‘Did she say anything else about this co-worker?’

  ‘She said she was Ukrainian, her name is Rosalind Esche and she’s quite a lively person; I got the impression she didn’t have a work permit, so she didn’t really have much status as an employee – but she’s concerned something has happened to her.’

  ‘As in their boss getting rid of her?’

  ‘That was the implication, yes – sir. The woman who called had seen on the news about the murder of Tim Ruddle and the photograph of the dogs that had been taken, which she then also saw on the Argus newspaper online. She started to wonder and mentioned it to her colleagues. She tried to contact Rosalind repeatedly over the weekend and became increasingly worried about what might have happened to her if she did in fact confront her boss or if he might have overheard their conversation – which is why she called us yesterday. Apparently, he’s not a nice person.’

  Grace nodded, making a note. ‘Have we run checks on this Rosalind Esche?’

  ‘We have,’ Luke Stanstead said. ‘Nothing. I’ve checked immigration records and they’ve no one of this name. Quite possibly she’s here as an illegal, which would fit the kind of job she was doing, working for a dodgy breeder and being paid cash.’

  ‘Pretty brave of her, if she is an illegal, to stand up to her boss.’

  ‘That’s what I said to the woman who called me,’ Sweeney replied. ‘She told me Rosalind cared passionately about dogs and was really upset and angry at their treatment at the kennels. She said the other colleague warned Rosalind that complaining to the boss could get her into trouble, but that Rosalind had probably gone ahead with it anyway. She wanted the conditions improved for the dogs.’

  ‘Good for her,’ E-J spoke out. ‘I’d have done the same.’

  ‘OK,’ Grace said. ‘And this informant – this woman who called – is willing to meet you, Polly?’

  ‘This evening, after work, sir.’

  He considered this for a moment. There were strict protocols about handling informants, requiring a sterile corridor between them and case officers, but he decided he didn’t need to worry about that here, this sounded simply like an unhappy employee willing to blow the whistle on her boss. ‘Has she said where she’ll meet you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has she given you a time?’

  ‘She’s going to call just after five and give me a location.’

  ‘Do you want backup with you when you go to meet her?’

  ‘No, sir, I think I will get more out of seeing her alone. I have arranged to have officers standing by who will monitor me, and I will have my radio also. All she has said is that it will be in East Sussex.’

  East Sussex, Grace thought. That once more fitted with the little they knew so far about the offenders. ‘Let me know as soon as she makes contact,’ he said.

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  Grace’s private phone rang. He glanced at the display and saw it was Cleo. Raising a hand, he answered it quietly, concerned about her news.

  She sounded elated. ‘The eagle has landed!’

  ‘No kidding?’ he said, his voice almost a shout, unable to hide his relief.

  ‘He’s in my car, he’s fine and we’re on our way home!’

  68

  Monday 29 March

  Aware the whole team was looking at him, and not giving a damn at this moment, Roy Grace let out a whoop of joy. Then, telling Cleo he’d call her back as soon as he could, and ending the call, he beamed. ‘Sorry, coincidentally our dog, Humphrey, went missing yesterday, but he’s turned up safe and sound, picked up by another dog owner, thank God!’

  ‘A shaggy dog story, chief?’ Potting said.

  Everyone smiled, including Grace. Then, suddenly, he found himself fighting off a wave of emotion. With difficulty, he focused back on his task, again addressing Polly Sweeney. ‘I heard back from Robin Smith, last night. The Mr and Mrs Jonathan Jones who had given an address in St Helier, Jersey, appear to have stolen someone else’s identity. I think it’s likely that Tom Hartley and Michael Richard Kendrick are also assumed or borrowed names. Did you find any connection between them?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, sir. There are plenty of individuals with each of those names, but I’ve been working with Vanessa’ – she turned to the researcher, Vanessa Blackmore – ‘and we’ve not found any link between three people of those names.’

  Blackmore nodded in confirmation.

