by Linda Coles
A couple of miles further on, at the end of the dirt track, the driver came to a standstill just outside the largest of a group of buildings. He headed over to the front entrance, gravel crunching underfoot, dust drifting upwards. He wiped the sweat from his brow on the back of his shirt sleeve and spat into the dirt. The wooden building was vast, like a huge barn, the tin roof looking in need of repair, the two massive old double doors at the front fully open to let the light in. No one was around so he shouted out.
“You there Tony?” He stepped inside the barn and tried again. “Yo!”
Nobody shouted back so he ventured a little further in, past the necessary equipment, the pens and the cages, some occupied, others empty. A large heavyset man made his way toward him, with hardly any blank space left on the vast amount of tattooed bare chest. The van driver held his hand out in greeting.
“Tony, good to see you,” he said. The big man shook. “I’ve got a delivery for you, where do you want ‘em?”
“Stick ‘em at the back, some empties there. Won’t be needing them just yet. How many?”
“Got four,” he said, smiling a blackened tooth smile. “That little white sod won’t last long,” he said spitefully, but Tony ignored his comment, he really didn’t care as long as it served its purpose when the time came.
“Right, I’ll square up later. You comin’ tonight?”
“Hell yeah, hoping for a big night. Got a bit to spend for a change. Found the bitch’s housekeeping money too.” He smiled at the big guy, his two blackened front teeth and badly bleached short hair making him look a lot like a yellow ferret. “And I’ve got money here from MacAlister, he wants £500 on Jaxton and another on that Japanese dog, can’t think of it’s damn name, you know the one I mean. He’ll be up later but wanted me to put the two bets on now, so he’s not seen like.” He handed over the cash to Tony, who slipped it into his trouser pocket.
“Right then,” Tony said, slapping the young driver on the back, “Now drive in and unload ‘em and I’ll see you later on then. I got work to do before then so I need you to piss off, alright?” Tony half smiled to the driver, a simple disposable who’d worked with him for a couple of years but really was as thick as pig shit. He was good enough for what he needed him to do though, cheap labour. As long as he kept his gob shut. Tony watched him unload and drive back out of the barn, a quick nod of his head through the driver’s side window as he left.
“Silly prick,” Tony said out loud to the retreating van. He went back to the little room he’d had built within the barn, what he called his office, and back to his flat-screen TV and soccer match. Spurs were playing West Ham, always a tense game, and this one was no different. He wished he were there in the crowd. There was always a scuffle or two and he enjoyed a brawl occasionally, good for relieving stress. And for keeping up appearances, a man like him had a brand to maintain. He settled back in his old leather chair, crossed his ankles up on the desk in front of him and rested his hands behind his head. And there he stayed for the remainder of the match.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
While he didn’t want to go back into the woods, Jim knew he had to get some proof. This time he was armed with a plan, because he didn’t want to be caught hanging around where he shouldn’t be and land himself in more trouble than just trespassing. Getting involved accidentally with the men that ran these types of things was not something he relished the thought of, he knew from stories from other inmates how nasty those bastards could be.
Taking Duke for both protection and an excuse for looking like an innocent dog walker, he confirmed the co-ordinates for the drone, clicked the record option and sent it on its way, following on foot via the screen in his hands. If he stayed a good way off, he shouldn’t be spotted. That was his simple plan. He just hoped to hell it went smoothly.
Ten minutes into the woods, he had found what he had seen yesterday, and while it turned his stomach again to look, he had to get the footage of it, so he brought the drone down for close-up shots taken from the safety of the edge of the woods.
“Got it,” he said to Duke, who was still on his leash by Jim’s feet, not daring to let him off while he did what he needed to do. But last night lying in his bed, thinking about what he had to do today, he’d had another thought. What he had found meant that the source had to be some place nearby, it made sense. He looked at Duke for confirmation.
“Let’s just take a quick look around from here with the drone. We’re safe as long as we keep a lookout, I can easily send the drone in further for a quick scout round. What do you say?” Duke just looked up at Jim and panted.
“You’re not a lot of use, boy, are you,” he said gently, scratching his dog behind his ear. “Good job I’m on the case to make the decisions.” He steered the drone out of the trees and further on, scouting round for anything that might catch his interest, though he wasn’t sure what that would look like. Then he saw it up ahead.
“Bingo Duke, I think we may have something.” He brought the drone down a little lower as it approached what had taken his interest and he could see the building in detail. It was wooden with what looked like a rather rough tin roof and had two massive front doors that stood wide open. The pictures being fed to his small screen made his heart race and he was glad he was recording it all. As the drone flew down lower and approached the two big open doors, he could see a lot more of the operation, but he was conscious of the drone’s noise raising awareness of its intrusion and he was ready at a moment’s notice to swing it out of there, at record speed if he had to. He felt comfortable that no one would know it was he at the controls. Jim let out the breath he’d been holding involuntary and tried to relax a little as he filmed. The drone slowly scouted around the outside of the building one more time to double-check if anyone was around before he sent it inside. From where he was standing hidden in the trees he couldn’t hear a thing apart from the sound of his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. He let the drone go inside, and quickly did a 360-degree circle, then he got it the hell out of there. He didn’t want to hang around any longer than he had to and could look at the footage later – now was not the best time. As far as he was aware, nobody had been alerted to the drone’s presence and he brought the machine back to where he was standing, safe in the knowledge he had some decent evidence – all recorded. He slipped the drone back into his backpack and left the woods with Duke at his side, still looking like any other random dog walker.
