He’d been right about his horror movie observation when he’d arrived at the place earlier. He stepped further into the shed, curiosity causing him to reach up and test the sharpness of the skull’s teeth. Around the room were various other animals, all at different stages of preservation, from squirrels to buzzards to what Harry assumed was a fox on the table. There was even an owl, the beauty of the animal preserved with astonishing attention to detail, reminding Harry of his encounter back at the barn.
After a couple more minutes taking in the contents of the shed, Harry reversed out through the door, but his eyes fell again on the strange and somewhat horrifying creation on the table. At first sight, he’d thought it to be a fox, but as he stared at it now, taking in the size of the thing, the large skull, he realised then that there was just no way that this, whatever it actually was, could be a fox. No. And then the realisation hit him. If it wasn’t a fox, then the only other thing it could be was a dog.
With the skull of the dead animal staring at him, Harry left the shed, replaced the padlock, then made his way back to his vehicle, more than a little creeped out by what he’d seen. Okay, so he was no wiser as to whether or not Eric Haygarth had indeed been the man Grace had seen over at her dad’s. That he wasn’t home was strange, but certainly wasn’t an admission of guilt. He’d also discovered that Eric was a fan of taxidermy, the shed showing various stages of the process. And that, Harry realised, would explain the state of the kitchen, the freezers. However, it was the skeletal dog that bothered him the most. All the other animals he understood were easy to come by, but a dog? Was it Eric’s? Had he skinned and was now in the process of preserving his own dog? Or was it someone else’s? And if so, how the hell had he come by it?
Heading back down Arkengarthdale towards Reeth, Harry tried to pull together what he had so far from what had been found at the barn in Snaizeholme, what had happened at Arthur’s, and now his little visit into another ancient dale. But with the hours of the early morning crashing in on him, all that did was give him a headache.
Rubbing his eyes, and focusing on the road ahead, Harry let his mind wander. Sleep would help, he decided, so he focused on getting home without incident. And perhaps, come tomorrow, which was already today, some answers would start to surface.
Chapter Eighteen
Thanks to a second night of very little sleep and having allowed himself an overly generous four hours kip to try and make up for it—just enough to ensure he was almost human for the rest of the day—Harry woke mid- to late-morning to a smell in his bedroom he really wasn’t used to—that of an animal, and one that clearly had a flatulence problem. He lay there trying to work out just what the hell it could be, for a moment concerned that a fox had broken in to have a good rummage around in the clothes basket—not a good idea—when a faint, sonorous snore slipped into his day.
Rolling over onto his side, Harry saw on the floor of his room at the foot of his bed the curled-up form of Arthur’s old dog, Molly. Her bed was made up of one of his old jumpers and a few cushions from the lounge, and was, judging by the sounds of contentment coming from the old animal, perfectly adequate.
The late night over at Arthur’s had soon become an early morning, with the arrival of Sowerby and her team. When they’d finished up and collected everything they’d deemed relevant, Harry had been able to send Jadyn, Jen, and Gordy home, before he’d then trundled over to Eric’s place. But that had still left him with Molly. So, with no other option, he’d taken the old dog home with him and sent a message through to Grace to let her know. She had been very grateful and had said that if she wasn’t able to come over and pick her up, then a friend of hers would, someone who was looking after her own dog for her while she was with her dad.
Harry swung himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower. As he walked past Molly, the dog didn’t move. He crouched down just low enough to scratch the dog’s head, at which point she rolled onto her back to show him her stomach.
‘So, you’re awake after all,’ Harry said, and gave the dog a scratch.
Molly let out a long, satisfied breath and just stayed as she was, on her back as Harry continued on his way. And she was in the same position when he returned. It was only when Harry was in the kitchen and opening a tin of food for her that he’d taken from Arthur’s house, along with a lead and some bags for the one job anyone without a dog looked at with utter bafflement and disgust, that Molly moved from her makeshift bed. The smell of the food was to Harry’s mind much akin to that of the worst kind of bowel disorder.
