To Die Alone by John Dean Read Free Book Online Page A

protests from many of the staff, everyone from grizzled old constables to bright-faced young secretaries: they had all been feeding Scoot titbits for years. Philip Curtis had resented the humiliation ever since.
    ‘So,’ continued the inspector, ‘assuming that my beloved superintendent decides not to sanction the expenditure, would you care to hazard a guess?’
    ‘I dunno, some kind of terrier? Maybe a pit bull?’
    ‘I thought that was what you would say,’ murmured Harris, his mind going back to the reports earlier in the day of the man and his dog on the hills. ‘Mind, I haven’t heard of one like that in the area. Have you?’
    For the second time in a minute, James Thornycroft hesitated. Harris looked at him.
    ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Have you?’
    ‘Not really.’
    The answer came a little too quickly and, looking at the vet, the inspector sensed a change in his demeanour, a caution that had not been there a few moments previously. Harris also noticed that Thornycroft had stared to sweat again.
    ‘That does not sound very definite,’ said the inspector.
    ‘Well it is.’ This time, the reply sounded defensive.
    ‘What about injuries like this then?’ asked Butterfield, picking up on the change in mood and gesturing to Robbie. ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen anything like this since you came here?’
    ‘I only took over the practice four months ago.’
    ‘That wasn’t the constable’s question,’ said Harris.
    Thornycroft looked at the detectives for a moment or two, anxiety flitting across his face before he regained his composure.
    ‘No,’ he said, his voice firmer. ‘No, I have not seen injuries like this since I came here.’
    Butterfield was about to say something when a look from Harris silenced her.
    ‘OK, James,’ he said briskly, heading for the door, ‘not sure there is much else we can do here so we’ll leave you to it. Thanks for all your help. It is much appreciated.’
    ‘No problem,’ murmured the vet.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Darkness had begun to fall and the wind had started to build again, driving rain into the detectives’ faces as they stepped out of the front door of the surgery on to the glistening pavement. As they began to walk, Butterfield waited respectfully for the inspector to explain their sudden departure.
    ‘The weathermen said it would have a second blast,’ said Harris instead, glancing up at the heavy clouds. ‘Something tells me it is going to be one of those nights.’
    ‘Guv?’
    ‘This kind of weather does funny things to people, Constable. Funny things.’
    ‘Jack Harris!’ came a shrill cry from behind them. ‘I want a word with you!’
    ‘See what I mean,’ murmured Harris, turning and staring without enthusiasm at the rapidly approaching figure. ‘When’s the election again?’
    Butterfield chuckled. Striding down the street towards them was the slightly balding figure of Barry Ramsden, who in addition to running an optician’s shop in the town centre, was the parish council chairman. He and Jack Harris had known each other since schooldays: it had not always been an easy relationship.
    ‘How can I help, Barry?’ asked the inspector, trying to sound courteous as the councillor reached them.
    ‘There’s rumours of a crazed dog on the hills. I’m getting phone calls.’
    ‘Now there’s a surprise.’
    ‘What can I tell them, Jack?’ Ramsden sounded genuinely concerned. ‘I mean, folks are frightened. They’ve heard what happened up there.’
    ‘Tell them not to worry. I am pretty sure that the animal is well away from here by now.’
    ‘I assume it has got something to do with the death of Trevor Meredith?’
    ‘No comment,’ said Harris and started walking again. He had only gone a few paces when a thought struck him and he turned round. ‘Oh, while I remember. Am I right in thinking that you are one of the directors of the dog sanctuary?’
    ‘Chairman actually,’ said Ramsden. ‘My father was one of the founders of the