But I hadn’t reckoned on Bertie.
The King of Charisma was None Too Pleased about being dropped, but luckily for us his deep suspicion of Graham and me was a thing of the past. He’d decided that we were his Personal Property. Nothing and no one was allowed near what Bertie considered rightfully his.
He pulled his Oriental lips back into a contemptuous sneer. Then he growled.
The mastiffs literally turned in mid-air. As they crashed to the ground you could almost see the puzzled doggy thought bubbles pop out of their heads. Bertie growled again.
It wasn’t what you’d call impressive. He was a fraction of their size and there were two of them. They could have swallowed Bertie in one gulp. But the supreme self-confidence gleaming in his bulgy eyes together with his total lack of fear had an astonishing effect. Both killer dogs suddenly clamped their tails between their legs, took a step back and let out a confused whine.
“Kill!” This time Dermot’s command was neither calm nor clear. It was panicked. The dogs didn’t move. “Kill! For God’s sake, kill them!” He was getting desperate. The TV reporter waved his arms, flapping them up and down furiously and making his dogs even more anxious and confused. Clearly he hadn’t read Graham’s Complete Dog Maintenance Manual. The more he yelled and flapped, the less control he had over his dogs.
Bertie stood looking calmly from one dog to the other. Grant seemed about to burst into tears but Dermot was incensed. He’d killed Gabbie without any qualms. He’d knocked down Mumsiewumsie without a second thought. Disposing of two children should have been all in a day’s work. And if the dogs weren’t going to do it, he would.
When the charming Irish reporter came for us, all we had to defend ourselves with was the doggy go-kart. It was no use as an escape vehicle, but as a weapon it proved surprisingly effective.
As Dermot lunged, Graham smashed the skateboard into his head, leaving a gaping wound.
Maybe it was the smell of blood. Maybe the dogs were wound up by Dermot’s frenzied commands. But when he reeled backwards and trod on Bruno’s paw, Bruno yelped and snapped at him. His teeth connected with the reporter’s hand and he screamed. Frazier – not wanting to miss out on doing what he’d been trained for – sprang at him. Graham and I were knocked aside. Dermot’s shriek of alarm was cut short. And suddenly there was an awful lot of blood.
Grant turned and ran. Big mistake. The mastiffs threw back their heads and bayed, then gave chase. Tongues lolling out, the dogs bounded past us. Grant was brought down before he’d even reached the street.
Right in front of our eyes, both men had their throats torn out like ancient Aztec warriors.
There’s not much to add, really. Dermot and Grant died of their injuries and sadly the mastiffs had to be put down: the RSPCA said that once they had developed a taste for blood, they couldn’t be trusted not to attack again.
Mumsiewumsie recovered from her accident and was soon back walking Malcolm and Stanley twice a day in the park. Jessie was rehomed and ended up living with the Ball Obsessed Collie. Kathryn Hughes was released without charge.
No one ever did get prosecuted for sending out the poo packages. I was pretty sure Horrible Hoodie had done it, but I wasn’t going to say anything. You see, Graham and I became quite friendly with Kyle Jacobs in the end. He still looked scary – and so did his dog – but we discovered that they really were both as soft as butter underneath. And Kyle had been telling the truth about Tyson’s ear – it had been ripped in a fight, but there was nothing illegal about it. Gertrude the dachshund had bitten him and Tyson hadn’t even retaliated. As for Kyle’s criminal record and the theft he’d been tagged for, it turned out that he’d nicked some doggy treats from the local pet shop. Not entirely honest, maybe, but not exactly a Major Crime, either.
Graham and I carried on walking Bertie until Mrs Biggs’s leg healed, which wasn’t until a few weeks into the new school year. By then, I’d become quite attached to him. Well, you can’t help liking an animal that’s saved your life, can you? Even if it does look like a hairy maggot.
1
Has the past come
back to haunt them?
My name is Poppy Fields. I never
believed in ghosts – until I stayed on
a remote Scottish island, and people
started dropping dead all over the
place. Was a spirit taking revenge?
When Graham and I investigated, we
began to see right through it…
2
That’s the way
to do it!
My name is Poppy Fields. I was deady
excited about my first trip to America.
But then people started getting
themselves killed in really weird
ways. Nothing made sense until
Graham and I investigated, then the
murders seemed to tie together as neatly
as a string of sausages. A little too neatly…
3
Stage fright!
My name is Poppy Fields. When
Graham and I landed parts in a
musical, we didn’t expect real
drama. But then the star got a
death threat and the bodies
started stacking up. Before we
knew it, we were at the top of
the murderer’s list…
4
On the trail
of a murderer!
My name is Poppy Fields.
When we designed a murder
mystery trail for the school
fayre, it was supposed to be
a bit of fun. But before long
the head was dead and
Graham and I were hunting
down a real life killer.
5
Murder is a
beastly business!
My name is Poppy Fields. Graham and I
were first on the scene at a series of
murders at the zoo, but who was
behind them? We had to prowl around
a bit to investigate – and what we saw
was not pretty. How would we escape
before we, too, became dead meat?
6
Roll up, roll up!
My name is Poppy Fields. When the
circus came to town, the posters
promised certain death. This made
Graham and me suspicious, and we
were proved right when someone was
killed in the ring. With the circus
performers still in grave danger,
we had to work fast to discover who
was firing the shots…
7
Words can be dangerous.
My name is Poppy Fields. When we
offered to help out at our local
literary festival, Graham and I had
no idea just how murky the
world of children’s books really
was. Before you could say crime
novel, the authors were receiving
anonymous threats. Then
fiction started turning into fact…
8
Greek tragedy?
My name is Poppy Fields. When
Graham and I jetted off to the
celebrity wedding of the century,
I couldn’t believe my luck. Sun, sea,
scandal – what more could anyone
wish for? But then things turned
nasty, and when people started
dropping like flies it was time
to investigate…
blood
hound
Tanya Landman is the author of many books for children, including Waking Merlin and Merlin’s Apprentice, The World’s Bellybutton and The Kraken Snores, and three stories featuring the characters Flotsam and Jetsam. Of Blood Hound, the ninth title in her popular murder mystery series, Tanya says, “When someone suggested banning dogs from my local park, a furious argument broke out – with Dog Lov
ers on one side and Dog Haters on the other. I wondered what would happen if things turned nasty…”
Tanya is also the author of two novels for teenagers: Apache, which was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal and the Booktrust Teenage Fiction Prize, and The Goldsmith’s Daughter, which was nominated for the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize. Since 1992, Tanya has also been part of Storybox Theatre. She lives with her family in Devon.
You can find out more about Tanya Landman and her books by visiting her website at
www.tanyalandman.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated, as they may result in injury.
First published 2011 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
© 2011 Tanya Landman
The right of Tanya Landman to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-3974-1 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
Blood Hound Page 7