The Game of Shepherd and Dawse

by William Shepherd

  In times past, Tracey had thought how convenient it would be if someone kidnapped her daughter and whisked her away to some childless, wealthy family who desperately wanted a child. It would have been a neat ending to her troubles – or so Tracey had thought. But things were different now. As she walked back to Shepherd Road she tried to put these guilt ridden notions to the back of her head, for fear that providence had taken her seriously.

  Nettie wasn’t at Charlie’s or at Joe’s, or Mrs Bottal’s or any of the other houses on the street. Tracey had knocked on every single door. Her earlier anger had quickly turned to concern and now to desperation. The inhabitants of the street were all outside with worried looks on their faces, while also enjoying the drama of it all - as so many people seem to do.

  Tracey was becoming hysterical when someone finally thought to ring the police. Unfortunately, timeliness was not a part of their protocols and a patrol car eventually arrived two hours later. The police apologised for not having anyone available to look for the child at that time, though some knew better. They knew that law enforcement often turned a blind eye when it came to less affluent areas and Shepherd Road certainly fit into that category.

  When someone asked the officers when they might consider getting around to actually looking for Nettie, they said they would do so as soon as someone was available, which most assuredly meant later versus sooner.

  The officers who did eventually turn up appeared to be indifferent to Tracey’s plight saying, “I wouldn’t worry, Mrs Furnella”, they told her in a slightly condescending manner. “Your daughter will be back before you know it. Kids do this all the time, you know. She’ll come round when she gets hungry, no doubt. So don’t you worry now”.

  This wasn’t what Tracey needed to hear.

  The officer took down a description of Nettie and told Tracey, “If she’s not back by the morning, call us again. We’ll get the local paper to post her picture. I’m sure she's fi...”

  The officer abruptly ended the conversation and turned away quickly to answer a more important call coming in over his radio.

  “Urgent assistance needed in the Alverstoke area. All units to make their way to Tebora Drive”.

  Apparently some local yobs had been harassing a man outside of his house by threatening his wife and throwing stones at his window. In desperation, the man had clouted one of the youths and the boy had called the police. The police were only too happy to arrest the poor man and press charges against him for having the audacity to protect himself and his family.

  True enough, the dark forces of the Dawse had gnawed their way like rats into all aspects of society, from bottom to top, and all decent people of the world were now being made aware of it – even those who lived on Shepherd Road.

  Sally Sour had decided to give herself a congratulatory two-week holiday, so she rented a small cottage in Bournemouth and hired a taxi to take her to the train station. It was, as she put it, a reward for a good job done well – except the taxi part. This would cost her extra, though she was forced to take one as she had no friends to ask to drive her to the station and she couldn't afford to park her car there while she was gone.

  On her way to the train station that morning, the taxi happened to take her past Shepherd Road. She noticed two patrol cars parked along the street, just down from Joe’s house, and she muttered to herself, “Joe must be at the police station right now and with any luck, they’ll be grilling him”. She said this just loudly enough for the cab driver to hear, hoping he would ask for more details of her juicy story. (He heard Sally, but he didn't care.) Although the thought of Joe being interrogated gave her a twisted glow, Sally Sour was actually glad to be getting out of the area - at least until some of the furore had died down. She was amazed she hadn’t realised up until now that this was exactly how God had wanted her to work and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t been more like this years ago, and her ego swelled three sizes.

  “That will be £4.75 please, madam”, the taxi driver said as he pulled up to the train station.

  “Well, I must say”, blustered Sally. “I think it’s a disgrace that anyone who has their own church should be charged so much. I really don’t think I should have to pay at all”.

  “Oh, yeah”? Said the taxi driver in an exhausted but firm voice, a voice that said he'd been down this road before. “Why don’t you tell that to someone who gives a damn. Its £4.75, luv. Now pay up or I’ll take you to the police station”.

  Sally Sour knew when she had been out-gunned, so she reluctantly decided to pay the man quickly and exit the taxi. Besides, her congratulatory holiday awaited her.

  “If I didn’t have a train to catch, it would be you being arrested and not me”! She spat back at the driver as she straightened her outdated skirt and slammed the door behind her.

  The seasoned cabbie didn’t bother to say anything more. In the meantime, sour Sally spent the rest of her glorious holiday willing the cabbie to be in a serious car accident. She visualised the twisted wreck and the way his family would be devastated. She didn’t feel any sympathy for him whatsoever, nor any guilt for herself for having such thoughts. Instead she consoled herself, saying he would have brought it upon himself and that’s what happens when you’re on the wrong side of God

  With the disappearance of Nettie, David Pru, from the Council, now knew he had no other choice but to inform police of the complaint letter they had been given by Sally Sour. David also knew Joe hadn’t had anything to do with Nettie's disappearance. He didn’t have any hard evidence for this but he knew in his heart of hearts that it just didn’t fit. Fortunately, David knew Darryl the desk sergeant from childhood, when they used to ride their motorbikes illegally and on occasion had eluded the police while being chased.

