The policeman seemed to be having an inner debate with himself. Then he turned to his colleague, mumbled something, and forced a smile. “Very well. You need to come with us. There's something of a mystery we need your help with. And you might want to bring some tissues.”
Seething with anger, Jenny sat in the back of the car as the second policeman drove them down towards the bay. Holding didn't give any further information, and Jenny was actually quite pleased about that because she felt she might say something she could have regretted. She despised men like Holding, with their arrogance and ignorance. It was one of the reasons why she'd left the mainland, to start again, away from people who treated her with contempt and took her totally for granted. She'd made herself a new life here and she knew that she was well respected and liked. She also knew that what she did was a valuable service to the whole community. Now, to have this man looking down his nose at her made her boil inside. She tried not to think about it, but every time she glanced over and looked at his broad, square shoulders, she had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from telling him exactly what she thought of him.
At last the little car stopped and they all clambered out. Jenny looked around. She knew this place, had visited it numerous times to answer calls from various neighbours, complaining about Mrs Charles and her many cats. Most of them escaped from time to time and clambered into other people's gardens, causing all sorts of damage. But she was a kindly old soul, a little eccentric, though perfectly harmless. She looked after her animals well enough so Jenny never had any concerns in that regard. Rumour had it that she was quite wealthy, but if she had any money she certainly didn't spend any of it. The only clue Jenny had ever had about the old lady's wealth was about six months prior when she'd mentioned that the rescue-centre would benefit when 'judgment day comes along'. Now that she thought about it, Jenny realised with a start that she hadn't seen Mrs Charles since that time. Funny how time just slips by, she mused.
Holding was tapping her on the shoulder. “If you'll come this way, Miss.”
He strode up the path that led to the front door. Jenny followed, surprised to see a uniformed policeman at the door. He gave a little nod to Jenny as she crossed the threshold.
All at once she recoiled from the stench that instantly invaded her nostrils. She had to turn away for a moment.
“You'll need those tissues now,” said Holding, already putting his own handkerchief to his face. Jenny wasn't about to argue, not this time. She took his advice, not that the little paper tissue did very much to staunch the smell, and then found herself moving into the front room, feeling as though she was going to be sick.
There were rabbits in there. Sitting on the sofa, perched on the television, balanced on the bookshelves, about six in total. And all around them were babies. Dead babies. Dozens and dozens of them. They lay in every corner of the room, tiny pink bodies, bloated and decomposing, covered with rabbit droppings and flies. Thousands of flies, it seemed, creating tiny black clouds that swirled and gyrated around each of the rotting corpses.
Holding steered Jenny away. “Would you believe, it was worse than that when we first got the call? Flies everywhere, like a carpet, lying over everything. We opened the window and got most of them out, but it was horrific. I've never seen anything like this in over twenty five years of policing.”
“But…but…”Jenny had to try and gather herself, her senses reeling after what she'd witnessed. She coughed once or twice, and Holding just waited. “Where…is Mrs Charles?”
Holding shook his head, “She's dead, Miss. We found her in the back room. Murdered.”
“Murdered? But…why would anyone…Oh my God!”
“Money, miss. Oldest reason in the world. She was well stashed, she was. Made no secret of it, either. Kept it all under her mattress, according to the people we've spoken too. A cliché I know, but true enough. Unfortunately.” He sighed deeply. “Look, the back room…it's pretty awful. There are cats in there, more rabbits, and lots of 'em dead. She's also got some birds, in cages, all dead. None of these poor creatures have been fed for….well, not since the old dear was done in.”
“Done in? Is that really the right way to put all of this?”
“No, no I suppose not. Sorry. Look, we really need your help with all of this. What to do with all the live ones. Re-home them or…you know…put 'em down.”
“But there must be…” she glanced back into the front room and balked, turning away almost at once. “This is dreadful. How long has she been….you know…lying there?” She nodded her head towards the back room, into which she had no intention of stepping.
“Hard to say. Two or three weeks more than likely. But we'll know more once the pathologist has had a look. Until then…” he shrugged. “You think you can do anything with all of this?”
“Well, I'll try. I'll speak to my boss, ask his advice. It's going to take a long time to clear all of this lot up.”
“Yeah, well, you don't have to worry about that. We'll have a whole crew in here to get it cleared. Animals too. All you need to think about is what to do with 'em all.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“You don't like me very much, do you?”
“Now that you ask, no I don't.”
“Not many do. It comes with the job. People only ever see me when something bad has happened.”
“Like now.”
“Oh yeah…” his voice was distant, “this is bad all right. Really bad.”
Over the next few days Jenny worked tirelessly together with workers from the local council to clear Mrs Charles' entire house. She'd spoken to Mr McGregor. Most of the cats could be re-homed, but the rabbits were a problem. If she could hold them in the large outside pens until he arrived next week, then together they could map out what needed to be done. But it was a harrowing process and while she worked through the day, her evenings were spent tending the injured animals in their pens. Each night she would crash down on her bed, exhausted and instantly fall into a deep sleep. Her days followed this pattern until Monday, when someone pounding on her front door woke her up. She got a shock when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was past nine o'clock. She'd slept right through her alarm. Running downstairs she wondered what in the world had happened now. But when she pulled open her door, it was to find a beaming Harry Davies standing there. And in his hand was a newspaper, which he now held up for her to see.
