Peter Corris - Beware of the Dog

‘I’ll kill you, Robert. I swear I’ll kill you.’

‘You had your try at killing, Paula. You fucked it up the way you fuck up everything. Just wait around a while, I might let you kill Mr Hardy here.’

He threw the hose down and stamped off the way we’d come. My shirt and pants were wet and the cold was numbing me. I flapped my arms and skinned the knuckles of my left hand on the bricks. My head hurt, my back hurt and my pride was grovelling in the dirt somewhere. Bent over, I explored the kennel. It was solid brick; the timber planks in the front were morticed into the brick pillars. The iron roof had been nailed down by an expert, there was no give in it at all. In the back wall there was a section of thick glass bricks to admit light. They were as solidly mortared as the rest of the structure. I picked up the sodden blanket and wrapped it around my shoulder. It smelt of dog, but it afforded some warmth.

‘Paula.’

No answer.

‘Paula, talk to me. He’s crazy. You know that. Tell me just one thing. Is that my gun he’s got?’

‘What does it matter, arsehole?’

‘It matters. If it’s my gun it’s probably only got one bullet in it. See the point?’

Even through her anger she couldn’t fail to understand that.

‘It could be your gun. I left it in my car. Robert might have found it. It could be the gun I tried to kill my father with.’

‘We won’t go into that now.’ I rattled the gate to my cage. ‘Christ, these things are solid. Why did they have to build them so strong?’

‘You think any old shitty place’ll do for animals, don’t you? You fucker.’

‘Paula, shut up! We have to think of something. You heard him, he’s killed three people. When did he turn up here anyway? I take it you’ve been here since you…’

‘Since I shot Dad. Yes. I don’t know when he got here. The first I knew was when he put that fucking gun to your dumb head. This is a big place, there’s a couple of other buildings to shelter in. What three people did he kill? Who’s dead?’

The flat, uninvolved way she spoke worried me. It was as if she’d lost interest in the human race. It was hard to know how to answer. Instinct told me to hedge.

‘What was your connection with Patrick Lamberte? I saw a photo you took of him. You’d… disfigured it.’

‘I hate him! Oh, he was charming for a while. We came out here and looked over the place. And then do you know what he did? He threw the man who was caring for the animals here out and he let the dogs die. Ten of them. A couple got loose and went wild, after being starved till they went mad. I’ve loathed him ever since then.’

‘You took a picture of him here, and did a painting.’

‘That was when he was being nice. When he first bought this place. I thought he was going to preserve it, make it happy again and take care of the dogs…’

She broke off and sobbed. I shivered in my wet blanket. The hose, still running water, was lying on the bricks close to the gate. I wondered if I could stick my arm through and get it. What was the point?

‘Lamberte’s dead,’ I said. ‘He died in a fire up at Mount Victoria. Karen Livermore died with him. Remember Karen?’

‘You’re pronouncing it wrongly,’ she said dully. ‘It’s Kah-ren. Sure I remember her. Stupid to the bone, like her mother. Did Robert kill them? Good. Who else, Hardy? This is good. Who else? I’ll bet it wasn’t Verity. Not Verity.’

‘Why d’you say that?’ I was straining my ears for the sound of a motor which is a hard thing to do when your teeth are chattering violently.

‘Robert wanted to fuck all of us-me, Kah-ren, his real sister Nadia. Everyone except Verity. He tried, too. I had to fight him off a couple of times. Nasty, pimply little twerp. He was at it again recently, too.’

I was beginning to get a handle on it at long last. Sir Phillip Wilberforce and his wives had brewed up a deadly mixture. ‘What was special about Verity?’

‘She hated Dad as much as Robert did. Robert hated his own father, too, but Verity loved hers like I…’

‘I think he killed Nadia.’ I hadn’t meant to articulate the thought, but it came out anyway.

‘Jesus, no,’

‘You were going to say that you loved your father. Why did you shoot him?’

We were both up at the front of our stalls, near the gates, gripping the bars and staring out at the moonlit brick-paved yard. I moved sideways until I was separated from her only by the width of a brick wall.

‘I’m insane,’ she whispered. ‘Paranoiac, depressive, schizophrenic. My life is a running stream of shit. I’ve tried… I’ve tried lots of things. I tried to talk to people. I tried. I wanted to be interested in them. Do you know why I had to leave Lindfield?’

‘No.’

‘The council passed a law that you couldn’t have more than one dog.’

I didn’t say anything and she went on, ‘But I just couldn’t… cope with things. I was interested in you, but you turned out to be another bastard. Just another bastard. Aiming your fucking gun at that poor dog. I went to see Dad to ask him to buy this place for me. I was so happy here. I could have got it going again, taken care of the dogs. Dogs are the only creatures…’

‘Paula,’ I said. Your father hired me to find you. He loves you.’

‘He said no. He didn’t understand. I had your gun and I shot him.’ Her voice mounted into a scream of pain and rage. ‘I’d shoot you if I could. Oh, I’d shoot you, you murderer. You killed my beautiful dog. We would have been so happy here, Rudi and me. We were happy. He caught rabbits and…’

My patience gave way. I rattled the bars trying to pull them from the mortar. Not a chance. I didn’t want to die in a dog kennel. I cursed her and her father and every other member of her family. I yelled at her that they were all a pack of degenerates. She laughed and agreed.

‘You killed my darling Rudi.’

The blanket had slipped from my shoulders during my outburst. I was cold and shivering; my skinned knuckles throbbed and my bruised and bleeding head ached. I sat down on the cold concrete, exhausted and drained. ‘He sprang at me like a fucking tiger,’ I said. ‘That big yellow bastard was a killer and it was a matter of me or him.’

‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me. I had to kill him. I didn’t like doing it but I had no choice.’

‘What did you call him? ’

‘A tiger, a yellow…’

Her voice, which had been harsh and off-key, became soft, melodic. ‘Rudi’s not yellow,’ she said. ‘He’s a beautiful black and tan.’

Her boots scuffed the cement as she moved close to her side of the pillar. I could hear her breathing and almost feel her warmth coming through the bricks.

‘Not a smooth-haired dog, maybe part bull terrier?’

‘Ugh, those ugly brutes. I gave up on them a long time ago. No, Rudi’s a Doberman/German Shepherd cross.’

‘Christ, those breeds don’t take prisoners.’

‘He’s fierce, but he’s wonderful and he’s alive. I’m sorry I said

…’

I was thinking fast. Crosbie couldn’t be away much longer. ‘Does Robert know what Rudi looks like?’

‘No, not unless he’s been here since yesterday morning. Rudi’s been missing since then. I’ve been frantic about it.’

‘Paula, for God’s sake, whistle or call or whatever you do. We need him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We need the dog. Robert’s coming back to kill us. An attack dog might be of some help.’

Her voice went cold again. ‘What are you saying? Robert’s got a gun.’

‘He’s only got one bullet…’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘It’s probable.’