The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  She phoned the veterinary surgery over on Guernsey, to speak to the new duty vet. Mr McCloud was a good and patient man; he listened to what Jenny had to say, asking all the relevant questions, then lapsed into a long silence. At last he blew out a long, low breath. “Sounds like it could be a bird.”

  “A bird?” Jenny had to admit that this possibility had crossed her mind, but she'd dismissed it almost immediately. It would have to be a huge animal to cause such wounds.

  “A condor perhaps.”

  Jenny almost laughed. “What would a condor be doing flying around the Channel, Mr McCloud?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  His words hit home and Jenny didn't need to be reminded of just how strange things could be on the island! But a condor…surely someone would have said something. “Have there been any sightings, or reports of one escaping from a zoo perhaps?”

  “Well, the closest is Jersey of course, but I don't think they have any condors. I'm not sure who has. There's been nothing, no sightings, no reports. But, given the size of the marks, the regularity of their spread…it does sound like it could be a bird of prey's talons. There's not a lot I can do until I come over on Monday. Mr McGregor is away, trekking across the Andes I think. Now there's a coincidence – that's where condors come from!” He chuckled. “Anyway, just try and manage until I come over, keep the animals quiet. I'm sure you'll be fine. I have every confidence in you.”

  The line went dead and Jenny stood for a moment, staring blankly at the receiver. A condor? No, it just didn't make sense. Besides, the condor was not a bird of prey, its claws were not sharp enough! It was a scavenger, feeding on dead carcasses. Huge, it was true, but not capable of inflicting those strange, raking wounds on the sides of the animals. Furthermore, Mr Hetherington's dog was a fairly bulky Welsh Springer-Spaniel. Jenny doubted if even a condor would be capable of lifting a dog of that size. And even if it were, why just claw at them like that? Why hadn't it taken them off, to its eerie, or wherever it had its nest? It was baffling.

  She had a thought. If these people were bringing wounded animals in to be treated, what if there were pets that had disappeared, or been snatched whilst out for walks? If someone was missing their pet, then perhaps…

  She pulled on her coat, put the 'Back in twenty minutes' sign on the gate, and headed down the hill towards the bay. If it was a condor, or any sizeable bird of prey, it was a fairly good guess that it would be operating around the coastline. It was a start anyway, and she was determined to find out something that would point her in the right direction to solving what had become something of a baffling problem.

  Chapter Two

  A few people were wandering along the beach, one or two with dogs. It wasn't yet the beginning of the summer season, and dogs were allowed to run across the sand. Jenny watched them, noting that nobody seemed in the least bit concerned or worried about anything that might be swooping around overhead. She sat down amongst the dunes, resting her arms on her knees, looking out across the bay towards the distant fortress that topped the far cliff edge. A few fulmars were circling around, but nothing out of the ordinary. Surely she would know if there was anything out of the ordinary and a condor would certainly be news!

  Her phone buzzed and she answered it. It was Mr McCloud.

  “Jenny? I've had a thought. I remember some months back Don Farrow reported that one of his birds had escaped. It might be nothing, but I'm not sure if he ever got it back.”

  “Don Farrow? Isn't he the guy that keeps a couple of barn owls?”

  “He was trying to breed a pair of eagle owls, Jen. They're big birds, maybe big enough to try and take a Cairn terrier.”

  “But a Welsh Springer?”

  “If it was hungry enough. It's worth talking to him.”

  “Yes. Thanks Mr McCloud.”

  It was worth it. Don Farrow was a quiet man, endlessly tall, with hooded eyes that rarely blinked. A little like the birds he kept. He was friendly when she called, answered her questions and showed her into the garden at the rear of his home. Here a large area was set aside for birds of prey, including a barn owl, and two eagle owls.

  “Mr McCloud mentioned you have been trying to breed them.”

  “No luck,” he said, leaning on the top of the fencing that separated them from the pens where the birds were kept.

