Ain't Nothing but a Pound Dog Read online

  “I shouldn’t have thought so,” Clarissa said hurriedly, but Toby knew differently. This was the officer who had looked after him at the scene of the murder and handed him on to the dog warden.

  Toby couldn’t quite decide how he felt about that. On the one hand, the detective had been nice to him, on the other he’d gone on to have the worst six months of his short life.

  The officer gave Toby a quick massage around the ears and stood back up to smile at Clarissa. “You’re a reporter on the Sun Valley Tribune? The desk sergeant said you had something you wanted to run past me?”

  “That’s right.” Clarissa, one-handed, fumbled in her bag for her notes.

  “Step through here.” The officer indicated the second door and they all trooped through. Clarissa dumped her bag on the table and took a seat, dropping Toby’s lead. He plonked himself next to her, peering above the desk, wiggling his hairy eyebrows at the police officer who grabbed the chair opposite them.

  “I’m Detective Constable Edward Plum and I’ll be assisting you today. Roy, the sergeant on the desk, said you wanted to talk to me about a dog thief?” DC Plum nodded at Toby. “Did someone try and steal your dog?”

  “Not my dog.” Clarissa put a hand protectively on Toby’s head. “Not that this isn’t my dog. I mean, he is. Erm… Freddie here.”

  “Not with the Freddie thing again,” said Toby.

  “Shhh.” Clarissa nudged him with her knee and narrowed her eyes in warning.

  “It’s alright,” Toby reassured her. “There’s nothing even remotely witchy about this fellow. He can’t understand a word I’m saying.”

  “But it’s a bit off-putting that you’re having a conversation with me while I’m trying to talk to him,” Clarissa explained.

  She looked back at DC Plum. His eyebrows were raised, his expression quizzical.

  Clarissa faked a hollow sounding laugh. “Don’t mind me. I’m always arguing with… ah… Freddie.”

  Toby snuffed, nudging her hand with his cold nose. “I just think it’s worth reminding you that when you start telling porkies about my name, you forget. It gets us into hot water.”

  Clarissa waggled her fingers without looking at him, beaming instead at DC Plum.

  The detective chewed on the end of his pen and regarded the interaction between Clarissa and Toby with interest. He tilted sideways in his seat to stare at Toby who leaned in towards Clarissa’s knee. “It’s like you almost understand each other,” the young DC marvelled.

  Toby stared at him, dolefully.

  “Oh we do.” Clarissa pulled out her notes. “Now, as I was saying—”

  “Yes,” DC Plum straightened up. “Back to the dog thief.”

  “Thieves.”

  “Thieves? Okay. The ones who didn’t steal your dog?”

  “That’s right. Not my dog. But they did steal… ah… a friend of my dog’s.”

  “They stole your dog’s friend?” DC plum bit back a smile. “Would that be a human friend or a doggie friend?”

  Clarissa levelled her gaze. “I know it sounds amusing, but it is deadly serious, I can assure you.”

  DC Plum composed his face instantly and sat up tall in the chair. “Of course, Ms Page. I understand. I apologise.”

  “I happen to know that a couple in Churchill Street, just literally down the road from here, have a Bedlington Terrier that they’ve taken from the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary. They apparently claimed to be the owners of the dog.”

  Clarissa flipped open her tablet and showed DC Plum a photo. “This is the dog in question. Her name is Miss Phoebe. You can see here that she was reported missing by her owner a few weeks ago. Her owner lives in Abbotts Cromleigh.” DC Plum scanned the article and nodded.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Today while I was walking Tobe—I erm—mean Freddie here, we saw Miss Phoebe with somebody else. And erm… I happen to know that they are not the dog’s owners.”

  “How do you know that?” DC Plum challenged her.

  Clarissa looked at Toby and then back at DC Plum and licked her lips. This was the tough bit. “I just do.”

  “Right.” DC Plum slumped in his chair and sighed. Clarissa could see the will to live draining out of him. Quickly she turned to her notes.

  “I know you’re thinking I’m wasting your time, but I have reason to believe that this couple in Churchill Road are being supplied with young and fit pedigree dogs to sell on to other people.”

