by Sam Short
The man continued. "This year, I'm proud to announce the return of the 2014 winner — Harry the pygmy goat! Give him a big round of applause!"
A mild smattering of clapping caused a nervous Shetland pony to buck his rear legs, and the owner, an equally nervous looking woman, calmed it with a hand on its head.
The tannoy crackled again. "Without further ado, let's get the show on the road! The rules are simple. The animals are to be walked around the ring three times, and after the last lap, each animal is to be halted in front of the judge's table so they can admire them and make their final decision! Competitors... begin your walk!"
A competition official, who stood in the middle of the circle of animals and owners, waved her arm and directed the competitors in a clockwise direction around the ring. Some animals tried to resist their owners, particularly the pig who led the way in front of Willow and Boris. He grunted and pulled at the leash around his neck, causing his owner to almost drag him along behind her. Boris displayed no such reluctance to show off. He lifted his head high, and still a little unsteady on his feet, began to trot. Ripples of applause spurred him on, and Willow glanced at us nervously as the goat bounced over the sun dried earth beside her.
"Unbelievable!" came the excited voice over the tannoy. "A goat doing dressage! Will you look at that ladies and gentlemen — that's the best trained goat I've ever seen!"
Boris lifted his legs higher with each stride he took, and danced along next to Willow, his snout pointing at the blue sky and his chest puffed out before him.
The owner of Harry the tiny pygmy goat, stared at Boris in disbelief, and tugged firmly on her animal's leash. The little goat didn't take favourably to her bullying tactics, and dug his hooves into the dirt, dropping his head in protest and refusing to move.
Boris continued showboating beside Willow, and as they passed the dissident pygmy goat, he sneaked a sly hoof beneath the little goat's rear leg and tripped him up. Harry sprawled on the floor bow legged and gave a little bleat of shock, which Boris ignored.
A man behind me laughed and broke into loud applause. "That goat's amazing!" he shouted.
Susie turned to look at him. "His name's Boris," she smiled. "And yes, he is rather amazing."
He clapped even louder. "Go, Boris!" he yelled. "You've got this!"
Willow and Boris had drawn the stunned attention of the other competitors, who stared in disbelief as Boris trotted around the ring, occasionally glancing at the three judges behind the trestle table and offering them hideously toothy smiles.
The nervous Shetland pony dragged its owner towards a spectator eating a hotdog, and an angry looking ram butted the pig in front of it. The official in the ring pointed at the space in the hay bales that acted as an entrance. "That ram is disqualified!" she shouted. "No aggressive animals allowed!"
"But that weird goat tripped the pygmy goat!" the owner protested. "Why is he still in the competition?"
"I didn't see any such incident," said the official, watching Boris as he drew more attention from the crowd. "Get that ram out of my ring!"
The ram's owner begrudgingly led his animal out of the ring, and Boris celebrated by wriggling his rear end at him.
The man behind me shouted again. "Go, Boris!"
Other spectators joined his supportive shouts, whistling, yelling and clapping. The sound of the crowd's excitement attracted more people to the ring, and as the crowd swelled in size, so did Boris's ego. Some of the other animal owners had given up trying to win, and stood still next to their animals as Boris raised himself onto his rear legs and stepped in time with Willow. He looked to the left and right and smiled at the people who cheered him on.
"Boris! Boris! Boris!" chanted the crowd.
Even the judges joined in, banging their fists on the wooden table in time with the chants of Boris's newfound groupies.
"This is going to make an amazing story," said Susie, snapping photographs of Boris and Willow. "He really knows how to work a crowd!"
"The brandy may have turned him into an angry drunk," I said, "but it's certainly given him confidence!"
The official in the ring waved her arm. "The third lap is complete. Bring your animals to the judges table one at a time!" she yelled over the noise of the ever growing crowd.
Willow and Boris joined the line of competitors as they took their turns standing in front of the judges. Boris gave gentle nods of his head to the spectators as they continued to shout their support for him. People erupted into louder cheers as Boris lowered himself to the knees of his front legs and took a low bow.
