Sleeping Dogs: Eden Reid, #3

By Beverley Carter

A mutilated corpse dumped in a quiet country lane. A ruthless businessman with political ambitions. A puppy farmer with a sideline in dog fighting. Two young lads who think they’ve discovered a get rich quick scheme. And one person who knows the truth but are they brave enough to speak out?

Because after all, fear’s good; fear keeps you safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beverley Carter
• Release date: Mar 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386242765

Book preview

Chapter One

Annie Sedgwick couldn’t sleep. With each rapidly passing year, she’d noticed her need to sleep decrease and now approaching her nineties, she found she required barely three hours per night. Perhaps, she wondered, it was because her frail body no longer attempted to heal itself, or perhaps it was because her limited daytime pursuits did not exhaust her. It was hard to be energetic when one could no longer walk unaided the distance between the small lounge and the galley kitchen of the cottage she shared with her younger sister, Ivy.

Annie sat up and swung her thin legs over the edge of the bed, repeatedly blinking her dry eyes. She gently patted her hair. One side of her curls had flattened; she’d need to pass the tongs through it in the morning. Annie sighed. She could hear Ivy snoring in the back bedroom. Annie tutted. It wouldn’t be so bad if Ivy shared her night time routine; at least then she’d have someone to talk to, someone with whom to pass the time. She thought about turning on her lamp and carrying on with her new book, Myths and Legends of Old Suffolk. Annie smiled as she recalled the way Ivy’s eyes had rolled upwards in disapproval when Deirdre from the WI had handed it to her that afternoon. ‘Got this from the sale for you,’ she’d said with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Thought you’d like it since you’re keen on history and what with it being local and all.’ Ivy had tutted and said that it wasn’t really history, a book about myths that couldn’t be proved one way or another. But what was history, thought Annie, if not merely a series of stories passed on down the years, picking up embellishments with each retelling? Who was to say what was fact and what was fiction? She’d often heard it said that it was the victors who wrote history and beyond being able to verify that certain people and places had actually once existed, well, you just had to form your own judgement about the rest, didn’t you?

Annie leaned her hands on the edge of the bed and slid slowly off, her bare feet feeling the long soft fibres of the rug beneath them. The sensation reminded her of soft powdery sand between her toes and she wished to be down at the beach. She used to go most days, when she still had Timmy, her Labrador crossed with she knew not what. She’d throw a stick for him into the sea and watch as he deliberated for a moment about whether or not to go in. Sooner or later, as was always the case, he’d trot in, and attempt to jump over the waves and he’d find the stick and return with it, tail wagging and his golden coat turned rusty with water that dripped off him like pouring rain. But, like all her old friends, Timmy was gone and lived now only in her memory. Annie sighed and clenched her toes in the rug. Oh, how she longed to feel the sun on her skin and even the cool fresh breeze that relentlessly blew in off the sea and took the edge off even the hottest of days. It was a nuisance that Ivy no longer drove. She’d decided one day that the roads had become too busy and that she had no desire to risk her life for the sake of fetching groceries that could easily be ordered online and delivered straight to their door. Ivy was a huge fan of the internet. It was rare for a day to pass without a delivery of one thing or another that Ivy had ordered. Perhaps she could ask one of the neighbours to drive her to the beach; she was sure she could manage with two sticks to get across the sand and it wasn’t far from here - just a mile or so, but far enough that the walk was beyond her. The only way she escaped the four walls of the cottage these days was through the television or the pages of the books she read.

Annie placed one hand on the dresser and with the other on her bed, she made her way with short, shuffling footsteps along to the window. She pulled open the thin curtain and opened the window, smiling as the light breeze brought a cooling waft of fresh night air to her face. Annie fancied that she could smell the sea. Ivy kept the cottage so stuffy with the heating on non-stop, even now that it was coming into Summer. Annie gazed outside, smiling into the night. The clear moonlit sky was full of stars, but Annie could no longer see them. The breeze ruffled the leaves of the ornamental cherry tree in the front garden and the row of oaks that bordered the field opposite, but Annie could no longer hear their gentle whisperings.

