Now it's wish-fulflillment time for murderous husbands. But, unlike the simpatico pooch in Feeley's Best Friend (p. 590), ad-man John Storch's poodle ""Friend"" is a totally unknowing accomplice in his master's master plan: all obedient Friend has to do, while John is making alibis miles away, is respond to a familiar tape-recorded command, fetch his toy, and set off the Rube-Goldbergian contraption that will fire a bullet into the pretty little head of sleeping Laverne--a manipulative cosmetics tycoon and baseball nut who ignores John except when hypnotizing him to increase his capacity for sexual all-nighters. One problem. The dead-in-bed body that John comes home to find belongs to a black congresswoman, not to Laverne. Her body surfaces later and elsewhere, slashed by anonymous knives, and John briefly--and somewhat tepidly--switches from crime to crime-solving. Except for this routine stretch, however, and forgiving the occasional irritations of John's unprovocative comments on films and books, his utterly unremorseful confession is a mildly amusing diversion. Neither too cute nor too canine, it's just right for the average homicidal reader and unlikely to draw protests from the ASPCA.