by Neil Mach
Moyes tugged his collar and looked visibly exasperated, but kept his mouth shut.
‘Where did the warehouse manager get the dog’s heads? Was it from the Voodoo Vet?’ Hopie asked.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. Thanks for your report about the vet by the way. You discovered vital information. So that’s the dog head case. The information Moondog collated is all here on file. Belvoir dismissed their employee and moved the boss to another site.’
‘May I ask something?’ Hopie said.
‘Of course, darling.’ Tibby gave her a wide smile. ‘By the way, Moondog does not hold you responsible for the poor conduct of police in this matter. In fact, he described your behaviour throughout the entire investigation as commendable.’
‘Thanks. What about the cat? A cat’s head was found.’
‘Yes, the cat’s head is a red-herring,’ Tibby giggled when she said that bit. Hopie smiled along. Sergeant Moyes fussed with his wristwatch. ‘The cat’s head came from the Voodoo Vet’s too. But it wasn’t sent from the Belvoir fulfilment centre. We guess it probably came from the vet’s bins, half a mile away. The body ought to have been cremated but Stephen Ruis, the voodoo vet, got sloppy. The body part was probably dragged down the road by a fox. Moondog says the information you gained from the vet’s was vital in cracking this part of the case. He checked their bins after you went in to see them, and found body remnants…’
‘Thank you,’ Hopie said. Moyes looked at her, because he didn’t know anything about her involvement with the Voodoo Vet. He didn’t say a word.
‘And the sighting of the feline beast, the puma, that was also resolved,’ Tibby said, as she smoothed down her skirt.
‘He didn’t believe that story anyway,’ grunted Moyes. ‘Mister Moon Dog said the image was a shadow, and that the evidence couldn’t be trusted.’
‘Yes, indeed the photo was a shadow,’ Tibby agreed. ‘Not good evidence at all, I’m afraid. And the Chief, of course, had been poisoned.’
Moyes visibly shuddered, ‘Poisoned? My God, who poisoned him?’
‘Well, actually, it was you probably…’ Tibby smiled as she let the allegation sink in. ‘Though, before you get frantic, I should point out it was not directly you. But you gave him the poison. Moondog discovered that a local man, an allotment holder, grows weird crops on his plot. All the details are in his report. This man provides seeds, grain and herbs to local food outlets such as Nan Pantan’s Health Food Shop and the Chinese take-away. Regrettably, those businesses had been accepting his produce in good faith, believing the foodstuffs to be organic and locally sourced. But much of what he sold them was dangerous...’
‘Dangerous, how?’
‘Dangerous to human health. You see this allotment holder specializes in growing old-fashioned cereals, fruit, and vegetables. He grows them commercially, and that’s quite unusual. When we had them tested, some of his crops contained fungal alkaloids and what the lab-people described as ergolines. In other words, his crops contained poisons. The type of toxins we don’t often see these days because our modern foods are screened by scientists to pass rigorous standards…’
‘Good grief,’ Moyes spluttered. ‘Is that why the Chief felt sick?’
‘Hopie bought him a rye sandwich every day and you took it to him, didn’t you? We had a private lab test done on his customary choice, the ryebread with herb filling. Guess what? The sandwich he ate most frequently contained traces of ergoline. So, you see, the Chief’s lunches, bought from Nan Pantan’s Health Food Store and passed to him daily, contained grain from the poisoned crop.’
‘What does this poison do? Apart from make you sick?’ The Sarge pulled at his collar, because he knew that, on occasion, he’d eaten cakes, biscuits and energy-bars from the Health Food Shop.
‘If you ingest enough of the poisoned rye, or you ingest small quantities regularly, the poison will provoke delusions, hallucinations, visions and weird apparitions.’
‘That explains it,’ spluttered Moyes.
‘Yes, it also explains the odd behaviour of the two lovers at Groby Pool. Do you remember them? They claimed to have been clawed by a big cat. Moondog interviewed one of the victims and is quite sure her abrasions were self-inflicted. He also collected evidence that proved she regularly ate take-out meals from the Chinese take-away and made frequent visits to Nan Pantan’s. So, she was poisoned too.’
‘We need to get the Health Food shop closed pronto and the borough health people around to the Chinese,’ Moyes suggested. ‘Before anyone else gets hurt.’
‘No, we don’t,’ Tibby said.
‘Don’t we?’
‘Moondog took care of the matter. Those businesses are no longer supplied by the small holder in question. They are safe to visit. No harm done.’
