Breakfast on the Way to Brisbane, Page 2

CHAPTER 2

  THE DOGS

  Inspector Grant was not amused. The Police, aided by the State Emergency Services, had been combing the bush around the country homestead of the missing owner Robert Beastly, for a couple of weeks now. So far, they had failed to pick up any trace of him.

  Their job had been made harder than usual, due to the lack of enthusiasm for the search in the local community; and the important fact that just about all the neighbours said they did not like Mr Beastly, one little bit. He lived all alone, except for the dogs - and seldom went out.

  He was doubtless a lean, mean, surly little man, who neither had friends nor desired to have any, either. But, he was certainly the epitome of self-sufficiency, growing his own fruit and vegetables, brewing his own beer, wine and baking his own bread. He also grew a substantial amount of tobacco for the commercial market, keeping back just a small quantity for his own consumption. With his own bore-water supplies and a small solar electricity system backed up by a petrol generator, he was as independent as any man could be. He accordingly had very little need to leave his property. Since he so obviously liked to keep himself to himself, it was at first quite puzzling to the Inspector as to why he should be so disliked by the community. However, Police investigations being what they are, it was only a matter of time before the truth began to come out. Perhaps not the absolute truth, so much as rumours and unsupported allegations of bad farming practice and disputes with his neighbours - nothing that was ever likely to be proven in a court of law, or anything like that.

  The Inspector was beginning to suspect ill-treatment of the dogs could be an important factor in this case, because it had come up so often during the investigation so far. Some people were even going so far as to suggest it was possibly the reason his wife walked out on him some years ago, though there was no record on file of any official complaint about dog cruelty. So far the investigation had shown no unusual behaviour by Mr Beastly leading up to when he went missing; and the actual time of his disappearance was proving difficult to establish.

  What was known, was that he had last been seen by neighbours driving his old Land Rover through the village about three o'clock on a Friday, some three weeks ago – presumably driving home to his place. He could of course, have been out several times since then, but there were no reports of any more recent sightings. There was however, talk of an altercation with the local Veterinary Surgeon some weeks earlier. The Vet, it was alleged, stopped him on the street to berate him for not bringing the dogs in for any routine preventative medical treatment. But that was par for the course, as it were. Whenever he did show his face in the community, he was regarded as fair game: meaning somebody was sure to have a go at him - and almost always in relation to his treatment of his dogs.

  Mr Beastly's disappearance might well have gone unnoticed for some considerable time. Longer, had the dogs not begun to howl unceasingly, a week or so ago. Mr Blackwood, his closest neighbour, being unable to withstand the continuous howling because it was upsetting his own dogs, drove up to the property to remonstrate with Mr Beastly. But when he got there, Mr Beastly simply could not be found! Though the Land Rover was there and the kitchen door was open, everything had been left as if Mr Beastly had just nipped out to feed the chooks or something like that. Mr Blackwood said he then left, unable to stand the noise created by the penned up dogs any longer. When he got home though, he began to think something must be seriously wrong. Eventually, he was concerned enough to call the Police and the investigation into Mr Beastly's strange disappearance had been launched straight away.

  Inspector Grant decided it was time to adopt a different approach, after there was no trace of the missing man following a week's intensive and thorough search. The original assumption that Mr Beastly was possibly the victim of an on-farm accident was, after such a thorough search, completely ruled out. It was now time to seriously consider the possibility of foul play; and whenever foul play is suspected, one must immediately ask the question: who is most likely to benefit? Even that was not helpful, because Mr Beastly's only known relative, to whom the estate would surely go, should Mr Beastly's demise be established; was an aged brother living in a nursing home somewhere in the UK.

  Suspicion then, inevitably fell upon Mr Blackwood, the man who reported the disappearance. Not just because he was the first on the scene and thus had an opportunity to commit the crime and hide the evidence, but also because he was the only neighbour sufficiently annoyed by the howling of the dogs to go beyond mere complaining - and take action! The question that had to be asked now, Inspector Grant couldn't help thinking, was: just how much action did he take?

