Tooth and Claw

by Oliver Davies

Stephen and I hovered behind her, watching in silence. Julian still looked wary, worried that the dog, Lewie, might turn vicious out of fear. But the dog whined, his tail beginning to wag, and as he trotted towards Claire, I could tell that this was a completely different beast to the one who’d crouched, scared and snarling in the corner a moment ago. Claire broke into tears and scratched Lewie’s ear through the door’s wire mesh.

  “You remember me, don’t you? You do. I’m so sorry, Lew. So sorry.” She looked up at Julian, who was still watching carefully but had relaxed a little. “I want to take him home now.”

  “I know. We can talk about that.” He offered a hand to help her up, and she slowly took it.

  “Talk about it?”

  This was going to get difficult, I realised. Claire saw Lewie as the pet dog she’d been parted from and had feared dead, whereas Julian and the other rescue staff had seen how Lewie had reacted when he was panicked and afraid. It was going to be tricky for her to accept that Lewie had changed and that he’d need particular care with safety measures put in place in the meantime.

  “Mrs Foster,” I put in before Julian could reply. Claire turned towards me. “I know you’re anxious about Lewie, but we do need to ask you a couple of questions about the person who collected Lewie from you.”

  “I can’t- I need to take him home with me. I can’t leave him here,” she said, turning back to Julian.

  “And I’m sure you and the staff here can work together to do the best for Lewie, but we do need to speak to you. Now, preferably,” I said, firmer this time.

  “No, I’ll answer questions when I know Lewie is-”

  “Julian, thank you for your help. I’m sure Mrs Foster will want to talk to you in a few minutes,” I said.

  Claire stared at me in outrage, and Stephen gave me a frown too. I didn’t like to be so cold, especially since I knew she must be dealing with a lot of emotions right now, but we didn’t have the time to wait for her and Julian to hash out whether or not she could take Lewie with her immediately. I was sure that the rescue centre wouldn’t let her and that she’d argue back. Still, it would be a good while before we’d finally get to talk to her, if she was even willing to at that point.

  “I’m sorry that this is a bad time, Mrs Foster,” I said, meaning it, “but we really need our questions answered. We don’t want any other dogs to be taken away and abused like Lewie was, and I know you don’t want that to happen either.”

  She clenched her jaw, still looking at me with fierce animosity such that I began to think that my firmness had been the wrong tactic entirely. Perhaps she would’ve responded better to coaxing, or we ought to have come back later…

  “Fine,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

  “Thank you,” I said in relief, pulling out my notepad. “Was Lewie picked up from your house, or did you drop him off?”

  She swallowed audibly, and I pressed my lips together in sympathy. It would be hard for her to relive this, I thought, even though she’d probably run her actions through her head countless times since Lewie had gone missing.

  “My husband’s allergic. That’s why we were giving him away, you know. Not because I didn’t love him. I wanted him to go to a loving home.”

  “I know you did.”

  “It was a man and a woman who came to pick Lewie up. They came in for tea, and she was so friendly. Casie, she said her name was.” Claire swallowed. “Her husband didn’t say much, but I didn’t think anything of it. They seemed knowledgeable, and Lewie’s so friendly, so he seemed to like them too. I didn’t want him to go, but God, I really thought he was in good hands, you know?”

  “I understand. What did these people look like?”

  She gave a full description of the pair of them, as best as she could remember, and I made careful note of what she said. I’d check it against the pictures of the Scotsons when I got back to the station, and I dearly hoped they’d match up. The dog was clearly hers, so it stood to reason that they were the same people unless Lewie had been passed on.

  Stephen and I asked her a few more questions about what had happened with the online advert and how it had all panned out, but she was clearly itching to get back to her dog, and we soon rounded it up.

  “I really appreciate you talking to us,” I said, flipping my notebook closed.

  “I’m free to go?” She took a step away even as she waited for our answer.

  “Aye, you are. Thanks for the help, Mrs Foster.”

