by Chris Simms
‘And when you get there?’ Alice asked. ‘What if Darragh refuses to meet you?’
Jon sat back. ‘Well, I had an idea the first time I was over there. You know how we’ve got Dave’s stuff up in the attic; the bits and pieces left in their flat when Zoë disappeared?’
Alice gave a nod.
‘There’s a decent photo of her up there, I’m certain. What if I make up a load of missing-person posters? Pin them up all round Clifden. Get a cheap pay-as-you-go mobile and put its number on the posters. If she is working for Darragh, it’ll embarrass him into agreeing to meet up. He has his reputation as a pillar of the community to protect, after all.’
Her smile was cautious. ‘I can see that working.’
‘So…’ Jon paused. ‘Do we have a plan?’
Alice brushed at the table. ‘You’re not wanting revenge?’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Are you?’
He kept looking back. ‘No, babe. I don’t want revenge.’
‘Jon, they just killed your dog. I can’t bear to even think what their animal would have done to Holly. You must be…surely, there’s…’
‘I know they did. But I can’t let it get to me. There’s us to think about. You and Holly.’
She stared at him as the seconds ticked past. ‘If you go over there to settle this, it has to be peacefully. There can be no grudge, no feud. I can’t carry on like this – curtains drawn, jumping at every knock on the door. Do you understand?’
‘I do. Look.’ He raised his fingers. ‘Steady. I’m in control. That side of me – it’s in the past.’
‘You won’t resort to violence?’
‘No.’
‘Promise me.’
‘I promise I will not resort to violence.’
‘I don’t know,’ Alice’s voice was faint. ‘You make it all sound so simple.’
‘There’s no reason it shouldn’t be.’ Jon raised himself in his seat and injected some optimism into his voice. ‘Know what? I might even try to see my grandad. Last time, I didn’t have a chance to speak to him.’
‘You’re there for three nights, no more,’ Alice stated.
‘With me watching your back in the office,’ Rick chipped in.
Jon thought for a moment. ‘Rick, if word of this does get back to Parks, you knew nothing. This was me acting on my own, right?’
Rick gave a reluctant nod.
Jon placed both palms on the table. ‘I’ll get on the computer. See what time flights leave tomorrow.’
Alice slid her chair back. ‘I’ll call Center Parcs and change our booking.’
They all got to their feet and regarded one another for a moment, coffees untouched on the table. Rick extended both arms. ‘Group hug?’
As the three of them embraced, Alice said, ‘Are you sure this – doing this – is the right thing?’
Jon looked down at the crown of her head. ‘It’s the only way to get our lives back.’
‘Rick?’ she asked.
‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Above her, the two men’s gazes met. Each spotted a glimmer of uncertainty in the other man’s eye.
Part II
Chapter 21
Jon could just see the underside of the wing above the small window next to him. The aircraft began to taxi towards the runway as the pilot continued his pre-flight commentary.
‘So, we’ll be taking off in a north-easterly direction towards Stockport, then turning back to pass over Manchester, Liverpool and along the Welsh coast. After flying over Anglesey, we’ll cross the Irish Sea, then over Dublin and Athlone before touching down in Galway where, I gather, the sun is trying to come out. Flight time is one hour.’
Jon’s eyes went to the sky above Manchester airport. Unbroken grey in all directions. The small plane was only a fifth full, businessmen mostly, by the look of them. His passage through the airport had been smooth: the woman at the check-in desk had weighed his holdall with the usual questions about whether he’d packed it himself.
‘I have,’ Jon replied, thinking about the items of riot of gear he’d spirited from the station the previous evening. When he’d mentioned to Rick that he intended to take some things, his partner had looked horrified.
‘What sort of stuff are you talking about?’
Jon had glanced down the corridor in the police station, picturing the storeroom where the equipment was kept. ‘I don’t know. A stab-proof vest for starters. Armour for my forearms, elbows, shins and knees. Pepper spray. Maybe an Asp.’