Annie did, however, hear the sudden deep growl that came from the lane. She gasped as the growl grew louder and as she squinted her eyes, now watery from the cold air, two fiery red orbs came into view. She stepped backwards and almost fell, but gripped the windowsill tightly. She thought of returning to her bedside to fetch her glasses but was transfixed by the sight outside. She hardly dared to breathe as she watched. She knew instinctively what it was she could see. ‘Black Shuck,’ she whispered, it had to be. It was none other than the devil dog she had heard of years ago as a child and had coincidentally just been reading about in Myths and Legends of Old Suffolk. The glowing red eyes were unmistakable. She squinted and could just about make out a huge, dark background behind the radiant eyes. Still, the creature growled. It then barked three times, making Annie jump, before growling even more loudly and disappearing into the night. Annie was terrified, her breathing coming in heavy gasps. She pulled the window closed and leaned back on her bed. Her heart was pounding and she could feel the veins in her neck bulging and pulsating. Still gasping, she made her way around the foot of the bed and opened the latch door to the small landing. She pushed open her sister’s door and ran her trembling fingertips up and down the wall until she found the light switch. She flicked it on and the room was instantly flooded in a blinding white glare. As Annie stepped forward, her strength failed her and she fell onto her sister’s bed. Ivy screamed and sat up.

‘For pity’s sake Annie, what are you doing?’

Annie gulped at the air but couldn’t speak.

‘You’re hyperventilating, you stupid woman! What’s wrong with you?’

Annie raised her arm and waved a bony finger at the front of the house. ‘Shuck,’ she whispered between gasps. ‘I’ve just seen Black Shuck, outside, in the lane, just now!’

Ivy frowned. ‘Annie,’ she said sternly. ‘You’ve had a nightmare. It’s that stupid book. I knew it was trouble as soon as I saw it. Now pull yourself together and get back to bed.’

Annie shook her head. ‘I’m telling you, Ivy, I just saw it. I wasn’t asleep so it’s no good saying it was a nightmare. It was horrible. It was huge and black with glowing red eyes like the fires of hell. It was staring straight at me and growling.’

‘Really?’ said Ivy, unimpressed. ‘Well, where is it now?’

‘Gone,’ whispered Annie. ‘It barked at me and then left. Ran off down the lane.’

‘Oh gone, has it? And before I could see it too? How very convenient. Well that’s that then - we can all go back to sleep.’ Ivy tutted and shook her head she looked at her clock. ‘For pity’s sake, Annie, it’s quarter past three. Now go back to your room and leave me in peace. Black Shuck. I’ve heard it all now. You wait till I see Deirdre. Go on - back to your room. And turn my light off on your way out will you?’ Ivy flopped back onto her pillows and pulled the duvet up over her eyes.

Annie sighed and made her way back to her room, but she didn’t go to sleep. Instead, she perched on the edge of the bed and stared out of the window, watching intently in case the beast returned. Eventually, the blackbirds began their melancholy song and a glow appeared on the horizon. Like a slowly opening eye, night brightened into day. Annie fetched her glasses from the bedside cabinet, put them on and returned to her vigil at the window.

At the edge of the lane, where the gravel drive met the road, something lay. Even with her glasses, Annie could not clearly see what it was, only that it was dark and bulky. Knowing better than to wake her sister again, she carefully dressed, putting her dressing gown back on over her clothes to guard against the cold, and then she made her way slowly and silently down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, Annie retrieved her two walking sticks from their place against the wall and headed for the door at the side of the cottage. She leaned on one stick and twisted the key. She pulled the door open and stepped out into the early morning sunshine.

Annie made her way unsteadily down the drive towards the lane, then she stopped, gazing down at what lay at her feet. Dressed in a black suit lay a man. He was flat out on his back with his arms flopped outwards either side of him. Annie sighed and shook her head. She gazed up at the clear sky; it looked like it was going to be a nice day, which didn’t seem right. She’d seen many dead bodies but none like this - only the ones that had been cleaned up and dressed in their best clothes by the undertakers. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help the feeling of sadness that overcame her, even for this stranger. She blinked away tears and forced herself to look again at the body. He was clearly dead. His face and neck were horrifically mutilated and if Annie had in fact known who he was, it was impossible now for her to tell. His nose was torn and flattened, white cartilage gleaming pearl like from the wound. His lip was swollen and torn, with a part of it hanging down across his chin. His cheeks were puffy and gashed, ruddy with bruising and dry blood. His eye sockets were pools of ruby-red liquid, congealing and drying around the edges. It was impossible to know whether anything of his eyes remained, though Annie doubted it. His shirt that may have been white once was dark crimson and brown with wet and drying blood. His hands and lower arms were also mutilated, slashed with myriad short but deep gashes. One ankle was visible beneath a rucked up trouser leg and this too was covered with similar wounds. Annie glanced up and down the lane. It was deathly quiet. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’ll have to believe me now.’ She looked again at the body. ‘God bless you and God help us all.’ Annie turned and made her way slowly back to her cottage to call the police.  

