Ain't Nothing but a Pound Dog

by Jeannie Wycherley

  Catesby checked the time. “Just after eleven.”

  “Oh!” Clarissa groaned, the jitters attacking her once more. “I have to get going.” She grabbed her bag as Catesby stood. “Time is of the essence.”

  “So soon? There is more we can discuss…”

  Clarissa shook her head. “No time.” She stuffed the papers inside her bag then quickly embraced Catesby. “I’ll be in touch very soon. Thank you for this. It’s going to make an enormous difference to my life.”

  With that, she turned and bolted from the office and out into the foyer, heading for the main doors and the car park beyond. Catesby followed her, but at a distance, and watched as Clarissa jumped into her battered Nissan.

  “You’re right. It will make a difference,” Catesby murmured, lifting her hand in a wave as Clarissa spun out of the car park and down the drive.

  “If only you knew how much.”

  Clarissa made good time heading back towards the coast. Once she was sure she’d have a strong mobile signal, she pulled into a layby and turned off the engine. The slip of paper Catesby had given her had begun to burn a hole in her pocket.

  “No time like the present,” Clarissa muttered and dug around for the phone number, panicking a little when she couldn’t immediately find it. The adrenaline still coursed through her body. She would be Toby’s official and legal owner. He’d be safe!

  Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she placed the scrap on her knee and tapped the number into her phone. The number rang through with a deep old-fashioned burr-burr sound that dragged on for an absolute age.

  Burr burr. Burr burr. Burr burr.

  Clarissa stole a quick glance at the clock on the dashboard display and considered hanging up. She could call a little later. At the moment she decided to end the call, a high-pitched chink told her she’d connected.

  “Corker’s Pies.” A male voice, perhaps Clarissa’s age or a little older.

  “I’m sorry? Who did you say you were?” Clarissa asked.

  “Corker’s Pies.” The voice came again with the same inflection. No hint of interest in who might be calling them. No welcoming greeting.

  Nonplussed, Clarissa stared down at the piece of paper on her knee. Pies? Had she mis-dialled?

  “Hello Ma’am?” The voice asked. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “I’m not sure,” Clarissa said.

  “Ma’am? Do you have a message for Corker’s Pies?” This time the voice appeared to be subtly prompting her to tell them the reason for her call.

  Clarissa crossed her fingers and hoped she wouldn’t sound like something out of a war movie parody. “The Six Stone is in the wind.”

  Clarissa heard the sound of frantic typing. “Ma’am can you confirm that for me?”

  “The Six Stone is in the wind,” Clarissa repeated. Her voice sounded even less confident now.

  “Understood.” More clicking on a keyboard. “Ma’am, are you able to tell me when this incident occurred?”

  Clarissa’s mind whirred. What sort of a pie shop was this? “Erm… approximately six months ago.”

  “Confirm six months, Ma’am?” A slightly incredulous lift to the tone, hidden well.

  “Yes. Confirmed.”

  More hurried typing.

  “And Ma’am, may I confirm you are calling me from your own personal mobile?”

  Clarissa baulked at this. What had she managed to stray into here? They were collecting her personal data even as she spoke to them. “Yes. This is my phone.”

  “Thank you for your information. Good day to you.”

  “Wait? Hello?” Clarissa called desperately down the line, imagining the person at the end had already hung up. “Can you tell me what happens now?”

  The voice hesitated for a fraction of a second but then responded, assured and calm in direct comparison to Clarissa’s shrill panic. “Everything will be taken care of.”

  “What does that even mean? Someone was killed—”

  “As I said, Ms Page. Everything will be taken care of. Please resume your life and act normally.”

  He knew her name?

  “Act normally?” she spluttered.

  “Thank you for calling Corker’s Pies. Have a wonderful day now.”

  A click, and Clarissa was listening to dead air.

  “Resume my life?” she repeated.

  What on earth was going on?

  “DC Plum!” Clarissa, still reeling from the morning’s strange events, smiled in surprise to see the policeman loitering outside the kennels. He looked smart in his pristine shirt and grey suit, if a little warm.