  Inspector Grant invited Mr Blackwood and Mr Jones, the local Veterinary Surgeon to meet him at the old, stone, farmhouse. Here they seated themselves in the reasonably clean, if not too tidy, kitchen of Mr Beastly's home. It was uncanny the way everyday items lay about, as if he had only this minute walked out the door. 'You will know, Mr Blackwood,' said Inspector Grant, 'that since our last little talk, things have taken a new tack. We're no longer treating this case as a simple disappearance. We are now forced to suspect foul play. Accordingly, I must ask you to tell me again, exactly what happened that fateful day - the day you drove up to this property looking for Mr Beastly.'

  'Well... I don't know what more I can say. Really I don't.' He paused in deep reflection. 'I drove up to the gate - the dogs still a-howling. I checked, carefully, to make sure them buggers weren't loose! And when I was sure of that, and only then, I opened the gate, drove in… and went back and closed the gate. Then I got back in my car and drove up to the house.'

  'You were driving your ute, I presume? The Falcon ute - the one you had last time we spoke. The one you've come here in today?'

  'Why, yes, Inspector.'

  Mr Blackwood paused for a moment. Before he could continue, the Inspector asked, 'What did you bring with you, that day? I want you to think carefully, now. What goods did you have in your possession when you arrived here?'

  'Oh… well, my gun, of course - if that's what you mean. Mr Beastly sometimes, well often, left all six dogs to prowl around within the inner fence that surrounds this house. Nobody who knew that... nobody in their right mind, would enter this property without protection. A gun to hand, or a stick or something else to defend themselves. Not if they knew, or even just thought the dogs might be out on the loose.'

  'But you must be something of an experienced dog man yourself - surely? Aren't you, Mr Blackwood?'

  'Me? Oh, yes, I love dogs. I've had them ever since I was a kid. I breed German Shepherd dogs on my property. In fact, I'm President of the local Kennel Club!'

  'Now that is interesting. So far, all our investigations seem to end up with some sort of reference to the dogs. Tell me, Mr Blackwood, what's so special, or in any way different about Mr Beastly's dogs? Other than there being rather a lot of them. Why all this fear, this concern, over the dogs?'

  'Oh... it's not just the dogs, Sir. No, it's the way he treated them! Real bad, like. They're not kept as working dogs to run with stock or anything, see. No, Mr Beastly keeps them solely as security dogs. He doesn't like anybody going near his property and he makes no secret of that fact. He firmly believed that security dogs should be kept lean and mean. By lean and mean, he meant more like half starved, wild… and savage!' Mr Blackwood snorted in disgust.

  'Thank you,' said Inspector Grant. 'I guess that helps to clarify things a bit. Now, getting back to the day you called, tell me again what happened after you drove up to the house?'

  'The kitchen door was wide open - I could see that as soon as I pulled up.'

  'What did you conclude from that?'

  'Well… I thought he had just stepped out, like, maybe to throw some table scraps to the chooks… like you do, you know. Anyway, I called out - several times. But there was no reply. I knocked on the door and looked in the kitchen here. I couldn't see him, or hear him. So after
a few more minutes waiting and hollering…I left.'

  'Went straight home, did you?'

  'Yes, Sir..., but it puzzled me. It seemed so odd, so funny like; him leaving the place wide open like that. Him that was always so mad keen on security. As I said, that's why he kept the dogs. So I called the local Police... and told them everything. Their job, I thought, not mine; to find out what's up.'

  'Quite right, Mr Blackwood! We are indebted to you. Again, we come back to the dogs - you haven't mentioned anything about the dogs that day? I mean, you, a self-confessed dog lover and President of the Kennel Club, would surely want to stop a few minutes, to check on what was causing those poor animals to howl like that? It seems reasonable and logical to me, that you would be concerned for their welfare. Now, come Mr Blackwood, you aren't going to tell me you didn't suspect something was wrong, seriously wrong in that dog pen? Am I right?'