  She nodded and hurried off towards reception to take her dog home. The rescue would want to hold on to him for a while and make sure he was safe, but I hoped that Claire would get the reunion she so clearly wanted.

  “If her husband’s allergic, she won’t be able to keep the dog at home, will she?” Stephen said as we watched her go.

  “I don’t know. But she clearly wants him back, so maybe the husband will just have to survive on Piriton.”

  Stephen gave a slight smile, shaking his head. We made our way out, thanking the rescue staff at the desk and leaving the centre behind.

  “Alright, what now?” Stephen asked as he drove us back to Hewford.

  “I rang up the neighbours, a Mr and Mrs Young. You know, the people who reported that there was a dog in the basement? And we’re due to meet them at the station soon.” I checked my watch.

  “Are we running late?”

  “Nope, we’re good.”

  Unwilling to wait until we got back to Hewford to see whether Claire’s descriptions lined up with the people who’d been keeping Lewie, I took the tablet out of the glove box. Once I got onto the police system, I searched up the pair’s pictures and released a breath of part-relief and part-satisfaction.

  “What’re you looking at?”

  “The incidents are definitely connected, one hundred per cent. The folks who picked up Lewie from Claire were the same ones who had him in their basement.”

  “That’s good to know, then.”

  “Aye, it is.” I rubbed my fingers over my chin. “Remember the print-out we found in their house? Those could’ve been future targets. More dogs they wanted to pick up.”

  “They won’t be able to now. They’re securely in custody, mate.”

  “I know, I know. But what if this is bigger than just those two? Other dog-fighters in the area could be targeting dogs going free like that too, don’t you think?”

  “Possible, I guess.”

  I nodded, stowing the thought away for now. Stephen pulled into Hewford car park as I ran ideas through my head about what questions to ask the Youngs. They’d kindly agreed to meet and talk with us, though PC Tovar and her partner had already spoken to them. I’d read over the interview she’d done with them, and there’d been nothing wrong with it, but I’d wanted to speak to them now that we had a greater understanding of what was going on. Not that they’d necessarily know anything new or useful, but it was worth a shot.

  Sometimes, all it took to crack a case was asking the right question.

  We were slightly early for meeting them, and they weren’t here yet, so we headed up to our desks. Stephen fetched us both fresh drinks, and I dashed off a quick but thorough email to Tovar to give her an update on what we’d found. She’d be glad to hear that Lewie had been reunited with his owner, I was sure.

  I also wanted to give Kate Ross at LACS a call to give her an update. This was probably beneath her interest, but after finding out that there was an active dogfighting and breeding group just outside of York, I wanted to make sure that she was aware of what was happening in the city too. When Tovar had come to me about the missing dog, she’d thought it was too insignificant to be of interest to me. But these little things could total up into something bigger, and I thought it was good to keep people in the loop.

  “Kate Ross speaking.”

  “Morning, it’s DCI Mitchell here. I called the other day-”

  “I remember. We had a look at those photos you sent over, and they’re blurry but useful. Thank yo
u.”

  “Oh, no problem,” I said, surprised. In all the rush, I’d almost forgotten about the pictures of the barn I’d emailed her. “I was actually calling about something else.”

  I explained briefly and succinctly what had happened here, and she listened closely, staying quiet until I was done.

  “I thought it was worth letting you know that at least one pair were poaching pet dogs from York,” I finished.

  “There is an unfortunate precedent for dog-fighters using pets to train their animals,” she said, and I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. She sighed, sounding tired, and no wonder if she’d been busy trying to infiltrate and bring down the big group up in the fells. “Thanks for letting me know. It’s good to have an ear to the ground.”

  “No worries. I was thinking of looking into the adverts we found on the Gumtree print-out and seeing whether any other dogs were taken.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Are you sure you’ve got time for this, detective?” She sounded surprised by my interest in investigating this case thoroughly, and I made a noise of acknowledgement in my throat.