Chapter Two

PC Bob Browning had just stepped out of the shower when he realised the phone was ringing. He knew it would be work; none of his friends or family would ring at this early hour. He trotted nimbly down the steep stairs and into the dining room. He grabbed the phone on the pine dresser and glanced longingly at the fishing rods that lay neatly on the quarry tiled floor. His sixth sense told him he would not be going fishing today.

‘Browning’ said Bob into the telephone. His bushy eyebrows raised and he rubbed his wet hair with a towel. ‘A murder you say? Only the last severed hand I got called out to turned out to be the decomposing flipper of a seal. Oh this one’s a whole body, is it? Yes, of course, that puts a different light on it altogether. Finder’s Lane? Not the beach then? Right, okay. Well if it’s definitely looking suspect, shouldn’t someone more senior be attending?’ Bob gazed at his fishing rods again. Then nodded, ‘oh I see, I’m the nearest. Just want an initial assessment, secure the scene. Right you are then I’ll get myself dressed and be on my way. ETA? Oh, say ten minutes. Yes, I’ll report back straight away.’ Bob replaced the phone and returned upstairs to get dressed. Five minutes later, he had mounted his bicycle and was on his way up the gentle hill to Finder’s Lane.

Twelve Finder’s Lane was a semi-detached cottage with pink render and a pantiled roof. Slightly elevated, it stood back from the road behind a neat front garden and shingle driveway. Bob knew the occupants only by sight but seemed to recall from somewhere that they were sisters. When Bob arrived at the scene, he found the two elderly ladies dressed in identical quilted lilac dressing gowns and matching mauve slippers. They were standing perfectly calmly over the body of a man on the edge of their drive. Bob grimaced. The poor chap was in a bad way all right. His head and particularly his face was severely injured and it was impossible for Bob to tell whether or not he knew the victim. Other than to guess he was of medium to heavy build, white, with some thinning dark hair which suggested middle age, and that he was possibly about five feet ten tall, the only other identifying factor was the silver coloured plain wedding band that glinted incongruously from his shredded left hand.

‘Right,’ said Bob, crouching automatically to feel for a pulse, although a swift glance at the mutilated body told him there wouldn’t be one. He’d normally check the neck but this one’s neck was a mess of torn flesh and pooled blood. He lifted a wrist. The skin felt cool but not icy cold. He probably hadn’t been dead for long. There was very little blood around him, which suggested to Bob that he’d died elsewhere and had then been brought here.

‘So which one of you two ladies found him?’ Bob stood back up.

‘I did’, said the smallest of the two. ‘Annie Sedgwick, Miss. I found him here this morning and of course, I rang 999 immediately. I only wish I’d known he was here last night when the attack happened. Perhaps he could have been saved.’

‘You saw the attack did you?’ Bob flipped open his notebook and began to write.

‘Well not the attack exactly, but I did see the dog that did it.’

‘Right. Do you know what time this was?’

‘It was quarter past three when she blundered into my room and woke me up,’ said Ivy, pursing her lips when she’d finished.

‘You seem very certain of the time, Mrs -’

‘Chatham. Ivy Chatham. I’m Annie’s younger sister.’

‘She moved in with me six years ago, Officer,’ said Annie, ‘after her husband passed away. He left her in the lurch financially, so she didn’t have any choice really.’

‘Sshh Annie - he doesn’t need to know that.’

‘He might,’ said Annie. ‘It might be important.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. How on earth are our living arrangements important to anyone but ourselves?’