  Grace turned to the Financial Investigator. ‘Money would have changed hands for the Airbnb that our mystery Hartley/Jones/Kendrick rented. We need to know where those payments were made, and find out more about the Peugeot that was in the driveway, Emily.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Denyer said. ‘I have already put in a request to Airbnb for the bank account details where the payment was made from, but I don’t think I’ll get a quick answer. I’ll keep on it. And likewise, the car.’

  Thanking her, Grace turned to Velvet Wilde and Norman Potting, seated next to each other. ‘How’ve you got on with your farm visits?’

  ‘We’ve covered a couple, so far, sir,’ Wilde said. ‘One of them a large and not particularly salubrious place run by John Roke.’

  ‘A name well known to us,’ Grace said.

  ‘I have to say Norman handled him pretty well, sir.’ Grace saw she actually gave Potting a look of admiration.

  Norman shrugged and blushed.

  ‘And did you find anything of interest?’ Grace asked.

  ‘We didn’t find anything of interest,’ the DC said.

  Potting nodded confirmation. ‘Just a handful of farm dogs – we can eliminate the Roke community from this particular enquiry. We’re back on farm visits after this briefing.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ E-J said. ‘Nothing like a day in the countryside, eh?’

  ‘If walking through pig shit, cow shit and chicken shit floats your boat, absolutely, E-J,’ Potting replied. ‘As Velvet said, we didn’t find anything of interest, but Roke seemed keen to dob in Big Jim, who I dealt with years ago, and his piece-of-crap son Dallas.’

  ‘What did he say about them?’ Grace asked.

  ‘That that’s one of the places where we should be looking.’

  ‘We’re building the evidence to get a warrant.’ Grace studied his notes for a moment then turned to the Exhibits Officer, Michelle Boshoff. ‘Anything to report?’

  With her black-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose, she had the look of a studious academic. ‘Possibly, sir. There was debris recovered from the scene at the Ruddles’ farm – broken glass and plastic, which the Collision Investigation Unit believe came from the headlight of one vehicle and the bumper of another – or possibly the same vehicle. They’re working on this now and are pretty confident from what they have they’ll be able to identify the vehicle makes and types. And we have tyre marks recovered from the scene by the CSI, which will also help in identifying the vehicle types.’

  ‘Good work, Michelle,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, sir. As you know, I also ran Dr Haydn Kelly’s plaster of Paris impressions of the footprints, which he took at the scene, by the UK National Reference Collection and they came up with some matches.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure how helpful these will be at this stage, because the footwear is very widely sold both in retail outlets and online. I have four sets of shoe sizes but we really need Dr Kelly’s further analysis. I’ve sent all the information to him, and he said he will try to have his initial findings in time for our evening briefing.’

  Grace thanked her then turned to DS Alexander. ‘What updates do you have, Jack?’

  The Detective Sergeant stood up and walked over to the association chart on the whiteboard, next to the one on which were photographs of Tim and Sharon Ruddle as well as the seven French bulldogs. ‘I now have a list of all close relatives, friends and associates of the Ruddles, which I’ve given to the Outside Enquiry Team, who are working their way through them.’

  Polly nodded in confirmation.

  Jack Alexander continued. ‘The Intelligence Team, who you’ll hear from in a moment, have obtained from the phone companies a list of all calls made and received by Mr and Mrs Ruddle in the past four weeks. They are also having the onboard computers of both their cars analysed, which will give us a plot of all journeys each of them made in this same time period. Luke and Vanessa are now working on these.’

  DS Julian Ross from the Intelligence Team was next on Grace’s agenda to speak. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I’ve been running a detailed check on the Sussex Police Database for any similar crimes to the one at Old Homestead Farm and have pulled up the files. I have identified seven instances in Sussex where puppies have been stolen in overnight burglaries – three in East Sussex, the other four in West Sussex – but there was no violence involved. In each of these cases the dogs were stolen during the night without the owners being disturbed. There was a farmer murdered in Robertsbridge, East Sussex, in 2012, but in that instance, he was trying to prevent theft of agricultural machinery, and the offenders are currently still in prison – I’ve checked. There are twenty-seven cases of owners of dogs around the county being attacked in parks and open countryside and their dogs stolen, but nothing matching the severity of what we have here.’