"I think it's safe to say he's won," said Susie as the judges called Willow forward, all three of them standing up and clapping as Boris stood before them.
Boris raised himself onto his rear legs, and I put my hand over my eyes, watching him through my fingers. Boris was taking it too far. "What's he doing?" I said.
The tannoy crackled. "I'm lost for words!" the excited man shouted. "A pirouetting goat!"
Boris span furiously on the spot, his front legs tight against his sides and his nose pointing high above him. Willow had dropped the leash, and it span in the air around Boris as he gained momentum.
"Look at him go..." murmured the man behind me, "...beautiful."
It was quite beautiful. The plait in Boris's beard whizzed through the air, and dust swirled at his feet as he span faster and faster. A blurry white whirling dervish, Boris transfixed the crowd as he wowed the judges and drew envious looks from the other animal owners.
"We have a winner!" shouted one of the judges — an elderly female with snow white permed hair. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the winner of the Wickford and Covenhill beautiful farmyard animal competition — Boris the dancing goat!"
The crowd cheered, and a lady beside me held her phone up as she filmed the show. "This is going on the internet," she said excitedly. "It'll go viral!"
Boris slowed his spinning and lowered himself onto all four legs. He wobbled a little as he tried to regain his balance, and fell in a heap at Willow's feet. He sprawled on his back with his legs straightened out above him like a dying fly, and his chest heaved as he panted.
"Get that goat some water!" shouted the official.
"He'd prefer brandy," said Susie, with a giggle.
A man ran into the ring with a bucket of water and splashed some on Boris's face. Willow helped Boris onto his front, and he slurped greedily at the water, occasionally lifting his head to nod his thanks at the chattering crowd.
"When he's recovered, bring him forward for his rosette and trophy!" shouted a male judge. "He truly deserves them, and so do you, young lady," she said to Willow. "That is the most well trained animal I have ever seen."
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and looked at the screen. It was Barney.
Susie was already on her way to join Willow and Boris in the ring, her camera ready to catch the prize giving action, so I backed through the crowd to a quieter area and answered Barney's call.
"Did you get my text?" I asked as I answered.
"Yes, and it ties in with with new information we've acquired. We know who the mystery man is," said Barney. "We've got his name, his photo, everything. He's bad news, Penelope. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I wanted to warn you incase he comes near your boat again. He's our prime suspect now."
"Tell me what you know, Barney," I said, clutching the phone tight to my ear.
Barney continued, speaking urgently. "His name's Jason Danvers. We got in touch with all the tattoo parlours within a fifty mile radius, and one of them remembers him from our description. He did the phoenix tattoo on his arm." Barney paused for a moment. "Jason owns a casino, but get this — Sam owed him a lot of money, and Jason has got a police record for violence in the past. He's also got a warrant out for his arrest — he beat up somebody else who owed him cash and put him in hospital. I think it's safe to say that he's our guy."
"So where is he? Are you any closer to finding him?"
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"We've got a photograph of him. It won't take long, but if you see him again, please stay away from him and phone me straight away. He's a dangerous man. I don't like the thought of you at the car show. We've found out he has a small collection of classic cars, and that matches neatly with the information the witness gave you about the badge on his blazer. We're checking with the Royal Automobile Club to see if he's a member." He paused momentarily. "How did you get that information, Penny? That witness was adamant he couldn't remember anything."
"He was drinking whisky again," I said, thinking quickly. "He thinks it jogged his memory."
"That makes sense," said Barney. "There's more too. The results have come back from the suspected murder weapon and Sam's post-mortem."
"And?" I urged.
"The coroner found a lot of alcohol in his stomach, and what he thinks are drugs. He's sent a sample off to the toxicology department to be analysed."
"Sam Hedgewick on drugs?" I said. "Really?"
