Bedfordshire Clanger Calamity

by steve higgs

  Hans couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Oh, yeah? Well your mother likes to do it standing up like a human!’

  Rex snorted; he was so much better at this than the dachshund. It came from his time in uniform. You hang around with a bunch of other dogs in tough jobs and you get used to throwing banter around. Cruelly, he lowered his head to deliver his next line. ‘So does your father.’

  Hans went mental, his little feet scrabbling across the tile as he flung himself at Rex. One twentieth of the size, he was still going to try to kill the enormous German Shepherd, even if he had to choke the dog to death by getting stuck in his throat.

  Victor saw Hans lunge forward, his teeth snapping. ‘Whoa!’

  ‘I don’t think they are playing,’ said Albert as Victor snatched the dachshund from the floor just before he threw himself into Rex’s mouth.

  Hans continued to throw insults as Victor held him off the floor with two hands. ‘It’s time I was getting home. Are you going to be in town for long?’

  Albert pushed back against his chair, converting the motion to get onto his old, tired legs. ‘One of the joys of being old and retired, is that a person can choose to do whatever they want and even change their mind halfway through. I shall stay here until I choose to move on. I cannot promise to unearth Joel’s killer but, if I can, I will find enough evidence to get your sister released.’ Albert was taking the sensible approach and not promising anything he didn’t know for certain he could deliver, but the recent week and a half of travelling the country had reignited a passion for investigating that had been hidden for many years. When he retired, Petunia had all manner of activities to keep him busy: gardening, sorting out the attic, days out to visit relatives or to just go to a tearoom. When he lost her, he was truly lost for a while. Adrift with no shore in sight and no anchor to tether him, it was a chance encounter that led him back to feeling that he had something akin to a purpose and had he not found it, he wondered if perhaps he might have just faded away to nothing. Poking his nose into what might be happening at the Clanger Café was no chore at all. It was a gift.

  ‘Why are you helping?’ asked Victor. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but what’s in it for you? You don’t know us.’

  Albert didn’t want to give the long-winded explanation, so he just said, ‘It gives me purpose.’

  Revelations

  It was the kind of mission one is born into, or perhaps one that a dog finds thrust upon them, but whatever the case, Rex knew it was his solemn destiny to fight against the fluffy-tailed menace until his last breath was expended.

  His human didn’t seem to understand the threat they posed, often shouting for him to leave them alone, but Rex knew. Rex knew they would take over the garden and the house if he wasn’t there to keep them at bay.

  Something had changed recently though. They seemed more organised, more … coordinated. Rex shuddered and looked at the tree again. He liked the tree. There were only three trees in his human’s garden and the sycamore was his favourite – he needed to pee somewhere. However, now that he had finished and wanted to return to the house where his human was watching the flat thing on the wall with the pictures and sounds but no smell, Rex found he was facing a platoon of squirrels.

  He barked a warning at them, which ought to have sent them scattering, their tiny limbs seeming to defy gravity as they whizzed across the lawn to disappear up a tree or over the fences on either side. Not this time though; they stood their ground, and it was unnerving. He barked again, louder this time and with some extra bass in his voice. Normally, he would have charged at them the moment he saw them on the ground, but their confidence was making him hesitate.

  Telling himself today was the day he would catch one and finally be able to show them what they could expect if they came into his territory, he almost backed away when one of them stepped forward. They were all up on their hind legs, their tails twitching occasionally, but the one who advanced lifted one little forelimb, made a fist, and drove it down to smack into the palm of his other paw.

  What was going on? Did he charge them or not? Why were they acting like they could win this fight? There were lots of them, but not enough to do a dog his size any damage. If they bit him, would he even notice?

  Before he could reach a decision, another stepped forward, this one driving a tiny fist up into the air as it screeched a battle cry. Rex felt his legs twitch. Suddenly, he wanted to run away.