  “It may seem small right now, but my superior agrees with me that this could be a sign of a much bigger problem, so I’m giving it my full attention,” I explained. “We’ve not got anything else pressing right now, so I’ve got the room in my schedule.”

  George Sedgwick, the other DCI at Hewford, was currently working an investigation into a suicide, but he’d assured me when I’d offered to help that he had it all in hand. I’d briefly glanced over his case reports, and it looked like a genuine suicide to me, not a cover-up, despite the slightly suspicious circumstances. Still, appearances could be deceiving, and I was glad he was giving it his careful attention. That had been the biggest crime recently in our part of the woods, and Stephen and I were at a relatively loose end, though, of course, there were always things to be doing at Hewford.

  “Well, okay then. If you find anything else, hit me up.”

  “Will do, and any updates you can give me, I’d appreciate it. Though I’m fully aware that you need to protect your undercover officer’s safety, don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll let you know what I can.”

  We ended the call, and I put the phone down, feeling satisfied. We had Mr and Mrs Young to speak to shortly, and then it’d be certainly time for lunch, with my stomach grumbling its complaint. I thought about asking Sam if she was free to join us before remembering that she wasn’t in the building anymore. It’d been months, but I still forgot sometimes. We’d not been together for that long, as relationships went, but she’d become a firm and welcome part of my life.

  “You’re looking a bit dour, mate. You alright?” Stephen asked. Before I could reply, he gave a thoughtful nod. “Ah. Sam.”

  I had to laugh. “How did you know?”

  “You get this kicked puppy look.” His lips twisted a little sadly.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Come on. Let’s go and meet these folks and see if they have anything useful for us.”

  “Sure.”

  I’d talk to Sam tonight, and perhaps we could arrange for her to come and visit soon or for me to go down to Kent. For the moment, though, I was more than ready to bury my head in work and put thoughts of her from my mind. As much as I missed her, I knew that she wouldn’t want me to be distracted from my work, and I had a duty to do my best by the force.

  So I pulled myself to my feet, and we headed down the stairs to the interview rooms, my fingers crossed in the hopes they’d be able to shed some light on all of this.

  Eight

  The wind was bitingly chilly, the sun barely daring to show its face even briefly from behind the wall of cloud, but Stephen still wanted to sit outside.

  “Why am I out here freezing my butt off again?”

  “Fresh air. It’ll wake us up,” he said stubbornly, taking a big bite out of his sandwich.

  “I’m plenty awake,” I grumbled.

  My own lunch sat abandoned beside me on the wall, my hands cupped around a takeaway mug of coffee. It wasn’t the best I’d ever had by any means, but it was hot at least.

  “Anyone told you that it’s January, Steph?” I said as a particularly cold gust blew by and needled its way through my thick trousers.

  “Okay, okay, I give in,” he relented, throwing up his hands. He shoved the remains of his sandwich in his mouth and stood up.

  “Finally.” I gave a dramatic shudder and led the way back to the station, my legs numb and tingly.

  “You’re usually the one singing the praises of the great outdoors!” Stephen protested as we headed up the stairs to our desks.

  “I’m usually running in it, mate. Not sitting on my arse, getting frostbite in my toes. Easter’s the earliest time for a picnic, and even then, we can get snow.”

  “I just thought it was getting stuffy up here,” he huffed.

  Admittedly, the heating had been turned way up in the station, and the atmosphere was oppressive. Right now, I was grateful to lean against one of the old, creaky radiators and get the feeling back in my feet, but I’d probably be finding it stifling within another hour or so.

  We’d interviewed the neighbours, Mr and Mrs Young, this morning before lunch, but they’d unfortunately been unable to give us any more information than what they’d already told Tovar. Brushing off my disappointment, we’d moved on to looking into the Gumtree adverts from the print-out we’d found, trying to track down the people who’d put the adverts up and their contact details. It was time intensive, and we’d broken for lunch, still waiting for replies back from most of the dog owners we’d tried to get in touch with.

