinctly goofy-looking dog as Wardle took away the dinosaur and stuffed it into the kit bag he had brought. The dog was a pale yellow with slightly wavy hair. It looked like a golden-retriever, but Strike had never seen one that pale before. The dog sat on its haunches, its mouth open in a smile, and its tongue lolling out to the side. This was definitely not what he had in mind when he had asked his friend for help.
“He is brilliant! He’s been through every training imaginable - scent and detection, service, tactical support, attack, you name it.” The dog turned its head and leaned against Wardle’s thigh, looking rather pleased with the praise, his tail thumping lazily against the floor.
Strike still looked skeptical. “Alright, let’s see what he can do.”
“Prepare to be amazed,” Wardle said, pulling out a bag of treats. He turned back to the dog and held up his hand, “Sit, stay.” The dog continued to pant happily, his tail still thumping.
“That’s hardly impressive, since I haven’t seen him move since you came in,” Strike grumbled.
Wardle cocked an eyebrow and proceeded to walk all the way around the dog, who turned his head to follow Wardle’s progress, but otherwise didn’t move. Wardle then placed a treat on the end of the dog’s nose, where it balanced easily. The dog still didn’t move.
“Get it!” Wardle said. In a fluid motion, the dog flipped the treat into its mouth and swallowed it whole.
“Alright, not bad, but that’s a fairly common trick,” Strike said.
“Watch this. Bring me a mug,” Wardle said to the dog, who stood and looked around, turning back to Wardle in confusion. “Get a mug,” Wardle repeated, pointing towards the kitchenette. “Mug!” The dog trotted in the direction Wardle was pointing, tail swishing happily behind him.
He stood, placing his front paws on the countertop, searching. There was a mug next to the sink. The dog took the handle in his mouth and pulled it from the countertop. Unfortunately, the mug was not empty, and old tea splashed all over the floor. However, the dog was completely unfazed and he pranced back to Wardle to present the mug, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Alright, that was pretty impressive,” Strike conceded. “Except for the part where he made a mess all over my floor. Are you sure the Met can spare him for this long? I imagine it could be a couple weeks.”
Wardle suddenly found it difficult to look Strike in the eye. “Er, yeah, you can keep him as long as you want,” he said, sounding rather cagey. Strike raised his eyebrows.
“He’s actually retiring from police work,” Wardle said reluctantly. “They're looking for a good retirement home for him, if you’re interested.”
Strike ignored the question. “Why is he retiring? He doesn’t look very old.”
“Well, erm, he didn’t pass all of his training.”
“What was all that you listed off about scent and detection, and service, and whatever the fuck else?” Strike asked irritably.
“He did pass all of those! It was just the attack training. He wouldn’t actually bite the dummies. Kept rolling over for them to scratch his tummy. We can’t have a dog that tries to snuggle with the criminals.”
“So you brought me the reject?”
“Look, mate, I had to call in a couple favors just to get him for you. No way is the K9 unit going to part with one of their best officers. He’s the best I can do for you.”
The dog decided to take this moment to flop onto his back and squirm on the floor, apparently trying to scratch a hard to reach itch. He then turned onto his side and scooted across the floor, pushing himself awkwardly forward with his hind legs.
“Do you want him or not?” Wardle asked, pretending that the dog’s behavior was not unusual or embarrassing.
Strike sighed, weighing his options. “Yeah, alright,” he said reluctantly.
“You’re welcome,” Wardle said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“What’s his name?”
“Sergeant Biscuit.”
Strike rolled his eyes, muttering, “Fuck’s sake.”
Wardle handed the kit bag with Sergeant Biscuit’s things to Robin, correctly assuming she was the best person to give instructions for the dog.
Sergeant Biscuit plopped by Strike’s side and nudged his fingers, apparently wanting to be patted. Strike looked down and muttered, “We’d best come up with a better name for you, because I am not calling you Sergeant Biscuit.” Thump, thump, thump, his tail beat against the floor and he nudged Strike’s fingers again. “I’ll call you Sarge, how’s that?” The dog licked his fingers, snorted, and leaned all of his weight against Strike’s leg.
“I think he likes you,” Wardle said with a grin. “I’m off. I’m sure you’ll have no problems.” And he left before Strike had the chance to say another word.
***
Strike was surprised to see his phone light up with Robin’s name just after ten that evening. He smiled and answered, happy to hear her voice, even though they had just spent the better part of the day together. When she said she was on her way back to Denmark Street, he was certain that he must have imagined it. “Come again?” he said, trying to rein in his overactive imagination.
“I said, I’m coming over!” Robin shouted over the sounds of barking in the background. There was a loud whine. “It’s alright, Sarge,” he heard her say away from the mouthpiece. “Sarge will have to stay with you. As I’m sure you can hear, Wolfgang isn’t too pleased with another dog being in his territory.”
“He’s not staying with me!”
“Well he can’t stay here or Wolfgang will have a heart attack, so unless you want to get him a room at the Travelodge, that’s the only option,” Robin said irritably.
“Fine, but I’m not ruling out the Travelodge just yet.”