Free Die Like a Dog by Gwen Moffat Page B

surprise, ‘– to Joss Lloyd’s, of course. You haven’t met the man –’ she didn’t enlighten him, ‘– but there’s no doubt, there’s never been no doubt in my mind; I just been looking for proof, see?’
    He clipped the lead to Brindle’s collar and started off, evidently unconcerned whether she followed. She did follow but she was puzzled. Perhaps she followed because she was puzzled. His theory, such as it was, held too many coincidences, and just when had he decided that Satan was no longer alive?
    The ruin was situated below the tree-line. Above it the slope ran into level moorland: a broad shelf that made a plinth for the mountain. Where the trees straggled along the fringe of the moor there was a path, but it was so effectively masked by bracken that to a stranger it would have been invisible. When they had followed it for some ten minutes the walls of Lloyd’s cottage showed ahead, and again there was that tantalising smell of bacon.
    Evans quickened his pace, hauled by the dog. Miss Pink called to him to stop. He turned but at that moment the Alsatian gave a bound and pulled him off balance. He staggered, fell and let go the lead. The animal went streaking over the little green alp towards the cottage. Miss Pink (who had been about to tell the man to keep a tight hold on the lead), stepped round him and rushed after the dog.
    She was too late to prevent violence. From inside the cottage there came a metallic but heavy thud, a choked squeal and one loud, foul epithet. The Alsatian appeared in the sunlit doorway, staggering, with half-closed eyes. Its back looked wet. Like a drunk it walked into the door jamb, reeled back, and its impetus brought it across the step where its legs buckled and it collapsed on its side. Seale had followed it to the door. In one hand she held a cast-iron frying pan. She looked past Miss Pink to Evans and her eyes narrowed. His were wide with disbelief.
    â€˜You killed it!’
    â€˜Have I?’ Seale addressed Miss Pink. ‘It’s a good thing I heard its claws scrabble on the step; I wouldn’t have stood much chance if he got the first blow in. First bite, rather.’ She glanced at Evans but continued to address Miss Pink. ‘What was this cretin doing with the dog?’
    â€˜He’s not dead.’
    Evans had stooped over the body. Now he straightened. ‘Not dead yet. But I reckon his head’s damaged. And what’s this on his coat?’ His voice climbed hysterically. ‘It’s fat! You poured boiling fat on him! That’s cruelty. I’ll have the law on you. Mr Judson will take you to court – you’ll be up before the Bench –’
    â€˜That’s enough!’ Miss Pink was firm. He stopped shouting but his eyes were shocked, uncomprehending. She studied him for a moment then went on: ‘You had no control over the dog and it was in the mood to attack anyone. It may have been just the smell of food attracted it, but when it rushed into this cottage the best thing to do was to hit first and ask questions afterwards. You were fortunate that Miss Seale had a frying pan in her hand.’
    â€˜Me? I’m fortunate?’
    â€˜You were nominally in charge of the dog.’
    â€˜I was – I am in charge of this dog.’
    Seale sighed, and a look of demonic cunning replaced Evans’s bewilderment.
    â€˜You killed the other one too,’ he said.
    Miss Pink looked at him sharply, then at Seale.
    â€˜What other one?’ the girl asked.
    â€˜We found the black dog,’ he said.
    Seale nodded. ‘We knew something was going on. We heard the barking. So where is the black one?’ She blinked then and turned to Miss Pink. ‘Someone shot him? Is that true?’
    â€˜It’s true,’ Evans said.
    Seale continued to stare at Miss Pink. Neither woman said anything.
    â€˜Someone’s got a lot to answer for,’ Evans said.