Sleeping Dogs

by Chris Simms

  ‘What about this Siobhain? You’re sure she actually knows Zoë?’

  He thought about her asking if he’d really done those things to Salvio. Apart from Rick, only Zoë knew about that. ‘Yes. She was able to mention some specifics that prove it.’

  ‘I only wish you’d come straight to me with this.’

  He wasn’t sure what to say: the woman now seemed more sympathetic. Parks turned to her computer for a moment. ‘After the incident in Clifden, you drove straight to…where, Dublin?’

  ‘I slept in my car that night, somewhere just along the coast, then drove to Dublin the next day. I was on the ferry by the afternoon.’

  ‘And your dog was attacked Tuesday morning, three days after the Clifden incident,’ Parks stated, reaching for her mouse. ‘Do you have the van’s registration?’

  ‘Yes. But I searched yesterday. Nothing on the PNC, nothing on the ANPR cameras on the M60, nothing with the ferry companies crossing from Dublin.’

  Parks’s eyes met his. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes – sorry. I know that I wasn’t authorised to – ’

  She waved a hand. ‘I’m treating this as an official incident, Jon. Those searches won’t be a problem.’

  ‘That’s…appreciated,’ Jon replied. ‘The guy at Intelligence who requested the ANPR check is wanting a reference number.’

  ‘He’ll get one. Now, what else have you got on these people in Ireland?’

  Jon sat forward. ‘The nightclub owner is called Darragh de Avila. All I’ve been able to glean is that he’s a businessman who regularly supports local fundraising events.’

  ‘But may also have sidelines in smuggling counterfeit DVDs and God-knows-what else.’ She pushed a pad of paper towards him. ‘Jot down his name there, will you? And that van’s registration.’

  Jon did as asked. ‘So what’s next, boss?’

  Her attention was on her screen. ‘We get this character thoroughly checked out.’

  Jon’s eyes settled on the wires trailing from the back of her computer. The intelligence systems she was going to access. All that power – and it’s on my side. He wanted to raise his arms in triumph.

  ‘There’s been no complaint made against you via the Irish police,’ Parks announced, ‘nor would I expect one, given the nature of the people you had this fracas with. You’re on holiday this week, correct?’

  ‘Yes, from tomorrow. Center Parcs.’

  She pursed her lips, still looking at the screen. ‘Why didn’t you take today off and have the entire week to yourself?’

  Jon felt his head drop a notch. ‘I’ve used up my holiday allocation. We’ve got a fortnight in France this summer.’ Or we did, he thought. Until all this happened.

  ‘Center Parcs,’ his DCI murmured. ‘I didn’t know they allowed dogs there.’

  ‘You have to book a special lodge.’

  ‘How is your daughter with all this?’

  ‘She seems relatively OK – so far.’

  ‘And your wife?’

  ‘Worried sick, to be honest. Neither of us slept last night.’

  ‘And you rushed out of here yesterday because…?’

  ‘Turned out to be nothing. My daughter was asleep and dreamed the dog that attacked Punch was looking in through the front-room window. She’s seems OK now, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see if the dreams turn into a regular thing.’

  ‘Are they at home now?’

  ‘It’s our daughter’s half-term. We thought it best the two of them stay at my wife’s mum’s today. She lives over near Worsley.’

  ‘How much work have you got on at the moment?’

  ‘You mean screamers?’

  She nodded.

  ‘There’s the armed robbery on that social club in Miles Platting. Same MO as the two others last month. And the carjacking in Timperley. The one that left the vehicle owner in intensive care.’

  ‘Nothing DI Saville can’t tread water with for a few days.’

  ‘I suppose – ’

  ‘Go on, Jon. Bring me details of any other things that have to be actioned before the weekend and get yourself home. I’ll let you know as soon as we know more.’

  Unable to believe how well everything was going, Jon stood. Parks was now busily typing away. Less than a minute ago, he thought, she seemed ready to bite my head off. Now she’s my biggest ally. He looked bemusedly at the photos lined up on her shelf. Among the shots of her children was one he hadn’t noticed before. It was of a dog, one of those comical-looking things with a moustache and bushy eyebrows. Realisation dawned. ‘That’s a nice-looking dog.’

