Beware of the Dog ch-15

by Peter Corris

  ‘Why d’you say that?’ I was straining my ears for the sound of a motor which is a hard thing to do when your teeth are chattering violently.

  ‘Robert wanted to fuck all of us-me, Kah-ren, his real sister Nadia. Everyone except Verity. He tried, too. I had to fight him off a couple of times. Nasty, pimply little twerp. He was at it again recently, too.’

  I was beginning to get a handle on it at long last. Sir Phillip Wilberforce and his wives had brewed up a deadly mixture. ‘What was special about Verity?’

  ‘She hated Dad as much as Robert did. Robert hated his own father, too, but Verity loved hers like I…’

  ‘I think he killed Nadia.’ I hadn’t meant to articulate the thought, but it came out anyway.

  ‘Jesus, no,’

  ‘You were going to say that you loved your father. Why did you shoot him?’

  We were both up at the front of our stalls, near the gates, gripping the bars and staring out at the moonlit brick-paved yard. I moved sideways until I was separated from her only by the width of a brick wall.

  ‘I’m insane,’ she whispered. ‘Paranoiac, depressive, schizophrenic. My life is a running stream of shit. I’ve tried… I’ve tried lots of things. I tried to talk to people. I tried. I wanted to be interested in them. Do you know why I had to leave Lindfield?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The council passed a law that you couldn’t have more than one dog.’

  I didn’t say anything and she went on, ‘But I just couldn’t… cope with things. I was interested in you, but you turned out to be another bastard. Just another bastard. Aiming your fucking gun at that poor dog. I went to see Dad to ask him to buy this place for me. I was so happy here. I could have got it going again, taken care of the dogs. Dogs are the only creatures…’

  ‘Paula,’ I said. Your father hired me to find you. He loves you.’

  ‘He said no. He didn’t understand. I had your gun and I shot him.’ Her voice mounted into a scream of pain and rage. ‘I’d shoot you if I could. Oh, I’d shoot you, you murderer. You killed my beautiful dog. We would have been so happy here, Rudi and me. We were happy. He caught rabbits and…’

  My patience gave way. I rattled the bars trying to pull them from the mortar. Not a chance. I didn’t want to die in a dog kennel. I cursed her and her father and every other member of her family. I yelled at her that they were all a pack of degenerates. She laughed and agreed.

  ‘You killed my darling Rudi.’

  The blanket had slipped from my shoulders during my outburst. I was cold and shivering; my skinned knuckles throbbed and my bruised and bleeding head ached. I sat down on the cold concrete, exhausted and drained. ‘He sprang at me like a fucking tiger,’ I said. ‘That big yellow bastard was a killer and it was a matter of me or him.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard me. I had to kill him. I didn’t like doing it but I had no choice.’

  ‘What did you call him? ’

  ‘A tiger, a yellow…’

  Her voice, which had been harsh and off-key, became soft, melodic. ‘Rudi’s not yellow,’ she said. ‘He’s a beautiful black and tan.’

  20

  Her boots scuffed the cement as she moved close to her side of the pillar. I could hear her breathing and almost feel her warmth coming through the bricks.

  ‘Not a smooth-haired dog, maybe part bull terrier?’

  ‘Ugh, those ugly brutes. I gave up on them a long time ago. No, Rudi’s a Doberman/German Shepherd cross.’

  ‘Christ, those breeds don’t take prisoners.’

  ‘He’s fierce, but he’s wonderful and he’s alive. I’m sorry I said

  …’

  I was thinking fast. Crosbie couldn’t be away much longer. ‘Does Robert know what Rudi looks like?’

  ‘No, not unless he’s been here since yesterday morning. Rudi’s been missing since then. I’ve been frantic about it.’

  ‘Paula, for God’s sake, whistle or call or whatever you do. We need him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We need the dog. Robert’s coming back to kill us. An attack dog might be of some help.’

  Her voice went cold again. ‘What are you saying? Robert’s got a gun.’

  ‘He’s only got one bullet…’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘It’s probable.’

  ‘One’s enough.’

  ‘I can’t believe this. We’re talking about a dog. We’re human beings…’

  ‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘We are, and just think what we’ve been doing-what I’ve done, what Robert’s done. We’re wonderful aren’t we, we human beings? So kind, so loyal.’