  DC Plum sat up a little straighter. This made things more interesting. “Tell me more.”

  Clarissa smiled. She’d hooked him and he was intelligent enough to listen to reason without closing his mind. “Alright. So the key thing is that older dogs, and mongrels—” she stole a quick look at Toby, “and Liquorice Allsorts—”

  “Like me,” interrupted Toby.

  “—are not involved in this scam at all. It only relates to pedigree pooches and maybe some daft and overpriced crossbreeds.”

  DC Plum nodded, his eyebrows raised, obviously taking heed of her story.

  “According to my research,” Clarissa crossed the fingers of one hand under the desk, “pedigree dogs are rehomed from the kennels very swiftly. Far too swiftly in my eyes. This suggests to me that proper home checks aren’t being undertaken. Meanwhile, the mongrels and older dogs tend to languish at the Sanctuary for a long time.”

  “Surely that’s what you’d expect?”

  “Maybe.” Clarissa couldn’t deny that. “But given that Miss Phoebe’s owner lives in Abbotts Cromleigh and the couple that have her in their care at the moment live here in Churchill Street, I think that suggests something is amiss. The same dog warden has oversight of both towns as well as all the neighbouring villages in the surrounding countryside.”

  “The local dog warden would have oversight of dogs missing in East Devon, surely?” DC Plum asked, looking doubtful.

  “I think he’s in on it,” Clarissa replied.

  Ed’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “We need to be careful of any unfounded insinuations that—”

  Clarissa waved his protest away. “You’re right. He definitely has to know that Miss Phoebe is missing from her home in Abbotts Cromleigh. He would also know that a Bedlington Terrier had been taken to the Rescue. How could he not put two and two together?”

  “Unless the one in rescue wasn’t the missing dog?”

  Clarissa leaned back in her chair and gave the policeman an irritated glare. “I took it upon myself to call Miss Phoebe’s owners. I’m a reporter, so I could do that without raising too much suspicion. I just wanted to know if they had heard of any Bedlington Terriers being taken into rescue anywhere in Devon over the past few weeks.” Clarissa leaned forward and tapped the desk between them. “Not only had they not heard of any, DC Plum, they had even phoned The Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary of their own accord on several occasions. And each time they were told that no Bedlington Terriers had been brought into the kennel at all this year.”

  DC Plum scratched his head and now Toby, peering around the desk to gaze up at the officer, could see his eyes flicking as he rapidly thought things through. Toby nudged Clarissa with his nose. “Tell the detective about the neighbours.”

  DC Plum peered under the table at Toby as Clarissa turned back to him. Lying brazenly, she said, “We visited Churchill Street and did a bit of snooping—”

  “You really shouldn’t—” DC Plum started to say, but Clarissa stopped him.

  “I know I shouldn’t. But I can.” She smiled triumphantly, “Because I’m a reporter, remember?”

  “Yes, of course. How could I forget? But that doesn’t put you above the law, Ms Page.”

  Clarissa ignored him. “The neighbours claim that this couple have numerous dogs. The dogs come and go. That’s because they’re taking them from the kennels and selling them to order. Maybe advertising on the internet or through word of mouth or a mobile app of some kind. I don’t know.”

  DC Plum scratched somethi
ng down on his notepad. “Your suggestion is that this couple are working hand in hand with the dog warden and the kennel?”

  “At least this one kennel. Who knows? There may be others involved. You could do a bit of digging.”

  “I like digging,” offered Toby.

  Clarissa reached out a hand to shush him. “Not that kind of digging.”

  She faced DC Plum once more. “They intend to sell Phoebe on to someone else tonight. If the sale goes through, then her genuine owners will never see her again. If the sale doesn’t go through—” Clarissa shuddered, “—then I’m afraid something much worse will happen to her.”

  “So I’d have to stop the sale tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  DC Plum fell silent. Clarissa waited.

  Eventually DC Plum blew out his cheeks. “The thing is, I’m not sure I have enough cause to go around there without more evidence than you’ve given me.”

