The Tide of Terror
Page 12
“But the door was locked. It always is.”
“Nevertheless…give them a ring whilst I'm here, and if there's a problem, I'll have a little word.”
But the only problem was that Mrs Reece, the owner, became deeply distressed once she had been told about the cat's disappearance. How could it just simply escape, break out of its cage, then find its way out of the surgery? None of it made sense.
“No,” said Mr McCloud, as he listened to Jenny reporting back to him, getting ready for the afternoon session when he would normally visit some of the farms and inspect the livestock, “No, it doesn't make any sense at all.”
It was whilst they were driving up to the first of the farms that Jenny saw Mr Hetherington walking along, as if he were searching for something. She slowed the car down and put her head out, “Everything all right?”
He shrugged, his voice a little uncertain. “No…Jessie didn't come in last night. I've been looking for her all day – no sign.”
Jenny and McCloud exchanged glances. “Jessie being your Springer?” asked the vet.
“Aye. It's not like her to just disappear like this.”
“How was she after the attack?”
“Attack? Oh, you mean those marks?” He thought for a moment, “Fine. Just seemed very sleepy. Which was why I was so surprised to find that she'd sneaked out.”
“Well, if we see her we'll bring her back,” said Jenny, putting the van into gear. “Let us know if you find anything.”
He raised his hand in thanks and Jenny continued to drive the van down the road. “That's all three of the animals which came in with those marks. That can't be a coincidence.”
Something else that wasn't a coincidence was what they found when they arrived at the farm. Three sheep had the same, mysterious welts on their flanks. McCloud spent a long time examining them. Although they looked quite painful, with the blood dried on the wound, the animals themselves appeared not to be in any sort of distress. The only curious thing was that they all appeared quite docile, almost falling asleep as he probed the wounds.
“I think it's the dogs,” said Mr Randall, the farmer, whose gruff voice and scowling face gave him a distinctly unwelcoming manner.
“Dogs?” McCloud cast an enquiring glance towards Jenny, who had no idea what Randall was talking about.
“That new woman, brought a whole load of dogs with her. From Ireland I think she is.”
“I'm sorry, I don't know…”
“Well, things haven't been the same since she's come over. It's a wonder you haven't been to check her out – the way she treats 'em. Shouting, screaming, they bark all flammin' night…You should get down there and check it all out.”
“Thank you, Mr Randall,” McCloud made some notes in his pocket-book. “I think we will.”
It was a ramshackle old place, three broken down vehicles blocking the track way which led up to the old farmhouse, the one rented out by the woman. There was a heavy atmosphere of neglect about everything, fields fenced by rotten, broken timbers, pig pens crumbling, kennels covered in mould and damp. Even the grass seemed tired and untended. Whilst McCloud wandered over to look at the disheveled pack of dogs that were howling away at him over in the far corner, Jenny rang the doorbell. It took three more tries before someone finally answered.
He was half-dressed in an old, sweat-stained shirt and faded pajama bottoms. He was scratching his hair frenetically when he pulled open the door, yawning wide-mouthed, revealing a full set of blackened teeth.
“Sorry to disturb you,” she began. “I'm from the animal rescue centre and I'd just like to—”
“You from the what?”
“The animal rescue centre. It's just that…”
“Who is it?” A woman's voice called, from deep inside the house, but before the man, or indeed Jenny, could expand further, the owner of the voice appeared, pushing the barely awake man out of the way. She was drying her hands on an apron and looked annoyed at being disturbed. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes there is, actually,” it was Mr McCloud, returning from his quick inspection of the dogs. “You have different types of dogs mixed up in that pen over there, some of them female, some which are sick. I'd just like to check if all your paperwork is in order.”
“And who are you?”
“The island vet.”
“I'll need to see some identification before I start letting you come in here, inspecting my animals!”
Mr McCloud gave her a dark look, then fumbled inside his jacket for something that would have his name on it. In all his years of working on the island he had never once been asked to provide proof of his identity. He was a little flustered. Jenny tried to come to his rescue, “I work at the rescue centre, perhaps you could let me have a look at your import licenses, and what have you.”
“I don't know who you are, either. Now, you get off of my land before I have my boys throw you off.”
She jerked her head to a spot behind them and when they turned, Jenny and McCloud could see a rather large young man standing there, arms folded, head tilted to one side. The man who had first opened the door to Jenny now joined him. Neither of them looked friendly.
“You heard the lady,” said the larger of the two. “Make yourselves scarce.”
Jenny looked at the vet, who merely closed his eyes, exasperated. When he opened them again, he looked straight at the woman, “I'll be here again on Thursday. With a warrant.”
“Yeah, and I'll be here waiting for yeh. Now clear off!”
With the conversation at an end, McCloud stomped off, with Jenny in tow. When they reached the van and drove it down the road, back towards the rescue centre, Jenny could tell that McCloud was deeply worried. “I've never come across anyone like that before, not on the island.”
“Not the most pleasant of people,” said Jenny.