  Grace thanked him and moved on down his list. Ten minutes later, anxious to call Cleo, he ended the meeting and suggested the evening briefing would take place at 7 p.m. This would give Polly the chance to have met the informant and reported back, by phone if necessary.

  Then he hurried to his office.

  69

  Monday 29 March

  Katy and Chris had spent a mostly sleepless night in the hospital, crashing out fitfully on the hard camp beds that had been set up for them in the Relatives Room, and resisting all the suggestions from the nursing staff that they should go home and get some rest. But finally, realizing they had a lot of stuff to sort out – in addition to all their appointments with clients, which neither of them could face today – Chris agreed to stay on in the hospital while Katy went home, to freshen up and deal with anything urgent before returning via her office.

  After a hot shower, and a bowl of cereal and some very strong coffee, Katy was feeling a little more awake and ready to take on a long and challenging day ahead. She made a series of phone calls, starting with Bluebell’s school, explaining the situation to them, and then to her parents and Chris’s, as well as to the mum who was doing the school pick-up today.

  Then she popped next door to see Helen and Vivek Malik to give them the latest news about Bluebell and to find out how Moose had been while they were looking after her. Vivek said he’d actually slept the night on the sofa in their house so Moose wouldn’t be alone. He said that Moose had been good as gold apart from one pee on the carpet.

  Then she headed off to the office before going back to the hospital.

  At her desk she dialled Chris for an update on Bluebell.

  He answered after six rings, sounding out of breath and very flat. ‘Sorry, I had to run out of the ward when I saw you calling.’

  ‘How is she?’

  There was a brief pause before he replied emotionally. ‘Not great. She’s had a lumbar puncture and she’s wired up to all kinds of apparatus. There’s been no improvement in her condition so far – if anything she’s deteriorated. She keeps drifting in and out of consciousness. The staff are being lovely, but I’ve actually had one hell of a morning.’

  ‘In what way?’ Katy asked anxiously.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the consultant, Dr Pallant, and the registrar, Dr Shah. They’ve had the results back from Bluebell’s bloods and they’re very concerned – so concerned they’ve couriered them, along with the fluids from the lumbar puncture, to the Hospital for Tropical Diseases for analysis.’

  ‘What?’ Katy said, very alarmed. ‘What – what do they think it might be?’

  ‘They – they’re not saying but . . .’ He fell silent.

  She waited patiently. Finally, he continued. ‘Dr Shah, the registrar we saw last night, is worried about the dog that bit her. He says it’s vital we speak to the breeder, because Bluebell’s symptoms aren’t consistent with any normal disease she might have picked up from a dog bite.’

  ‘What does he mean by normal?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just don’t know.’

  ‘I’m coming straight over,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got to find that breeder, Peat, John Peat. I have a feeling that’s going to be really important.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Because,’ he said and paused again. She could hear him breathing hard, fighting his emotions. ‘Because I don’t think they believe me – us.’

  ‘What do you mean, darling? What do you mean they don’t believe us? Who doesn’t believe us?’

  ‘Dr Pallant and Dr Shah.’

  ‘I don’t understand – they don’t believe us? Don’t believe what?’

  ‘They don’t believe our story that it was another puppy that bit Bluebell. I’m getting the feeling they think we’ve invented the other puppy to cover up for Moose.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’

  ‘It’s not ridiculous,’ he said, sounding calmer now. ‘Dr Shah has asked me for the name and contact number for our vet.’

  ‘Why does he want to speak to her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I think he has an agenda.’

  ‘Agenda? What kind of agenda?’

  ‘Stop firing questions at me, we need to find that breeder.’

