Needing no such motivation, Rex put his nose to the ground and let it guide his paws. The scent was getting stronger, but right then, when he knew he was closing in, the scent of the moped caught his nostrils again. His nose did a double take, filled with surprise because the two scents were intertwined. They were in the same direction!
Rex increased his pace, Albert wailing for him to slow, then giving up and passing the lead to Gary so he and the younger generations could chase on after the dog.
Rex followed his nose, constantly checking the direction by moving his nose to the left and right. Like a metal detector, the scent would fade each time he moved it away from the correct track. The target was back here somewhere, away from the marquee and in between the vans, trucks, and storage containers at the rear of the venue.
Onward through the first line of vehicles, then the second, the scents of blood, the moped and his target getting stronger with every step. Then he found them, just as he suspected, all three in the same place inside a shipping container. Rex strained at his lead, listening to the voices coming from the other side of the container’s door.
Gary was flanked by officers on either side, the four younger plain-clothes officers at the front but the chief inspector and his constable keeping pace just as easily. A glance behind reassured him that his father was coming, but their chase appeared to have reached its destination. The dog was panting heavily through excitement and exertion, indicating the container but being held back by Gary. He was no dog handler, but Gary had seen the K-9 units operate many hundreds of times so knew that Rex had found his target.
Wordlessly, he indicated to the other officers for silence, and pointed to the container with a flat palm.
They all got it, the trained and disciplined officers fanning out to either side, ready to go in. None were armed, that’s just not the British way, so Gary hoped whoever was inside wasn’t armed either.
They could see the container’s door wasn’t locked, just pulled almost closed. There were voices coming from inside, and though they echoed so much in the enclosed metal box the people outside could not make out what was being said, the terrified urgency in the tone could not be missed.
Gary, knowing he was the ranking officer, held up his hand, checked he had eye contact with all the other officers as they stood poised for action, then counted down with his fingers and said, ‘Go!’
Wilshaw was nearest, taking his cue and yanking the door open. It swung wide to reveal the unlit interior. It was starkly devoid of goods inside; whatever had been brought to the venue in it was now deployed elsewhere, but what it did contain was three people. As a group, the officers bundled through the door, using shock tactic and the element of surprise to minimise the risk to themselves.
Wilshaw, right at the front, was the first to speak, his words a whispered muttering. ‘What in the world?’
Gary held Rex back by the entrance to the container, waiting for his father to catch up, but the police officers couldn’t hold off – they were needed urgently!
Alan Crystal was chained to a loop in the roof of the container where he hung limply. His feet were on the floor, but he was sagging as if unable to support his own weight. He’d taken a severe beating, it seemed though not to his face, which was unmarked. On the floor, by his feet was a large man. He wore a black leather jacket and dark jeans over grubby running shoes. His neck was so thick it didn’t really exist. He wasn’t moving. At all.
Rex’s growl took everyone by surprise. His hackle was standing on edge, creating a line of fur running down his spine as he threatened with words no one else could understand. ‘Try escaping me this time.’ The dog’s focus was on the third human in the dark space, the one holding the large wooden mallet. He stank of the moped, it was in his clothes and on his body, and Rex knew it was the same human he’d chased and lost twice now.
Rex growled again. He had the moped human cornered now. He wouldn’t hurt him, but if the human chose to run, he would chase, and he would most definitely bite.
Gary tugged the dog back, looking down as he wondered what could be making the dog growl like that. ‘Quiet, Rex,’ he tried, using a commanding voice.
Hearing the command, Rex looked up in question. ‘Quiet? He’s the killer, you daft human!’
The police officers were rushing forward, barking orders as they closed in on the man holding the mallet.
‘Drop it!’ ordered PC Wilshaw, his tone demanding compliance with an unspoken side order of ‘or else’ tagged on.
Albert wheezed to a stop, one hand on the side of the container to support himself while he got his breath back.
The mallet clattered noisily to the steel floor, the sound it made echoing loudly in the confined space. The man who had been holding it looked ready to faint, his face white with shock and disbelief.
‘He saved me,’ Alan managed to croak. Wilshaw and Hendrix were about to tackle the man with the mallet to the floor thinking him to be the attacker. Alan’s gasped sentence changed that.
Albert, leaning against the doorframe to get his breath back, saw the hastily advancing officers alter their stances. Then, looking down, Albert saw the man in the black leather jacket lying on the cold steel floor and recognised him. Earlier Gary asked if Albert thought he was their thief, and Albert argued but couldn’t say why. Seeing him now, it was obvious his motivation was more