  “Please. I asked you to call me Ed,” he replied, straightening up.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Clarissa said. Today was turning out to be mighty peculiar. “I mean… everything is alright, isn’t it? I mean… they haven’t… oh my goodness. Toby?” Her heart skipped a beat. Already more than a little nervous, when the detective didn’t immediately answer, Clarissa thought she might vomit. She clasped a hand to her mouth in alarm, but he reached out to deflect her concern.

  “I haven’t been inside, but I’m sure everything is just fine.” He looked at his watch. “I hoped to provide a little emotional support, if I could. And you never know when having a police officer friend can stand you in good stead.” He winked. “You’re a little early. The reception doesn’t open until two and that’s twenty minutes away.”

  Clarissa gulped in relief. “I know. I just couldn’t wait any longer.” She held up a canvas bag. “I’ve just been to the pet shop to buy him a few treats and a new collar and lead and things.”

  Ed peered inside the bag. “A new ball. Lucky lad. You sound deadly serious about keeping him. Are you sure your landlord will approve?”

  “My circumstances have changed somewhat.” Clarissa decided not to go into details. “It’s really kind of you to come. I appreciate it.”

  “To be honest I wanted to bump into you.” He hesitated before continuing. “I spoke to my superiors about pursuing all of the people involved in taking the Bedlington Terrier, but unfortunately, not only do they think there won’t be anywhere near enough evidence to charge the dog warden and the owner of these kennels, but they intend to drop the charges against Craig and his partner, Louise.”

  Clarissa stared at the detective, her mouth open in disbelief. “But… but… you know what’s been going on here. I’m sure with a little bit of hard work you could track down other owners of other missing dogs. You’d find that the dogs have been brought here by this particular dog warden, whatever his name was—”

  “Dave Cooke.”

  “Yes, him,” Clarissa spat angrily. “You could cross-reference—”

  “It’s just too much work and too many manhours for a very small team like ours. I will log the incident and send it up the line to main HQ, but that’s all I can do.”

  “There will be other owners out there wondering what happened to their beloved dogs,” Clarissa reminded him, desperate for him to take her seriously.

  Ed dropped his eyes, shamefaced. “I know, and I’m truly sorry.”

  Clarissa’s eyed filled with tears. She dropped her head so he couldn’t see and chewed on her lower lip. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done all he could do. “Maybe I could run a story in the paper,” she said.

  “Not if you’re going to name names.” Ed sounded alarmed at the idea.

  “No. I won’t do that. Just raise the issue. Make sure people know to physically check at kennels and not just phone and take someone’s word for it that their furry friend hasn’t been incarcerated in their pound.”

  “I think that would be the perfect angle to take.” Ed sounded relieved. “You know, I have a lunch break now. Once you have Toby, maybe we could go for a coffee somewhere and talk over the details.”

  Clarissa squinted at the young policeman. Was he blushing? “That would be…” She thought for a moment. What would it be? Nice? Lovely? “Smashing,” she decided. “There’s
a kiosk in the park that sells drinks and snacks. We could have a wander round and Toby could get some exercise.” Clarissa had purchased a bumper pack of poo bags in the pet shop. “He’ll need it after a night spent inside here.”

  “Great!” Ed gestured at the door to the kennel’s reception. “It looks like there’s somebody in there. Maybe you can talk to them now? I’ll wait here for you.”

  Clarissa looked away, feeling oddly shy. “Perfect.”

  “Unless you want me to come in with you?”

  She gave this serious consideration for a second. He could flash his badge. Get results more quickly perhaps. But no, she decided. She’d never needed a guy’s help before. She could fight this particular battle without his assistance. Besides, she and Toby were a unit now. They belonged to each other.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

  A large sign on the door read, Please close the door in bold red letters.

  Clarissa smirked, remembering what Toby had told her about his escape. She pushed the door to, but didn’t close it all the way. You never knew when another pooch might need to make a break for it.