Rick had come to a halt. ‘You promised Alice there’d be no violence, Jon. So why are you planning to enter that town like the bloody Terminator?’
‘Oh come on, I’m talking about stuff I can slip on under my clothes. Just for self-defence. Then, if something does go wrong, I can get myself out.’
‘You think it’ll go wrong?’
He looked into his partner’s eyes. ‘Mate, let’s not pretend this plan is without risk. It makes sense to take every precaution we can.’
‘But without mentioning any of this to Alice?’
Jon glanced up at the ceiling. ‘It only occurred as we were driving in. And no, I don’t think mentioning it to Alice would be a good idea. With the pregnancy and everything, she’s stressed out enough as it is.’
After he’d put the protective gear in the boot of his car, he’d gone back into the station to find DCI Parks and inform her all ongoing cases were safely with Rick. She’d immediately asked after Punch.
‘I’m afraid he didn’t pull through,’ Jon replied.
She stared at him with growing horror. ‘You mean…’
‘Just after lunch.’ He brushed the air with one hand. ‘It was very peaceful – he didn’t ever come out of shock. Not fully, anyway. The vet says he wouldn’t have felt a thing.’
She came round from behind her desk.
What, Jon thought, is she doing? Oh Christ. She’s going to give me a hug. He watched in horror as his boss clasped an arm around him, hand pressing against the middle of his back. ‘That’s terrible Jon, I’m so sorry.’ She leaned her head against his upper arm. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. They become a member of the family, don’t they?’
‘He was…at the end of the day, he was a mate. One of my best mates.’
‘The companionship, I know,’ she said soothingly. ‘At least it was painless.’
Jon remained rooted to the spot, head bowed. He pictured the scene from the main incident room. This must look so bloody odd. ‘Yes.’
She lifted her head, gesturing with the index finger of her free hand. ‘Try to enjoy your break at Center Parcs. Things must seem awful now – but they won’t be for ever. Remember that, OK?’
Now guilt began to well up. The woman is doing her best to comfort me, he thought. And here I am bullshitting her. ‘Thank you.’
She returned to her chair. ‘We can pursue it, you know. At least pass everything we have to the police over in Ireland. I know they were very interested to hear about that van.’
Jon pondered recent developments. The Vehicle Identification Number he’d noted down from the van’s doorframe had tallied with that of one which had been stolen from outside a garage in Galway a month before. Whoever had stolen it must have then switched plates; the registration Jon had noted down at the roundabout belonged to a separate vehicle.
Thinking that official enquiries could jeopardise the plan, Jon replied, ‘I’m not sure what involving the Irish police will achieve at this stage – we haven’t really got the evidence.’
Parks lifted a palm. ‘Elmhurst and May will be picking up the case once they’ve finished testifying in court. They should be on it by Friday.’
Shit, thought Jon. That’s the last thing I want. ‘OK – I’ll think about while I’m at Center Parcs, if that’s all right?’
‘Perfectly,’ she replied. ‘See you next week. And Jon? Just…I don’t know. I’m so sorry about Punch.’
&nb
sp; ‘Thanks.’ He left her office and returned to his desk. Rick was sifting through the files for the cases they were currently working on.
‘What was that all about?’ Rick murmured without looking up.
Jon sank onto his seat and also started moving paperwork around. ‘Bloody nightmare. She was trying to make me feel better about Punch. Told me to try and enjoy my break at Center Parcs. Now I feel like complete shit.’
‘No other way,’ Rick whispered. ‘We just have to make damn sure she never finds out what we’re up to.’
Jon’s mobile started to ring and he scrutinised the screen. Nick Hutcher. ‘Hi there, Nick. I thought you’d be in the Marble Arch by now.’
‘They’re picking me up at eight.’
Jon glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes’ time.
‘You rushed away from those playing fields. Everything all right?’
Jon nodded. ‘Yeah, it was a false alarm.’
‘How’s your dog doing?’
‘He didn’t make it,’ Jon replied, clearing his throat.