“No. I think she's hiding something, something that she doesn't want us to find out about.” He gave a little cry and pulled out a dog-eared identity card. “I knew I had this somewhere.” His photograph was faded, but was still a good likeness. “I've never been asked for this.” He looked out of the window at the passing countryside. “I wonder who she is.”
“The harbour will know. I'll go and check it out.”
“Yes. And I want to know for certain if those dogs have been checked through – we want no rabies or distemper here!”
Jenny nodded grimly. She was also disturbed over Mr Reynolds's concerns about dogs worrying his sheep. Could there be a link?
Chapter Five
It was when Jenny was driving away from the airport, with Mr McCloud safely soaring off into the azure sky, that she received a frantic telephone call from Mr Reynolds, the farmer. “Those sheep,” he spouted, “the ones with those marks…they've all run off! Terrified I shouldn't wonder.”
“Run off?” Jenny pulled over to the side of the road, the hand that held her mobile shaking.
“Well…” there was a long pause. Jenny could imagine his face, scowling, mouth curled up, “I've got no proof…but I think it's them from down the road.”
“The woman with the dogs?”
“I think they've rustled them.”
“But Mr Reynolds, why on earth would she do that?”
“Cheap meat, isn't it? Look, you must have seen what she's like when you went down there. She's not the nicest of people, is she?”
“You've met her then?”
“Well, I had to, didn't I? I went over to see her, complain about those damn dogs…she set her sons on me.”
Jenny held back from telling him something very similar had happened to her.
“I'm beginning to think that the police should be told,” said Jenny at last, sounding grave.
“We don't need the police,” said Mr Reynolds, a new edge to his voice, “we have ways of dealing with this sort of thing.”
“Mr Reynolds, you mustn't think about taking the law into your own hands – you could end in more trouble than them.”
The phone went dead and Jenny sat for a long time, just staring out of the window, a horrible feeling beginning to build up inside her, a forewarning perhaps of something terrible to come.
She was reluctant to drive up to the house, especially after the last time when open threats were made. But she felt duty-bound to do something. If there was a connection between the disappearance of the pets, Mr Reynold's sheep, and this woman, then Jenny was determined to find out what it was. So, with a beating heart, she parked the van and crossed the road to the entrance.
One of the brothers was in the driveway, on his knees, grunting with the effort of trying to unscrew a wheel nut. He didn't hear Jenny until she was almost right next to him, and he brought up a face that was twisted in fury.
“I thought we told you that you weren't welcome here?”
Jenny stood her ground, doing her best to give what she hoped was a good impression of someone who was tough, hands on hips, jaw jutting forward. “I'm here to examine the animals.”
He stood up then. It was only now, when she was so close to him, that she realized just how big he was. “You've got no authority here,” he said, his uneven teeth showing between upturned, snarling lips. “We can do what we like.”
“Actually, you can't.”
He smirked. “Listen, little miss know-it-all, this island doesn't have the same pathetic rules as elsewhere, so you coming here to examine the animals, well, it don't mean anything at all.”
It was Jenny's turn to smirk, “Well, that's where you're wrong! The laws have changed, mister-whoever-you-are, and I need to know if those dogs have passports and are chipped.”
He frowned, not convinced by her words, thinking, perhaps, that it was a cleverly devised ploy to put him off-balance. He tried another smile, not quite so confident this time, “Passport? What do you mean, passport?”
“Perhaps you should have looked into all of this a little more before you came over here.” She looked around, “Is your mother home?”
“What's it to you?”
“I've been to see the harbour-master. Apparently there has been no record made of any vessel coming onto the island with dogs on board…”
“Who said we came in by boat?”
“Well, if you flew in, you wouldn't have got past customs! Since the foot-and-mouth outbreak a few years back, you simply can't transport animals here-there-and-everywhere without the proper documentation. Unless…” she paused, measuring him with a steady stare, “unless you dropped anchor out in Longie and rowed ashore…Is that what you did?”
His face drained of colour, even beneath the grime, and Jenny knew she had touched upon a very sensitive nerve. Without saying another word, he wiped his oily hands down the front of his jeans and stomped off to the house. Jenny watched him disappear inside, then slowly went across the yard towards the compound where the dogs were kept.
As she approached, they all came out, a great furry mass, all wide eyes and wagging tails. Some of them were barking like mad, but none of them were particular unfriendly. One little dog was stepped over by all the others. She didn't put up any resistance, just allowed herself to be trampled on. Jenny thought it was a 'she', and smiled openly towards the little dog as it finally managed to stand up, shaking itself, her great black eyes looking up pathetically towards the veterinary nurse. Her heart melted at that moment!
“What is it you want this time?”
It was the voice of the mother, and Jenny turned to see her angry face glaring at her. She was still wearing the same apron which she had been wearing the last time Jenny had called, and Jenny had a sudden thought. Did the woman have a change of clothes? Just who were these people? They were rough, suspicious, openly hostile. Why were they here, and what were they up to? Perhaps, all things considered, Jenny should bring the police with her next time.
With this in mind, Jenny decided she needed to try a different approach. Firstly she smiled, then nodded towards the little dog, “That little black and white dog there, is she for sale?”