  “And he said one of them had escaped. But I see you got it back.”

  “No. This is another one. Male. The other one…” he shrugged.

  Jenny did a double-take. “So, you never found the one that escaped?” He shook his head. As quiet as his birds! “But that could be it,” she said out loud. She noted his raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I should have said. We've been having some strange things happening, dogs and a cat, attacked.”

  “Attacked?”

  “Yes. Injuries to their side, perhaps made by a large bird of prey.”

  “What sort of dog?”

  “A Cairn's. And a Springer.”

  Farrow gave a laugh. “Wouldn't be no eagle-owl! They can take big things, like roe deer, but they're not stupid, you know. They know the difference between a rabbit and a dog – that a dog can bite.”

  They were the most words he'd said, but they were also the most valuable. “So, a bird, even one as big as an eagle-owl…there is no way it would have attacked a dog?”

  “Doubtful. But these here, they're spotted eagle-owls, smaller than your Eurasian. So, no. When did all this happen then?”

  “I'm not sure. Some owners brought in their pets this morning.”

  “So…recent then.” He shook his head and remained silent.

  Yes, recent. And Farrow's bird went missing over two months ago. “Could a condor do such a thing?”

  “What you'd be looking for is some form of wild cat, by the sounds of it.”

  “No, these animals were definitely seized – from above.”

  “Jumped at, from a tree then? Like a leopard.”

  Jenny smiled. A leopard – now that really would be something!

  She was just settling down to eat her lunch, and not feeling too good about the morning and the lack of results, when there was a knock on the door. When she opened it she was surprised to see Don Farrow standing there. “I've had a thought,” he said. “Let me have a look at the animals that have been attacked.”

  “There's only one here; a cat. The others were taken back home.”

  “Well, let's have a look at the cat then.”

  He strode off and Jenny, a little annoyed that her soup would go cold, ran after him. He had a point, a good one. If anyone could recognise the tell-tale signs of a raptor's talons, it was Don Farrow. But as soon as he peered through the cage at the cat, he began to shake his head. “That's no bird that's done that,” he mumbled.

  “Don't you want to pick her up, have a closer look?”

  “No need. It's got four marks down each side, quite deep, very even. An owl has got four toes, all right, but when it seizes its prey, it swivels one of these around, so there are two at the front, two at the back. This thing, whatever it is, has got four on each side. There's no bird that's going to do that.”

  Jenny stood back, thinking. This was becoming more mysterious. “I had a thought it might be a sort of trap.”

  “What, like a gin you mean?” Jenny shrugged. She had no idea what that meant. “Animal traps, called 'gin' probably because it was short for 'engine'. Get it?” He looked away, studying the cat curled up in a ball, fast asleep. “I doubt it. If this little thing had been caught in a trap, it would be dead. And besides, how would it get out? Gins have a spring loaded set of jaws that clamp tight shut when the animal stands on the pressure plate.” He clapped his hands together loudly. Jenny jumped, then laughed, a little embarrassed. “There's no way this little one would get out, not without help.”

  “Okay, well it's not an owl. Or a trap. Or a leopard, I shouldn't wonder.”

  “A leopard's not going to make marks like that.”


  “Then, what is it, Mr Farrow?”

  “I haven't got a single clue, missy. I've been keeping birds of prey for nearly thirty years. I helped in the breeding programme for golden eagles up in Scotland, even appeared on one of them T.V. programmes when I was living in Suffolk. No bird I've ever seen could do this, or any other animal. But I tell you what it might be.”

  She raised her brows in expectation.

  “I reckon what you've got here is someone with a rake. A person, missy. A human being has attacked these animals, that's what this little mystery is all about.”

