The Trouble with Dogs

Chapter One

Matt - Blackburn, Lancs. Friday morning, 10th September 1992.

On a bad day, he had to fight his demons just to walk through the front door. As time passed, that happened less frequently, and today was not a bad day. Detective Chief Inspector Matt Johnson entered his office inside Blackburn’s chilly Victorian Police Station. He switched on the light, then off again. Satisfied, he switched it back on. His partitioned office was the largest of three, shoehorned along one side of the original large room. The remaining space served as home to his squad and their incident room. The price paid for the largest office was no external window. His only view was out into the incident room; smooth stone walls, high ceiling with ornate plasterwork, and parquet flooring. Its current use being the total opposite of that intended by its creator.

Muttering about untidiness, Matt neatly stacked the statements Liz had dropped onto his otherwise empty desk, sat down, and opened the first one. He took a pencil from the regimented line within his stationery drawer, absent-mindedly checking the point was sharp. Almost. He took his sharpener and gave the pencil a quick twist, carefully depositing the shaving in the bin, and returned the sharpener to its designated place. Looking at the pencil, he sighed. His annoyance with himself furrowed his brow.

Frank Jeremies, Matt’s trusted DS, knocked on his door, opened it, but paused.

‘You okay, Boss?’

‘Err, aye. Grand. What’s up?’

‘It looks like we’ve got a fresh one.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘You know that pal of mine, Ralph?’

‘The vehicle recovery bloke?’

‘That’s him. He’s at Pickup Bank collecting a torched Golf and found another burnt-out shell with a body in it. The smell made him chuck up, so I guess it’s still warm. He just phoned it through from a call box. I’ve sent him back to stop anyone else looking around until we get there.’

‘Grand. Have you told uniform?’ Matt returned the pencil to its exact place in the drawer and the statement neatly on the stack.

‘Yes.’

He reached for his black leather bomber jacket. ‘What about the Divisional Surgeon and Scenes of Crime?’

‘I rang Geoff Roberts; he’ll meet us there. SOCOs are on their way.’

‘Well, since you’re so bloody organised, you can drive,’ said Matt, tossing him the keys to his Cavalier SRi.

The car was only six months old, and this was the first time Matt had asked Frank to drive it. Before they set off, Frank moved the driver’s seat a notch closer. Matt noticed the flicker of a smile cross his face. They were the same height, but Matt realised his own slowly increasing girth made the adjustment necessary.

He’d asked Frank to drive because he wanted time to think, recalling a cold case from five years ago; a man burned beyond recognition and left on the moors above Darwen. He didn’t share his thoughts with Frank, unsure if there would be any other similarities. Besides, the fewer people made a connection this early, the better.

After driving in silence for a few minutes, Frank asked, ‘Wasn’t Penny having a check-up today?’

‘Aye, Sue’s taken her this morning. I was hoping she’d have rung by now.’

‘So, this is the last thing you need today?’

‘Not really. Helps take my mind off it and we’re not expecting owt bad. Besides, there’s nowt I can do. Anyway, are you looking forward to your trip this weekend?’

‘Yeah, well, Gill’s called that off. Her mum’s in hospital, so she’s staying at hers in Leeds, to be close for visiting. She says she’ll not get out before next week.’

‘Oh, sorry to hear that. Owt serious?’

‘Apparently not, but still scary. They’re talking pacemaker. That could happen Monday, so Gill wants to be there. That puts us back on hold. Again.’

‘Sorry to hear that, Frank; very frustrating. Now, where’s that turning?’

‘Next right, just ahead, opposite the Grey Mare Inn.’

‘Is that place still open? There’s nowt around for miles, just moorland and a few lost sheep. Why choose somewhere so remote?’

‘What? To open a pub?’

‘No, Frank, to commit murder.’