  I could sense the madness rising in her again. ‘OK, OK,’ I said quietly. ‘Think of it this way. We’re all animals together. The lot of us. Particularly you and me in these cages. Animals fight for their survival.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. That’s…’

  The sound of the Land Cruiser’s engine stopped her. It approached fast, motor roaring, headlights blazing and steam jetting from the exhaust. In the surge of hope I’d had I’d forgotten about the cold. Now it gripped me again and I could feel my joints stiffening and my body cooling as if I were dead already. Crosbie pulled up with a showy skid on the bricks. He stopped a few metres from the cages with the lights full on us. There was something roped to the bonnet. I squinted above the beams. It was the yellow dog. Its battered head hung loose and wet over the right mudguard.

  Crosbie switched off the engine but left the lights on. He jumped down and pulled the pistol from his pocket. He slipped on the wet bricks, cursed and strode away to turn off the hose.

  Paula said, ‘Even a dog that ugly shouldn’t have its head beaten in.’

  I didn’t say anything. The point didn’t interest me. I was going to die in a worse way than I had imagined, and I’d imagined some pretty bad ways.

  Crosbie came back and stood in front of the cages. ‘Well, there he is, my dear little step-sister. Your precious Rudi. I always wondered about you and Rudi Number One. Did you jerk him off or did you go all the way?’

  Crosbie’s laugh was drowned out by Paula’s. She shrieked and howled and beat her feet on the floor. Crosbie took a step back. Then he yelled, ‘Shut up, you mad bitch!’

  The lights were dazzling me, distorting everything. He was a dark, distant figure, twitching with agitation. I was a sitting duck. Even if I retreated to the rear of the cage I’d only be three metres away from the gun and transfixed like a spotlighted rabbit. I stayed up there by the bars.

  ‘Why did you kill Nadia?’ I said.

  Crosbie pointed the pistol at my head. ‘She was a slut, a whore.’

  Paula’s voice was breathless after her fit of laughter. ‘And she wouldn’t fuck you.’

  ‘Shut up! It was a sort of accident.’

  ‘Lamberte and Karen weren’t an accident though,’ I said. ‘How did you manage that?’

  I didn’t really care. I just wanted to keep him talking. While he talked I drew breath. You don’t talk to a dead man, not for long.

  Crosbie took a clasp knife from his pocket and unfolded a long blade.

  I watched, fascinated. What the hell is he going to do with that?

  He seemed almost to be in a daze as he cut the ropes tying the big dog to the Land Cruiser. The body flopped onto the wet bricks. He put his foot against it and slid it across to the front of Paula’s cage. ‘I found out about Karen and Patrick,’ he said dreamily. ‘I just couldn’t stand it. Verity’s the only person in the whole family who’s got any goodness in her and look what was happening. Her husband and her sister…’

  Paula chortled. ‘Who wouldn’t fuck you, would she, Bobbykins? Didn’t want your smelly little dick in her. Like me.’

  ‘That wasn’t all I wanted,’ Crosbie said. ‘I wanted what we never had-love, warmth, understanding. Not those fucking boarding schools and tennis lessons and riding lessons and

  ‘Poor little rich boy,’ Pau
la mocked.

  ‘I tried to talk to Karen. I tried to tell her about Nadia. She said she’d go to the police if I didn’t leave her alone. I had to kill her.’

  ‘How?’ I said quickly. I wanted to anticipate Paula’s next piece of derision, although I could see no hope in our situation. Crosbie was upset and shaky but power is power and a victim is a victim, unmistakably.

  ‘She laughed at me. She told me she was going up to the mountains with Patrick and that she’d talk things over with him. They planned to blackmail me, and Paula was in it with them.’

  Paula spat at him through the bars. ‘You’re wrong, Robert. But I did see Karen a few weeks ago. She told me you’d finally showed that you were as crazy as Nadia, as crazy as the rest of us.’