  'Well..., yes. Yes, you are right. I did take a quick look at the dog pen. It was immediately obvious to me they had not been properly fed for a long while. Just as I expected and you are right again. I had to do something! So I took a bit of a liberty. I went back to the house, got some dog food from Mr Beastly's storeroom and tossed it to the poor creatures. I know I had no right to do that, he could have been back any minute. He would have been very angry had he known what I had done. That's…, that's why I didn't like to mention it.’

  'I can well understand your feelings on the point Mr Blackwood, but this is not the time to hide things. I must warn you now that it could go badly for you if you continue along those lines. Do you understand? Now what else haven't you told me?'

  'Nothing, Sir! Nothing at all.'

  'No?' said the Inspector, with some annoyance. 'Now look, Mr Blackwood, I asked you earlier what you had brought with you to this property that day - why didn't you mention the spade?'

  'The spade? What spade? I... I don't know what you mean.’

  'I think you do. I have to tell you Mr Blackwood, that my Sergeant saw a spade in the back of your ute the first day we met and being the bright lad he is, he took a scraping of mud from it. That mud matches other samples we've taken from this property. The obvious conclusion is, that you did a bit of digging here using that spade. So, what were you up to? Did you dig something up? Or did you bury something? Now, I want to know what you were doing and I want to know why? Come on, man! What have you got to say for yourself?'

  'Are..., are you going to charge me?'

  'I don't know. Should I? I'll give you just one more chance to tell the truth! Perhaps you'd like to start again - and this time, I warn you, omit nothing!'

  'Yes, Sir. I am sorry,' Mr Blackwood said, loosening his collar. 'Well, like I said, when I fed the dogs I tossed a full bag of dog food into the pen - right up the far corner.’

  'Ahhh, the far-corner, you say? Hmmm; clearly this was to distract the dogs away from the gate, so you could enter the pen. Now, why would you want to do that? Hmmm… to remove something I'd say - right? What was it, man?'

  Mr Blackwood, extremely distressed, said 'This... this is hard. Very hard for me to say, Inspector...'

  'Come on man - out with it! The truth, now!'

  'It was..., it was a skull, Sir. Mr Beastly's skull!', Mr Blackwood uttered with profound distress.

  'A skull? Mr Beastly's skull, you say? Hmm, now how would you know that? How can you be so sure it was his?'

  'Because of the plate, Sir. I knew. We all knew, he had a steel plate in his skull, from an old war injury, I think. We used to credit that with his odd behaviour - joke about it, like. There it was, the skull stripped of all flesh, the plate..., clearly visible.' He paused, covering his eyes with both hands, 'It was terrible…'

  'Steady man,' said the Inspector. 'You must go on, let it all out - it's for the best. What did you do next?'

  'I... I took it, the skull... and I buried it. Under that big paving stone, just outside the gate to the dogs' pen.'

  'Oh, yes..., but why? Why would you do a thing like that?'

  ‘Well…, I couldn't leave it in there, Sir - not there! Not for the dogs to play with. It seemed the only decent thing to do. Both out of respect for Mr Beastly and to protect the dogs. I didn't want the truth to come out. I didn't see why the dogs should have to pay for his errant ways, poor creatures. Not after the shocking way he'd treated them. I didn't want those poor dogs blamed and then punished, by being put down.'

  'Let me get this straight. Are you saying, the dogs first killed... and then consumed Mr Beastley?'

  'Yes, Sir, what else?’

  'This takes some believing. You might as well tell me how you think this dreadful thing came about. You know the man. You know the dogs. What do you think happened to Mr Beastly - and when?'

  'He starved those poor creatures, just once too often - and too long. That's what happened,' he said angrily. 'Then when he eventually entered the pen, one of them jumped up and accidentally knocked him down. Probably because he teased and tormented them, by holding the bowl out of their reach - he liked to do that. He liked to make them beg! He'd often boasted about doing it, the rotten creep! Blood was drawn..., in the frenzy he may have lashed out or kicked them and they retaliated, as only a dog knows how.'