Chapter Two

Alan ­- July, two months earlier

Alan and his sixteen-year-old son, Joe, were returning from delivering a load of weldmesh rolls to Bradley’s place in Wales. They dropped off the hired pickup and drove Alan’s estate car back to their farmhouse on the outskirts of Blackburn. During the journey, Joe asked his father some tricky questions.

‘That weldmesh, Dad, it’s been a good earner for you, hasn’t it?’

‘Dead good, Son. Half the breeders in the country have bought some. They’ve been mad for it. That was Bradley’s third load. Why’re you asking?’

‘Well, I know you don’t get it from the makers. In fact, most of the stuff you sell comes from dodgy sources. It doesn’t bother me, but is that why you and Mum argued so much and why she and Sarah left us?’

Alan glanced at his son. He had been dreading the day his youngest two, Joe and Katy, started asking awkward questions, but was ready for them.

‘It wasn’t as simple as that. Your sister Sarah and John were shacking up together, anyway. They’re planning a family, so it’s only natural to want their own gaff. Your mum knew I made my living under the radar when she met me, but never stopped trying to make me go legit. Trouble is, after doing this for so long, it’s not easy to drop all those deals, favours, and contacts. Too many other people rely on you, d’you know what I mean? She just couldn’t accept it, and the longer things went on, the more we rowed about it and drifted apart.’

‘Yeah, we heard you. Katy cried a few times.’

Alan winced. ‘I’m sure you did as well, son. I’m sorry about that. Us splitting up really was for the best.’

It was his other ventures which caused Elaine to leave him last year. The criminals Alan associated with often demanded he do things outside his comfort zone. Elaine just couldn’t cope, although she never knew everything Alan had to do, or just how dangerous the people he mixed with really were.

‘Maybe, but I know Mum misses being with us and Katy misses her a lot.’

‘Yeah, I bet you do, too. We gave you the choice; you could have lived with her.’

‘I know; that wasn’t easy. Me and Katy talked about it for days. We’d have had to change school and lose all our friends. Mum understood.’

This conversation had Alan concerned. ‘Are you two having second thoughts now?’

‘No, not really. It’s not perfect, but nothing ever is. Do you think you’ll ever get a proper job?’

Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, ‘I don’t think I can now; too long under the radar. It’s complicated.’

By now they had arrived, and Alan drove into the farmyard, relieved to end the conversation. The farm’s land was sold off thirty years before to create an industrial estate which now almost engulfed the farmyard. The stone house was around 200 years old, but Alan had never bothered researching it. It had the required accommodation and, importantly, the outbuildings he needed for storage and kennelling his dogs.

He had moved there from Longsight, Manchester, where he grew up. His interest in German Shepherd dogs began after watching a Championship Show at the Belle Vue Exhibition Centre. He bought a puppy shortly after and soon started breeding and showing dogs, which prompted the move, well before meeting and marrying Elaine.

As they walked into the kitchen, Katy was sitting at the kitchen table. A pretty girl, with fair hair and freckles, she was two years younger than Joe.

‘Hi, Dad, Joe. How’d it go? What’s Bradley’s place like?’

‘It went great, love,’ Alan replied, ‘but we didn’t see much cos we needed a quick turn-round to get the pickup back in time. The kennels and the house looked dead good, but then it’s all brand new. The quarantine kennels are top, really professional; must’ve cost a fortune. Mind you, he can afford it, the prices he charges for pups. No idea where his quarantine customers will come from; it’s a bit out on a limb, but he’s already got some dogs in them. Anyway, what’ve you been up to today?’

‘Oh, nothing special; just spent the day at Sarah’s.’

Alan smiled, thinking Elaine probably took her there, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

‘I’ve made chili con carne. I’ve had mine, so I’ll put some rice on for you.’

‘Thanks, Katy, I’ll sort that,’ said Joe, and headed for the stove.

Alan walked into the dining room, unlocked a drawer in his oak desk, and pulled out a cash box. He added today’s nine hundred pounds payment to the cash already in there, which was sitting alongside a sealed envelope. He wanted to transfer some to his safe under the dog runs, where he kept his other valuables, but couldn’t do it now with the kids around. Besides, there would be more cash tomorrow.