  Very deliberately, Crosbie put two fingers of his free hand into the blood and brain tissue of the dead dog. The stuff was almost frozen but his fingers came out wet. He daubed it on his face like an Commanche going into battle. He crouched, sprang to his left, brought the pistol up and pointed it through the grill at Paula. I admit it: my first thought was, If he shoots her he can’t shoot me. But I screamed at him, trying to draw out the moment, the second, the instant.

  ‘How did you do it, Robert? How?’

  ‘I learned electronics at Sydney Technical College and explosives in the army reserves. I broke into Karen’s flat and planted the device in her overnight bag. She kept it half-packed with a transistor radio and a camera and stuff. It was easy. She told me when she was going. I calculated when she would arrive. It was easy.’

  ‘A clean sweep,’ I said. ‘After you kill Paula. Mind you, there’s still Verity.’

  His head snapped round towards me. His deep set eyes were small, dark points in his pale, smudged face. He looked like a badly made-up clown. The angle stopped me from seeing it, but indications were that he kept the. 38 trained steadily on Paula’s face.

  ‘Not Verity,’ he said.

  I was frozen to the bone, itchy and dying by inches, but Crosbie’s agonies were sustaining me in a bizarre, unfathomable way. He dabbed more blood and grey goo on his face.

  ‘Why not?’ I said.

  Paula’s screech cut through with intensity and passion. ‘Because she does it with him. Don’t you see? Little Bobby and Verity have been doing it since they were kids. Tell me, Bobby. Is she the only woman you’ve had? The only one? You’ll never get another, will you? You can’t kill her. Not Verity. Not your only love. Not your only cunt.’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! No! No! I would never. I couldn’t.. ’

  ‘Couldn’t is right,’ Paula crowed. ‘Couldn’t-that’s the problem, eh, Bobby?’

  Crosbie seized the bars of the cage and tugged on them. A ring on one of his fingers shrieked against the metal. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll kill you now. Now!’

  The big black and tan dog must have made its leap from five metres away. It was nowhere in sight and then it was on top of Crosbie, throwing him sprawling to the ground and tearing at him with its paws and teeth. Crosbie screamed and tried to seize its head but the dog snapped at his hands and kept digging its claws into his body. Crosbie tried to roll away but Rudi was too big, too heavy, too motivated. He tore off an ear and then sank his teeth deep into the flesh of Crosbie’s neck. The man went limp. The dog chewed on him a bit and then lifted its head.

  ‘Rudi,’ Paula whispered. ‘Oh, Rudi.’ She extended her hand through the bars. Confidence.

  The dog eased itself up off Crosbie and padded across to Paula’s cage. She made soothing noises and fondled his ears and muzzle.

  ‘Good boy, Rudi. There’s a good boy.’

  I must have been holding my breath the whole time. I let it out loudly and the dog’s head turned in my direction. Its growl lifted the hairs on my scalp and made me want to crawl to the back of the cage.

  ‘No, Rudi. No, darling. It’s all right, boy. He’s a nice man.’

  The headlights blazed, the bricks were slick with Crosbie’s blood. The dog I’d killed lay splayed out, one of its paws almost touching Crosbie’s head. I shivered and felt my body weaken as if my blood was turning sour. The wind had lifted and the cold was intense.

  ‘Everything’s all right now,’ Paula said.

  ‘I hope you’re talking to Rudi, not me,’ I said. ‘We’re locked in bloody cages and I’m freezing to death.’

  ‘I was talking to him, but everything is all right.’

  I could feel myself becoming unhinged. I laughed. ‘What the fuck do you mean?’

  ‘You’re in Rudi’s kennel. I’ve got the key in my pocket.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. You had the key all along? Why didn’t you…’

  ‘I thought you’d killed Rudi. Then you wanted him to attack a man with a gun.’

  There was no reasoning with her and no point. I put my hand through the bars nearest to the pillar. Rudi growled. I ignored him. ‘Give me the key.’

  Her pale slender hand came through the bars holding the piece of brass. I couldn’t quite reach it. My fingers were stiff. She manipulated the key, trying to hold it out to the fullest extent. Rudi growled again and I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Crosbie was inching his hand across the bricks to where the. 38 lay, glinting dully in the headlight beam.

  ‘Another half an inch. Come on!’ I rammed my hand through the gap, ripping skin from the wrist. I still couldn’t reach it. Paula saw Crosbie’s intention and gasped. She dropped the key.