  David explained the situation to Darryl in an off-the-record kind of way as to why he hadn't come forward with the information before and how it may have some relevance to the current situation.

  “No, you did the right thing, David”, Darryl said in a confidential tone as he ran one hand through his thick dark hair. “I think I’d have done the same thing, but thanks for bringing it forward now. The more information we can get on this case, the better”.

  “So any news on the girl yet then”? David asked.

  “Not as much as a sniff, mate. We’ve had a few reports come in about a dark shadowy figure lingering outside the school gates but not much yet in the way of a description. It's been three days now, so it’s not looking good”. There was genuine concern in Darryl's voice and a tired look on his unshaven face. Many of the officers had been working overtime on the case, including Darryl, and the strain was starting to show.

  After an hour or so had passed and Darryl had worked out his best prong of attack, he made his way over to Joe’s house, on his own.

  Joe was in the kitchen when he saw his wall-mounted light bulb turn on and off. Joe had had one these installed by a company that supplied products for deaf people. Joe wasn’t deaf, but it gave him a good excuse for dealing with pushy sales people when they called. He would just point to his ears and then point to the light fitting. The sales person would fill in the blanks. Then they would both smile and give each other lots of thumbs up signs and the pushy sales person would push off. Joe made his way to the door and saw the smiling police sergeant waiting for him to answer.

  “Hello, sir”! Darryl said. “I’m Sergeant Dunstable. I wonder if you might have five minutes for me. It’s just a routine call”.

  “Yes, of course, Sergeant. Come right in. Is this about young Nettie and her disappearance”? Joe asked as he shook Darryl’s extended hand.

  “Yes, sir it is”, Darryl said as he made his way to the chair Joe offered him. “We’re making house to house calls and trying to build a picture of where everyone was on the afternoon of her disappearance. We don’t think we’ll find much that we aren't already aware of, but you never know”. Darryl finished off with a smile and paused for Joe’s reply.

  There was a
n awkward silence in the air for a brief moment. Then Joe quickly twigged what Darryl was wanting.

  “Oh! Yes. Sorry sergeant”, Joe quickly apologized. “Yes, of course. I was in Saint Bartholomew’s hospital from 12.15 that day until two days later got out at about 10.30 am. Had a bad bout of food poisoning, Tin of salmon, of all things! Second time it's happened to me. The first ti…”.

  Darryl interrupted Joe and stood to leave. “Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but that really is all I need at this time. Thank you so much for your hospitality”. When he reached the door, Darryl finished scribbling in his notebook and turned to add, “Feeling better now, I hope”? As if to make amends for his rather abrupt departure.

  “Yep, fit as fiddle”, Joe said with a smile and left it at that, save for being interrupted again.

  “Thank you again for your time, Mr. Sadsoul. Enjoy the rest of your day, sir”.

  Darryl left Joe’s as quickly as he had got there. He was actually pleased to learn of Joe’s food poisoning and being hospitalised, as that well and truly put him in the clear. Darryl knew Joe was telling the truth. With all his years of experience on the force, he had come to know the tell-tale signs of a liar. Of course, he would still need to phone the hospital for confirmation as that was protocol for any good police officer, but he knew he could cross Joe off the list of suspects.

  After Joe shut the door, something dawned on him. He was a little puzzled as to how the officer knew his full name since he hadn’t introduced himself at any point in their conversation. But Joe didn’t really give it much thought after that and went about his business.

  Darryl had to knock a few times on Tracey's door before he managed to get her attention. The doctor had put her on a course of Valium to calm her nerves and it had made her a bit docile and sleepy.

  Tracey perked up a bit when she saw the officer standing outside. Adrenaline started pumping around her body. ‘Oh, God’! She thought. Was this it? Was it good news? Was it bad news? Damn, just any news would do. ‘Please’! She thought to herself as she moved to open the door.

  Darryl adopted a more relaxed tone with Tracey than he had with Joe. “Hello, Tracey. Would you have two minutes? I need to ask you about a couple of things, if that would be ok”?

  Tracey’s heart sank. More questions wasn’t what she wanted to hear. What she wanted to hear was, ‘its ok, Tracey. We’ve finally found Nettie and she’s safe and well at the police station’. Instead, all she was going to get was yet more questions and she really didn’t know what else to say to the police.

  Darryl followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the table while Tracey politely put the kettle on.

  “Still no news I’m afraid,” Darryl began, “but we’re all working around the clock and more officers have been drafted in to help the process along”.

  Darryl stopped short of saying everything would turn out fine as he wasn’t one for giving people false hope. Darryl slowly scribbled some notes in his notebook to give Tracey some time to finish making the tea and sit down.

  “As you know, we have to follow all lines of enquiry and there’s something I hoped you could clarify for me”, Darryl said very softly so as not to come across sounding too official. He added two heaping spoonful’s of sugar to his tea and would have added cream too, if Tracey had had any to offer.

  Darryl then showed Tracey the piece of paper with her signature on it, the signature Sally Sour had coerced out of her.