Staring back at her, on the front page, was a photograph of herself holding the wounded hedgehog. Jenny blinked.
“You're famous,” cried Harry and gave her a big hug. “Famous at last!”
Chapter Eight
Leaving the newspaper face down, Jenny made herself a cup of coffee and tried to get herself ready for the day. It was unlike her to sleep in so late and she felt quite a bit annoyed with herself. As she padded around her flat she contented herself that the worst was over, that Mrs Charles' old house was beginning to return to something like normal. The dead animals had been removed, some of the cats had already been re-homed, and the rabbits were safely stowed away in the large, outdoor pens, males in one, females in the other. All she needed to do now was think about what she could do with them.
The rescue-centre bell rang. Customers. Jenny threw her coffee down her throat in one and ran down towards the main entrance.
A man whom she didn't know was standing there, with a large friendly looking dog next to him.
“Sorry to trouble you so early,” he said brightly, a wide smile splitting his face. “I found this dog, you see. I think he's been injured.”
Jenny waved the man in and, sure enough, as he walked in the dog limped. Frowning, Jenny stooped down and gave the dog a friendly rub on the head. She could feel a raised ridge on the top of his scalp and she examined this carefully. Sure enough, there were a series of healed-over cuts on the top of the dog's head, some of them very large. The blood had dried hard amongst his fur. “I know this dog…no…no, it can't be…”
The man put his head on one side, obviously a little bemused. “Sorry? You know it? Oh, well that's good, isn't it? You can give him back to the owner.”
“Er, no,” Jenny retorted sharply, “I won't be doing that.” She stood up. “Let's get him into the surgery and have a look at his paw.”
When they got him inside, the dog obediently jumped up onto the table and sat there while Jenny tended to his injured foot. The man watched her in silence, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Where did you find him?” she asked.
“I was out walking. I've been exploring some of the old World War Two sites, the camps, or what's left of them.”
“Well, there's plenty of that sort of stuff littered about.”
“So I've found. Anyway, I was up there, just looking around and I heard this sort of yelping. He was in a hole, in the ground, and somehow a piece of corrugated iron had fallen over the entrance, so he couldn't get out.”
“No, it hadn't fallen. It was put there, deliberately.”
“Deliberately? How do you mean?”
“I mean…sorry, you are mister…?”
“Burridge. Mark Burridge,” he held out his hand. Jenny motioned that she couldn't use her hands, tending to the dog as she was. Mark smiled again. “I'm over here visiting my family. I've got a couple of days left before I fly home, thought I'd take in some of the sites. I'm a historian.”
“Really? That's interesting.”
“Well, an archaeologist to be precise. I work for my local council, logging digs, cataloguing finds, that sort of thing.”
“Gosh. You'd have heard about that Well business, then.”
Mark's face suddenly became dark. “Yes. Yes, unfortunately, I know all about that.”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn't mean to pry.”
“No, it's not that. That's why I came over, you see. To help my son. It was he who discovered it…Anyway, it's all over now, thank goodness.” He looked around the surgery. Jenny watched him as he tried to find something to steer the conversation away from this particular topic. “You've got a good little set-up here. Are you often busy?”
“All the time.” Jenny finished applying the bandage to the dog's paw. She then looked more closely at his scalp. “This is definitely him…”
“Pardon?”
Jenny looked up, “Sorry. Talking to myself. No, we had a report that someone has killed a dog and thrown it into the local dump. This is he.”
“But he's not dead.”
“Unless he's a vampire dog, or a zombie.”
“You shouldn't joke about stuff like that. You never know…”
“What? That he's a vampire?” She took the dog's head in her hands and gave him a playful shake. “You're not a vampire, are you beautiful?”
“There are some pretty weird things out there, and I should know.”
“Weird?” She tenderly began to clean around the top of the dog's head. “Yes…actually, to be absolutely serious, there have been some rather strange things going on. Birds acting – well, unusual. I'm sure there's some innocent explanation, but…”
“In what way, unusual?”
Jenny began to tell him about what had been happening, how the birds had flocked together, had been watching her, the gannet, the parrot, even the attack on the hedgehogs.
“They're not connected though, are they?”
“I'm not sure. It all seemed to happen at the same time. Someone mentioned it might have something to do with that Well you've been involved with.”
Mark visibly tensed. “No. No, it couldn't be…” He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, but then his mood changed and he became cheerful again. “But, like I said, that's over.”
“All of this animal business isn't. This fellow,” she tickled the dog under the chin. He just sat there, with his big doleful eyes looking straight at her, “he suddenly attacked his mistress. She's had him for years. As you can see, he's very passive. Lovely dog. But then, he goes for her. Her next door neighbour comes in, a horrible man he is, and hits the poor thing over the head.”
“What, the mistress or the dog?”