‘He died?’
‘Yes.’ He heard the other man breathe out.
‘Really sorry to hear that, I honestly am.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What…was it from the injuries?’
‘Basically.’
‘You’ll want to find those people from the van, then. I have something for you. About the breed of dog.’
Jon sat forward. ‘Go on.’
‘Are you near a computer with internet access?’
His monitor came to life as he jiggled his mouse. ‘I am.’
‘OK. Google these two words. First is ‘La’, second is ‘Tauromaquia. I’ll spell it for you.’
Jon typed it in and pressed return. Top hit was an Amazon entry. He read the text. La Tauromaquia, Francisco Goya y Lucientes. The Disasters of War. Spanish entertainment and other prints.
‘Got the results?’ The RSPCA officer asked.
‘Yeah, some kind of book, is it?’
‘Go to the second result. The profile on Goya.’
Jon clicked on it and a screen came up titled, The Genius of Goya. Below was a menu of his many artistic works.
‘Go to the bottom one, etchings.’
Selecting that option brought up a new list. ‘Have done.’
‘Now click on the third, La Tauromaquia.’
A string of thumbnail images formed a row across the screen. Most seemed to be scenes of bullfights from another era – elaborately dressed men on horseback leaning from the saddle to stab at bulls with lances. Another image showed an unarmed man crouched before a charging bull as if readying himself to vault clean over the animal.
‘Know much about Goya?’ Nick asked.
‘No.’
‘Me neither. These sketches were done in the early eighteen-hundreds. They’re all about bullfighting at that time. So you’ve got matadors going about their business. But scroll across to the twenty-fourth print.’
By moving the bar at the base of the screen along, more images were revealed. Number twenty-four appeared to be of a man on horseback observing a bull. The animal’s head was low to the ground as it tried to ward off several smaller animals.
‘Enlarge that and tell me what you think,’ Nick instructed.
Jon clicked on the image and it took over the screen. The quality was poor but now Jon could see that the creatures swarming round the bull were dogs.
‘Look familiar?’ The RSPCA officer asked.
The coats of two seemed pale, but the one partly behind the bull’s rear leg was covered in faint stripes. A fourth, darker, animal had latched on to the bull’s face and appeared to be hanging on for dear life. All the dogs had spadelike heads and long, thin tails. Lowering his phone, Jon tilted his head so he could see Rick. ‘Check this out,’ he said, lifting his handset back up. ‘They’re the same as the animal that attacked Punch. What are they?’
Rick was now looking over his shoulder as Hutcher replied. ‘The breed is called Alano, or Alaunt in older records. This is some story, mate. Are you ready?’
Jon leaned back in his seat. ‘Yup.’
‘Right, history. It’s an ancient breed, origins unknown. Some sources indicate they were first brought into Europe when the Alanos – a nomadic tribe – invaded Iberia in the four-hundreds. The Roman Empire was starting to lose power and the Barbarian hordes were moving in, including the Alano people.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Jon stated.
‘I know. It’s thought the breed is the ancestor of most Molosser breeds today, including the Great Dane, Cordoba Fighting Dog, Fila Brasiliero and Canary Dog – the type we found at the mill earlier on.’
Jon continued to stare at the image. ‘You’re saying these things date back some fifteen hundred years?’
‘Correct. They were used as war-dogs because of their fearless natures. They’ll attack anything – regardless of size – and fight to the death. The Spaniards used them alongside their soldiers for centuries. Later, they were used in bullfighting.’
Jon swallowed, the image of the creature stalking closer to his terrified daughter crystal-clear in his mind. His eyes went to the framed photo beside his monitor. Punch, you never stood a chance.
‘Now,’ Nick continued. ‘Their use in bullfighting was outlawed in the 1880s and their numbers plummeted. Some were kept for hunting wild boar and cattle – the dogs can keep up a steady gallop for miles, apparently. Another quality is that they’ll hold on to their prey, but release it when ordered to do so.’