  “Is that your signature”? He asked.

  Tracey puzzled over the signature a bit and began drifting off into her own drug-induced head. She then blinked several times which seemed to bring her back into the real world.

  “Yes”, she said hazily. “That's my signature. Where did you get it”?

  Darryl declined to answer her just yet, so as not to prime the situation, and carried on with his line of questioning.

  “Have you, by chance, made any complaints about your neighbour, Joe Sadsoul, in the last few weeks or months”?

  “Joe?! What”? Tracey exclaimed, her eyes open wide. “No, never. Why would I make a complaint against Joe? He’s a really nice guy”.

  “And do you know a Miss Sally Sour”? Darryl continued.

  “Yes. I know Sally. She used to come round here a lot, but not so much these days. Don't really have much time for her, to be honest”, Tracey said, sipping the warm tea and feeling a bit more awake.

  “So, to clarify, you haven’t made any complaint about Joe - not to the Council or to Miss Sour”?

  “Gosh, no”, Tracey said. “I've never made a complaint about anyone, or to anyone. What's all this about, sergeant? Does it have something to do with my Nettie's disappearance”? Tracey's adrenaline was starting to pump again as she was starting to come out of her hypnotic, trance-like state.

  “It's probably all just a mix up”, Darryl cautioned, “but Miss Sour seemed to think that you thought Joe was taking up too much of the pavement when he watches out for the kids and that it was a health and safety hazard. So the Council has asked him not to sit there. That’s all”, Darryl said casually as he finished his tea.

  It was all too much for Tracey to take in, all with Prince Valium still giving her his warm, soothing hug. Darryl could see Tracey wasn’t really in a place for more questions and stood to go. He decided he'd already gotten what he came for, so he put his notebook and pen away and pushed his chair in to the table.

  “Ok”, he said in an almost cheerful tone. “Don't you worry, Tracey. I won’t bother you anymore today. As soon we hear anything, you’ll be the first to know”. Darryl gently touched Tracey’s arm before making his way to the door. He hadn't told her the full truth about Sally, as they weren’t allowed to in such cases.

  After Darryl left, Tracey zombied back to the sofa and lay in her trance-like state a short while before drifting off to sleep. Back at the station, Darryl had the same hunch as David, and decided to proceed with caution until he could get to the bottom of this mysterious and rather nasty little letter.

  As Charlie and Joe were sitting in the living room that evening, they were both sad about the disappearance of Nettie. Charlie had gotten to know Nettie rather well over the past few weeks and had grown quite fond of her. So as to lift the sullen atmosphere, Joe decided to read Charlie the last part of ‘The Game of Shepherd and Dawse’. It was good timing, as it would take both their minds off the situation.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DAWSEY DALE

  “Change is always for the better, no matter how terrible it may seem at first, for it is only change that has made everything on this planet so beautiful”.

  ~ Teewok

  Juju made his way through the forest towards Dawsey Dale. It wasn’t hard. All he had to do was follow his nose. Juju had not known his father, so he started to wonder if he might find him here. He had heard about this place on occasion over the years, but didn’t know if it had actually existed. By the time the sun started to appear, his night’s walk had led him to the place where the original mudslide had been. By now of course it had become grassed over and resembled a natural hill with a path running down. He made his way straight down the hill and while the Shepherds had been disgusted by the sights that greeted them there, Juju was only half disgusted, because the other half of him quite liked it.

  As he made his way through the filth and mess, the inhabitants who were about at that early hour became transfixed on this newcomer, not knowing whether to approach him or keep their distance. As he started to move toward the centre of the camp, the oldest and fattest of the Dawse came at Juju with a rock in his hand, but Juju had seen him coming. Juju approached to within a meter and allowed the fat one to take a swipe at him with the rock, but Juju instinctively ducked the swipe and pulled the head of the fat one back toward him and bit a great big chunk out of its neck, right on its jugular.

  It was Juju's speed and agility that amazed the onlookers. The fat one stumbled back with blood spewing out of his neck and after losing several pints o
f it, the fat one collapsed on the floor. Seconds later, the onlookers stole their moment, picked up the nearest rocks and proceeded to finish the fat one off, whilst yelling like a wild bunch of hyenas. Now it appeared, there was a new Number One in Dawsey Dale and he was fitter, smarter and a lot stronger than anyone else. Juju had just killed his first human and there was a part of him that felt great. It would be his first of many, and as it turned out – the first Dawse Juju happened to kill was his own father.

  Straight away, Juju set about building a small fort for his own security. It took a few weeks to erect and while it was in the process of being built he slept in the woods for safety. The fort was a necessity because this was a place of constant danger, and there was no compassion or love for your fellow man in Dawsey Dale. Once his fort was complete, Juju busied himself with selecting certain females to join him in his lair. The females were not so much asked to join but ‘encouraged’ by being grabbed by the hair or punched in the face. Once they were in the fort, they would be given food. Indeed quite a lot of it. They would receive meat of another kind, too, which made for plenty of offspring.