When they got back home Jim took a proper look at what he’d filmed and his suspicions were confirmed. From the bird’s-eye view from the camera, he’d taken all he needed as evidence. Now he had to do the right thing with it. He loaded the file into a folder in the cloud and messaged Pete the link to access it.
“Got what we needed, and more. Take a look and do your best with it. From what I’ve seen now I’ve looked properly, it’s set up for fairly soon. Could be as soon as tonight though can’t be 100% sure on that.” He hit send.
Pete was playing chess with someone in Sri Lanka when the notification came through. Tentatively, he clicked the link to download it and readied himself to watch. From Jim’s description he knew it wouldn’t be easy viewing . When he got to the place that had upset Jim so much he could see why. There on the floor of the woods was a pile of around 10 dead dogs slung in a heap, though it was hard to make out that they were indeed dogs before they had been half torn apart. His stomach rolled and he carried on through the footage, hoping that was as bad as it got. His screen showed the outside of a big old barn, the view circling around once before going inside the barn. There were cages of heavy-set dogs down one side, the treadmills used for training them evident nearby. But it was the other smaller dogs in cages along the back wall that caught his interest. There in the middle one, all alone and looking frightened to death, was a dog that looked familiar – a little white Jack Russell terrier with a tan patch.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pete sat staring at the screen. This had never
been part of the plan. A bit of harmless dognapping to get money was all it was supposed to be, a scam – nobody getting hurt. And up until now that had been it, a steady stream of income with little to do for it.
He looked back at his screen, the footage frozen on the little white Jack Russell, and there was no doubt about where he’d seen it before. The tell-tale tan patch over its left eye made it identifiable. One thing he did know about Jack Russells in particular was that no two had the same markings – there wasn’t another terrier out there that looked like the one he was looking at now. It was definitely the one they’d had in the basement up until yesterday. The one that Vic had said wasn’t safe to hand back. The one they’d already taken the ransom money for and undoubtedly the one Niles had done a deal for in the pub.
The question now was what should he do about it? He was involved in this new scam by default, though it wasn’t what he’d signed up for, and there was no point having it out with Niles because he was sure to tell him to mind his own business. Niles knew full well Pete hadn’t the balls to go to the cops. Anyone that has been in trouble with the law never went voluntarily, it would be tantamount to suicide.
He chewed on a fingernail thinking, letting his techie brain find a way to help without incriminating himself. He could make use of his knowledge to send the file to the right person and cover his tracks, couldn’t he? He chewed some more. After 10 minutes he had the basis of a plan forming; he just needed to figure out some of the finer details, like who was the best contact at the police to work with. Any policeman worth his salt with a compassionate side that stood out should be active in their community, so he opened a browser window and typed in his search term, then waited for the page to load. There were plenty of results to choose from but he glanced at the first couple at the top of the page and clicked on one that spoke to him, The Daisy Chain. The page filled his screen and he smiled to himself because the name reminded him of his late mother: when he was little, he could remember his mother making daisy chains whenever they went for walks in the nearby fields, she wearing them for the rest of the day until they wilted. His father used to tease her for them saying she was way too old for such stupid things but she wasn’t deterred. Fond memories of a woman gone.
Pete scrolled down to look at the posts and comments, and wasn’t surprised to see several had put two and two together and knew pets simply weren’t getting lost, they were being stolen. The locals knew all about the dognapping operation. It was the first time he’d ever really felt ashamed of what they did for a living. He read through the comments, many from those being affected themselves, with people wishing their beloved pets a speedy return, and even more comments from people wishing the gang death by a thousand cuts and various other ways to cause hurt. It made him feel sick to the stomach to be a part of it. Then he came across the picture of Jack, the dog that was still missing, the dog his group was responsible for and, if he didn’t get a move on, the dog that would be almost certainly be dead very soon.
“Jack, hang in there, I’m going to try and help you.”
He looked through the profile pictures and names of those that had commented, clicking through to read their profiles until he found what he was looking for. @Cagney.
“Now with a name like that you’ve got to be what I’m looking for,” and he clicked through to read the profile. Amanda Lacey, occupation detective.
“Got you.” He smiled at the reference to the old ‘80s American TV series Cagney and Lacey, something else his mother had loved. Mary Beth was her favourite character, a woman she’d admired because she was a strong working mother. He quickly created a fictitious profile, added a random image taken off the internet, and joined in the conversation.
From @PeterPan – “Who is working these cases @Cagney? I’m assuming the police are involved?”