‘I’ll stay away from them from now on,’ joked Moyes.
‘You can choose to do whatever you want,’ Tibby replied. She turned to Hopie. ‘Moondog wanted you to have a small item. As a token of his fondness for you...’ Tibby then passed Hopie a small white-metal cross. ‘It is silver, to keep away bad spirits. He has owned this charm since childhood...’
‘Oh, no, I could not... I could never accept something that’s precious to him, oh my heavens....’ Hopie placed her hand over her heart and looked at the pendant.
‘It’s not worth much, ten or twenty pounds, at most. You might as well take it,’ Moyes grunted.
Hopie reluctantly took the gift and Tibby helped her put it around her slim neck. ‘Tell Moondog thank you. Tell him I miss him very much and tell him I will never let him out of my heart. Just tell him everything that I want to say...’
‘Yes, I get it. I’ll tell him,’ said Tibby.
‘Can we go?’ Moyes muttered. ‘Before my fat bones go to sleep. This disgusting bench is giving me the piles.’
‘Yes,’ Tibby stood. She gave Hopie another hug and Sergeant Moyes a business-like handshake, then she strolled off, back to the car park.
‘Good grief. I thought she would never stop yakkity-yakking. The silly old moo. She went on-and-on…’
Hopie touched her silver cross and smiled.
‘Anyway, before I leave, I need to use the toilet,’ continued the Sarge. ‘It’s over by that cabin. I will see you back at the car.’
‘Yes, no problem, Sergeant. I’ll see you when you get back.’
*
Hopie trod towards to the parking lot and stepped across a fine lawn that extended alongside an inclined area by the Earl of Moira’s lime kilns. She clung tightly to her silver cross and closed her eyes for a moment. She could still hear the ducks quacking on the Ashby de la Zouch canal, behind, and she turned her head to look back at the glittering waters. She discovered she’d wandered further than expected. And found herself fifty metres from the water’s edge — the noise from those squabbling ducks could not carry that far, surely? She started to walk again, but then she heard the clucking noise closer to hand.
Too-werp-tiptree-a-wirr —
Not a duck at all. It was cockatiel toot. It couldn’t be, could it?
Too-werp-tiptree-a-wirr —
She scanned the lawn and gazed at the red-skull building. Then considered the solitary tree to her left, just a little way off. That settled it. A lone tree? Of course, that’s exactly where he’d be… where the sound came from.
She saw Moondog beside the soft, textured trunk. He seemed at one with the tree — he almost formed part of its organic grace. He was part of the rise and fall of the branches, part of the agitation of new shoots, part of the shadow and part of the dappled light. He melted into the misty indefiniteness that trembled beneath the canopy. Moondog had always been one with the elusive subtlety of nature.
She walked straight for him, of course — a confident smirk upon her face as she watched his fizzy hair bump in the breeze. When she finally reached him, she put her long arms around his spindly waist and hugged-and-hugged. Hopie pressed against him and his strong arms wrapped around her. Then his c
hin rested upon her forehead. She felt his warm-hearted affection and his fond, ever-loving tenderness — and it flowed like a magical energy through him and into her.
She said nothing, neither did he. Soon she pulled away, and then she left him. But her core ached with joy. She didn’t need to look back.
*
At the car park Sergeant Moyes joined up with her. ‘Damn it, I needed that,’ he said as he fixed his zipper. He checked the waistband on his trousers and fiddled with the buttons. Then he gave a loud belch. ‘You okay, missy?’
‘Yes Sarge, I’m fine,’ Hopie said, as she grabbed her pendant.
‘Did you have one final look over the place? Creepy, isn’t it, right?’
‘It’s wonderful.’
‘Did you see that strange tree, standing alone… it looks kind of weird, doesn’t it?’
‘Mmm, yes it does. I think that’s the best bit.’
‘Well, let’s get you back to the station. When do you start your new posting?’
‘Ten days’ time, back in the city, where I belong.’
‘Are you staying with your Mum?’
‘Yes, I’m staying with my Mum till things are fixed. I had an offer to move in with a friend, she’s nice, but I’m not committing. Not yet.’
‘Good idea. I’m glad everything has been resolved in the end.’
‘Me too.’
*
Epilogue
They pressed close, snuggled under the decking, in the dead darkness at the haunted Groby Pool. Moondog had taken night-vision tech out of his duffel bag and slid over the most expensive piece of kit he owned: a thermal imaging camera with some high-definition magnification. She took the equipment from him without words, while he arranged his night glasses on the soft bed of reeds directly in front of their hiding place.