‘That got you moving, then, I see,’ Harry said, placing a cereal bowl filled with dog food on the floor next to another filled with water, dog bowls being the one thing he’d not grabbed from Arthur’s.
Molly tucked into it with gusto, farted, then made her quiet and assured way back to Harry’s bedroom. Harry cut her off at the pass, pulled on his jacket, and took the dog outside for a quick walk on the way to the office. It was clear that the dog wasn’t in the mood for much in the way of exercise, and once she’d relieved herself in as public a place as possible—right in front of Hawes Market Hall—and with Harry having to avoid the stares of people as he’d picked it up, she’d then just turned back the way they had come. Somehow, Harry had managed to drag her in the opposite direction and along to the office. Every few steps she’d stopped and stared at him, her eyes clearly telling him, No, I don’t want to go any further. The whole experience had him wondering once again, what the joys were in owning a dog.
Once at the office, Molly settled down in a corner by a radiator while Harry waited for the rest of the team to arrive. When they did, and despite the weariness he saw in their eyes, everyone was restless, clearly itching to get on with the day ahead.
‘Grace is going to pick her up when she can,’ Harry explained to Jim, as Fly stared at Molly. ‘I’ve said to not worry. She’s not exactly a bother.’
‘Not so sure Fly would agree with you there,’ Jim said, as his dog edged closer to Molly, eventually coming to sit right next to her as though in the hope she might want to play. Then he gave up on that, lay down, and closed his eyes.
‘You sure he’s going to be alright with her being here?’ Harry asked. ‘I know he looks like he is, seeing as he’s now asleep, but I just want to make sure. I can take her back to the flat if you want.’
‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Jim said, as Fly pushed himself back up into a sit, yawned, then lifted a paw and rested it on Molly’s head. ‘I think he’s a bit confused to have another dog somewhere he probably classes as his.’
‘What’s he doing now, then?’ Harry asked, as Fly started to massage the crown of Molly’s comatose head with his paw.
‘He just wants her to play,’ said Jim. ‘Not that there’s going to be much of that going on, by the looks of things. How was she last night?’
‘A bit whiffy, if you know what I mean,’ Harry said. ‘That old dog creates smells you can actually see.’
Jim smiled at that.
‘Other than that, though,’ Harry continued, ‘she was no bother at all really. Didn’t even stir when Ben got up this morning to head to work.’
There were two reasons for this, Harry thought to himself. The first was that Molly was deaf and could sleep through anything. The other, and this was one reason he wasn’t about to tell the rest of team, was where Molly had slept.
Having arrived home, Harry had done his best to set out a little bed in the lounge area of the flat for the dog, a mix of cushions and a blanket or two. Molly had settled down, but as soon as Harry had headed off to bed, she’d upped and followed. He’d done his best to get her to stay, but each time she just followed, so with little choice, and no energy to argue the point, Harry had moved the makeshift bed onto the floor of his bedroom. And there Molly had stayed, without complaint. He’d had to keep the window open the whole night, not that it had made much difference to the rich and varied collection of smells Molly had managed to produce.
�
��I’ll take her for a walk once we’re done,’ Jim said.
‘No, you won’t,’ Liz said, jumping in. ‘Last thing that old dog needs is young Fly bothering her. I’ll take her.’
‘Fight it out between yourselves,’ Harry said, then he clapped his hands together to bring a start to the meeting.
‘Right then, before we start putting anything up on the board, I think it’s probably best if I run through what’s been going on. That way we’ll all be clear on what’s what, because, as of last night, it looks like what happened over in Snaizeholme is even more serious than what we initially thought.’
Harry was about to explain why when he was cut off by the sound of the office door being pushed open.
‘Detective Superintendent Swift,’ Harry said, looking over to see his superior officer now standing in the office. ‘I didn’t know you were due to visit us today.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Swift replied curtly and took a seat behind the rest of the team.
‘Well, it’s good to have you here,’ Harry said, lost for anything else to say, and amazing himself with his own politeness.