  ‘Daft dog,’ muttered Albert as he swung his legs out of bed. ‘Whatever are you dreaming about to be twitching like that? It looks like you are running away from a monster.’ Twisting and tilting his neck and rolling his shoulders, Albert got himself ready to get to his feet. Rex’s paws were twitching like crazy as the dog’s jowls spasmed with excited high-pitched barks. Whatever dream he was having looked like it involved running.

  Albert slept soundly after opting to stop in the bar, when he finally made it through the rain, for a swift gin and tonic that turned into two. He got a packet of crisps each for him and the dog and idled away nearly an hour pondering the Kate Harris case. There wasn’t much to go on. There certainly wasn’t much in Kate’s favour yet, which was something he needed to try to correct today. His conversation with Randall had gone better than the one with Selina. It had been more productive certainly, and he knew a little more about the Joel Clement murder now. Rounding off the conversation, Randall promised to get a message to Kate Harris – something he could do with a phone call – and bade his father goodnight with a promise to email more information overnight.

  With all that in mind and possessing the singular goal of proving Kate Harris’s innocence, Albert determined he would start in earnest after breakfast. First, he needed the bathroom and Rex would need a walk.

  Like the three previous stops on his tour around the country, Biggleswade was abundant with green spaces. Where he lived in Kent was too, the small village of East Malling sitting amid lush farmland, orchards, vineyards, and open countryside. In Kent, he knew he wouldn’t have to go far to find himself in an urban sprawl of concrete and high-rise buildings, or in a purpose-built commercial district of firms. Here though, he didn’t think there was anything like that for miles and when a more populated area was found, it wasn’t like at home, where the houses were stacked on top of one another for mile after mile, it was ancient and beautiful towns and cities with interesting architecture.

  Walking Rex through Biggleswade now, he marvelled at how many of the buildings appeared to have stood for more than a century. There were leaflets for local attractions in the reception of the pub. Leafing through the rack last night, he’d found one which provided a written guided dog walk that would take in the nearby river. The drizzle of the previous evening was gone, the skies clear again so, time permitting, he wanted to test his endurance with a longer walk before he left. For now though, he planned to let the dog do what he needed and get back for breakfast.

  Rex had his head down, sniffing his way along the pavement and stopping periodically to mark his scent. However, he stopped when they reached a crossroad because a very familiar scent assailed his nostrils – it was the annoying dachshund!

  Albert saw Rex stiffen. ‘What is it, boy?’

  With his head lifted and turned to the wind, Rex snuffled in a deep pocket of air. He was right about the dachshund but there was something else he recognised there too. He tried again, but the scent proved elusive. When he reopened his eyes – he always shut them to heighten his sense of smell – he could see Hans coming toward him.

  Albert grinned and waved. He’d taken Victor’s number the previous evening before they went their separate ways but hadn’t asked the man where he lived. Since he was out walking the dachshund this morning, it had to be somewhere close.

  Rex kept his mouth shut and waited for Hans to come to him. The small dog was powering forward, doing his best to drag his human along in his need to close the distance. Would he pick up with the insults and bad attitude from last night
? Or would a little sleep have mellowed him?

  ‘Hey, wolf. Yo momma smells like a lamppost and she likes it.’

  Sleep didn’t help then, sighed Rex to himself, looking at his human. ‘Do we have to hang out with the dachshund? He’s a little annoying.’

  Albert, aware that his dog was able to smell things he couldn’t, had begun to wonder over the last week if Rex might actually be trying to draw his attention to things he was missing. The dog had a habit of looking right at him and making noises; sort of a combination of barking, whining and an odd chuffing noise. He looked down at him now with a frown. ‘Are you trying to tell me something, Rex?’ he asked, perplexed that the dog might be that clever while simultaneously annoyed that he couldn’t understand it if he was. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The dachshund is an annoying, mouthy little butt weasel. I’d rather hang out with a cat,’ explained Rex, saying it slowly so his human might understand.

