‘Calm, Rex,’ Albert called from the back of the ambulance. ‘It will be okay. I’ll see you soon. Go with the nice police officers and be a good dog. Okay?’
Rex didn’t know what to make of it. A short while ago, he was having the best time, playing chase with the two humans. But then the air stank like blood, which he didn’t like, and now they were taking his human away. Where was he going? When would he be back? Who was going to look after his human if he wasn’t there to do it? It was his job.
The ambulance doors closed with a thump, and the flashing lights lit the walls of the courtyard. As it started to pull away, Rex tipped back his head and howled, a low mournful sound that made everyone in the courtyard stop and look.
Too Much Coincidence
Francis didn’t see what happened to Eugene. He hadn’t realised his partner was that close behind when he darted in front of the truck. The squeal of brakes and the thump of steel on flesh brought his head around but even then, he only got a brief impression of something flying through the air. All he knew was that it wasn’t a dog.
He’d kept running, getting some distance between him and the nightmare situation in the courtyard. He’d never been to jail. He’d never even been arrested, and though he knew he was employed for criminal activities, it had never really occurred to him until this point that he might one day get caught.
It was an epiphany.
Sirens wailed behind him as he stepped into a black alleyway to catch his breath. He’d run hard enough to give himself a stitch which he rubbed at now as he tried to get his heart rate to calm down. He felt for sure the dog was going to catch him, and now he was worried it might be able to track his scent or something.
He pushed on, not wanting to stay in this town any longer than he had to and beginning to feel truly concerned about all of the mistakes he had made. His fingerprints were all over the van for a start. He suspected, when Eugene failed to answer his phone for the umpteenth time, that the thing he saw flying through the air was his partner in crime. Was he injured? Would he talk? All these questions played over and over in his mind until he stepped in front of a car and almost got run over.
The car screeched to a halt, the driver getting out despite the rain. For a second, Francis thought he was going to have to threaten the man to make him go away, but he was just showing concern. A man in his late sixties who just wanted to make sure the man he almost ran over was all right.
Seizing the opportunity presented, Francis grabbed a fistful of the man’s coat and raised his fist to knock him out. The blow never landed though because the man fainted first. With a shrug, he opened the boot, shoved the limp body inside, and stole the car. He even found a surprise bonus waiting for him on the passenger’s seat where the man’s fish ‘n’ chip supper lay as yet untouched.
Happy to see Biggleswade vanish into his rear mirror as he munched on the unknown man’s chips, Francis’s smile soon fell when his phone rang. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was calling.
‘Eugene is dead,’ he announced the moment the call connected.
After a brief pause, Earl Bacon’s response came, ‘Why would you tell me that? Have you got Mr Harris?’
Francis snorted a mad laugh. ‘Have I got Mr Harris?’ he repeated. ‘No, I haven’t, you crazy food-obsessed lunatic. Getting Victor Harris is off the menu, or you can find someone else to do the job for you. I’m not going back; the police are crawling all over Biggleswade now.’
The earl gnashed his teeth. How dare the insolent idiot defy him? ‘I gave you a task to do and I expect it to be done. What excuse do you have for your failure?’
‘Excuse? I dunno. The task was ridiculous? We didn’t have enough time to adequately prepare? Pick one. The old man and his dog kept showing up every time we tried to grab the target.’
‘What?’ Did he hear that right? ‘An old man and a dog? What kind of dog?’
Francis screwed his face up in the dark of the car. Why on earth was the earl asking about the dog? ‘A big German Shepherd thing. Enormous beast, that’s for sure.’
It couldn’t be. It was just too much coincidence to be possible. ‘The old man, describe him to me.’
Francis had his finger poised on the button to end the call. He wanted no further part of this madness. The money was good, but what good was it if you were dead or behind bars? Yet something in the earl’s voice kept him on the line – he’d just begged Francis for information. He’d never used a pleading tone before. He just barked orders and expected them to be obeyed.
‘The old man must be around eighty years old, I guess. There’re only a few wisps of hair left on his head and he’s got that sort of slightly hunched look like he’s been standing up for a great many years and his body is starting to defy him. Oh, he’s white,’ Francis thought to throw in his skin colour for good measure. ‘He’s around six feet tall and he looks like lots of other old men.’
Earl Bacon was still struggling to believe that it could be the same man. It was one thing to get in his way in Stilton. He’d been utterly enraged at the time but had mellowed since. Pursuing
