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He sat at his desk and stared at the thick prison rule book. Page 247 was clear. No unauthorized animals are allowed in the secure facility under any circumstances. Breaking this rule could end his career, but something about Sara’s plea unsettled him. He’d seen hundreds of death row inmates in their final hours. Most were pleading for mercy, proclaiming their innocence, or rebelling against the system. Sara was different.
She wasn’t asking for her life to be spared; she just wanted to say goodbye to her dog. Crawford picked up the phone and dialed the warden’s office in Austin. “Sir, I have an unusual request from Sara Mitell. She wants to see her dog before the execution.” Warden Philips was silent for a long moment. “You know that’s against all our rules, Jim? I know, sir, but she’s been a model inmate for 18 months, no violence, no problems.”
It’s the only thing she asked for. What does your instinct tell you, Jim? Crawford looked out the window at the prison yard. My instinct tells me this woman is telling the truth about something. I can’t explain it, but I’ve seen a lot of guilty people, and she doesn’t act like them. Another long pause. You’re allowed 20 minutes, but this stays between us, and you must follow maximum security protocol. If anything goes wrong, it will be your responsibility. Crawford hung up and immediately called Rebecca, Sara’s sister.
Miss Johnson, this is Warden Crowford from Hansville. I need you to bring Max to the prison at 7:00 a.m. His sister has been granted permission to see him. Rebecca gasped. Seriously, my God. Thank you. Sara will appreciate it so much. There are strict conditions, Crawford warned. The dog must pass a full security check. If there are any problems, the visit will be canceled immediately. As Crawford made preparations, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this decision would change everything.
Sometimes the most important moments in life are disguised as simple requests. She just hoped she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her career. At 7:15 a.m., Rebeca Johnson arrived at the prison gates with Max. The German shepherd sat silently in his transport cage in the back of her car, feeling the tension in the air. Rebeca’s hands shook as she signed the visitation forms. “Follow me to security,” Officer Martinez ordered.
The dog must pass a full inspection before the visit can take place. Max was led to a sterile room where Dr. Patricia Heis, the prison’s consulting veterinarian, was waiting with her team. Dr. Heis was a no-nonsense woman in her 50s who had worked with law enforcement for over 20 years. “What’s the dog’s name?” she asked as she opened the cage. “Max,” Rebeca replied, “is very docile.” Sara rescued him two years ago. The doctor ran her hands over Max’s body, looking for any hidden objects, ovums, or unusual objects.
She examined his mouth, ears, and paws with efficiency and skill. Max stood still as if he understood the importance of the moment. “He’s clear for now,” Dr. Hay announced, then stopped. Her fingers had found something on Max’s neck, just behind his left ear. Wait a moment. She parted the fur and examined the area more closely. There was a small, thin scar about an inch long. It was almost invisible unless you knew where to look.
his is strange,” Dr. Hay murmured, calling Director Crawford over. “Look, this scar—it’s surgical, but it’s not from any normal veterinary procedure that I’m familiar with.” Grawford examined the mark. “It could be from when he was injured as a puppy.” “No,” the doctor shook her head. “It’s recent. He’s maybe six months old, and it’s too precise to be from an accident. Someone made this cut with a scalpel.” Rebeca frowned. “That’s impossible. Max hasn’t had surgery since Sara was arrested.”
I would know. Dr. Ha looked at Crawford. Sir, protocol requires an X-ray for any unexplained surgical marks. This could hide something. Crawford felt a knot in his stomach. How long will it take? 15 minutes for the X-ray, sir. Crawford looked at his watch. It was 7:45 a.m. Sara’s execution was scheduled for 9:00 a.m. He had promised her 20 minutes with Max, but now everything was changing. “Do it,” he ordered, and call security. I want this room locked down until we know what we’re dealing with.
At 7:45 a.m., the portable X-ray machine was wheeled into the security room. Max lay motionless on the metal table as the doctor positioned the equipment over his neck. The machine hummed softly as it captured the image. When the X-ray appeared on the computer screen, everyone in the room fell silent. “What the hell is that?” Crowford whispered. There, clear as day, was a small rectangular object embedded just beneath Max’s skin.
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