  ‘I’m not firing questions, Chris, I just need to know what the hell is going on.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Dr Shah took me aside. He told me he began his medical studies in Pakistan. He’s seen this stuff over there. He is really concerned that the symptoms Bluebell is presenting look similar to early-stage rabies.’

  Katy felt a hollow chill deep inside her. ‘Rabies?’

  ‘He – he says it’s extremely unlikely and he wants to eliminate it as a possibility – and that’s very urgent because of . . .’ He went quiet again.

  ‘Because of what?’ Katy prompted gently.

  ‘Because of the speed at which rabies develops,’ he blurted.

  ‘But there is no rabies in England.’

  ‘Correct. Dr Shah said that. He told me the disease was eradicated here in 1922. But—’ He broke off again, his voice choked. ‘Oh God, Katy.’

  ‘Darling,’ she said, trying to mask her alarm and deep concern. ‘Could she not be vaccinated, as a precaution?’

  ‘The first vaccination has to be given within twenty-four hours. It doesn’t work after that.’

  ‘God.’ She was silent for a moment. Then, nervously pushing for the answer she wanted to hear, she said, ‘But, it’s pretty unlikely Bluebell has it, right?’

  ‘Yes – unlikely if she had been bitten by a British dog. But the vet told us Moose’s vaccination certificate was false, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which means Moose and the other puppies might have come from anywhere – possibly from abroad – and the one that bit her might have been illegally imported. We were really stupid buying her from a van in a car park. I’ve been reading about it online – that you should never buy a puppy without seeing its mother.’

  ‘But the breeder was convincing,’ she said desperately.

  ‘I’ve been googling it, and a dog with rabies can present as fine for some time,’ Chris said.

  Katy replied, ‘But the vet phoned me earlier. Moose’s bloods are all fine. It was just a nasty bug she must have had. She’s already better.’ Then, increasingly worried, she asked, ‘Surely we can get Bluebell tested for rabies? I mean it’s so unlikely she would have that, isn’t it? There must be a test that would definitively show it, or clear her?’

  ‘They need to test the dog that bit Bluebell. And if that dog has rabies and Moose came from the same breeder she might have it too. Moose isn’t showing any signs and seems OK now, thank God, but only a brain-stem test would tell us, with one hundred per cent accuracy. That is the only way.’

  ‘Couldn’t we get that done?’

  ‘We have to find that breeder to test that Staffie. If we can’t, they might have to do the test on Moose.’

  ‘Couldn’t they do that anyway, as a precaution?’

  ‘They could, Katy. But to do a brain-stem test,’ he said bleakly, ‘they first have to euthanize the dog. They’d have to destroy Moose.’ He paused. ‘And God knows where that leaves Bluebell.’

  70

  Monday 29 March

  Katy Fairfax ended the call with Chris in shock. She thought hard, desperately, what she could do to help him find John Peat. She again googled the name and the first hit that came up was an American sea captain who had died in 1794. There were many more, none remotely fitting the man who had sold them Moose.

  Her intercom buzzed. Their assistant, Khalid, told her the 2 p.m. appointment, Mrs Dunwoody, was in reception. Katy told him to apologize and explain that due to an emergency she needed to rearrange the appointment, to move it to next week. Then she returned to her searches, checking out again all the sites she and Chris had originally gone to when they’d been looking for a puppy for Bluebell, hoping that John Peat’s absence might just have been a temporary glitch.

  But there was still no sign of him.

  Then she sat for some moments deep in thought. They had to find this breeder, had to find the dog that had injured Bluebell, critically to know she was OK and, also, to safeguard Moose. How? Where else could she look?

  She stood up and paced around her office. Then she realized exactly who might be able to help them.

  She opened the address book on her computer and tapped out the name Ken Grundy.

  Moments later his contact details appeared.

  She dialled the number, preparing to leave a voicemail message, but to her relief she heard the voice of a receptionist.

  ‘Ken Grundy Associates, how can I help you?’ she answered formally but warmly.