  ‘The dachshund?’ asked Albert, guessing that might be what had his dog all excited.

  Rex couldn’t believe it! His human was not only paying enough attention to know Rex was telling him something, he was even starting to understand. He spun on the spot with excitement and wagged his tail.

  ‘You’re super excited to see Hans again because we never spend any time with dogs?’

  Rex hung his head.

  ‘Morning, Albert,’ hallooed Victor, crossing the street to get to them.

  ‘Good morning, Victor and Hans. Rex is ever so pleased to see Hans again. I think they must have hit it off last night.

  Rex said something rude.

  ‘Just taking him for a walk?’ Victor asked conversationally.

  ‘Yes. He is used to getting some exercise between his breakfast and mine.’

  ‘I’m just on my way to the station to see if I can’t speak with Kate or get a message to her.’

  ‘Oh, ah, hold on a moment.’ Victor’s announcement reminded Albert to check his phone for messages. Randall promised to do what he could last night, which might mean the information Albert wanted was already in an email waiting to be read. That Victor hadn’t already had a call from her might mean the message was yet to be passed, or wasn’t going to be passed, or even that Kate didn’t want to speak with anyone.

  Albert got his phone out but a swift patting down of his pockets revealed his reading glasses were back at the pub on his nightstand. ‘I don’t have my reading glasses,’ he explained, holding the phone out for Victor to see the screen. ‘Can you see an email from Randall?’

  Victor scrutinised the list of emails, spotting one with randallsmith in the email address third from the top. ‘Yes. Do you want me to read it?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Victor took the offered phone so he could operate it and read the email aloud.

  ‘Dad, I do hope you are not poking your nose in again. I read about that business in Stilton, you know. The murder victim you asked about was garrotted with a piece of rope. As you know, this throws ambiguity on the gender of the killer.’

  Victor looked up from the phone. ‘What does he mean by ambiguity?’

  ‘Statistically, some methods of murder are favoured by one gender or the other. It’s not a hard rule and would never be used to argue a case, but if it were strangulation, the case is that many women do not have the strength to overpower a man and hold a choke on for long enough. A woman could easily use a garrotte though, coming from behind to cut off air to the lungs and blood to the brain.’

  ‘Right.’ It was all Victor could think of to say in response to the clinical explanation. He brought his eyes back to the screen.

  ‘The victim was found outside of a village called Llandinam in Wales.’

  Victor tore his eyes from the screen again. ‘Wales? What on Earth was Joel doing in Wales?’

  Albert of course had no idea, but it was an intriguing question. The man had gone to a pub on his way home and was found dead the following day a hundred and something miles away in a different country. That the information surprised Victor also meant his sister had chosen to not share what she knew with him.

  ‘Does he have any family that way who he might want to visit?’ Albert hazarded a guess.

  Victor didn’t know. ‘I don’t think so, but I would have to check to be sure.’ Once again, he went back to the screen.

  ‘The coroner’s report listed post-mortem injuries congruent with having been thrown from a moving car - it looks like the killers just dropped him at the side of the road without slowing down. There’s not a lot else to tell you other than they have a woman in custody. She has motive and opportunity. She also has a record. If I were a betting man, I’d say they had the right person.’

  Victor’s voice trailed off as he finished reading, the final line the absolute opposite of what he wanted to hear, and he could feel Albert’s gaze boring into the side of his head.

  ‘What is her record for?’ Albert enquired, wishing he’d thought to ask about her history a little sooner.

  ‘GBH,’ Victor replied quietly and glumly, using the standard abbreviation of Grievous Bodily Harm. As a former police officer, Albert knew that to be accused or convicted of GBH, a person had to cause sufficient harm to a person to permanently disfigure them or break bones. A single drop of blood that falls outside of the body can be classed as GBH and a weapon does not need to be used, only the intent to do harm has to be proven. ‘She was …’ he was about to say she was innocent, but that wasn’t strictly true. ‘It was an accident. She didn’t mean to hurt the other girl.’

