Karin Slaughter - Like A Charm

'You know we had that Jack Russell in, been in an accident on the Seven Sisters Road, just by Holloway prison, bus ran over it; this woman came in with it, it wasn't hers, said it was her sister's.'

'What?' Miles said, checking over X-rays.

'Well, a woman, the woman's sister, just came in to thank us, she said she's got him home and he's none the worse.'

'What?'

'That's what she said, he's fine, none the worse.'

'What?'

Miles went to the X-ray drawers, drew out a set and pinned them up.

'None the worse?' he said, pulling a face. 'He's got a fractured pelvis, two broken back legs and damage to his kidneys and collar bone!'

'Well that's what she said; came in to thank Carol but we were so busy I couldn't really talk much to her. He was going to be put down this morning.'

'Well miracles do happen, but that's beyond me, and I'm afraid this old boy's in very bad shape, I think he should be put out of his misery.'

Miles was referring to the German Shepherd, both back legs were dragging and he had a congenital spinal deficiency that left his lower back weak.

'Better call his owners, and did you get hold of Froggie?'

'No I didn't, and Mary's been calling; she's a bit frazzled as they're going to miss the flight.'

Miles returned to the X-ray of the Jack Russell, frowning; there was no possible way this dog could be, as his owner had stated, 'none the worse'. He was in a wretched condition.

'Who was the bill made out to?' he asked.

Hilda had returned to reception.

'What?'

'I said who was the bill made out to for this Jack Russell?'

Hilda looked confused.

'I don't know, there doesn't seem to be a record of it!'

Carol had got rid of the clothes, tied in a tight bundle of newspapers and tossed on to a dumpster. She had also made headway in discovering Owl Glasses' grand-mother's address. Calling the boy, his friend had answered and given the address; it was actually not far from Carol's flat, in Highbury, so she went straight there.

Carol rang the doorbell and waited for what seemed an age before it was opened by a small shrivelled woman in thick-lensed glasses, like her grandson's. Carol explained that she worked at the local veterinary clinic and had handed over the Jack Russell.

'Yes, he came here with it,' she said, peering up at Carol, who was head and shoulders taller than her.

'Has he actually buried it?'

'Yes, in a shoebox in the garden.'

'I'm very sorry but I'm afraid I will have to dig it up.'

'You must be joking; it's dead.'

'Yes I know but we had a call from Battersea Dogs Home and it seems there is some confusion regarding the ownership of the dog.'

'But it's dead; it was Kevin's pet.'

'Yes, I am sure it was but I need to verify its markings, if it has a black or brown left ear, or if it is the other way round.'

'Oh, I dunno, Kevin's not here, he's at college.'

'I can do it, if I could just be shown where he is?'

Carol sighed with relief as the old lady let her in and led her down a dingy dark hallway, through an old-fashioned equally dark kitchen and into the small back garden. The garden was overgrown with weeds and rubbish, old bicycles and an old pram minus its wheels. Bottles and Coke cans littered the base of the wall that backed on to the street.

'Kids chuck things over the wall,' the old lady said in disgust, 'but he's buried by the tree. You can't miss it; we've only the one tree anyway.'

'Do you have a shovel?'

'No, I got a trowel; that's what our Kevin used.'

Carol smiled, waiting by the tree as the grandmother went to find it. The freshly dug mound had a small handmade wooden cross; printed on it in black felt-tipped pen was 'REX'. The grandmother returned with her trowel.

'Do you know if Rex was still wrapped in the towel?'

'I don't know, love. You'd have to ask our Kevin but he put him in a shoebox, I know that. He worshipped that little dog.'

Carol got down on her knees; she told the old lady that she should go back inside, then she started to dig.

Kevin had not dug a deep hole; it was only about six inches down and the earth came away easily. Carol eased up the shoe box; it was small and she was certain that the towel and the dog could not have fitted into the box together. As she lifted the lid she saw she was right; there was no white bloodstained towel, just Rex.

Carol stamped on the earth to flatten it back into place, then she re-fixed the cross. Kevin's grandmother was standing at the kitchen door.

'I don't suppose you know what Kevin did with the white clinic towel do you?'

'The trowel?'

'No, Rex was wrapped in a white TOWEL when I gave him to your grandson.'

'Oh, I don't know where that is; you'd have to ask our Kevin. Do you want it back?'

'No, I don't think so but do you know if he found anything else?'

'What else?'

Carol tried to smile. 'It's nothing, never mind, and thank you, I'm sorry to have bothered you.'

Almost as an afterthought she asked if she could wash her hands which were covered in dirt. She stood at the kitchen sink, the old grandmother hovering, as she washed and soaped up her hands. She looked around for something to dry them on. There was a plastic washing basket in the corner. If Carol had just moved a shirt aside she would have seen the clinic towel but instead she dried her hands on a tea towel with a large picture of Wonder Woman's face printed on it.

Carol sat in the darkness; she went over and over everything in her mind. She sighed; she was probably getting things out of proportion. Even if the charm was found, so what? It was true everyone knew it belonged to her; they'd all seen Mr Frogton give it to her for Christmas. She was sure it wouldn't mean anything; she had simply mislaid it. If anyone asked for it or found it, all she had to say was she had lost it. It was only a charm. Nevertheless it niggled at her and she was unsure what to do. If she went and spoke to Kevin it would be suspicious, never mind incriminating. Digging up his bloody dog had been bad enough, and now if Kevin went to visit his grandma she'd obviously say something about her wanting the stupid fucking towel.

'Fuck fuck fucking shit,' she muttered, as the phone rang; it had rung a few times since she'd been home but she hadn't answered. No sooner had it stopped ringing than it started up again. She snatched it.

'Yes?'

'That you, Carol?'

'Yes.'

'This is Miles Richards.'

Pause.

'Are you there?'

'Yes.'

'We're all a bit worried about Peter. He's not shown up and he's supposed to have gone on holiday. Did he mention anything to you?'

'No.'

'Was he all right this morning?'

'Yes.'

'What time did he leave the surgery?'

'Just after eight, maybe eight fifteen.'

'I see, well sorry to bother you. Goodnight.'

Miles replaced the phone. He was alone in the surgery, waiting for the owner of the German Shepherd. He checked his watch, impatient to leave but at the same time concerned about his partner. It was so out of character and he hoped there hadn't been an accident. None of the hospitals they'd called had him registered. He turned to see the dark outline of a figure in the glass door. He opened it.

'Froggie?'

It was the owner of the German Shepherd who had asked to see him one more time before he was put to sleep. He was very calm, gently holding the big dog's head in his lap, stroking him. After a while he got up. The big dog struggled to rise to his feet but couldn't stand.

'Good boy, stay, stay, Hank, there's a good chap.'

Miles waited patiently, shaking the man's hand. Still he maintained control of his emotions.

'Been a good pal to me, I'll miss him. It'll be painless?'

'Yes but I feel that it is the best, or should I say the kindest, thing to put him out of his misery.'