  She paused in her typing to look lovingly at the image. ‘He’s a salt and pepper miniature schnauzer.’

  ‘What’s he called?’

  ‘Dennis,’ she said proudly. ‘He’s my best boy.’

  Chapter 15

  Out in the incident room, Rick was just taking off his jacket, shirt neatly pressed and hair artfully arranged so that several short strands went against the direction most of the spikes were pointing. How long does he take each morning in front of the mirror? Jon wondered, thinking about the cropped hair on his own head. Three seconds to rub dry with a towel and that was it. He held up a hand in greeting.

  Rick nodded back before shooting a questioning glance at Parks’s door.

  Jon held up a thumb. ‘I needn’t have worried.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Jon noticed the cup of coffee next to his phone. Nice one, Rachel. He took a sip. Still hot, too. ‘Dog lover,’ he whispered with a smile.

  ‘You what?’ Rick sat.

  ‘She’s a dog lover, mate. As soon as I mentioned my Boxer had been attacked, that was it – she started pulling out all the stops.’

  Rick looked mystified. ‘That swayed it for her?’

  Jon gulped back the rest of his drink. ‘You prefer cats to dogs, don’t you?’

  Rick nodded. ‘But what’s that got to do – ’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Jon grinned, stepping away from their desks. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Rick replied, still looking confused. ‘Cheers.’

  Jon crossed to the brew table and flicked the kettle on. Reaching for a clean mug for Rick, he assessed the situation as it now stood. I should call Alice, he thought. Let her know that everything’s going to be sorted. As he spooned coffee from their syndicate’s jar, Paul Evans – the detective who’d dug out the details for the RSPCA’s chief inspector the day before – wandered over.

  ‘Morning, Jon.’

  ‘Hi Paul – thanks for the contact, I had a decent chat with him yesterday.’

  ‘Still looking into the dog-fighting stuff?’

  Jon tipped his head. ‘You got something?’

  ‘There’s an incident in with the overnights. Caught my eye.’

  ‘Go on,’ Jon replied, splashing a load of milk into Rick’s cup.

  ‘It’s actually under abandoned or stolen vehicles. A van that someone tried to torch on playing fields in Offerton, Stockport way.’

  That’s about ten minutes from my house, Jon thought, turning to face his fellow detective.

  ‘The calibre of criminal we have to deal with today,’ Evans sighed with mock regret. ‘Just gets worse and worse. These particular playing fields are directly behind a fire station. Firefighters put the vehicle out and a couple of uniforms have just checked it over. In the back of the van is a very large, dead, dog.’

  Jon licked his lips. ‘Where’s this again?’

  ‘Offerton – opposite a community place that got closed with all the cutbacks: the Dialstone Centre.’

  Jon vaguely knew it. Stockport Rugby Club’s ground was a short distance away. ‘Did the van have Irish number plates?’

  ‘I think the report said they’d been removed. I’ve got it up, now.’

  He led Jon over to his computer, slid into his chair and traced a finger down the screen. ‘Yup – plates are missing.’

  ‘Nothing else on the van?’
/>   ‘Just that it’s a white Ford.’

  Same model as the one I chased, Jon thought. It’s got to be the one. ‘Ping that over to me, would you Paul? Cheers.’ He hurried back to his desk, grabbing the coffees on the way. ‘I think we’ve got something,’ he announced, plonking the drinks down and logging on to his computer. He went to his emails and brought up the one at the top.

  ‘What is it?’ Rick asked, coming round the desks while looking suspiciously at the coffee Jon had just made.

  ‘Could be the van from yesterday. Someone tried to torch one over near Stockport. Firefighters put it out.’

  Rick whistled. ‘How soon did they get to it?’

  Jon scanned the report. ‘Not sure. But the carcass of a large dog was in the back.’ He scrolled down until the radio room’s number for Stockport police station came up. ‘Hello, DI Spicer, Major Incident Team, here.’

  ‘Sergeant Maughan speaking.’

  ‘Morning Sergeant. You’ve got an abandoned vehicle on your patch. Can I give you the FWIN?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Jon read it out. ‘Can the officers attending make sure the scene is secured and then await my arrival? We’ll be there in fifteen.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Jon hung up and looked at Rick. ‘Drink up, mate, we’re heading out.’

