Die Like a Dog

by Gwen Moffat

‘Those are the obvious connections,’ Cross agreed. ‘We have to find out if there are others.’

  ‘Have they finished printing the car?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The steering wheel and doors were wiped clean. Can’t find a trace anywhere in fact.’

  ‘Really?’ Miss Pink was amazed. ‘That doesn’t sound like people using it for a free ride to Snowdonia.’

  ‘And the petrol tank still half-full,’ Bowen put in gloomily.

  ‘They needed to go to that particular place,’ Cross hazarded.

  ‘Could it have been a rendezvous? With another car, another driver?’

  ‘Judson?’ Miss Pink wondered. ‘Could he have driven the car there himself and had someone pick him up? If he wanted to disappear he’d have wiped his prints off the car in order to give the impression that it had been stolen.’

  ‘Yes.’ Cross’s tone was heavy. ‘We have to find Judson. Evans too. No doubt about it: we have to get more men on this.’

  Chapter 8

  A SWALLOW JINKED above the shallows, scooping water with its beak.

  ‘Water,’ Miss Pink said. ‘You were wrong.’

  They were sitting on the stream bank below Parc. At the house Cross was taking Gladys through her recital of the last few days, concentrating on her conversations with Evans. Ted and Miss Pink had come down to the stream to be out of the way. Gladys seemed to have struck up some kind of relationship with Cross; it was she who had suggested the walk: ‘So boring for you,’ she’d said. ‘We’ve been over all this so many times. I can cope, I assure you.’

  ‘Water?’ Ted repeated now. ‘What water?’

  ‘You said Evans couldn’t have met with an accident because there were no cliffs, no mine shafts and no water.’

  ‘You couldn’t have an accident here. And this stream isn’t on the way to Lloyd’s cottage.’

  They turned and looked at the woods, hazy with a pale bloom, drowsing in the heat. The line of the minor road was marked by straggling hedges, interspersed with wire.

  ‘There’s someone walking down the lane,’ he said.

  She focused her binoculars. ‘It’s Seale. Now, where’s she – She’s going to her tent, of course.’

  They looked at each other thoughtfully.

  ‘Is it safe to go?’ he ventured. ‘Someone ought to stay here, to be on hand if Gladys Judson needs advice, or Ellen.’

  ‘I’m curious as to what Seale knows.’

  ‘Where’s her tent?’

  ‘About a mile downstream. I’ll follow the river.’

  ‘Have you got a whistle?’

  ‘My rucksack’s at the house. Don’t be melodramatic, Ted. The girl’s all right.’

  ‘You’re a reckless woman, Melinda.’

  Not reckless, she thought, swishing through the buttercups. I’m taking a calculated risk. I think I’ve judged the girl correctly. Amoral? Well, let’s say she’s got her own principles. Would she kill? Anyone could, given the right circumstances, but I don’t think I’m in danger. Not from Seale.

  She didn’t keep pace with the figure on the road. The girl was walking smartly but Miss Pink had to contend with stiles, and spreads of gorse. When she arrived at the camp site Seale had already collapsed her tent and was working it into a bag. She greeted Miss Pink with surprise and a trace of impatience.

  ‘You’re not leaving.’

  Seale took it as a question. ‘I’m going to move in with Lloyd,’ she said coldly.

  Miss Pink nodded. ‘He needs you.’

  Seale stared at her. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘I’ve been at Parc all morning. And I’ve met the police.’

  ‘And on Sunday you were with Evans. What part are you playing in all this?’

  ‘Well,’ Miss Pink admitted, ‘partly I’ve been drawn into it, but also I think there’s more than meets the eye. One wouldn’t want the wrong people to suffer. For instance, I’m not jumping to the conclusion that Lloyd shot the black Alsatian, nor that he’s responsible for Evans’s disappearance.’

  ‘Really.’ It was sarcastic – and out of character.

  Miss Pink shrugged. ‘You’re both of you pretty transparent –’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘So if he’s done something criminal, you’ll give the game away pretty soon.’

  ‘You don’t think he did it.’ It was a statement.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because you called it a game.’