  ‘Tell me,’ sighed Albert, wondering if he ought to drop the whole thing and head to York early.

  ‘It was her eighteenth birthday. There’s not a lot around here for the youngsters to get excited about so she headed into Cambridge with a bunch of her friends. They had drinks and went to a club and such. Then she got into a fight. It would have been nothing, just a bad memory at the end of a good night out, but they were on some stairs and the girl fell. The police came and the other girl’s friends all said Kate shoved her. I don’t know if she did or not. Kate always denied it, but she went to jail for three months anyway and will always have a record. That’s not going to help her, is it?’

  Albert pursed his lips. ‘No. It will not.’ Homewrecker, fiddling the books, criminal record for violent assault, and now accused of murder. Was he on a fool’s errand or not? He’d seen her eyes when they came to arrest her and that was all he was using to justify his desire to help. Could she be clever enough to fake what looked like a natural reaction?

  Three feet below the humans’ conversation, Rex was ignoring the dachshund’s taunts, busying himself with sniffing the air instead when a scent made his eyes pop open. It was there again, the blended scent of the two men from the café. They were in the café yesterday afternoon, then at least one of them was outside the café when he and his human went back in the evening, and now he could smell them both here. It was faint, coming on the breeze. He got to his feet and turned into the wind. The air wasn’t moving much, just a faint whisper of it drifting along, and it carried all manner of different scents.

  ‘Hey, wolf,’ Hans was trying to get through Rex’s thick skin and beginning to get upset that the dog could continue to ignore him.

  Rex glanced down. ‘Can you smell that?’

  ‘Smell what?’ Was this a trick where the stupid lump of a German Shepherd was going to lure him into smelling a fart? ‘I can smell everything. You’ll have to be more specific.’

  Rex turned his face back into the wind, but he kept his eyes open as he searched for the source. ‘There were two men in the café yesterday,’ Rex explained. ‘They are here again now.’

  ‘Yeah. What about it? They were in my human’s house as well. They left their stink all over it.’

  Rex whipped his head around so fast the dachshund took a step back in surprise. ‘They were in your house and you didn’t think to mention it? You live with two humans, right? You know something bad happened
to one of them and the other one is being blamed for it.’

  Hans could do nothing but stare at the larger dog in mute shock. ‘What do you mean something happened to him? How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I listen to the humans.’ Rex found this with a lot of dogs. They had one favourite human they would generally pay some attention to but for the most part, humans babbled a lot of gibberish and it wasn’t worth listening to. Dogs learned at an early age that they should just stop paying attention. That was what Hans had done. ‘Your human, the female one?’

  ‘The bitch?’

  ‘Yes, humans don’t like that word. I have no idea why, but they don’t, so we’ll call her the female human.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Well, my human is trying to work out what happened to your other human, and if he doesn’t, you might not get to see your female human again. Do you get it now?’

  Hans sniffed the air. ‘And you think the two humans from the café might have something to do with it?’

  ‘If they were in your house, I do.’

  Hans thought about that. ‘But people come to the house all the time. My humans are always inviting other humans in. It’s one of the best things about living with humans; there is always someone new to make a fuss of you.’

  Rex would have rolled his eyes if he knew how to. The dachshund was right about the humans, of course, just not in this case. ‘You don’t think it’s at all suspicious that they are here now somewhere?’

  Hans didn’t have an answer, but he didn’t like being talked down to or made to feel like he was inadequate. He had enough self-doubt because his size and shape placed him on the low end of the scale when it came to speed, strength, fighting ability, and a dozen other attributes he wanted to be better at. Overall, it gave him a complex which he fought hard against and would happily turn to aggression as a first port of call when challenged.

  Rex saw that the dachshund was getting angry again and chose to ignore him. ‘We’re being followed,’ he told Albert, barking the news loudly enough to get his human’s attention.