Obviously not expecting this innocent-sounding question, the woman appeared taken-aback, her eyes growing wide. “She can be…how much are you offering?”
Jenny shrugged. “Thirty pounds?”
“Make it fifty and you can have her.”
Jenny smiled and thrust out her hand, “Done,” she said.
She gave the little dog a thorough examination. She was undernourished, and needed worming. Infested with fleas, which were easily treatable, she had several nasty ticks which had to be carefully eased out of her skin. Then Jenny trimmed her, gave her a good wash, and gently dried her. By the time she was finished the little dog looked absolutely gorgeous. Despite this, Jenny still had that picture of the dog in her mind, when she had first laid eyes on her in the compound. How bedraggled she looked then, with those big, doleful eyes staring out from a tangled mien of fur. There was no doubt about it – the name was perfect for her.
She christened her Scruffy.
Chapter Six
Scruffy settled in almost straight away, tucking into a huge bowl of meat chunks as if she hadn't had a decent meal for weeks. Jenny watched the little dog and couldn't help smiling, although she was worried about the treatment she'd received. She was, after all, only one dogs amongst the many kept in that compound – what about the others? Although they seemed more robust than this little one, where was the compassion, the kindness, the care? Jenny simply couldn't understand why some people kept dogs and then didn't look after them. Was it any wonder that they became vicious and unpredictable?
The telephone was ringing. It was a customer, booking in their dog for a week at the kennels. Jenny wrote down the details in the large diary. Now there was the opposite case, she mused. Mr and Mrs Naylor, the kindest people you could hope for, doted on their dog, always made sure he was well fed, groomed, brought him in for his annual jabs. She looked down at Scruffy whose big eyes were studying her intensely, and she ruffled the little dog's head. At least this was one little bundle that wasn't going to be mistreated any longer!
It was later in the afternoon that the feeling of unease returned. She had to go and make some deliveries and when she opened the back door of the van to heave in the large bags of wild bird seed, she saw that the back tyre was flat. She cursed softly and was about to reach down for the spare, when she noticed something else. The tyre wasn't punctured, it had been cut. Bending down to inspect it more closely, she could see where a knife, or something similar, had sliced through the tyre wall. What was even more worrying was that the other rear tyre had been vandalised in a similar manner. There was no getting away from the obvious conclusion: someone had come into the yard and deliberately done this!
She made some phone calls, explained that she would be late with her deliveries, then sat down at her kitchen table with a hot cup of tea in front of her, and Scruffy at her feet. This was deeply worrying, to think that someone could break into the Animal Rescue, unheard, and carry out such an act…without Jenny having the slightest inkling! It must have happened at night, whilst she slept, which in itself was more disturbing! They could have done anything, whoever they were – attacked her, forced their way into the surgery, stole medicine, destroyed equipment. She'd already checked everything else and, fortunately, nothing else had been touched. But the knowledge that someone had violated her space, it made her feel dirty. A shower didn't make her feel much better.
Hair still dripping, she went over to the van, more angry than frightened now. She had only one spare, so she'd have to ask the garage to come out and help her. That was going to cost and she wondered if she should charge it to the Rescue Centre. But then, questions would be asked, and she didn't really feel like going through all of that. She opened the driver's door to find her address book for the garage number, and froze.
Taped to the steering wheel was a piece of paper, spidery wri
ting scrawled across it.
'Keep snooping, and you'll get the same!'
Suddenly, she felt more than angry. She tore the paper from the wheel and screwed it up, her fist squeezing the life out of the paper as if it were the writer's throat. Then, just as suddenly, she relaxed, realising that this was evidence. Very carefully, she smoothed out the paper again, checked it one last time to ensure it was still legible, then popped it into the glove compartment. Slamming the door shut, she stomped over to one of the old, hardly-ever used rabbit pens, and tugged open the rickety old door. There was a tarpaulin bundle in the corner, which she now pulled away to reveal a motor-scooter. She took a deep breath. The machine hadn't been fired up for well over six months. No doubt the battery was dead, but it did have a kick start, so…
Jenny put Scruffy in one of the kennels, with plenty of water and a bowl full of biscuits. She didn't want to leave the little dog so soon, but she had no choice. Choice was something she no longer had. She dragged out the bike and attacked the kick-start with barely controlled ferocity.
Gritting her teeth, she battled on, and the back did eventually fire. It sounded like an old man with bronchitis and as it spluttered and coughed its way out of the forecourt, Jenny headed up the hill, towards the woman and her sons. She didn't want to think too much about the practicalities of what she was doing. She only knew that she couldn't let such a brazen attack on her privacy go unchallenged. Sometimes you just had to stand up and do what had to be done. This was clearly one of those times.
She was shaking when she put the bike on its stand and strode up the drive. Trying to look determined and, perhaps a little fearsome, she felt neither of these two things inside. There, she was a quivering jelly. But her legs moved forward as if on their own accord and, as she came in sight of the house, the brothers were there, both of them with their heads stuck under the bonnet of one of their cars. When they looked up, they both smiled. Jenny felt even worse!