"If he was mixing with violent gambling men, who knows what else he was into," said Barney. “Anyway, the windlass wasn't the murder weapon, but the wound on Sam's head was definitely made with a cylindrical metal object. There's small imprints on Sam's skull — the pathologist says they could have been made by some sort of hand grip on the weapon. We're thinking the handle of a car jack, based on the information my witness gave you, and the fact that Jason is involved with cars. It's an assumption, but the best one we have."
I remembered the man I'd watched changing the Rolls Royce wheel. A jack handle certainly had the potential to be used as a murder weapon.
Barney continued. "I'd prefer it if you took your boat back to the hotel," he said. "Just until we've caught him, and make sure you're not alone tonight. We've put road blocks around Covenhill and Wickford, so if he is still in the area, he might try and walk out following the canal towpath."
Cheering erupted from the circle of hay bales, and Willow, Susie, and Boris walked past a line of clapping people towards the entrance. Boris had a red rosette pinned to his collar, and Willow was carrying a small silver trophy.
"We're about ready to leave," I assured Barney. "We'll head back to the boat right away."
"Good. I've got to go, Penny," he said. "We're on our way to the car show. When we get there no-one will be able to leave until we've searched the place from top to bottom. So unless you want to stay there, I suggest you leave now."
I said goodbye to Barney and shouted to the others to join me. They made their way towards me with several people still following Boris, taking photographs and videos and patting him on his head and back. "Are you sure you won't let me interview you, Willow?' shouted a man with an open notebook. "It would make a great story!"
"No thanks," said Willow. "How I trained him is my secret, and it's staying that way."
"Plus, I'm writing the story," laughed Susie as she neared me. "There's going to be so many videos of Boris on the internet, somebody needs to lie about how he was trained to pirouette."
The distant sound of police sirens reminded me we had to hurry. I quickly explained everything that Barney had told me, and we rushed to the boat, climbing aboard and starting the engine as the police sirens grew louder and the first of the cars sped through the gate on the opposite side of the field in a cloud of dust.
Other boat owners stood on their roofs to see what was going on as I guided the Water Witch past them, and soon we were out of sight of the car show and heading towards the lock.
"My head hurts," complained Boris, "from alcohol, and from shame about the way I spoke to you lovely young ladies. I'm truly sorry, and highly ashamed of myself."
"Don't feel bad, Boris," I said, steering the boat around a gentle bend in the canal. "You've been through a lot recently. Anybody in your position would want to let their hair down a little."
Willow agreed. "Don't let what you said to us ruin the memories of your competition performance. You were outstanding, Boris."
"You were," nodded Susie. "I doubt any animal is ever going to beat that performance."
I laid my hand on the goat's back. "Why don't you have a lie down?" I said. "Go on, use my bed."
He looked up at me with thankful eyes. "I think I will," he said. "Thank you, Penelope. The offer of a bed to sleep in is one of the kindest gestures a person can make."
Boris climbed down the two steps from the deck into my bedroom, and jumped up onto the bed. He walked in three circles and plopped himself down, falling asleep almost immediately.
Willow followed him into the boat, placed his trophy next to him and draped a blanket over his back. Rosie mewled, and leapt up alongside him, sniffing him and curling up next to his chin, joining him in sleep.
With the lock behind us, and a crowd of ducks following the Water Witch, we negotiated the last of the bridges between us and my mooring, and Willow took over the steering duties for the last ten minutes of the journey. She expertly guided the boat closer to the bank on our side of the canal as another narrowboat approached from the opposite direction. We shouted hello to the frizzy haired man who drove the other boat as we glided past one another, and he gave us a friendly wave.
I left Willow in charge of the driving and stepped down into my bedroom to wake Boris. Susie had offered to drive him home, and I wanted him to look respectable for Granny. Not hungover and tired.
I shook the goat gently, and Rosie sniffed at my hand. "Boris," I said. "We're nearly home. Would you like a bowl of black coffee to help with the hangover?"
He opened his eyes and yawned. "That would be wonderful, Penelope," he said. "And one or two of those biscuits that Granny packed for me would compliment the coffee perfectly."