His breathing became shallow, his heartrate quickened, and he could hear his own pulse. That’s when his hackles started to rise.
‘Get that?’ he whispered.
‘Shhh,’ she replied.
Then he pinched her.
They both saw the golden creature at the same time. Almost incandescent, it shone with a luminous aura of pure light. Half corporeal, half imaginary, the fabulous creature hesitated by the dark pond for just a moment, having entered their dimension for the briefest of visits. It dipped towards the pool, perhaps to drink, then it flickered back to its own ethereal plane. The creature was both seen and unseen, it was a remarkable essence: a dreamy, hazy form — so flimsy and delicate in nature that they weren’t sure they experienced it at all. But the camera he’d set-up rolled, the wide lenses were open, so they knew they’d gained rare footage.
Much later Moondog dared to speak. ‘What did you think?’ he whispered, close to her ear.
‘Amazing.’
‘I told you. So graceful. Is it the first time you’ve seen a reed leopard?’
‘Yes, it’s a very special moment.’
‘Happy?’
‘Always happy when I’m with you, my love.’
Moondog gave his wife a gentle squeeze.
Ascension murmured with gladness.
####
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Table of Contents
1: Beginning
2: All Kinds of Evil
3: Attack in the Night
4: A Trip to Wailing Wood
5: Sleazy Makeup
6: Beowulf
7: Miss Stook’s Teahouse
8: The Whitwick Oak
9: Faithfull Friend’s Pet Shop
10: Newton Lyndford
11: The Graveyard
12: Groby Pool
13: Charleyhall Avenue
14: Cyril Calcedon
15: Weekly Crime Update
16: Victorina Puck
17: The Ram
18: Holiday Inn
19: Kelly Locke
20: Adair Bradigan
21: Chain of Command
22: The Voodoo Vet
23: Crompton’s Path
24: Assumpta
25: The Shadow Creature
26: Moira Furnace
About the author
Neil Mach was born in the 1950s and raised in Carshalton, on the suburban estate of St. Helier, in south London.
His family later moved to North Cheam and then Epsom Downs.
Neil was educated at Nork Park County Secondary School.
He claims to have Romani blood on his father’s side.
He worked as a barrister’s clerk in the Inner Temple and a disc-jockey for a mobile discotheque at weekends, before he left home to find work in the public sector.
Neil married in 1981 and settled first in Richmond, Surrey and then at Shepperton and, finally, Staines in Middlesex.
After completing thirty years’ service in the public sector, Neil became a journalist and novelist and is widely recognized for developing strong female characters and for writing informative novels that often revolve around the themes of relationship, loyalty and duty. Neil has won the National Novel Writing Month several times.
Neil lives with his wife Sue and their blue cat Leo in a small bungalow near the banks of the Thames in Staines, on an island by Penton Hook. He has two grown-up daughters.
Other titles by this Author:
The Last Music Bearer [Historical Fantasy] Secretive monks in medieval Europe bring music therapy to the needy while an authoritarian Church seeks to hunt them and abolish music.
Slutting the Globe [Romantic Comedy] A single female sets herself a challenge — she aims to have oodles of one-night-stands with numerous men in different countries. Will she do it? Why is she trying? How will the challenge change her?
Blayz the Bryte Scheiner [Young Adult Fiction] A young man suffers a rare syndrome that leaves him with a vocabulary of a dozen words. He gets into all kinds of mischief when his horrible aunt comes to stay. She’s determined to put him into a home. Will he shine through?
Postcard Angel [Historical Fiction, Women’s Fiction] London, 1917. On the British domestic front an innocent girl becomes drawn into the grubby world of glamor postcard modelling. She becomes the world’s first pin-up, her picture adorning the war-trenches, but can she escape the cycle of depravity?
The Bedevilment of Bertie Lunn [Adult Thriller] A crime scene cleaner collects intimate samples from the men she brings to heel. She unknowingly gathers evidence of a dangerous serial killer and her only hope is to recruit a previous conquest, a state detective. He’s a reluctant ally and time is running out for both... Is her own behaviour driving events? How will she escape the cycle of evil?
Contact the author:
Facebook: neil.mach @author.neilmach
Twitter @neilmach
Goodreads @ Neil Mach
Web Site: NeilMach.Me
Amazon: Neil-Mach