Into the Fire by Len Maynard

Author:Len Maynard [Maynard, Len]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2020-08-04T22:00:00+00:00

“Is that dog safe?” Jack said as he entered the caravan.

“He’s fine,” Fuller said, ruffling the dog’s grubby-looking coat. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” The dog twisted its bullet-shaped head and licked his fingers.

“Is it Dougie Marshall?” Jack pointed at the body.

“Judging by the name in the tattoo on his forearm, I’d say yes.”

As Jack stepped forward to look at the tattoo, the dog started to growl again.

“I thought you said it was safe,” Jack said.

“He is – just protective of his master.”

“Not protective enough to save his life though.”

“He’s a bit soft, once you get to know him.”

“Then maybe the killer knew him as well as Dougie did.”

“Yeah. I was thinking the same,” Fuller said.

“See if you can find a lead and take him outside. We don’t want him taking lumps out of the doctor.”

There was a thick, plaited-leather dog lead hanging from the back of the door. Fuller snapped the catch onto the dog’s collar and led it from the caravan.

Grant was leaning against the fibreglass shell of the caravan smoking a cigarette. He dropped it to the ground as Fuller emerged and stamped it into the grass.

“Here,” Fuller said, handing him the lead.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Take it for a walk, Constable,” Fuller said. “The poor thing’s been cooped up in there for God knows how long. It probably wants to do its business.”

“But why me? I don’t even like dogs.”

“From the way he reacted when you stuck your ugly mug against the window, he doesn’t like you very much either. Treat it as an opportunity to build bridges. Go on, scoot.”

Grumbling, Grant tugged on the lead, and led the dog away from the caravan.

A maroon and grey Vauxhall Victor pulled onto the site, and Barry Fenwick stepped out, reaching back into the car to retrieve his brown leather bag. “Hello, Inspector.” He sketched a wave to Fuller, and trotted the hundred or so yards to the caravan. “Another one?”

“See for yourself,” Fuller said, and ushered him inside.

“Ah, yes,” Fenwick said, as he spotted the body. “Much like before.”

As Fuller followed the doctor inside, the glint of something shining caught his eye, coming from the dog’s padded bed that was pushed up against the nearest wall. Fuller squatted down, and pulled a damp and crumpled tartan blanket to one side.

Fenwick leaned over the body. “The same as last time. The wounds look identical. Still no sign of the murder weapon?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Doc.”

Taking a pen from his pocket he threaded it through a loop of thin silver wire. Carefully he lifted the wire away from the blanket and held it up for Jack and the doctor to see.

“My word,” Barry Fenwick said. “That looks like a…”

“A garrotte,” Jack said. “I had to use one during the war. It’s a horrible weapon, but very effective. Let’s have a look at it.”

The wire was about twenty-four inches in length, and attached to each end was a small wooden dowel, each measuring three inches.

“The silent killer,” Jack said.

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