  They were on the road less than five minutes later, morning traffic heavy in the opposite direction. Soon they joined the A6 and from there Jon knew it was a straight run through Levenshulme and Heaton Chapel to Stockport itself.

  The road curved round and suddenly low winter sun was blinding him. He flipped the visor down and glanced at the dashboard. One degree. It had been a cold bastard of a winter. ‘Can you give Alice a buzz, mate? Tell her everything’s being sorted.’

  In the passenger seat, Rick reached into his jacket. ‘Do you want me to mention the dog in this van?’

  ‘No – not yet. I want to be sure first.’

  Rick keyed in the number as Jon cruised along in the outside lane, occasionally resorting to the blue lights behind his radiator grille to clear dawdling cars from his path.

  ‘Alice, hi, it’s Rick. Are you OK? Good. Listen, Jon’s driving. We’re on our way to an incident. But he’s seen Parks. Apparently, she’s a fellow dog-lover.’ He paused. ‘Dog-lover, yes. She has a dog.’

  ‘Miniature schnauzer,’ Jon called across.

  ‘Did you get that?’ Rick said. ‘Anyway, she’s totally on our side. The thing’s got priority status.’

  Jon leaned across. ‘Whoever this guy is, we’ll know everything about him very soon. So don’t worry, babe.’

  Rick listened for a second and smiled. ‘She says to concentrate on your bloody driving. And she loves you, God knows why.’

  Jon smirked. ‘Love you too, babe. See you later!’

  Rick hung up and stared out the window. ‘You know, one thing’s bugging me in all this: the Zoë factor. What do you think has happened to her now?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Since you turned up in Clifden.’

  His mind went to the curiously quiet town. The sense that, somehow, the place itself had been watching him. The way everyone insisted they’d never heard of Zoë or Siobhain. It was all a touch surreal. ‘You reckon, by going over there, I’ve just made her situation worse?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  Jesus, he thought, Rick’s right: she could be in some back room right now, having the shit being beaten out of her. ‘Maybe,’ he said quietly, ‘she’s got away.’

  ‘And if she hasn’t?’

  He didn’t want to contemplate it.

  ‘What if Siobhain rings again? Or Zoë does, asking for your help.’

  Jon wanted to push the thought away. There’s enough on my plate already. You know what you’ll do, a part of him said. You’ll go back for her. Because if you don’t, you’ll never be able to look at Jake again without feeling guilty.

  Stepping Hill hospital was on his right. He indicated left, passing through some traffic lights onto Dialstone Lane. ‘Somewhere along here.’

  Rick pointed. ‘There you go. Lisburne Lane.’

  He turned into a narrower road, houses on either side. Moments later, he was parking outside the playing field’s entrance. Fifty metres across the grass was a grubby white van, paintwork blackened by smoke. Scene of crime tape cordoned it off.

  The sun was barely visible above the tops of the houses which bordered the expanse of grass. Shadows caught in the tyre tracks that led to the vehicle. He tested the ground with his feet. Solid. ‘Must have been driven here early evening, before the ground froze. Obviously dumped in a hurry, oblivious to the fact they’d parked directly behind a fire station.’

  ‘Which means they couldn’t know the area,’ Rick concluded.

  A patrol car was parked on the edge of the grass, a couple of uniforms sitting inside. Jon placed a hand on the roof and leaned down to the partly open window. He wanted to shake his head. So bloody young. ‘Morning, lads. That my van?’ he asked, holding his warrant card up.

  The one in the passenger seat clocked his rank and scrabbled for the door handle. ‘Morning Detective. Yes it is – secured as requested.’

  As he got out, flakes of sausage roll fell from his tunic. ‘Bit of breakfast while we waited.’

  ‘And why not?’ Jon smiled. ‘This is DS Saville.’

  ‘Sir,’ the constable nodded at Rick. ‘Shall we show you across?’

  Jon contemplated the question. No point more people than necessary poking around. He shook his head. ‘May as well stay warm in your car. What do we need to know?’

  The one who’d been in the driver’s seat produced his notebook. ‘It was set alight at 6.30 p.m. last night, or thereabouts.’