  'That’s terrible, really terrible. But what about the other animals? Were they left unfed?'

  'No, Sir, I checked. The pigs, the chooks - they had food and water. Just the dogs, were without food - he liked to call it discipline, Sir. I guess that word can be used to cover a multitude of sins. I guess you'd know that!'

  'Indeed I do, Mr Blackwood. Indeed I do. Now tell me, did you find other remains... in the pen - bones, clothing...?’

  'No bones, just a bit of torn khaki material; probably from his shorts. That's all he ever wore around the property. No shoes even. I wrapped the skull in... in it.'

  Inspector Grant turned to the Vet. 'What do you think, Mr Jones? Is it possible that six dogs, could devour a man… completely, in that space of time?'

  'A pack of six, angry, ferocious, Pit-Bull Terriers? Abused repeatedly? Regularly starved by their handler, then left completely unfed for about a week? Dogs have feelings too, remember. They can learn to love - but they can learn to hate too. Add that hatred to their desperate situation and... well, yes, I believe they could kill and devour a man completely. All bar the skull, of course, which would be much more difficult to consume, as Mr Blackwood has suggested, if not confirmed.'

  'We know from our inquiries,' said the Inspector, 'that he drove into town and took a bus to Brisbane for a medical appointment, on the fourth of July - that's twenty seven days ago. What should have been a two-day trip took nearly four, due to the need for x-rays and other tests. Then the bus broke down on the return journey. My God..., we don't know if he fed the dogs before he left or, if he did, whether he left them any feed when he set out!' The Inspector was clearly upset by the thought. 'And what about water?'

  'They were alright for water,' Mr Blackwood hurried to reassure him. 'There's an old water standpipe with a leaky tap in the pen. Dripping overnight, there'd be a fair amount of water in the old concrete laundry trough that stands beneath, by the morning.'

  'Thank you, Mr Blackwood. That's some consolation, I suppose.'

  'The dogs started howling about the sixth or seventh of July. Then they went quiet about the tenth - the day he was sighted driving through the village,' said Mr Blackwood.

  'The day he got back from Brisbane,' said Mr Jones.

  'Can we assume,' asked the Inspector, 'that he fed the dogs that night - or did he perhaps make the poor creatures wait until the next morning, the 11th?'

  'If they got at him that next morning, as I think they did - that would explain why they went quiet on that day,' said Mr Blackwood. They didn't start up howling again until a week later, on the seventeenth or eighteenth - when they got terribly hungry again. It was after about five or six days - and
nights - of that incessant howling, that I decided to come and have it out... with... him.'

  'Which brings us back to last Friday, when you called us in. Well, it all fits, but can we prove it? What do you think, Mr Jones? Anything Veterinary Science can do for us in that respect?'

  'It's a possibility, just a possibility that an autopsy on each of the dogs may produce some undigested human remains - or even a ring, a button, a tooth. It depends very much on when the last morsel of the remains was actually consumed, of course. That could have been a week ago - or it could have been as late as yesterday.'

  'Sorry about all that, Mr Blackwood,' said the Inspector. 'I know you want to protect the dogs. But if the local Council don't act to have them put down, then I'm sure the Coroner would. So we might as well have it done now. It is clear that the quicker we do it, the more chance there is that we may find something, something useful. By that, of course, I mean something that could help clear up the whole matter and that could be very much to your advantage. Wouldn't you agree?'

  'I suppose so, Inspector, but a shame though - poor things. I for one, can't bring myself to blame them. Not the dogs.'

  'I sympathise, Mr Blackwood, I really do. Unfortunately, the media are going to have a field day with this one. They are going to demand that the public get their pound of flesh. Since I'm now convinced there's no villain to snaffle - there's no other way. Regrettably, the only ones to pay, and pay dearly, will be the dogs!'