I helped him down off the bed, and Rosie leapt to the floor with him. "I'm going to take a stroll through the boat and onto the bow deck," Boris said. "The breeze on my face will make me feel better."
"Good idea," I said. "Can you manage the doors to the deck on your own?"
"I've learnt a lot of things since being in this body," said Boris, "and opening doors was amongst the first. This mouth is very versatile, you'd be surprised."
I followed Boris as far as the kitchen, and began making coffee as he continued along the boat and brushed past the purple curtain into the shop area.
Watching a moving vista through the windows from inside my own boat was not something I experienced often, and I leant on my kitchen counter as the kettle boiled, watching the steam from the brewery chimney rising above the elm trees.
Something nudged my leg, and I looked down to see Boris staring up at me, his eyes wide with shock. "Don't say anything," he implored in a panicked whisper. "Your safety is at risk if you utter a single word. Join the others on the back of the boat, and get your phone ready. You need to speak to the police."
Chapter Seventeen
I stepped up onto the stern decking with Boris close behind me and Rosie in my arms, who I placed on the floor at my feet. The sound of the engine was loud enough to disguise any conversation, but I still warned Susie and Willow to keep quiet. "Something's wrong," I said, the breeze ruffling my hair. I turned to the goat. "What is it, Boris?"
"I want you to all remain calm," he said in a low voice. "I opened the bow doors and stepped outside for a moment or two, but the smell from the brewery made me rather queasy. When I went back inside the shop, I thought I'd have a look around." Boris craned his neck and looked down into the boat. "Penelope, there's a man crouching behind the counter in your shop. I'm no detective, but from the description you've given us, I think it's safe to say he's the murder suspect."
Willow gasped. "But he's seen you, Boris, and he knows you've seen him. He'll kill us! We need to jump overboard and escape!"
"Calm down, Willow!" demanded Boris. "I'm a goat, remember. He looked a little shocked to see me, but I kept my cool and sniffed around his feet. I even licked his hand and nibbled some of those herbs in the box behind the counter. Very tasty they were too. He shooed me away and pushed h
imself further into the corner. We'll be fine if we carry on as we are."
I'd already dialled Barney's number, and he answered quickly. "Barney," I said, panic bulging in my throat. "The man you're looking for is on my boat. He doesn't know that we know he's onboard, but he's hiding in my shop. Jason Danvers is in my shop!"
Barney sounded more nervous than I felt. "Where are you?" he snapped, his voice cracking.
"A few minutes from my mooring," I said. "What do we do?"
"Carry on as if nothing's wrong," instructed Barney. "Moor up when you get back to the hotel, and get off the boat. We'll be there as quickly as we can. There's no police in Wickford at the moment, we're all here at the car show. It'll take us a while to get to you."
"Hurry, Barney," I said.
"I will, I promise." He paused for second or two. "Please don't do anything stupid, Penny. I'd hate for anything to happen to you."
"I won't," I said. "We'll get as far away from the boat as possible as soon as we moor up."
"Penny?" shouted Barney. "Are you there? I'm losing — ”
I put my phone in my pocket. "He's lost his signal," I said. "But they're on their way. We've just got to carry on as if nothing's wrong. As long as we stay at the back of the boat until we've moored up, we should be okay, I doubt he'll do anything if he doesn't know we're aware he's onboard."
Willow closed and locked the stern doors. "That's a little safer," she said.
I pushed the boat's power lever forward and the engine throbbed, the propeller spewing water behind us. I had bigger things to worry about than a canal speed limit, and I gave the engine more revs than I'd ever given it before.
We stood together nervously, and Willow placed her hand next to mine on the steering tiller. "I'm scared," she admitted.
"It'll be over soon," I said. "Look, the entrance to my mooring is just around the next bend."
We kept quiet as I negotiated the final stretch of canal, and Boris kept his nose pressed against the pane of glass in the doors, looking out for movement inside the boat.