  “I thought you might say that, so, while I was waiting for you outside, I took matters into my own hands.”

  “Hello? It’s the police.” DC Plum hammered on the door and stood back. “Could you open up please?”

  From inside came the sound of several dogs barking hysterically.

  Clarissa and Toby, standing well away from the door just in case something untoward occurred, exchanged glances.

  “That sounds like Miss Phoebe,” Toby said with relief. “She’s still inside.”

  At that moment, a car drove up and screeched to a halt directly in front of the house, double parking. Clarissa smiled with satisfaction as a small woman with a neat blonde bob exited the car in a rush, swiftly followed by the driver—another woman—this one older and wearing green scrubs.

  “Is Miss Phoebe inside?” the first woman asked.

  “Sally?” Clarissa interjected. “I’m Clarissa Page, the reporter who rang you.”

  Sally whipped around and held out her hand. “I’m so glad you did. Thank you! Do you really think this is her?”

  “We have everything crossed,” Clarissa said, shaking Sally’s hand, “don’t we Toby?” She pointed out the policeman still trying to get the occupants of the basement flat to come to the door. “That’s DC Plum. He’s in charge.”

  Sally walked towards the steps, looking at the officer with a degree of uncertainty. Just as she was about to introduce herself, the door opened a crack and a woman peered out.

  “What do you want?”

  “DC Plum from Sun Valley Police Station, Ms…?”

  “What’s it about?” the woman asked again.

  “I just need to ask you a few questions about your dogs.” DC Plum put his hand against the door to prevent her from closing it.

  The woman glared at him and then glanced up at the others huddled together at the top of the steps. She recognised Clarissa. It was probably the green mackintosh that gave her away.

  “Craig?” The woman shouted back into the flat. “It’s that nosy parker from the park. She’s gone and got the police onto us.”

  “You what?” the man’s voice bellowed out at them. The sound of furious footsteps headed for the door and DC Plum took a cautious step backwards, but as the door was angrily yanked open, a pair of dogs came streaking out; the first a silver bullet relishing her freedom; the second a smaller brown bundle of skittishness.

  “Catch them!” cried Sally, and at the sound of her voice, the Bedlington Terrier turned a comical somersault in the air and catapulted herself towards her owner, yelping with a mixture of excitement and fear. With some difficulty, Sally managed to get hold of her dog and scooped her into the air to hug her. “My baby!” she cried, and promptly burst into tears.

  The other woman had managed to grab the small brown dog, a Border Terrier, and was soothing him to help calm him down.

  “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” The man, Craig, stormed out of the flat and began to climb the steps. When DC Plum held out a restraining hand, Craig batted him away.

  “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sir. It might be construed as assault of a police officer. The courts tend to take a dim view of such things.”

  Craig squared up to the officer. “I don’t give a flying fart, quite honestly. They’re my dogs, so you need to give them back.”

  “I have reason to believe these are not your dogs though—” DC Plum began.

  “They definitely aren’t,” Sally interjected. “This is my dog and I can prove it.”

  “How you going to do that?” Craig snarled at her, his face a crimson mask of fury.

  Sally indicated the woman with the green scrubs. “This is Sandra, and she’s my vet. She’s going to scan Miss Phoebe for her microchip, which will prove beyond all doubt whose dog she really is.”

  Clarissa stepped right away from the kerfuffle, one eye on DC Plum. “It looks like he’ll be able to take it from here,” she nodded down at Toby.

  “Your plan worked!” Toby wagged happily. “If you hadn’t tracked down Sally via the reporter at the other newspaper, she would never have been here to make a fuss.”

  “Exactly.” Clarissa raised her voice a little above the cacophony of Craig and his partner Lou, both now shrieking at DC Plum. The detective appeared to be calling for back up. Clarissa stepped away, retreating to the gate where she could hear herself think. “Without all this hullabaloo I doubt our friendly police officer would have been able to pursue the case. Not before Miss Phoebe had been sold on, at any rate.”

  Toby danced. “Look how happy Phoebe is. It warms the cockles of your heart, doesn’t it?”