  ‘Anyone see the vehicle’s occupants?’

  ‘No. Firefighters spotted the flames through their canteen windows on the first floor. They ran a hose across the training area behind the station and gave it a good soaking. It was our first job of the day when we came on duty this morning.’

  ‘So it was standing there through the night?’ Rick mused.

  The driver nodded. ‘They kept an eye on it in the fire station. No one’s tried to tamper with it.’

  ‘They were long gone, I imagine,’ Jon murmured to Rick. ‘Soon as they saw the flames had taken hold.’

  ‘What’s it being linked with?’ asked the officer. ‘Seems odd there was a dog in the back.’

  Jon turned to him. ‘What does the animal look like?’

  ‘Big, ugly and part-cooked. Could feed an entire village with the amount of meat on it.’

  Jon gave a nod. I think we’ve struck lucky here. ‘OK, we’ll take a peek.’

  They trudged across grass still encased by a thick layer of frost. Jon thought he could feel blades snapping underfoot. The van was no more than ten feet from the fence. ‘No wonder they put it out,’ he observed. ‘Would have been a fire risk for the station itself.’

  The water sprayed on to it had collected into pools and then frozen in the night. Micro-lakes of milky ice. Judging from the smoke damage to the van, the fire had taken hold properly before being extinguished. Jon took a moment to examine the grass near the driver’s door. Any footprints had been obliterated by the hosing-down the vehicle had received. The rear door was ajar. Below it, Jon could see a small triangle of plastic. All that remained from where the registration plate had been wrenched off. He circled round to the front of the vehicle. No plate there, either.

  ‘Is it the van?’ Rick asked.

  ‘Looks like it,’ Jon replied, ducking eagerly under the tape and snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

  ‘Wish they made winter versions of these,’ Rick complained, doing the same.

  Jon peered through the window into the driver’s cab. The fire had obviously been set in the footwell – a mound of charred and soggy cloth filled it. Flames had spread to the seats’ upholstery which, he guessed, would have spewed thick smoke. He looked for
any sign of a tax disc on the inside of the windscreen. Nothing. Using one finger, he pulled tentatively at the handle of the door. It swung open and the smell of petrol and burnt plastic enveloped him.

  Rick had opened the door on the other side of the cab, and using the tip of a biro, sprang the glove compartment.

  ‘Anything?’ Jon asked.

  ‘A road map of Ireland.’

  ‘Has to be it,’ Jon breathed, lifting the floor mat so he could examine the metal of the door frame. Punched into its surface were various digits and letters. Jon noted down the main one at the top and stood. ‘Let’s see this dog then.’

  They met at the rear doors and Jon swung the right hand one open. Gloom filled the blackened interior. Halfway along the bare floor was a large object. Jon squinted to make sense of what he was seeing. They’d wrapped the body in a carpet – possibly what had been used to line the floor. Thick shoulders and a square-shaped head with a squashed muzzle poked from the partly open folds. The animal looked as if it had died in the act of snarling.

  ‘Check the size of those teeth,’ Rick murmured. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Hang on.’ Jon reached in, unlatched the other door and swung it open. The amount of light now allowed a much clearer view. The carpet appeared to have been doused in petrol or some kind of accelerant before being set alight. What he could see of the dog’s huge carcass was badly burnt. ‘Still can’t tell.’ He stepped onto the footplate and climbed into the claustrophobic space. Head ducked low, he glanced uneasily at the blackened walls, fume-filled air making his nose itch. As he reached down to unfold the carpet a thought popped into his head: in a horror film, this is when the thing’s eyes snap open.

  Rick suddenly tensed. ‘It moved!’

  Jon’s arm shot back, elbow connecting painfully with the side of the van. His partner creased up laughing.

  ‘Twat,’ Jon cursed, examining the smear of soot now on his coat-sleeve.

  Rick fought back his laughter. ‘You’d have done exactly the same to me.’

  Chuckling in agreement, he peeled back the flaps to reveal the entire corpse. The flames hadn’t taken hold properly at the far end of the carpet and the animal’s coat was still intact. Tiger-like stripes covered its rear legs, long tapered tail lying across them. ‘Definitely the one.’