‘Look, Lucy,’ Beardmore said tiredly. ‘Someone’s killed a bunch of dogs. Apparently in a cruel and heartless way. I agree, it’s terrible. Very upsetting. But I don’t see how it’s connected to the case you’re supposed to be investigating.’
‘Stan, come on,’ Lucy said into her mobile.
She stood alongside the pit of carcasses, still in the midst of the stench and the droning flies. Of human beings, only Peabody remained nearby, and he was halfway up the slope, still with the material of his jacket spread over his nose and mouth.
‘We’ve found the dyed-pink poodle with the jewelled collar. And that collar …’ She held the object up in its clear plastic evidence sack; it was so coated in blood and gunk that it was barely discernible as something precious. ‘I mean, it’s a bit of a mess, but it’s been priced at two grand minimum. Now, why would any hoodlum kill a dog and dump it … along with something so valuable?’
‘Perhaps he was too stupid to realise what he had,’ Beardmore suggested.
‘Stan, come on … there’s something weird about this. These aren’t bait dogs. I’m pretty sure they’ve all died by human hand.’
‘Didn’t I hear from you that when Mahoney’s bait dogs got badly injured in the fighting-pit, he put them out of their misery himself?’
‘Yeah, but this poodle …’ She stepped back to the pit and glanced down. ‘While it’s partly burned, most of its head and upper body is intact. And there’s no sign of any scarring there. And that’s usually where bait dogs get hurt the most. Someone killed this dog just for the sake of it. Garrotted it with a wire, or something similar.’
‘Like I say, how terrible.’
‘Stan, please …’
‘Lucy … it’s not even the same colour of van. Those so-called dog-nappers were driving a black van. The abductors of this hobo down in St Clement’s were driving a blue van. There’s no certainty that abduction even happened.’
‘So that means we don’t look into it? How’s that going to play in the press, Stan? That we had a possible lead on a bunch of missing homeless people, but we couldn’t be bothered following it through because we weren’t certain?’
‘We don’t actually know that any homeless have gone missing at all.’
‘We’ve got a fairly good idea. And like it or not, there is a link to the missing dogs. And now we’ve found the dogs butchered. So, what do we think’s happened to those missing people?’ Lucy was being as forceful with her boss as she’d ever dared. But after some wariness at the commencement of this enquiry, she now felt increasingly as if things were adding up, and the picture they were creating was horrific. ‘Look, all I’m asking for—’
‘All you’re asking for is a full forensics team,’ he snapped. ‘To examine a pile of dead dogs. Seriously, Lucy?’
‘We won’t need the whole show. Can’t they just spare us a couple of CSIs? And it’s not just for these dogs, Stan. It’s not even for the missing homeless, if that’s also a concern … those ragged non-persons who most folk don’t even notice, never mind care about!’
‘Easy, Lucy,’ he cautioned.
‘Ultimately, it’s for Harry Hopkins and Lorna Cunningham.’
She paused, breathless.
Beardmore sighed long and hard. ‘A couple of CSIs …?’
Finally, it sounded as if he was considering it, though he clearly wasn’t happy. She understood why. He’d signed off on a reasonably large operation of hers quite recently, and though they’d got results, it had mainly concerned dog-fighting. Someone would ask questions about that at some point. Spend a few quid in the twenty-first-century police, and you had to give a good explanation why.
‘Maybe if Serious can pick up the tab …?’ he said.
‘But they’re not even officially attached to the case yet,’ Lucy replied. ‘And you know how difficult Priya can be.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘Which is why this’ll be one phone-call I’m not looking forward to.’
‘Perhaps just tell her what this is. That whoever killed these animals might now be killing people. But also, if it’s like some kind of graduation process, where they start with animals but then move on up to a higher challenge … well, maybe they won’t have been too careful at the early stage. So we could have an absolute treasure trove of evidence here. But not unless we get this crime scene cordoned off and secured, and we get Scientific Support at the first opportunity.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, after another long sigh. ‘As I say, I’ll make a phone-call. In the meantime, you do what you can.’ He cut the call.
Lucy hurried across the bottom of the depression, heading back up the slope, passing Peabody in the process. ‘Come on,’ she said.
He looked massively relieved. ‘Where we going?’
‘Back to the car park.’ She descended the other side of the rise to the footpath. ‘I’ve got some incident tape in my boot. You can bring it back here and close the scene off.’
‘The scene?’
‘Gimme a break, Malcolm. I’m sure you overheard most of that conversation.’
‘You mean we’ve got to go and get stuff from your car, and then I’ve got to come all the way back here on my own?’
‘Not only that –’ they passed through the defile between the mountains of boxes ‘– you’ve then got to stand guard.’
‘So where are you going?’
‘First, I’m going to try and get a vet, to officially examine the remains in situ. Then … I’ve got a spare forensics tent in my garage at home. It’s seen better days, but it’ll do till we get the real thing.’ She glanced at the sky, where heavy yellowish clouds were gathering. ‘Last thing we need now is more rain.’
‘How you going to get a forensics tent all the way out here?’ he asked, as they passed the tree with the hanging doll. ‘Must be three quarters of a mile from that car park.’
Lucy pondered this as they stumped along. ‘I’ll get my Ducati. It’s in the shed at Mum’s. Should be able to carry the tent on the back of that.’
‘You can get your bike out here?’ He sounded sceptical.
‘More easily than I can get a car, wouldn’t you say?’
Peabody shook his head, evidently not liking the sound of it, but liking even less the idea that he was going to be stuck in this desolation for a bit of time yet.
‘How long before the CSIs get here?’ he asked.
‘How long’s a piece of string?’
‘Will it be tonight?’ It was a fatalistic kind of question, as if he already knew the answer.
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it.’
‘So, if it’s tomorrow … who’s going to stand guard all night?’ He sounded as if he knew the answer to that one as well.
‘Don’t sound so upset, Malcolm. This’ll be the easiest overtime you’ve ever had.’