  ‘Hm. Not quite so transparent. Have you got a moment to spare?’

  ‘My God! More than that. Come and sit where it’s cool. Lloyd can wait a bit longer for me. He’s got nothing to worry about.’

  They sat in the shade of a sycamore.

  ‘We don’t know a bloody thing about any of it,’ Seale said viciously, then laughed. ‘I could be amused if it was just me, but that idiot –’ her voice softened, ‘– he’s hostile to the police. They’re badgering him. I’m moving in to give him moral support. I’m not leaving this valley until he’s in the clear.’

  ‘About last night –’

  ‘If Evans came up to spy on us, we didn’t hear him. Why should he come unless he’s just a Peeping Tom? I wouldn’t put that beyond him.’

  ‘He wanted the spade from the cottage, or so he said. He must have picked up something about forensics and thought he might find traces on it which could tie it to the hole the black dog was buried in.’

  Seale was incredulous. ‘The police had a good look at that spade. I see. So they think Lloyd went for Evans because Evans thought he shot the dog. He didn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t shoot the dog?’

  Seale looked away. ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. But he didn’t see Evans last night so he couldn’t have done the man any harm. I was with him all the time. We were out in the Reserve until late, looking for the marten, then we came back, had a brew and went to bed. About eleven.’

  ‘You saw no one in the woods? No one at all? You heard nothing?’

  ‘We didn’t see a soul. And it was very quiet; we could hear the rabbits thumping. So you see, Lloyd’s in the clear – for Evans anyway. I’m his alibi.’ At the word her voice faltered and her eyes widened.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Miss Pink said comfortably. ‘If you were with him all the time, you know he didn’t see Evans, so it’s immaterial how close your relationship is; the police may suspect a false alibi because of that closeness, but you know the truth. He didn’t leave you at all?’

  ‘He was never away for longer than it takes to pee. Of course –’

  ‘Time to strike a man down, but no time to dispose of the body.’

  Seale shook her head in disbelief. ‘He can’t be dead. Who’d need to kill that ignorant, arrogant oaf – oh! Perhaps they would.’

  ‘And Judson. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Why, he’s disappeared too.’

  ‘Oh, yes. The secretary of the Trust came up to see Lloyd and said he had an appointment to see Judson this morning. He’s probably had a coronary and is in hospital somewhere. At least we don’t have the dogs to worry about now – so long as he doesn’t buy more when he comes back. The Trust man said to go easy on the aggro. Then he asked who I was. Poor Lloyd. He’s been put through the hoops today. You see why he needs – someone. Hello, reinforcements.’

  Two cars were passing up the lane.

  ‘Damn them,’ Seale said cheerfully, ‘I’ll have to get back. Are you going to be around? Look in some time. Sorry I was rude; I didn’t know which side you were on.’

  Miss Pink walked back to Parc the way she’d come. A dark mini-bus raced up the lane followed by Seale’s van. When she reached the house there were men in the kitchen and the drawing room. She walked through the cobbled stable yard and round to the front entrance. Their rucksacks stood in the porch. There was no sign of Ted. She left a note on his pack, saying she had gone back to the hotel. As she walked down the lane another car passed, full of uniformed men. />
  She reached the Bridge, rang the bell and when a waitress came, asked for a pot of tea to be brought to her room. She drank it by the open window, then she bathed, put on a dark linen jacket and skirt and went downstairs. It was six o’clock and the river room was empty. She was crossing to the open doors when Waring entered the bar from the kitchen.

  ‘You should have rung, ma’am.’

  ‘No hurry, Mr Waring. I was going to sit on the terrace.’

  ‘I think I’ll come out myself for a breath of air. Can I bring you a sherry?’

  She stepped outside, intrigued.

  ‘A lovely evening!’ He placed two sherries on the little iron table and indicated a chair. ‘You don’t mind? You wouldn’t prefer to be alone?’ He gave an irritating giggle.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  He sat, half-turned towards the combe, the sun full on his face. He took a pair of dark glasses from his pocket and adjusted them.