He returned to the kitchen to find Joe had set two places at the table and was busy at the stove.

Taking a beer from the fridge, he asked, ‘D’you want one? You’ve earned it today.’

‘No thanks, Dad. I’ve got some cola here,’ Joe replied. Turning back to the pan, he added, ‘This’ll be ready in a couple of mins.’

‘We need to talk about what you’re going to do when you leave school.’

Joe scowled. ‘Don’t get your hopes up that I’m gonna do better when I re-take my GCSE’s. You saw my last report. I know I said I’d try again, but it’ll be just as hard.’

Alan sighed. ‘I know, but you’ve got to decide what you’re gonna do with your life.’

‘What’s wrong with working with dogs?’

Alan looked up at the ceiling and bit his lip. ‘We’ve already discussed that, son. It’s a great little earner and it’ll give you a good second income, but it won’t buy you a house and feed your family when that comes around, d’you know what I mean?’

‘Bradley Kendrick doesn’t do badly.’

‘He’s an international judge and breeder. He married someone with money, and he’s had a lot of financial help from family friends. Only those who start rich stay rich, so getting a good job is the best way to get ahead of the game. You need an apprenticeship, or at least a job with training, so you’ll have a regular income. Now, think about it and give me a proper answer when we’ve eaten.’

Joe dished out their meal, and they ate in silence.

Finishing first, Joe sat upright and said, ‘I know you want the best for me, and you’re worried I’ll end up on the scrap heap, but I won’t. I wasn’t gonna to tell you ’til I heard back, but I’ve applied for a trainee chef job at three big Blackburn restaurants. My results won’t be good enough for an apprenticeship, so there’s no point in looking, and I don’t want to work in a shop. I’ve got Biology and Food Tech, and I enjoy cooking, so that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m concentrating on getting my Maths GCSE this time. If I get one of those jobs, I can start after I leave school at Christmas.’

Alan was surprised. Three months ago, Joe didn’t seem to have any interest beyond a career in dogs.

‘Son, that’s top. I’m glad you’ve thought it through. If you’d told me, I could’ve seen if I had some contacts to put in a word for you.’

‘No, Dad. I don’t want your dodgy mates leaning on some restaurant owner to give me a job. I want to get it on my own merits.’

Alan smiled. ‘I don’t know what you mean, son. Seriously though, if there’s anything I can help with, just ask. C’mon, I’ll wash up.’

Later, Alan joined his kids in the lounge, watching the news on TV, but his mind was not on the news stories. Tomorrow, he was up early again, carrying out a more stressful task in Hull. This was the part of his life he hated, but he had no choice other than to do their bidding. Besides, the money came in handy. When he vaguely heard the weather-forecast come on the TV, he snapped out of his thoughts and paid attention to tomorrow’s weather for the East Coast. They predicted a fine day.

‘Right, I’m off to bed. Up early again tomorrow, cos I’m off about seven. I’ll wake you when I leave. Joe, can you feed the dogs and clean the kennels?’

‘Okay, Dad.’

‘I’ll do some washing and ironing,’ said Katy.

‘Thanks, love. Both of you make sure all the dogs get a proper walk and they’ve got plenty of water. I’ll be back around five, all being well.’

All being well. Alan thought about the consequences of it not going well, then abruptly dismissed the thought. It had to go well. He had no other option.

Chapter Three

Matt - 10th September 1992

A bruised grey sky promised rain as they arrived at the Pickup Bank viewing point. Chilly gusts bowed the moorland grass and heather around the well-worn viewing point. Uniform had closed the road and were taping off the parking area. There were no nearby buildings.