‘You never know what’s important in a police investigation. Especially murder. Is it murder Officer? I mean obviously it was the dog that did it, but does that still count as murder?’

‘Good question,’ said Bob, hoping to deflect it. He scratched the side of his forehead as he tried and failed to recall the finer details of the Dangerous Dogs Act. ‘Do either of you know who this chap is?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Ivy.

‘We don’t get out much,’ said Annie, ‘not since Ivy gave the car up. It would have to be someone local though, wouldn’t it? Why else would he be here? We’re not into the holiday season yet and we don’t really get tourists up here much. We’re too far from the beach, you see. I mean it’s only about a mile and a half but that’s too far for the tourists. Although now I think about it, Marie and Ian did try letting their cottage out once a few years back but it didn’t work out. I think they sold it in the end. I don’t know who lives there now. I suppose it could be Mr Doe.’

‘Mr Doe?’ asked Bob.

‘You know, him,’ said Annie nodding at the body. ‘Isn’t that what you call them when you don’t know their identity? Oh, we could check his pockets for ID. Should I have done that?’

‘No,’ said Bob, ‘we’ll leave that to my senior officers. They’re apparently on their way. Right, well did either of you see the dog you say attacked him?’

‘Oh yes, I did,’ said Annie, her blue eyes sparkled behind the magnifying lens of her pink rimmed glasses.

‘Could you describe it for me?’

‘I’d rather not think about it actually,’ said Annie but then seemed to have a change of heart. ‘It was as you’d expect, I suppose - huge and black. And fierce. Yes, it was definitely very fierce. It growled the whole time and then barked three times before it ran off down the lane. Yes, I remember it very clearly - three loud barks and then it ran off. I was absolutely terrified. I’d only gone to the window because I couldn’t sleep and I thought a bit of fresh air would help.’

‘You say it looked as you’d expect - do you know this dog? Who it belongs to?’

‘Of course I know it,’ said Annie. ‘It was Black Shuck. Everyone knows what Black Shuck looks like. Oh, I forget to tell you about his eyes - red as hot coals they were. Like embers from the pits of Hell. I can’t tell you how much it shook me up.’

Bob’s heart sank. He snapped his notebook shut. ‘Thank you very much, you’ve both been very helpful. I’m sure this has all been a terrible shock for you but you can go back indoors now, I’ll take it from here.’ He smiled in a way he hoped looked sincere and watched as the two women returned slowly, and Bob thought somewhat reluctantly, to their cottage. Bob waited until the door had closed behind them then he rang the station. ‘Hi Suzy, it’s Bob Browning. Is the Chief in?’ He waited while his call was patched through. ‘Hello Sir, Browning here. We definitely have a body, no the doctor’s not arrived yet but I don’t think there’s any doubt. He’s pretty messed up. We’ve got two witnesses - elderly sisters. One of them found the body and called it in. She also claims to have witnessed a dog attack in the early hours of this morning, at approximately 3.15am but it doesn’t look to me like he was killed here. He’s half on the tarmac of the lane and half on gravel, but there just isn’t enough blood. I don’t think we should put too much stock into what the witness said. Why? Because Sir, I don’t think the poor old dear’s the full shilling. Plus it was dark and I’d bet my pension she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She claims she saw Black Shuck. Yes, Sir, you did hear that correctly. Ah, looks like the cavalry has arrived. Okay if I get off once I’ve handed over? Take formal statements, of the witnesses. Yes, okay. Thank you, Sir.’ Bob hung up and cursed silently. His fishing trip was definitely on hold.

Chapter Three

Robert Hartington drove into the pub car park and parked in a bay next to a rotting wooden half barrel that had been planted with spring bulbs. Tiny yellow heads of narcissus nodded optimistically between fading red tulips. Robert jumped out of the car and ran round to the passenger door to open it.

‘There’s no need to act like my chauffeur,’ said Eden, laughing lightly. The sunlit up her café-au-lait complexion and picked out gold flecks in her deep brown eyes.  ‘I’m perfectly capable of opening a car door myself you know.’

‘It’s all this damned equality,’ said Robert. He pushed a hand through his unruly mop of tawny hair. ‘A man doesn’t know his place anymore. Should I be chivalrous and risk being accused of sexism or should I be less gentlemanly and risk being accused of being inconsiderate? The whole thing’s a minefield.’