‘The whistle,’ Jon said. ‘When the guy whistled, it let go.’
‘What I thought. And the long tails? They act as a rudder when pursuing their quarry. You also said it jumped into the van from some distance?’
‘Yes.’
‘These things can climb trees, Jon, they’re so agile. They don’t bother with barking in an attack situation and the destructiveness of their bite is legendary. With the modernisation of Spain, the wild boar population pretty much died out and, for most of the twentieth century, the breed was believed to have become extinct. Then, in the late 1980s, an enthusiast called Carlos Contera started scouring rural Spain to see if any still existed. It took him months, but in an isolated valley in northern Spain called Encartaciones, he found a small population. They were being used to herd a type of half-wild cattle that still live in the area. Contera had their DNA analysed by the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine at the University of Córdoba. When their authenticity was verified, he started to restore the breed.’
Jon shook his head. ‘Nick – I don’t know what to say. You must have been at this for hours.’
‘Not really. A colleague had an inkling about the breed. Most of the information is on Contera’s own website. Anyway, it’s been a pleasure; I’d never heard of these things until this afternoon. Nowadays there are a few hundred – used for cattle herding only. They’re not kept as pets and they’re never entered into shows.’ ‘Understandable.’
‘True. The colouring of the one that attacked your dog is known as negro y atigrado, which translates as black and tigered. A fit, yes?’
‘Definitely,’ Jon agreed. ‘But if there’s only a few hundred of these things being kept as working dogs in rural Spain, how did one end up in the back of a van in Manchester?’
‘I’ve already emailed Contera. Hopefully, he’ll get back to me very soon.’
The hum of the aircraft’s engine picked up. Jon dipped his head and watched as the propellers first blurred then became all but invisible. His seat seemed to press into his back and the plane surged down the runway, a haze of heat emanating from the roaring engines. Then the floor tilted and suddenly they were rising into the air.
He looked down at the ranked formations of houses below. The M60 came into view, a grey ribbon with curling offshoots. By a big roundabout he could see the pyramid-shaped building housing the Co-operative Bank’s call centre. Then everything went white. Seconds later, the plane emerged from cloud into a worl
d of bright blue. For the first time in weeks, he felt hot sunshine against his face.
Alice glanced at her watch then up at the dull grey sky. ‘His flight should have taken off by now.’
Rick was bent over, squeezing Alice’s bags into the boot of his BMW 1 Series. ‘Right, that’s everything.’ He closed the hatch, stepped round and held the key fob out. ‘So you’re OK with the controls? You know how the buttons on this thing works. You press – ’
‘Rick,’ Alice stopped him. ‘You’ve explained already. I’ve got it.’
He smiled. ‘Sorry. Nerves.’
‘About Jon?’
‘No, that old meathead can look after himself. About you two.’ His eyes slid to Holly, who was in the rear seat, studying the pages of a comic. Speaking softly, he added, ‘How’s she been with all this?’
Alice hunched a shoulder. ‘Better than I thought. She’s obviously upset Daddy’s not with us, but then again, that’s nothing new with the ridiculous job he insists on doing.’ She grinned briefly.
Rick shook his head. ‘I know. What a way to make a living – the idiot. Seriously though, are you OK with everything?’
‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘One minute I am, the next I find my hands are trembling. I can’t wait for this weekend to be over.’ Her eyes lifted anxiously to the sky again.
‘I know what you mean. But he knows what he’s doing.’
‘Yes. I have to keep telling myself there’s a difference between the Jon of old and the Jon of now.’
‘Being?’
She tapped her temple. ‘Now he uses this. Before, it was fists first, questions later. Must be something about getting older.’
‘Well, it certainly took a long time happening to him,’ Rick smiled.
‘He gave me this.’ She held out a black leather pouch, the silver neck of an aerosol can visible inside.
‘Pepper spray?’ Christ, he thought, how much stuff did Jon sneak out of that storeroom?
‘He said if that guy shows up again, blast him in the face with it.’