  “Hi.” A middle-aged heavy-set woman, wearing light green overalls that were a little tight around the thighs, and a bright coloured scarf around her hair, glanced up as Clarissa entered the reception. She’d been mopping the floor. Now she stowed the mop and bucket behind the counter. “Watch your step there.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Clarissa walked carefully across the room to the counter. Butterflies rampaged through her stomach. She badly needed everything to be straightforward from here on in. She surveyed the variety of inexpensive plastic collar-and-lead sets on display and some bags of treats, but everything seemed a little half-hearted to her. Collection tins for the rescue dogs and a bunch of old newspapers were scattered across the counter. A battered television screen hung from the ceiling on a bracket to the right of the counter, its screen divided into four to give different black and white views of the kennels. Clarissa hated the run-down cheapness of this place. As though no-one genuinely cared.

  “Are you here to adopt one of our dogs?” the woman asked, and Clarissa saw the glow of hope in her eyes. She instantly regretted her previous thought. Here stood someone who absolutely cared. Yes, maybe there were people at these particular kennels involved in something untoward with the pedigree dogs, but that was not to say everyone who worked here was.

  On a hunch Clarissa asked, “You wouldn’t be Selma, would you?”

  “Why that’s right, I am.” The woman’s face lit up, accommodating a broad grin. She might have appeared a little physically bedraggled on the face of it, but she had the most gorgeous smile that always came from owning a warm and loving heart.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” admitted Clarissa, and Selma tipped her head, unsure what that meant or to whom Clarissa might have been talking.

  “You’re adopting?” Selma asked again. Behind her, from somewhere in one of the kennel blocks, a number of dogs started to bark. Frenzied, urgent barking. Selma scrutinised the television screen, frowned, then turned her attention back to Clarissa.

  “Kind of.” Clarissa fumbled inside her shoulder bag for the papers she needed. “I’ve come to collect a dog that was bequeathed to me in someone’s will. So yes, I’m here to take him away.”

  “That’s wonderful. It makes me so happy when one of our dogs finds their forever home.” Selma pulled out a pile of forms secured on a clipboard from beneath the counter and picked up a pen. “What’s the dog’s name, honey?”

  “It’s Toby. Or Ee-ex-ten-eight-two I believe he was referred to when he was in here before.”

  “Toby?” The woman regarded Clarissa in surprise. “But he,” she hesitated, “escaped. Just a few days ago.”

  “No.” Clarissa’s insides twisted themselves into a knot, and a fist of fear blocked her throat. “The dog warden brought him back here last night.”

  “I don’t think so. I haven’t seen him in the kennels this morning.” Selma shook her head.

  “I’m telling you he was brought back here last night. By the dog warden.” Clarissa clenched her teeth.

  That dastardly rogue of a dog warden. The next time she came across that man she would hex him from here to Helsinki. “Dave Cooke.” Clarissa fixed Selma with a determined glare. “He took Toby from my house late yesterday afternoon.”

  Selma, sensing the other woman’s rising panic, held both hands palms up. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort this out, I’m sure.” She stepped into the back office and grabbed a folder from the desk there, opening it up to the very top form. “Let me see… who was brought in last night? We had a Dachshund and a… oooh. Ah.” She ran her finger across a number, her face blanching a touch.

  She closed the folder and stared at Clarissa, her face grave.

  “What?” Clarissa asked, the tremble in her voice unmistakeable.

  “I don’t know what’s happened here. You’re just in the nick of time. Yes, Ee-ex-ten-eight-two was brought back in. We have his number but no name. And the reason I haven’t seen him… is because he was taken straight through to the surgery.”

  “The surgery? Is he sick?” Clarissa struggled to say the words. “Has he been—"

  “No.” Another woman entered the reception area from the back office. Slightly younger than Selma and with overly bleached hair and deep wrinkles on either side of her mouth, she was dressed in a suit. Her lapel badge identified her as Sue Mitchelmore, Manager. “He hasn’t been terminated. Not yet. And he isn’t sick. But we do keep dogs that are scheduled to be euthanised in a pen next to the surgery. It’s quieter there, and they tend to be less anxious. We don’t want the rest of the dogs picking up on any residual unease. You understand?”