  ‘We’re consumed by curiosity,’ he said. ‘What’s happening up there? I don’t know how many police cars have passed.’

  ‘Evans is missing.’

  ‘Evans!’ The glasses were turned on her, his mouth hung open.

  ‘The handyman who works for Mr Judson.’

  ‘But he was here last night! In the bar.’

  ‘He’s been missing since about ten. Ten o’clock last evening.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? I have no idea.’

  ‘No, of course you wouldn’t have. You mean all those police are looking for Evans? He’s missing – where? Oh, stupid question – but – they think he’s up there? In the combe?’

  ‘His car is still outside his cottage.’

  ‘How strange.’

  ‘Why did you think the police were here, Mr Waring?’

  ‘No idea.’ It was brusque but he recovered quickly. ‘No idea is not quite correct. I wondered if there might be some connection with Judson.’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If there’s no connection it seems a curious coincidence: a man and his employee, both missing.’

  ‘I see what you mean.’ He threw a glance at the door to the river room. ‘What do the police think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She sipped her sherry. ‘They’re searching the Reserve.’

  ‘It couldn’t have any connection with that Alsatian, could it? The one that was shot?’

  ‘Last night,’ Miss Pink said, ‘Evans was suggesting that there could be a connection between the dog and Mr Judson’s stolen car.’

  There was a pause. ‘So he did. I thought that was just showing off. Evans is an exhibitionist.’

  ‘A foolish man.’

  ‘Exactly. How is poor Ellen taking it?’

  ‘She’s very excitable.’

  ‘She’s all of that.’

  She made no response to that. He had finished his drink but he made no move to go.

  ‘How is Mrs Waring today?’

  ‘She’s fine, fine.’

  ‘She was unwell last night.’

  ‘She’d had a rough weekend in Chester. The Blossoms was full of tourists.’

  ‘It’s to be expected at this time of year.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They looked at the bridge and the river, and the empty shimmering road. Miss Pink waited, knowing he was tense as a spring.

  ‘Let me get you another drink,’ he said suddenly, standing up, taking his glass.

  ‘Not at the moment, thank you.’

  ‘I hear people. I have to go ...’

  He left her. She had heard no people. She wondered what he had wanted to say, what he had wanted to hear.

  Ted came trudging down the lane and turned over the bridge, waving when he saw her on the terrace. He came up through the garden entrance and across the sloping lawns. Lowering his pack with a sigh of relief he eyed her sherry.

  ‘I could do with an iced lager. It’s sweltering in that lane.’

  ‘I’ll get it for you. No, you sit down; you’ve been walking.’

  There was no one behind the bar and the room was empty. She opened a bottle of lager and found a glass.

  ‘Well?’ she asked when he’d taken the first deep draught.

  ‘Hah, that was good! They’ve found nothing yet. What did the girl have to say?’

  ‘She alibis Lloyd. They never saw Evans last night.’

  ‘That’s what they told the police. Did you believe her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The police don’t. Two violent, wild young people, Pryce thinks.’

  ‘Pryce is up there?’

  ‘Jovial as ever, the old fox. Fox? My God, he’s obese. He knows his job though. That sergeant’s with him too: Williams. A good team. They look like Laurel and Hardy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call Seale and Lloyd violent. Passionate, not violent.’

  ‘Explain the difference to Pryce. What’s shooting a dog?’

  ‘If he did, it was a vicious animal and a threat to his Reserve – and to people, of course. Shooting a killer dog is a world away from shooting a man.’

  ‘And if the man’s threatening you?’

  ‘No.’ She was firm. ‘Evans would never confront anyone.’ Her voice dropped. ‘The dog was a killer, Evans wasn’t.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘So far as we know. Waring’s been talking to me. He was bowled over when I told him the police were looking for Evans. For my money he thought the presence of the police was connected with Judson.’

  ‘Ah yes. Judson and Waring.’

  She said quietly: ‘He emphasised the fact that Anna was at Chester at the weekend. He’d said so last night. I told you. By the way, what does Pryce have to say about Judson?’

