10 LOUISE
Partridge Bark
Fiona (Nala’s Mum)
Claire (Tank’s Mum)
No idea. The Beeb is able to get interviews that I can’t, damn them. They’re not even sharing what they find out with their fellow journos at The Chronicle 
If anyone finds out, let me know, right?
It was a good question. What did it mean, and more importantly, was it what got him killed? Was he advocating for something controversial? Refugees or something?
The BBC had updated the article earlier, adding quotes from friends, colleagues and even his ex-girlfriend. Grace O’Donnell. I wasn’t sure I’d ever known her surname or that they’d broken up, but now I added her full name to my Notebook of Theories.
There was no new information on Phil’s death, so the article had turned into more of a human-interest story.
But the question remained: why dump him in the park, thrown away like an empty drinks can? The old lady with the Yorkies was right, there were better places to dump a body.
I kept coming back to the whys. Why was he killed? Why was he left there? Why had no one (as far as we knew) managed to come forward with any information?
Outside my window, a narrowboat moved up the canal. A couple stood at the helm, the man’s arm slung over his partner’s shoulders while she drove. My laptop sat open in front of me, but my attention kept straying to the notebook at my elbow. At the top of the page was Phil’s name and the list of possible causes of death. Under the ‘Murder/Homicide’ heading, I’d added ‘advocate for people without a voice’, underlined it and circled it twice.
Klaus, who had been sunbathing on his bed beside me, stood up and barked.
‘What?’ I asked. I looked around, confirming that there were no people in the courtyard, no dogs on the canal path and no leaves falling. It was almost noon, and he was ready for his lunchtime walk. The morning had disappeared in a swamp of inactivity, but an idea popped into my mind. I might not know what the BBC was referring to, but I knew someone who would.
I glanced at my watch, realising that if I left now, I was in with a chance of finding them. ‘Come on, Klaus. We’re going for a walk.’
On the days that I wasn’t working from The Nest, or from a client site, Klaus and I would walk along the canal to Partridge Park at lunchtime. It gave both of us a bit of fresh air and a chance to stretch our legs.
Today, instead of heading south along the canal, we headed north. It was a pretty walk, with wildflowers growing on either side of the towpath. The tide wasn’t low enough to make the canal look like a mudflat, but nor was it high enough to flood the path. I waved at acquaintances as we approached the small park where I’d first met Phil and Alfie.
It was far smaller than Partridge Park; more of a wide green area, with trees planted on raised false barrows, built up to separate it from an industrial estate on one side and council houses on another two. While the barrows provided a clear demarcation, they also turned the park into a pond when it rained.
An ice cream van was parked near the entrance, and we paused to get a cone.
The pack that gathered here aimed to meet as close to noon as possible, to finish by 12:30, when a local school let out and the children took over the park.
The lunchtime pack began to arrive with their dogs and Klaus yipped until I unclipped his lead. He ran at a beagle, bouncing a few times before he tackled the larger dog.
‘Hey, we have not seen Klausi in a while,’ the beagle’s owner said. He was a chubby German man. Damned if I could remember his name, but I was fairly sure the beagle was called Charlie. ‘We have not seen you either. You are looking well.’
I grinned and sat beside him on the bench. ‘Keeping too busy to get into any mischief.’
He laughed and raised a finger at me. ‘That is too bad. A little mischief is good for the soul.’ He tilted his head to the side. ‘Maybe not too much, though. Terrible thing about Phil. You heard?’
‘Yeah, it’s all anyone’s talking about,’ I said, keeping my role in finding him quiet. ‘I thought I’d come this way and offer condolences to Grace. Does anyone still keep in contact with her? I mean, since Alfie died?’
‘Ja, of course. She comes here most days.’
Which meant only one thing. ‘She got another dog?’
‘Another cockapoo. And another man,’ he said. ‘This one is called Daphne. Brown like chocolate. The cockapoo, that is.’
A new man; that was interesting. I tried not to sound too eager to find out more. ‘So that she doesn’t remind Grace too much of Alfie?’ I asked, licking my ice cream.
‘I suppose so.’
‘You think she’ll be here today?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Stick around, though. You know Charlie always likes to play with Klaus.’
I glanced over. Klaus had stolen Charlie’s ball and was running, ears flapping, like a six-and-a-half-kilo demon. Every time Charlie got close, Klaus would stop short, swerve and head in another direction.
‘How possessive is Charlie over that ball?’ I asked, although I wasn’t overly worried. Klaus liked to be chased, and if he wanted to slow things down, he’d run between someone’s legs, where a bigger dog couldn’t follow. And if he was frightened, it’d be my legs he’d run between.
‘He’s a beagle, he likes his ball.’ The German smiled. ‘But he also likes to run after other dogs.’
More dogs appeared with their owners, and I knew my time to question Charlie’s dad was coming to a close. ‘So have you met Grace’s new man?’
‘Mike.’ The German stretched back and lifted his arms over his head. I kept my eyes on his, if for no other reason than to avoid seeing the few inches of pale belly the stretch exposed. ‘Ja. You know what Grace is like? Smart? Elegant, even when walking her dog?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, what is the phrase? Opposites attract?’ He giggled. He leaned close, as if he were about to share a secret. Then, eyes widening, he straightened and waved at an enormous man. Tall, muscular, with a heavy brow, shaven head and tattoo sleeves. Although the man’s fingers were the size of gun barrels, they closed lightly over a cockapoo’s lead. ‘As if by magic.’
‘Holy crap,’ I muttered to myself. ‘She’s really gone for a bit of rough, hasn’t she?’
‘Nothing like Phil,’ the chubby German acknowledged.
No, he was nothing like Phil. This man looked like he could hold his own against a small army. Or at least against a solitary man.
Maybe a solitary man who had once been involved with Grace O’Donnell?