The viewing point had excellent views; Hoddlesden below, Darwen beyond, and across the valley to the Jubilee Tower. Despite the subdued light, the stone edifice stood clear and proud over the stark green and purple moorland the locals had built it upon. It boldly declaring their 1896 victory, securing their free right of access in ‘The Battle of the Moors’.

A shaft of weak sunlight crept apologetically across the moor, landing briefly on the tower. For a few seconds, it brightly illuminated the honey-coloured stone against the sombre backdrop, before a squally downpour swooped across the valley, drawing a veil across the hilltop monument.

Leaving Frank to talk to Ralph, waiting nearby in his recovery truck, Matt paused, donning a pair of latex gloves. As the shower began stinging his face, muddy puddles started their frantic dance to the beat of the raindrops. He shivered and pulled the zip of his bomber jacket up tight to his neck. Seeing only the burnt-out car shells and soggy litter around the grassy edges, he muttered, ‘Bloody mess. What a miserable spot to pop your clogs in!’

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he knew was to come, and headed straight towards the Fiesta. Geoff Roberts, the rotund divisional surgeon, stood with his head just inside the driver’s side window.

‘How do, Geoff? What’ve we got?’

Geoff turned around, swept back his over-long fringe of greying hair, tucking it back into the hood of his coverall. Matt often thought he resembled the Old English Sheepdog off the TV paint ad.

He said, ‘Give me a chance, Matt; I’ve only just got here myself. What I can tell you is we’ve a male, stabbed and burned, and this likely happened late last night.’ Glancing at his thermometer, he added, ‘The body’s still warm, but so is the car. He wasn’t stabbed here, though; no blood pool. The pathologist may discover more later. There’s what looks like the frame of an attaché case on the passenger seat, but no murder weapon yet.’

Matt stepped closer, looking directly at the car for the first time. Can’t touch that car. It’s filthy with scum from that festering corpse. Bet there’s things crawling inside it already. Leave ‘em to it. He ignored the intrusive thought, suppressing the urge to walk away. More followed. Hesitantly, he took a deep breath before leaning to look into the car.

Matt gagged as the smell of roasted human flesh invaded his nose, mouth, and larynx. What a stink! Dirty bastard’s contaminating me. Got to get away. He saw a blackened, horrifically grinning corpse, with hundreds of bloodied beetles crawling in and out of gross, bubbling blisters.

Matt paused and closed his eyes to wipe away the vision, steeling himself once more. He glanced again, this time seeing the actual congealed mass of burnt flesh and ashes. He wondered how the hell Geoff could tell he was male, let alone been stabbed. Viewing the dead always saddened him, but despite ignoring his intrusive thoughts, he found this one genuinely repulsive. Scanning the rest of the car, he saw nothing but scorched metal and ashes.

He pulled back. ‘Ugh. Never gets any easier. We’ll let SOCO determine what the case is.’

‘Maybe. Not much else for them to go on, or me, for that matter.’

‘Ta, Geoff. Let us have your report as soon as you can.’

Relieved to step back, Matt looked around. Two white-clad SOCOs were hunched over something near the edge of the viewing area. Another was leaning into the back of the Fiesta.

Matt asked, ‘Who’s senior SOCO here?’

Ken Watson, chief of Blackburn’s Scenes of Crime Officers, lifted his head from under the tailgate. ‘That’s me, Matt, and I’d rather you’d stop contaminating my crime scene. Let’s move away from the car.’

‘Sorry Ken; you all look the same, kitted out. Smells more like your crime scene’s contaminating me.’

‘Yes, we never get used to that smell.’

‘Anyway, owt you can tell me?’

‘Not much more than Geoff yet. Not your usual twoccer, this.’

‘How d’you mean, other than him up front?’

‘They normally open the petrol filler, stuff a rag in, light it, and scarper; like that Golf over there. Here, they must’ve poured a gallon of petrol inside before torching it. Look at what’s left; not much of the body, nothing inside except metal and ashes, and the car’s visibly twisted. It must have been damned hot. Whoever did this intended leaving no clues.’