Eden grinned. ‘Just be yourself, you idiot. Stop over thinking everything.’ Eden got out of the car and stretched. She drew in a deep breath and smiled. ‘Ah, it’s good to be back.’

‘From what you told me about your time in Mistling, I’m surprised you ever wanted to come back.’

‘It was pretty harrowing,’ said Eden, ‘but there’s something about this place that keeps pulling me back. You wait until you see the beach. It’s so beautiful. It’s windswept and wild put there’s a sort of peace there that’s hard to find anywhere else. If we have time this afternoon, I’d love to show it to you.’

‘We should have plenty of time, shouldn’t we?’ asked Robert. ‘Or do you think your friends will keep us talking for hours?’

Eden smiled. ‘They might do. Just don’t ask Dougal about any of his books - you haven’t read any of them have you?’

‘Just two,’ said Robert. ‘The Titanic one and the one about Princess Diana.’

Eden rolled her eyes.

‘It’s no good looking at me like that. You told me he wrote these conspiracy theory books but that he wasn’t a weird crackpot but was actually a kind, sensible guy, so what did you expect me to do? I thought a bit of research wouldn’t go amiss before I met the man for real.’

‘Well, just don’t query any of the details with him if you want to be out of here before closing time.’

They walked across the car park and into the saloon bar of the Anchor public house. As Eden expected, the pub was quite busy but she spotted her friends sitting at a small round table next to the fireplace. They saw Eden and Robert and stood up to greet them. Eden hugged her friends and then introduced them all. ‘Robert, this is Marjorie and Dougal Farley.’

‘Pleased to meet you both,’ said Robert, vigorously shaking their hands. ‘Eden’s told me a lot about you both.’

‘Don’t believe a word of it,’ said Dougal, smiling over the tops of his brass rimmed glasses. Marjorie dug an elbow into his ribs. Dougal grimaced and sat down. The barman appeared with a tray bearing four half pint glasses of beer.

‘Today’s special is Chilli con Carne,’ he said, placing the glasses on the table. ‘Or I can bring you some menus.’

‘We’ll let you know,’ said Marjorie, a smile stretching across her round face. She sipped from her glass and then looked up at Robert. ‘So, Eden tells me you’re studying to be a teacher.’

‘That’s right,’ said Robert, sitting down next to Eden. ‘I got on a graduate teacher training scheme. I’ve got a placement up in Lowestoft.’

‘Oh,’ said Dougal, ‘not a million miles away from here then. Perhaps we’ll see a bit more of you two.’

Eden looked at Robert and smiled. ‘You might,’ she said, ‘although, for the time being, I’m still living in Cambridge.’

‘Still working for Miranda are you?’ asked Dougal. Eden nodded. ‘Well, at least I know you haven’t come to chase me up about a late manuscript this time.’

‘He’s having a sabbatical, apparently,’ explained Marjorie. ‘And I use the term loosely, and with sabbatical in inverted commas.’ She leaned across the table towards Robert. ‘Dougal’s sabbatical is what you are I might more correctly refer to as writer’s block.’

‘No!’ said Eden incredulously. ‘Don’t tell me there are no more conspiracies for you to investigate.’

‘Oh I wouldn’t necessarily say that,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s simply that it would appear that there are none pressing at the moment. Nothing that’s really grabbing my attention anyway.’ Dougal’s eyes were caught by a sudden movement at the door. He watched as PC Bob Browning made his way to the bar. Dougal raised his hand and clicked his fingers several times. ‘Over here Bob,’ he said and stood up so that Bob could see him, Bob came across with his pint and Marjorie pulled over a chair from the next table for him.

‘You remember Eden, don’t you Bob?’ said Dougal.

Bob nodded at Eden. ‘Never forget a face, not in my line.’

‘And this is Robert, Eden’s young man,’ said Dougal. Bob nodded a hello at Robert and sat down.

‘You look a bit stressed, Bob, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ said Marjorie, frowning in concern. ‘Jenny not with you?’

‘The wife’s over at Emily’s, helping with the baby,’ said Bob, his bushy eyebrows dancing as he spoke. ‘She spends more