  Clarissa opened her mouth to respond but was beaten to it.

  “It does indeed.” A voice drifted towards them. Clarissa swivelled, smiling, imagining a neighbour had been observing the goings-on. She watched as a figure walked quickly away from them, heading up the street. A woman, dressed smartly in a black and white check skirt suit, red heels and a red hat with a wide brim.

  Slim.

  Pointy.

  Who had understood what Toby had said.

  A witch.

  She didn’t look back.

  Clarissa’s heart froze, her breath paralysed in her chest. She peered down at Toby, still so involved in Miss Phoebe’s emotional reunion that he hadn’t even looked at the woman, but now, sensing Clarissa’s sudden fear, he glanced back at her.

  “We have a problem,” she told him. “We have to get out of here.”

  Clarissa had intended to take photos and interview the interested parties involved in rescuing Miss Phoebe. She owed her editor a story after all. However, the brief encounter with the passer-by had properly upset the apple cart. She anxiously snapped a few shots on her phone before leaving her details with Sally, Sandra the vet, and DC Plum, promising them she would get in touch.

  Finally—and with great relief—she and Toby could slip away.

  She’d intended they’d head directly back to Old Joe’s house, but that meant they had to scurry towards the parade of shops where plenty of people were attending to their daily business. The Pointy Woman could well have been hiding in plain sight among them. Every flash of red had Clarissa’s heart thudding in her chest. She scanned the street constantly, imagining danger in every doorway, an enemy in every face.

  Clarissa wanted them to hurry home and lie low, out of sight, somewhere familiar and safe, but neither of them had eaten, and buying food now seemed to be an absolute necessity. With no option than to purchase a few items to tide them over while they formulated a plan, Clarissa lifted Toby into a raised flower bed and told him to hunker down among the hydrangeas while she nipped into the mini supermarket.

  She grabbed a basket and rushed down the aisles. A loaf of bread. Tins of tuna. No, they were for cats. Oh, she’d eat them. Tinned dog food, biscuit mix, treats. Far too much. Some salad. Butter. Milk. Tea.

  She paused at the take-away section and piled in a few ham and cheese sandwiches too.

  Chocolate, naturally.

  Mr Kipling’s Exceeding
ly Good Cakes.

  Wine?

  Regrettably, that didn’t seem like a sensible idea. She needed to remain in full possession of her faculties.

  She hurried to the checkout and waited impatiently in the queue while one assistant sorted out numerous requests for Lotto and cigarettes and electricity top-ups.

  Come on, come on, come on. The mantra repeated itself over and over in her head.

  Waiting in the queue, in impatient idleness, she glanced out of the big front store window… and thought she’d experienced heart failure. Someone with a red hat walked past the shop.

  It’s alright, she told herself. It’s only a middle-aged man wearing his football club’s colours.

  Perhaps she’d been mistaken, and it hadn’t been ‘Auntie Miranda’. Perhaps her Aunt Miranda and The Pointy Woman were not one and the same. All she had to go on was Toby’s description.

  But that had been uncannily similar to how she remembered the woman who had taken her from her home as an eight-year-old.

  This could all be a false alarm. Perhaps the woman had taken what she wanted from Old Joe and had no need to return. She hadn’t killed Toby to cover her tracks before, hadn’t even effectively silenced him, although all indications suggested she had tried to and failed. For a second, Clarissa almost convinced herself that the woman she had seen in Churchill Street had simply been an innocent passer-by or interested neighbour, but then she recalled the pointiness of the woman’s elbows, the click-clack of her stiletto heels, the sweep of the red brim… and the fear that had taken root in her bowel.

  No. She would listen to her witchy instinct on this. She needed to take Toby home, and fast.

  Her nerves were frayed. She breathed audibly, willing the cashier to speed up. Finally, at the point Clarissa considered simply dumping her basket and running out to retrieve Toby, the assistant served her. He worked methodically through her basket and would have packed a bag for her in the same manner, but Clarissa took control of that situation and threw everything in willy-nilly. She flashed her debit card at him and ran from the shop.