  “I hope the dogs are alright,” I said, sighing as I settled back in my chair.

  I took a bite of my pasta salad, which was cold enough to set my teeth on edge after sitting outside for half an hour. I took a slurp of lukewarm coffee to take the chill off.

  “As do I.” Stephen nodded. He’d finished his lunch outside and was back at work, his computer screen filled with Gumtree’s grey background and list of adverts.

  “Any replies?”

  “A couple have agreed to us dropping by, yeah.”

  The phone on my desk rang, and as I swallowed my mouthful, I picked it up.

  “DCI Mitchell speaking.”

  I’d put my work number on the messages to the dog owners, and this was one of them. I explained that there wasn’t any trouble, but we only wanted to have a chat, and the woman reluctantly gave me her address so that we could stop by later today.

  We couldn’t wait for every one of the dog owners to reply, so by two, we headed out to talk to them. It turned out that none of them had given up the dogs they’d listed yet, and I breathed a sigh of relief at that.

  “Please take the advert down,” I urged a young man, who’d defensively told us that his mum had died, and he wasn’t able to look after her dog, now left behind. “Giving your mum’s dog away through an animal shelter is much safer. They do checks to make sure the animals go to a good home.”

  “Okay, I will,” he agreed, looking shamefaced and a little shaken.

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know,” Stephen added, and the guy looked grateful.

  “I never meant any harm to come to him.” He glanced down at the labrador at his feet, who was wagging his tail.

  “We know you didn’t,” I assured him before we headed out.

  “That’s the last one, then,” Stephen said as we got back into the car, him in the driving seat.

  “Aye. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time.”

  “I hear you. We’ll find another lead if there’s one there to find.”

  “What d’you mean ‘if’?” I frowned.

  He started the car up and manoeuvred it out of the space and onto the road.

  “Nothing, really. Just that the dog, Lewie, being taken might’ve been a one-off, you know?”

  “But the evidence points to it not be
ing a one-off. The Scotsons, who took Lewie and locked him up to train him, had to be part of a bigger group, Steph. They weren’t just training him for the hell of it, no matter what they’ll try to claim in court.”

  “Yeah, I know that, but-”

  “And then the fighting ring up in the fells? You don’t think it’s connected somehow?”

  Stephen let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know, Mitch. Don’t bite my head off, okay?”

  “Sorry.” I rubbed a hand over my face and tilted my head back until it touched the headrest.

  “You look tired. Didn’t you sleep okay?”

  “It was a bit of a late one,” I admitted before changing the subject so he couldn’t start peppering me with well-meaning questions. “I think we need to do some more research when we get back to Hewford. You’re right that I can’t just assume that everything is connected. We need to see the bigger picture. Maybe there are records of dogfighting happening in York in recent years.”

  “And maybe there’s not,” Stephen added, a touch pointedly.

  “Aye, okay, and maybe there’s not. We’ll see.”

  I strongly thought that they were connected, refusing to believe that the Scotsons were acting on their own. From what I had read, these dog-fighters came together in communities, all pieces of a shifting puzzle that could be deconstructed and scattered in a moment if the law came knocking.

  Quiet had fallen between Stephen and me for a while, with him turning on the radio for a bit. There seemed to be nothing but adverts on the station he preferred, though, so he turned it off and glanced over at me.

  “You could try calling LACS for an update if it’s their operation that’s worrying you?”

  “I’m not worried,” I said, smoothing out the frown that’d been on my face without me even realising. “And I’d like to call LACS, but Ross said she’d let me know if anything happened if she could. I talked to her earlier today already, and I don’t want to bug them. They’re busy with whatever they’re doing up in the hills, I suppose.”

  “They’ve got it well in hand. They’re pros at this sort of thing, right?” Stephen said, clearly trying to reassure me. He obviously hadn’t believed my assurance that I wasn’t concerned.