He waited, hoping she would come back straight away, though why she’d be sitting looking at the site when she’d probably got other things to do he didn’t know. Worth a try though. It wasn’t Amanda that saw it first, but Ruth, and she responded straight away.
@PeterPan from McRuth – Hi PeterPan, DS Amanda Lacey, as you’ve assumed, is looking after it. Have you been a victim too?”
@McRuth – No, but I might have info. I’ll contact her directly then.”
Then he left as quickly as he’d arrived. He deleted the fake profile and closed the fictitious account before she or anyone else could respond. Now he had the right name, all he needed was her email address. When she saw the footage and had the GPS coordinates, she’d have to act quickly and he hoped all this wasn’t going to be in vain. He opened another page and searched for the telephone number of the police station and asked the receptionist for Amanda’s email address. So far so good. Now all he had to do was open up his Tor browser to keep things totally anonymous, create a fake email address, choose the file he wanted to link to and a few keystrokes later his work was complete. He hit send and imagined the message bouncing around the world via thousands of different relays to conceal his location, landing in DS Amanda Lacey’s inbox sometime soon. He would be able to see when she’d clicked the link and hoped she’d see it quickly. Before sending it he had used the option to not close it down after the first download. He figured she’d want to show it to her colleagues and a vanishing URL after one view wouldn’t be much use. If in the next 60 minutes she still hadn’t seen it, he’d have to make an anonymous call, something he really didn’t want to risk.
“It’s now in motion, Jack.”
Chapter Thirty
Amanda’s working partner was Jack Rutherford, an older man that had spent many years as a Detective Constable and was happy with his lot. With no plans to be anything more than a great detective, he’d been working in the police for nearly 30 years, spending time in Oxford before he came to Croydon. He worked with surnames rather than first names for his colleagues because he felt that’s where your character was, your roots. If he phoned you and you didn’t answer, he’d leave his surname only and that was your cue to call ‘Rutherford’ back. No need for a message. It annoyed the hell out of everyone to ever experience it, but old dogs and new tricks and all that. ELO ran through his veins. ‘Sweet Talkin’ Woman’ was his all time favourite, and one he’d often be heard humming while he worked. His wavy but thinning salt-and-pepper hair needed a good cut but without a woman at home to prod and take care of him, he never really got around to it. He missed his sweet-talkin woman every single day.
“About time you got a trim Jack, before The Boss tells you again. Want me to get my scissors?” Amanda was teasing him and he didn’t care. He was trying to figure out the new coffee machine that had been installed in their small break room. A plop plop shshsh could be heard and Amanda smiled, hoping he’d finally got the hang of it, though she wouldn’t bet on it. She watched as he waited for his brew, his back turned towards her, and waited for the inevitable cursing outburst. It wasn’t long.
“Shit, done it again!” She knew exactly what he’d done, or not done as it were.
“I wondered if you’d remember to put the damn pod in,” she laughed. “For a detective, you can’t half screw up the simple things, Jack.”
“If you’re so smart at making sodding coffee without a kettle and a jar of instant, why don’t you make it, save my blood pressure!” She got up from her seat, scraping the chair back on the tiled floor as she did so.
“Shift out the way then, let the expert in.” He glared at her and she mock glared back. “Look, it’s simple. Put a pod here in this slot before you start. Then do what you’ve been doing. It’s not hard.” There was no bad will in her tone, just friendly banter, and Jack grunted in reply. The machine started up again, the plop plop shshsh this time bringing the aroma of fresh coffee with it, and no cursing. She handed him his mug with a smile.
“Now, tantrum over, can we get back to discussing the case?” At that moment her phone buzzed with a new email and she reached across the table to get it, not recognising the email ad
dress as she did so. Clicking the email open she saw a brief message and a link. It read:
“Reckon this is set for tonight, coordinates enclosed. Know you’ll take care of it.”
“Odd, looks like a tip-off about something.”
“What is it, Lacey,” he said as he went back for the sugar he’d forgotten.
“Not sure yet, hang on.” She clicked the link to find out. A video filled her screen without sound and it took her a moment to realise what she was looking at.
“Jack, you’d better see this, looks like a pro fighting ring. There’s a pile of torn dog corpses and footage of the building and dog cages. Looks like it’s been captured via a drone.” He was by her side in an instant.
“Hell, I reckon you’re right,” Jack said, looking over her shoulder at her phone screen, his attention fully engaged. “And judging by the barriers set up in a circle, and the dogs in those cages, it’s sometime soon. Where is it, do you know?”
“Anonymous tip-off but they’ve given the coordinates, let’s put them in and see where it is.” She opened her web browser, punched in the details and waited for the destination to load.
“Some place out rural near Chatham. Wonder why they sent the link to me rather than Kent police?” She watched the video again then paused it. A little white and tan face looked back at her, telling her why in an instant.
“I think I know why. Look,” she said, pointing to the screen. “See that little Jack Russell terrier in the back there? It’s a missing local dog, saw it on The Daisy Chain two days ago.”