Part 4 — Everyone avoided the small sharp-toothed creature because it was not a dog — until the shelter door suddenly locked

Mariam’s last words hung in the air.

I pictured Irakli’s face—his tired eyes, muddy shoes, and the calm voice with which he had told me several hours earlier: “You’ll find out in the morning.”

“Are you saying that Irakli called?” I asked.

“Yes. He said that the cub had been stolen and found at the shelter.”

“But he told me an inspection was coming.”

Mariam turned over the other side of the photograph. A date, a place, and a case number were written there.

“Irakli was never the owner of this center, but cameras recorded his truck several times. He transported the animals.”

David gripped the chair.

“Then why did he notify us?”

“Because he realized that the cub had remained alive and could be identified.”

At these words, footsteps sounded behind the door. The policeman immediately turned around.

Irakli entered.

He held an umbrella, from whose tip water dripped onto the floor. At first his face showed surprise, and then he looked at the cub.

“You are all here?” he said.

“Yes,” Mariam answered. “And you will wait with us.”

Irakli smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

“This is a misunderstanding. I was only protecting the shelter.”

“Then explain this photograph to us.”

Mariam placed the picture on the table.

The umbrella fell from Irakli’s hand. Its metal tip struck the floor and a sharp sound rang out.

“That is an old matter.”

“An old crime does not become new,” David said.

Irakli looked toward me.

“Elene, you know how many animals I have saved, don’t you?”

“Now they are asking you about only one.”

“That fox means nothing.”

Just then the cub pressed its teeth against the cage mesh. The sound of small teeth rang through the room.

Irakli looked away.

And for the first time I understood why the photograph had no comments. People saw a beautiful dog on the screen and felt kind about themselves. But with this small creature, you have to look in order to see what people hide.

Mariam gestured to the policeman.

“Take both men away. Seize their phones and the vehicle records.”

The man in the green jacket shouted:

“I will say nothing without a lawyer!”

“Very good,” Mariam replied. “You will tell the lawyer why you used a canceled certificate.”

But Irakli was still looking at me.

“You regret this,” he told me.

“What?”

“That you posted the photograph.”

I bent down beside the cage. I brought a finger to the cub at the mesh. It first smelled me, then carefully touched me with its nose.

“No,” I told Irakli. “For the first time I do not regret that someone failed to see my help.”

At the clinic we named the cub Nera. It was three o’clock at night when the doctor declared her condition stable. I sat on a plastic chair in the corridor. My old jacket lay on my knees, and the sleeve was torn by small gaps from teeth.

Then the phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

“Elene Meladze?” I heard a man’s voice. “If Nera leaves the clinic alive, we will file a complaint against you. You do not yet know whom you have touched.”

“Who are you?”

“A person who can make this case disappear in one day.”

The call ended.

I was looking at the screen when Mariam stopped beside me.

“Was the voice recorded?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She took the phone from me, listened for several seconds, and her face changed.

“Elene, this voice already appears in the case. But now we know that he contacted you himself.”

“Is that good?”

“Very. Because we know that person is planning to fly out of the city tomorrow morning.”

Mariam looked out the window. A black car stood in the clinic parking lot, its engine running.

“And if I am thinking correctly,” she said, “his plane will no longer take off…”