‘Pretend I’m not even here,’ Swift said and smiled, if what his face was then doing could be called such. Because to Harry, the man looked like he was in pain, as though the act of trying to look relaxed and happy was something his face just wasn’t keen on attempting.
‘Okay then,’ Harry said, focusing on his team. ‘As you’ll all recall, this time yesterday, what we thought we were dealing with was illegal dogfighting. For all we knew, it was a one-off, but it was on our turf as it were, it involved the death of a dog belonging to a retired gamekeeper down dale in Redmire, and the last thing any of us want is that kind of activity becoming common. But as of last night, we are now investigating what I believe to be a credible link between what happened up in Snaizeholme, and the attempted murder of the dog’s owner, Arthur Black.’
‘That’s quite the jump,’ Swift said.
‘I don’t think it is,’ Harry replied.
‘But a dog fight is a very different affair to attempted murder.’
‘Arthur’s dog was killed in the fight,’ Harry said. ‘I met with Arthur yesterday and then last night he was attacked in his own home and is now in hospital and lucky to be alive, if you ask me. In fact, if his daughter hadn’t decided to pop round to see him, then I think there’s a good chance this would now be a murder investigation. This was no random attack.’
Harry waited for Swift to say something, but the man simply folded his arms and stared back. Harry then gave a nod to Jadyn.
‘Let’s get on with filling that board up then, shall we, Constable Okri?’
Jadyn was on his feet in a heartbeat, pens at the ready.
‘In addition to what we already know about the dog fight, and what we saw at Arthur’s house,’ Harry said, ‘we’ve heard back from the pathologist with her report, photos and so on from what happened at the barn. And we’ll be hearing later on today about what’s been found at the house.’
‘And is any of it much use?’ Swift asked.
‘Unsurprisingly, we’ve not got much to go on,’ Harry said. ‘But that’s to be expected. People attending something like this don’t usually hang around or make a point of leaving anything behind that can be traced to them.’
‘Except a dog,’ said Swift.
‘And so far, that’s only led us to the owner,’ Harry said.
‘So, it’s a dead-end, then,’ Swift grumbled.
‘That’s not what I said,’ Harry replied. ‘Although we have nothing like DNA, for example, except for that of Arthur’s dog, what we do have is some evidence from outside the barn.’
‘And the red vehicle the farmer saw,’ Jadyn added, giving a thumbs up to Matt.
‘Yes, and that,’ Harry said.
‘A red vehicle?’ Swift said. ‘Well, that narrows it down, doesn’t it?’
Harry ignored the comment.
‘As you know, there were plenty of footprints inside the barn, but these are all fairly scuffed up and of little use. However, there were a good number of fresh tracks from various vehicles, and Sowerby took casts of these, soil samples, and so on.’
‘And she’s found something useful?’ Matt asked.
‘Potentially, yes,’ Harry said. ‘Assuming that we find our way to tracking down potential suspects.’
‘So, what have we got?’ Gordy asked.
‘In the tyre impressions from one of the vehicles Sowerby found traces of cement dust and tiling adhesive.’
‘How did that get there, then?’ Jadyn asked.
‘Tyres are very good at trapping dirt and dust,’ Gordy said. ‘Even after hundreds of miles, they’ll still have traces of surfaces they’ve not touched for days. A tyre lasts for thousands of miles so it takes a good while for them to wear away.’
‘So that means, then,’ Jadyn said, ‘that the owner of one of the vehicles drove it somewhere where it came into contact with those two substances?’
‘Exactly,’ Harry said. ‘And I know that right now that doesn’t seem like much, but it could be more than enough to link someone to that barn a couple of nights ago. But only if we can track down who was there and get our hands on a vehicle.’
‘But we can’t exactly start searching for everyone in the dales who’s bought cement and tiling adhesive, can we?’ said Jim. ‘That’s impossible! Even if we do know that one of the vehicles is red.’
‘Can I just point out that the farmer wasn’t exactly sure about that?’ Matt said.