  Chapter Three

  Fortunately, there were no more reports of any animals being attacked for the rest of that day. Jenny busied herself with the usual day-to-day running of the centre, cleaning out the kennels, feeding the few animals that were boarding (including two rabbits) then, in the early evening, she made a few deliveries. The night she spent, as she often did, sitting in front of the television, munching down a few sandwiches. Later she received an e-mail from Mark Burridge. It was only very brief, but it cheered her up. He'd actually returned to the island for a while, there being some problem with his son. But he didn't go into details and Jenny felt it best not to pry. When he was ready, he'd tell her. She'd already heard a few bits of gossip from one or two of her clients. Mark's son was involved in something else, not that anybody knew exactly what, but the police had become involved again and it was all very nasty. Jenny trawled the Internet, looking for any information on the local news sites, but there was very little. A brief mention of a missing fishing boat, but not much else. She went to bed with mixed emotions: worried about the mystery of the attacks, but pleased that Mark had been in touch. That meant he was thinking of her, which made her feel quite warm inside.

  The next day was Saturday and already the children were waiting for her to open up. The previous veterinary nurse had set the club up, and Jenny had continued with it. The children were a great help, especially when it came to cleaning out the various animal pens and taking the dogs for walks. Early spring was usually quiet at the kennels, but there were three dogs in that day so each of the children had one dog to take out. Jenny was usually happy to let them take the dogs out on their own, but with the on-going mystery of the recent attacks, she felt it best if she accompanied them.

  They went their usual route, up through the top of town and across some of the fields to the more quiet parts of the island. Bearing east, they moved away from the airport and began to turn back on themselves. The roads were very quiet, as they usually were, and the weather was mild. Jenny was enjoying herself, strolling along, chatting to the children about all sorts of things. Even the dogs were well-behaved. All in all it was very pleasant.

  It was Tavis who saw it first. A dark smudge in the blue sky, it was unmissable really. He stopped, pointing upwards. “Hey, what's that?”

  Jenny and the others followed his finger. It was difficult to make out exactly what it was, but it was circling, as a bird of prey would do when seeking out its quarry. And it was big. That much was clear, even from this distance. Big enough to be an eagle owl? Even if this wasn't the creature that was responsible for the attacks, it could well be Mr Farrow's missing bird.

  “It's an albatross,” said Tavis.

  “No, it's an osprey.” Fiona was munching loudly on her bubble-gum and looked as proud as punch to be the chief investigator. “Probably just come back from wintering in Africa.”

  “I'm impressed,” said Jenny, nodding her head towards the others. “Anyone else want to offer up an explanation?”

  Tavis and Lewis were still looking skywards. Neither of them spoke, but both were frowning.

  “It is huge,” said Jenny, wishing she'd brought some binoculars.

  “If it is an osprey,” continued Fiona, sounding more than a little superior now, “it will probably nest on the far side, in the cliffs near Hanging Rock I would think. It's not going to go near the gannets; they'd attack it.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Lewis, not quite able to keep the awe out of his voice.

  Fiona gave a smile and shrugged, as if it were all so natural, “Oh, just studying. You know…reading.”

  Jenny thought it best to move on before the real arguing began!

  Wrapped up well against the wind, she scrambled across the scree, making her way gradually towards the outcrop of rocks. She could have chosen any one of countless sites, but she'd sat and watched for ages, this time armed with her binoculars, and she'd decided that the one that looked as if it were a natural shelf, with an overhang, was the best bet. Perfect for a seabird, or anything else for that matter.

  Getting closer, she reached out a hand to secure better leverage. Her foot slipped, but she was lucky, her hands had a firm grip. Scrambling with her boots, she managed to find a reasonable foothold and hauled herself upwards. She was no climber that was for sure! A thought crossed her mind that she should have told someone, anyone, what her plans were. If she were to fall, dash herself against the rocks, she could lie there for hours if she broke her ankle. And then what? Hypothermia? Death? When she'd got back to the centre and seen the children back home, she had immediately got herself ready for a visit to the cliffs. It was something she simply had to do. But now, pressed against the jagged rocks, she wasn't so sure.