  ‘He thinks he may have scarpered: cleared off to pastures new. He’s concentrating on Evans at the moment. Why are you scowling?’

  ‘I’m working on a hypothesis. If Evans didn’t go to Lloyd’s cottage, where might he have gone? Suppose he got cold feet about going to the cottage and went down to Seale’s tent? It was obvious that she was staying with Lloyd. He’d reckon that there’d be no one at the camp site.’

  ‘Why would he go there?’

  She shrugged. ‘Because it appears he didn’t go to the cottage. I’m working on alternatives.’

  ‘Well,’ Ted was jovial, ‘he’s not at the camp site. You were there.’

  ‘I didn’t look around. It’s in a clump of trees.’

  ‘But if the girl was with Lloyd and there was no one at her tent, Evans couldn’t have run into trouble there.’

  ‘Of course he could! Suppose some hooligans were about: the kind of villains who steal tents. Her van was there too, unattended. The tent on its own would be enough to attract thieves. Evans could have surprised someone in the dark and they could have jumped him, then dragged him into the bushes. Let’s go up there; it won’t take long.’

  In a quarter of an hour they were standing beside the pale patch of grass where the tent had been pitched. Working outwards they searched the grove of sycamores, but little work was involved. There were a few stinging nettles and fewer brambles, and the gorse on the bank of the stream. There was no sign of tracks and no sign of Evans.

  ‘Well, it was an idea,’ Miss Pink said, starting along the stream bank. ‘Let’s go home by the water; it’s more pleasant than that melting tar in the lane.’

  ‘Judson should clear his meadows. Look at those thistles!’

  ‘Shocking. There’s an old cooker down here too.’

  ‘I can’t see a cooker.’

  ‘You can’t unless you’re close to the edge of the bank. There’s a shelf above the water. Probably someone meant to tip it in the stream and it stuck on the shelf. It’s just here. No, it isn’t; I must be in the wrong place.’ She looked along the shelf. ‘I’m right; look, you can see where it was resting.’

  ‘That’s a deep pool.’ He walked forward. ‘This bank’s undercut. Well, there’s your cook –’ He stiffened.<
br />
  ‘Why, so it is, but what – it’s –’

  Ted said heavily: ‘It’s a person. Or was.’

  Shock faded gradually as they stood in silence and stared at this curious aspect of a body, not floating, but apparently suspended, anchored – by its head, the legs uppermost, extended a little with the current.

  ‘Evans?’ Miss Pink ventured at last.

  ‘It’s got climbing boots on, and we only have two men missing. Judson doesn’t climb. I suppose it must be Evans – but what the hell’s holding him down?’

  Chapter 9

  SHE SAT ALONE on the bank of the stream, her mind blank. Ted had gone back to the Bridge to telephone the police. The near side of the pool was out of sight below the undercut shelf. She had emptied her mind deliberately because there were too many things crowding in on it: conflicting factors, and yet there were some factors which she suspected were connected, but to speculate on the nature of those connections when one was in shock was futile, so she sat and stared at the water, aware only of minor irritations. The midges were biting. She did not hear an engine, did not notice that a vehicle had stopped in the lane.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Pink?’ came a cool voice from behind her.

  She turned. Seale and Joss Lloyd were staring at her curiously. The girl looked concerned.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she pressed.

  ‘We’ve found a body.’

  ‘You have? You mean the police have?’ This was from Lloyd. He was scowling. ‘Where is this body?’

  She gestured. ‘In the pool.’

  They looked at each other. ‘Miss Pink,’ Seale said gently, ‘are you feeling all right? It’s terribly hot and the midges are out. We’re going down for a drink. Come with us.’ The tone was wheedling.

  Miss Pink pulled herself together and stood up. She gave them a bleak smile.

  ‘I’m suffering from shock,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t got sunstroke. It’s probably Evans in the pool. Don’t go too near the edge; it’s liable to give way.’

  Lloyd was unconvinced by her change of tone but the girl’s eyes had sharpened. Without a word she dropped down the bank and walked to the edge of the shelf where she stood for a moment, looking down, then she turned.

  ‘Come here, Lloyd.’