  Clarissa started as though she had been shot. Her knees had suddenly lost their strength. “Well, give me a release form,” she managed to spit out. “I’ll sign it right now.”

  Selma nodded and reached for the clipboard.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The manager coolly placed her hand flat on the pile of forms, her voice smooth, her manner unflustered.

  Clarissa scowled at Sue Mitchelmore. “I really don’t care what’s possible or not possible, quite frankly. I’m here to take him home. Right now. And believe me when I say that my doing so will allay any anxiety or unease he might be experiencing.”

  Sue smiled, a tight reflex movement that involved pulling her lips slightly wider. Her eyes remained cold. “The process has been set in motion, I’m afraid. The vet has received the order.”

  “Ms Mitchelmore,” Selma protested. She sounded as alarmed as Clarissa felt.

  “That will be all, Selma.”

  Selma placed her hand on the manager’s arm. “I can go and get him. It’s no trouble.”

  “I said that will be all, Selma,” Sue Mitchelmore repeated firmly. “Go and see to the dogs in Block D. They’re making rather a lot of noise.”

  “Ms Mitchelmore,” Selma tried again. “This lady has papers—”

  Sue turned sharply to the kennel maid. “If you value your job here, Selma, I suggest you follow my instructions.”

  The two women faced off. Clarissa observed them from the other side of the counter, willing Selma to stick to her guns. A flare of anger and defiance sparked in Selma’s eyes, but then she dropped her head, and without looking at either Clarissa or her boss, she wheeled about and walked briskly out of the reception area.

  The door clanged noisily behind her.

  Clarissa swallowed.

  “As I said, it is not possible to simply remove a dog from the surgery. There are procedures we have to follow.”

  Clarissa yanked her own papers from her handbag and slammed them down on the counter so hard her palm vibrated with the force of it. “Let’s put the procedures in place then, shall we? I have a will here which names me as Toby’s owner. This is a legal document. Toby belongs to me. You cannot destroy my property without my say-s
o or without a court order.”

  Sue Mitchelmore shifted uncomfortably. “That’s as maybe, but even so, we would have to follow the adoption procedures. At a push these procedures can take up to forty-eight hours minimum. Toby does not have that much time left.”

  Clarissa bit back a scream. Was this woman totally idiotic? “Of course he has the time. He belongs to me, not you. You’re going to hand him over to me now.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Sue Mitchelmore appeared increasingly agitated, struggling to keep her emotion contained. From behind her, the sound of barking dogs had grown louder, even more frantic than before.

  “You can and you must. I have a police officer outside who will be very interested to hear—”

  The sudden high-pitched wail of the fire alarm going off made both women jump. Out of habit, Sue Mitchelmore glanced up at the security display. Clarissa followed the direction of her gaze and scanned the four images. She could see Selma in one of the kennels, looking about herself in seeming consternation. Two of the other pictures simply showed rows of dogs, standing by their doors or pacing, barking, yelping and mute.

  But in the fourth image, a thin woman was exiting the building from a side entrance. Maybe a staff-only door or an emergency exit. By going through a locked door she had presumably set off the alarm.

  Clarissa moved closer to the screen and studied the image with horrified fascination. A woman in a smart suit, dog-tooth check to be exact, a wide-brimmed hat, high heels.

  The Pointy Woman.

  “What’s she doing here?” Clarissa asked.

  Sue Mitchelmore’s eyes flicked nervously from the screen to Clarissa and back to the screen again. When she declined to answer, Clarissa repeated the question more forcefully. “What in the name of all that’s green is that woman doing here in the kennels?”

  Sue Mitchelmore sneered, turned on her heel and walked the few paces to the back office. “You’re too late,” she growled at Clarissa. “It’s all over now.” She stepped inside and slammed the door closed. Clarissa glowered in fury, half considering snatching up the fire extinguisher that hung on the wall and bursting in after the smug manager.