Free Winding Up the Serpent by Priscilla Masters Page B

same, Inspector.’ He gave a loud, explosive laugh but sobered up quickly. ‘I wonder who you’d have pointed your gun at over the Marilyn Smith affair.’
    Joanna opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it and said nothing.
    The vet turned his attention back to the dog. ‘This stuff makes them feel pretty grim,’ he said, tickling the dog’s proffered tummy. ‘But not half as grim as a bullet in the brain. Still ...’ his voice was indulgent, ‘nasty being sick, old thing. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?’ The dog’s tail wagged again, then he put his head down on his paws, exhausted.
    â€˜Now then, Inspector, what can I do for you?’ He looked at her and she saw his eyes were very bright blue, intelligent and humorous, his eyebrows bleached almost white from the weather.
    â€˜I came to see how Ben was.’
    The vet looked pained. ‘I’ve put him to sleep,’ he said quietly. ‘He was distressed when he woke up.’ He tugged at his short, neatly trimmed beard. ‘Marilyn spoke to me about him some time ago. She wanted him put down if anything happened to her. She felt it would be better for Ben.’
    He looked at Joanna defensively. ‘It isn’t unusual, Inspector, for a well-loved pet to be put to sleep when the owner dies.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do. But that’s what she wanted.’
    â€˜She left instructions for Ben to be put down when she’d had him from a puppy?’
    The vet looked at her. ‘Ben was about a year old when she got him,’ he said. ‘A friend let her have him – couldn’t cope with such a boisterous dog.’ He smiled. ‘And Ben was boisterous. He was a wild dog in many ways. When he came round he was snarling and snapping. I honestly don’t think anyone else could have controlled him. He would have attacked us if we had let him out of his cage.’
    She left the vet’s with a feeling of pity for the dead Alsatian. Ben had been fine with his mistress. There had been no complaints of attacks. She had run her own check on the dog and he had a clean record. And his arranged destruction gave an unsavoury angle to Marilyn Smith’s character. She had cared about Ben, yet she had instructed that he be destroyed in the event of her death. Joanna climbed back into the car.
    Mike was watching her. ‘Did the dog bark out the name of the murderer in Morse code?’ His face was relaxed and mocking.
    Words of an old pop song flitted into her mind ... ‘You always hurt the one you love ...’
    â€˜Ben’s dead,’ she said. ‘Marilyn had asked the vet to put him down if anything happened to her.’
    Mike was staring ahead. ‘If anything happened to her?’
    She was silent for a moment and he spoke again. ‘She expected it?’
    I don’t know.’
    He swung the wheel of the car. They were turning into Silk Street.
    â€˜Beeston could have got past the dog,’ he said.
    She didn’t even feel the remark worthy of comment.
    As their car crunched up the drive Joanna took a good long look around her. The Astra sat in the drive, still parked where Marilyn Smith had left it the night she had died. It bore a violent green tape around it, left by the SOCOs following their check. So far they had turned up nothing – not one single hair that belonged to anyone but the dead nurse. Therefore, by the law of forensics, no one else had been there. Joanna looked at the car resentfully. Was the scene worth sealing off? Was there anything here that the house could yield ... one single piece of forensic evidence that would link someone – perhaps a killer – to this house? Or had she died alone?
    â€˜I think we’d better impound it,’ she said, ‘until we have an idea of what we’re up against.’
    They walked slowly towards the front door. The front garden was not very