AVA HAD OBSERVED THAT, AT Joseph Sheldon Hospital throughout summer, some of the residents would sit out in the sun, facing the fields. They would chat with each other and the staff and it seemed a lovely way to spend time.
‘If you think DS Delahaye somehow knows you’re Miss Misty, why aren’t you in trouble?’ John asked her as they walked and sucked on Tip-Tops in the late afternoon, Fizz bouncing ahead.
‘Maybe he hasn’t told other grown-ups and is keeping it to himself,’ said Ava. ‘I panicked at first but I trust him. He’ll ask me about it eventually, but he’s got bigger things than me to worry about.’
‘Let’s hope he finds a psychologist that knows all about clinical lycanthropy,’ said John.
Ava was steering them towards the Joseph Sheldon Hospital. John must have picked up on her train of thought because he said, ‘You think Mr Coleman is the murderer, don’t you?’
‘I know it’s a high task but I just want to see if I can somehow “meet” Neville Coleman,’ said Ava. Her interest had been piqued since she’d been told Banlock Farm had been a dog stud. It was curiosity and a hunch she couldn’t quite shake. ‘I think he has something to do with it all. I know it’s silly. He bred dogs at Banlock Farm and dogs are so much a part of the Rubery Wolf’s standard. And because Mickey was murdered there I feel he might know something.’ John was too quiet. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’m used to you by now,’ he said. ‘Like a carer.’ She nudged him. ‘I’m not disagreeing with you. Anyway, we might not meet him.’ He grinned. ‘We don’t know what he looks like.’
‘Fizz will be our Coleman-detector,’ said Ava. ‘A man used to dogs, who probably really misses dogs, well, he might be happy to see Fizz.’
‘What if all the old men sitting outside are happy to see Fizz?’ asked John.
She sighed impatiently. ‘Then Mr Coleman will be the happiest.’
‘Do you think we’ll ever be able to hang out without you going all Nancy Drew every time?’ John drawled. Ava noticed his voice was mostly absent of its adolescent squeak. He was becoming taller and bigger but then, he was a fortnight from being fifteen.
‘The way to get a dog-obsessed person’s attention is to talk about dogs. I just want to ask him some questions,’ said Ava.
‘If he’ll let you,’ said John.
Fizz pulled on his lead. She’d constructed an extended lead and harness from chains and Rita’s old reins but it didn’t stop Fizz pulling like a tubby testosterone engine. They walked through the Lanes, and Fizz pulled Ava up the steep incline to the track surrounding the Rezza. The recent storms had fattened the lake, the water clear as glass with feral goldfish darting like bronze spearheads in its paperweight stillness. Magpies bickered, and giant dragonflies swooped above the surface as if the Mesozoic was still in vogue.
As they approached the hospital, there were elderly people sitting out on chairs, chatting to each other or staring out into space or reading newspapers. Ava ignored the sudden flurry of shyness that assailed her and she marched over the grass towards them, Fizz pulling ahead, John in her wake.
‘Oy!’ said one of the old men. ‘Let’s have a look at him, then.’
He was wearing dark sunglasses but his attention was on them. Fizz paused in perfect show-ring stance with his tail slightly wagging as if he recognised the gentleman. The man leaned forward in the chair, his arms outstretched to greet the excited terrier, and when man and dog finally met, it was as warm a reunion as the end of Lassie Come Home. There was a skinny woman standing behind him, and she turned to see what all the fuss was about. Although some of the other residents peered to have a look, nobody else bothered to make a fuss.
The old man studied Ava as if he recognised her. ‘Orla?’ he asked. He didn’t even look in John’s direction.
‘No, Ava,’ said Ava.
He shrugged. ‘Well, I’m Mr Coleman,’ said the man and Ava’s heart felt like it gambolled in her chest. ‘What’s this little fella’s name, then?’
‘Fizz,’ said Ava.
‘Fizz,’ he repeated, and the dog wagged his tail. The old man handled the dog’s barrel body with an expert touch. Though his face was wrinkled and his hair was white, Ava guessed he’d been handsome when young because he was handsome when old. The sunglasses obscured his eyes but some vague recognition tugged, a viable perception prodded. The shape of his face and the height of his cheekbones were familiar – maybe he resembled a famous actor or pop star whose name escaped her at the moment.
‘I think he’s got bull terrier in him,’ she said.
‘Yes!’ he said with a grin that knocked decades off his face. ‘You’ve a good eye, sweetheart. Hasn’t she, Maureen?’ He turned to the care assistant who smiled.
‘There’s not much our Neville doesn’t know about dogs, bab,’ said the woman.
Neville. Neville Coleman. Ava was overjoyed that her plan had worked – that a man who loved dogs would react first to a dog in his midst. She glanced at John who almost smiled.
‘I like big dogs,’ said Ava. ‘Y’know: huskies . . . German Shepherds.’
Coleman took the bait, his gaze switching to the care assistant.
‘See, Maur?’ he said. ‘Didn’t I say this babby had a good eye?’
‘You did, Nev.’
Detective Constable Lines had told her that Neville Coleman was senile but the man in front of Ava didn’t seem senile at all. Maybe the dog’s appearance had sparked a cognitive response, she considered – reminding him of who he still was.
‘This lead’s all wrong for him,’ said Mr Coleman
‘I know,’ said Ava. ‘But it’s . . . ’ Even as she spoke he was removing the leads, his hands strong and quick as they rearranged the chain and leather. All the while he mumbled to the terrier, which sat and listened, his small head cocking this way and that, as still as Ava had ever seen the creature. Within a few minutes, Coleman had made a proper harness that meant Fizz would no longer be able to choke himself to death.
‘Thank you!’ said Ava. Because Maureen the care worker didn’t seem displeased of their positive effect on the old man, Ava dared to ask, ‘Are you the Mr Coleman who used to breed police dogs back in the day?’
‘I did,’ Mr Coleman said. ‘Banlock Shepherds.’ His focus remained on Fizz.
‘Banlock Farm,’ said Ava.
‘That’s right, bab,’ Mr Coleman replied.
Ava took the plunge. ‘It’s terrible what happened there, isn’t it?’
Mr Coleman was quiet for a moment then he said, ‘Terrible things happen everywhere, sweetheart.’
Ava’s heart was pounding with excitement. ‘Like murder.’ She made it a statement not question.
Despite the sunglasses, she felt his hard gaze on her. He knew to whom she was referring when he said, ‘The daft lad was trespassing though,’ said Mr Coleman. ‘He shouldn’t have been trespassing on my land.’
‘His murderer was trespassing too though,’ said Ava, her voice gentle, but she found his response odd even wrong because it was as if he was blaming Mickey for being murdered on his land. Maureen’s gaze was sharp but she didn’t interrupt and John’s eyes flashed a warning not to go too far. When Mr Coleman didn’t react to her comment, when he became very still, she wondered if he was on the murderer’s side, which was a horrible thing to think about a senile old man who loved dogs.
‘Anyways, Nev, shall I get you a cup of tea?’ asked Maureen, smoothly covering the awkward silence and Mr Coleman suddenly smiled at her and nodded. Fizz licked Coleman’s hand then stood facing the direction of home.
‘He’s had enough of me, and who can blame him?’ said Mr Coleman. He stroked the dog’s head one last time then looked at Ava, his gaze soft again. ‘Now, off you go’ he ordered. Ava pulled the newly strapped Fizz away and Coleman watched them leave.