‘You’re right, Jim,’ Harry said. ‘We can’t really do that, but what we can do is look at building projects in the area, that kind of thing.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, it’s not like we’re in a city where there are potentially hundreds happening at any one time, is it? Whoever was there, they’ll have travelled a fair distance, I’m sure, but I can’t see them wanting to be further than an hour away, and even then, I think that would be pushing it.’
‘Why?’ Liz asked.
‘Because criminals are inherently lazy,’ Swift said, answering for Harry. ‘Nine times out of ten crime is an excuse to make a lot of money from not much work. Otherwise, what’s the point?’
‘So, you don’t think they’ll have travelled far, then?’ asked Jadyn.
‘I very much doubt it,’ continued Swift, continuing to answer for Harry. ‘I’m not saying that I think they’re local, as in from Hawes or Gayle or whatever, but I think Grimm is right on this point. They won’t have travelled too far to take part in a dog fight in the middle of the night.’
‘Let’s narrow it down, then,’ Harry suggested, surprised Swift had so readily agreed with him. ‘Let’s stick to Wensleydale itself and the surrounding area. Then, if we find nothing, we can widen the search.’
‘That’s still quite a large area, though,’ said Matt. ‘It’ll take us a fair while to cover it all.’
‘It is, yes,’ Harry said, ‘and it will. But Sowerby also found something else. Granite dust.’
‘Granite?’ Liz said. ‘I’m assuming you mean for worktops in expensive kitchens, that kind of thing, rather than just lumps of the stuff?’
Harry nodded. ‘I do. Which means we can narrow things down a bit further then, can’t we?’
‘It’s still a large net to be casting,’ Gordy said. ‘But you’re right, it’s something. Particularly when we have nothing else.’
‘Nothing else yet,’ Harry corrected. ‘What happened in that barn will be high stakes stuff. We’re not talking a few hundred quid changing hands, but thousands. That’s half the thrill. It’s not just the violence, but the winning, and the fear of losing.’
Jim raised his hand.
‘We got something through last night from Andrew Bell, the vet,’ he said. ‘A toxicology report. It’s pretty detailed.’
‘And?’
‘Arthur’s dog had quite a cocktail of stuff in its veins,’ Jim said. ‘None of the substances are illegal, becau
se they have legitimate uses, but apparently, they are commonly found in connection with illegal dogfighting operations.’
‘And how do you know this?’ Swift asked.
‘I read the report and I looked it up,’ Jim said, turning around to face the DSup. ‘I was on duty last night. The report came in, so I did a bit of research.’
‘Well done,’ Swift said.
‘So, what did the dog have in it, then?’ Harry asked.
‘There’s quite a list,’ Jim said. ‘But you’re talking vitamin supplements to help the blood carry more oxygen and decrease lactic acid, stimulants to help it fight for longer and with more aggression, anti-inflammatory agents, steroids.’
‘You sure that report isn’t about that cyclist bloke, Lance Armstrong?’ Jen said.
‘There’s a lot of crossover from sports into dogfighting,’ Jim replied. ‘It’s pretty shocking.’
‘That poor animal,’ Liz said.
No one disagreed.
‘The vet also found the chip,’ Jim continued. ‘That confirmed that it was indeed Jack, Arthur’s dog. I know we knew that anyway, but it’s worth knowing I think.’
‘And that cocktail of drugs supports what I’ve just said about this being high stakes,’ Harry said. ‘It’s not cheap to pump a dog full of that stuff.’
‘But how is any of this linked to what you’re telling me is an attempted murder?’ Swift asked. ‘All you’ve done so far is talk about a dead dog pumped full of drugs and a wild goose chase of hopefully finding a vehicle, which may or may not be red, either on a building site or at a house undergoing some home improvements!’
Harry levelled his gaze at Swift.
‘Like I said, we’re waiting on the pathologist about what was found at the crime scene last night, but I tell you now, it was no break-in. It was not a random attack or the act of someone caught in the act.’
Blood Sport: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 7) Page 14