Jenny shot him a displeased glance. “This is serious, Mr Burridge. We don't take too kindly to animal cruelty here.”
“No. Sorry. And call me Mark. Only my enemies call me Mister Burridge.”
“Enemies? Well, I hope you haven't brought any of them here.”
“Hopefully not. But I think I managed to unsettle a few people during my stay. Not least of all the police.”
“The police?” Jenny's own encounters with the local constabulary were still very much in the forefront of her mind. “Oh dear.”
“They took me in for questioning. Thought I had something to do with a murder.” He quickly held up his hand as Jenny gasped. “It's all right – I'm completely innocent!”
“Thank goodness for that, I wouldn't want to be brought in as an accessory. I've already had enough of the police myself to last a month of Sundays.”
Before Mark could ask another question, the seabird in the adjoining room made a loud cry. Mark looked startled.
“That's my gannet,” she explained, finishing off cleaning the wounds on the dog's head. “He'll be wanting some food. You couldn't give him some could you? There's some whitebait in the fridge over there. Just put them through the bars of his cage – but be careful, his bill is razor-sharp!”
Not looking at all comfortable, Mark nevertheless did as she had asked. While she lifted the dog and placed him gently down onto the floor, she could hear the big bird becoming more insistent and Mark, becoming increasingly more concerned. Laughing, she went to join him, took the fish from him and poked them through the grill. The bird attacked the fish with its usual efficiency and soon the bowl was empty.
“Wow, he's what you call big.”
“Yes. He's much better. His wing was broken. Mr McGregor, the vet, he's here tomorrow and I'm hopeful that we can let him go.”
“And these two?” Mark nodded towards the two hedgehogs.
“Well, one of them is much better, but this little one,” she went over to the pen and opened it, tenderly taking the heavily bandaged hedgehog in her hands. It didn't struggle and didn't even curl up into a ball. “I think he's going to be fine, but he'll always have a terrible scar.”
“It absolutely stinks.”
“You get used to it.” She tickled the hedgehog's nose and put him back into the pen. “Not sure I'll ever get used to why it happened though.”
“What did happen?”
“I'm not sure. This one,” she pointed at the other hedgehog, the first one attacked, “he was stabbed with a pitchfork.”
“But that's dreadful.”
“You're telling me. By the same man who hit the dog over the head, would you believe.”
“But that's…can't you report him, or something?”
“No witnesses. It would get very messy. But we'll see. Then there's this other hedgehog. He was really messed up when he came in…I'm not sure…something pretty bad must have happened. I haven't really investigated it yet. Been rather busy with something else. An old lady died and all of her animals…well, no need to go into all the details. But it was pretty terrible, that's for sure. I've been trying to sort it all out since Friday.”
“Died. Everyone told me what a quiet little place this is…I'm not sure if I believe it now.”
“Oh, it's quiet enough – on the surface. It's when you start digging down that you find out not everything is as it first appears.” She chuckled to herself. “Sorry, I said 'digging'. I didn't mean…you know. Sorry.”
Mark just shrugged. “What did she die of?”
“Well, that's just it. According to the police, she was murdered.”
Mark closed his eyes, shocked. “Not another one. What is going on?”
“Don't know. So, you see, I know all about murder investigations, Mr Burri – sorry – Mark. At least you get the chance to escape back to your normal life – I have to stay here and try and
carry on as if nothing has happened.”
The dog, which had been watching all of this in silence, suddenly gave a deep bark and began to run around, tail wagging, panting loudly. Seconds later, the main bell sounded again.
“He's a good guard dog,” commented Mark as they made their way outside.
“Yes, yes he is.” She gently ruffled the dog's neck. “I might even keep him. Could do with the company.” The bell went again. “Someone's impatient – might be an emergency. Just wait here, would you. Hold him for a second.”
She ran over to the door and pulled it open. She was surprised to find Detective Sergeant Holding standing before her. He stepped past her without a word or without being asked.
“Morning Detective,” she said somewhat sarcastically. But Holding wasn't paying any attention. His eyes were riveted on Mark Burridge.
“Hello Sergeant,” said Mark cheerfully, strolling over with the dog in tow. “Nice to see you again.”
“I don't for a moment think you mean that, Mr Burridge.”
“No, I don't actually. What do you want me for now?”
“It's not you I need to speak to, it's the young lady here.”
Jenny bristled slightly. “Oh. Right.” She reached over and took the dog by the collar, smiling up at Mark as she did so. “Thanks for all your help.”
“That's OK. Look,” he gave her a card, “that's where I'm staying. If you want to chat some more – you know, about things – just come up and see me. I've got three more days before my flight.”
“Thanks. I might just do that.”
Mark walked away and Holding watched him, a deep frown on his face. “What was he doing here?”
“I beg your pardon? I don't see how that has anything to do with you.”
“Everything has to do with me, especially during a murder investigation.”
“Yes. Sorry, you're quite right. I'm a bit flustered. He brought in this chap,” she scratched the dog's head. “He's Mrs Strickland's dog.”
The Tide of Terror Page 5