  Settling herself, she pulled in a few deep breaths, and struck out again, lifting herself over the rocks, seeking out little cracks and fissures, easing herself ever closer to the shelf. When she finally reached it and pulled herself up, she lay there for a moment or two, breathing hard. Getting up had been difficult, but what about getting back? She closed her eyes and wondered again at just how irresponsible she'd been.

  She stood up, steadying herself. Exposed here, on the shelf, the wind buffeted her relentlessly, but that was far from her mind at that moment. All of her senses were concentrating on what she could see in front of her.

  Perfectly preserved, its plumage stirring gently in the breeze, was the body of an eagle owl, its distinctive ear tufts making it easily recognisable. A beautiful bird close up like this, and large. And very, very dead.

  She decided to carry on climbing upwards, thinking it was the safest option. As things turned out, the climb wasn't that difficult and soon she was striding back towards the centre. She called Don Farrow on the way and when she told him he was quiet for a long time. His voice was shaky and subdued when he finally did speak. “Well, that's one mystery solved.”

  “Yes, I'm sorry Mr Farrow.”

  Another prolonged silence. “At least I know where he is.”

  She opened the large gates to the centre and crossed the courtyard, the phone still pressed to her ear. She was looking forward to a hot cup of tea.

  “The only thing is,” he said at last, “it really makes your own problem that much more mysterious.”

  “Yes,” she said, just opening the surgery door to check the little cat. “I'll call you back,” she said abruptly and closed her phone, dropping it back in her pocket.

  The pen, inside which the little cat had been sleeping, was completely empty.

  Chapter Four

  She met Mr McCloud at the airport on Monday morning. Sunday had passed uneventfully, apart from a very curious phone call from Mrs Cross telling Jenny that her little Cairn's terrier had 'run away'. She didn't say where the little dog had run to, but as there was no further news that day, Jenny just assumed that everything was all right. As she helped Mr McCloud put his bag in the back of the van, however, it was becoming clear that things were not as simple as they first seemed.

  “I got a phone call,” said Mr McCloud, “from Mrs Cross. Seems her dog has gone missing.”

  “She told me all about that. Why is she troubling you with it?” Jenny took the van carefully out of the airport car park and headed towards the Rescue Centre.

  “I think she's just one of those people who likes to complain to as many people as possible,” said Mr McCloud, “She's harmless.”

 
As they pulled into the Centre forecourt, there were already a number of people there, with their pets, waiting for Mr McCloud. Mrs Cross was also there, at the head of the queue. She had a face like thunder and before Jenny had even got out of the van, she was already launching her first assault. “I've been waiting here for ages!”

  “Sorry, Mrs Cross, but I just had to pick Mr McCloud up.”

  “Is there a problem, Mrs Cross?” asked the vet quickly.

  “Of course there's a problem - would I be standing here if there wasn't?

  Jenny hefted Mr McCloud's bag out of the back and made to move into the surgery, smiling at the others who were patiently waiting. “Is it your dog, Mrs Cross?”

  “Yes it is – he hasn't come home yet. He's been out all night and I want to know what you intend to do about it.”

  “What I intend to do,” said Mr McCloud, “is to see to these other people first, then I'll have a chat with Jenny about what's been going on. If that's okay?”

  It obviously wasn't, given the dark expression that settled over the woman's face, but she made no comment and soon the vet began to make inroads on the press of people and the various maladies from which their pets were suffering.

  When they paused for a break, Jenny told McCloud about the discovery she'd made whilst climbing the rock-face. “Well, at least that rules out Dan Farrow. It wouldn't have been an osprey, or a buzzard. The patterns you described just wouldn't belong to any raptor. But the little cat disappearing, that's a real mystery. Has the owner said anything?”

  “I haven't dared tell them yet!”

  “Well, I think you should – for all we know, the little thing might be curled up on its owner's lap as we speak.”