  ‘Oh, my God. I’m sorry.’

  The little metal object was the most precious thing in the world, the most desirable, the most necessary. I pulled my lacerated hand free and shoved it under the bottom bar. My frozen fingers clawed at the bricks. I reached it, just. Got one finger across it, just, and flicked it back towards me. Crosbie’s hand was centimetres from the gun. Sweat broke out on my face as I wangled the key into the lock, working awkwardly with three fingers. I got it in. I couldn’t turn it.

  Paula screamed. Crosbie had reached the gun. His face was a ghastly mask of blood and torn flesh. He slowly turned it towards us as he lifted the gun. Only his hand seemed to be capable of movement. His features were obliterated but his eyes were bright and alive. He said something I couldn’t understand. Blood gurgled in his throat and he spat it out. Rudi made a tentative move towards him. Crosbie put the gun into his mouth and squeezed the trigger.

  A spray of blood, bone and tissue erupted from the man’s head.

  ‘Rudi, stay!’ Paula said.

  It took several minutes but I finally managed to turn the key. The gate opened and I crawled out onto the bricks. The air smelled of cordite and blood, but it was still wonderful. Rudi eyed me suspiciously but I could live with that.

  I looked at the woman crouched by the bars. Her face was chalk white but she was smiling and murmuring to the dog. I went to the Land Cruiser and found a sweater and an oilskin coat. I pulled them on and discovered my half bottle of scotch in the pocket of the coat. And I’d thought some light-fingered cop had lifted it. I uncapped it and the drink I took was one of the best drinks I’d ever had. Definitely worth another.

  Her voice was steady. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m drinking whisky.’

  ‘Give me some.’

  I took a hammer from the tool chest. Rudi looked at me as I advanced with a hammer in one hand and a bottle in the other. I wouldn’t have felt safe with an Uzi. He let me pass the bottle through the gate.

  ‘Tell him everything’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m going to smash the lock.’

  ‘Rudi, stay!’

  Rudi stayed. I broke the lock and Paula came out. We stood together on the bloody bricks and we both had a drink. Neither of us looked at Crosbie. The sweater, oilskin and whisky had warmed me. I was bleeding in about five different places and fleas from Rudi’s blanket had bitten me in five hundred, but I was beginning to think I’d survive.

  ‘What now?’ Paula said.

  ‘I’m going to have to call the police. Is t
here somewhere we can wait?’

  ‘There’s a flat behind the kennels. No phone though.’

  I went to the Land Cruiser, slipped the mobile phone from its cradle and showed it to her. ‘The complete modern detective,’ I said.

  21

  It was a long, cold night and the whisky was a distant memory by the time we were finished. Police arrived from several different places and did a variety of things, including talking to Paula and me for hours. I tried to be patient. I didn’t always succeed. Paula appeared indifferent, remote. She came to life only once, when someone suggested that Rudi be put down as dangerous. She spoke only three words to him and the guy abandoned the idea.

  Some of this took place at Fitzroy House, some in the Mittagong Police Station. There were telephone calls to and from Sydney. In general, the cops weren’t too unhappy with me. Two mysterious deaths had been explained and they now had someone to charge over the shooting of Sir Phillip Wilberforce. They had a weapon, mine, to pop into a plastic bag and run tests on. This was once they’d prised it out of Robert Crosbie’s dead hand. Not one of them suggested that anyone else had fired the last shot, although a pale-faced, long-nosed detective sergeant studied the hand long and hard and looked as if he’d like to make something of it.

  Even dog lovers would have to be happy. They had one bad dog, dead, and one good dog alive and a hero. Rudi ate a large tin of Pal out on the back step of the police station and looked around for more. Up close he wasn’t that big but he didn’t need to be. He was all bone, muscle and teeth. He commanded a good deal of respect, Rudi.

  A woman who’d been a friend of the Wilberforces when Fitzroy House had been their holiday home was located and she took Paula and Rudi in for what remained of the night. Paula would be taken to Sydney and charged but there was no doubt that she’d be released on her own recognisances. Before she left she turned to me and held out her hand. We shook formally.