The Poison In His Veins (Detective Inspector Benedict Paige Book 2) | Paperback

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Prologue

There’s only one thing worse than losing your dog on a walk, and that’s losing someone else’s dog on a walk. Rita Nandi and her partner, Liam, were currently suffering from such stress. You always feel doubly responsible when something in your charge isn’t actually yours – a friend’s car, their child, their bloody dog. The time was approaching eight on a cold February morning and, to make matters worse, they both had to get to work soon and not stressing over a bloody Jack Russell gone awol in Greenfield Park. ‘Why did you let her off the lead, anyway?’ snapped Liam.
‘Because I was told I could, that she always comes back when you call for her.’
‘Yeah, right. Not exactly working now, though, is it? Betty? Here, Betty!’
They’d walked around the park and had been enjoying the novelty of the early morning exercise and fresh air, and the little dog’s excitement. They laughed at her antics and the way she ran and ran and interacted with other dogs and the way she chased after a squirrel, barking in frustration when the little rodent scarpered up a tree. They exchanged pleasantries with fellow dog walkers and generally felt better about life. Not so joyful was the moment when Betty did her first shit of the morning.
‘Just leave it,’ said Liam.
‘Oh, this from the man who just last week stepped in some shit and declared that all dog owners who didn’t clear up after should be publicly hanged from the nearest lamppost and left to rot for a week?’
‘But we’re in the park now.’
‘No, people are looking, Liam.’
‘Oh, sod it. Here, I’ll do it.’
‘You’re so gallant, my love.’
‘Yeah, right.’
That was until they entered the woods and Betty dashed off. Rita and Liam hadn't even noticed at first, so wrapped up in their discussion about who to invite to their upcoming engagement party. This had been the first time they’d discussed it without falling out and having a huge row about it. Rita put it down to the fresh air and the dog.
When Rita’s friend asked if they’d looked after the dog for a week, she jumped at the chance. They’d been thinking of getting a dog, especially now that Rita worked from home, and this seemed like an ideal dry run. Rita asked a fellow dog walker if they’d seen a small, white Jack Russell on their travels. They hadn't.
They called out Betty’s name repeatedly. Rather quietly at first, as if not wanting to alert the dog-walking community to their failure. But now, with the minutes ticking by and the desperation kicking in, they’d already lost that inhibition and were openly yelling Betty’s name for the whole park to hear and damn the silent disapprobation.
‘Bloody dog. It’s too bloody cold for this,’ said Liam, blowing into his hands, as if emphasising the point.
‘We should’ve brought treats or something,’ said Rita. ‘But, honestly, Liam, I wasn’t told this would be a problem. Betty? Good dog, Betty?’
‘Wait.’ Liam stopped in his tracks. ‘Listen.’
Yes, somewhere in the distance, they could hear the yap-yap of a small dog. ‘That’s her!’
‘How do you know it is?’
‘It’s got to be.’
With renewed vigour, the couple began marching up the hill following a path that meandered through the trees, calling the dog’s name. ‘We’re not getting a dog,’ announced Liam out in front.
‘Oh, that’s decided then, is it?’
‘I can’t be arsed with this every morning.’
‘It’d be me doing the majority of the work, Liam.’
‘Yeah, and I’m saving you the work, we’re not getting a dog.’
‘No, it doesn’t work like that,’ she said, trying to keep up. ‘You don’t unilaterally make the decisions now.’
‘Hurry up, she’s up here somewhere.’
‘No, Liam, this is important–’
‘No, Rita, finding this stupid dog and getting to work is important right now. Betty! Betty.’
‘There she is,’ said Rita, pointing up the hill.
Liam charged ahead, gently calling out. Betty was clearly agitated, alternatively growling and barking so hard, her feet lifted off the ground, stepping back, then inching forward again, her tail erect.
‘What’s she barking at?’ asked Rita.
‘Don’t know. I can’t see.’ Liam strode up the incline. He stopped. ‘Fuck!’
‘What? What is it?’
He glanced back at her and she saw he’d turned pale. ‘Liam?’
She caught up with him and followed his gaze. Her legs wobbled beneath her. ‘Oh my God.’
A man, entirely naked, sat at the base of a tree, his legs splayed out, his head drooped to one side, a gag over his mouth, the whiteness of his flesh stark against the dark bark of the tree trunk.
‘Is he dead?’ she whispered.
‘No, look, he’s still breathing.’
They took tentative steps towards him, fearing, perhaps, a trick of some sort or a trap.
‘He’s been tied up.’
Sure enough, Rita could see now that his arms were pulled back either side of the trunk. His large belly hid his modesty.
‘Should we take the gag off?’
‘Of course.’ Liam approached and removed the strip of cloth over the man’s mouth. ‘You OK, mate?’
The man groaned but didn’t answer.
‘What’s your name?’
Still no answer.
‘Give him your coat,’ ordered Liam.
‘Me? Give him your coat.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rita.’ But he took his coat off. ‘Get the dog out of the way, will you? You alright, mate?’ He placed his coat over the man in an attempt to preserve his modesty and provide some heat. ‘Christ, he’s been beaten up.’
Yes, Rita could see it now, the bruising on his face, the black eye, the cut lip. Betty had quietened now and ran around the tree, slowly losing interest in the naked man. Liam tried to untie the man’s hands at the other side of the trunk while Rita rang 999 and, asking for police and ambulance, gave the operator directions to the small car park on this side of the hill. ‘Five to seven minutes,’ she told Liam.
‘I can’t do it. They’ve used those plastic ties, you know?’
‘Can you hear me?’ asked Rita, not expecting a response. ‘What’s your name? Someone’s on their way. Won’t be long now.’
She touched his shoulder and was shocked by how cold he was to the touch. This man was almost dead; he needed more warmth. She removed her jumper, grimacing as the cold wind bit into her, and tied it around him, beneath Liam’s coat. Liam, without being asked, did likewise. A spiel of bloody spittle dropped from his mouth. ‘I think he’s coming round.’ said Rita, more in hope than expectation.
‘I wonder how long he’s been here,’ said Liam. ‘I mean, he could have been here all night.’
‘No, he’d be dead by now, surely.’
‘He almost is, Rita.’
‘And who did this to him?’
‘Don’t know but they must have planned it unless they happened to be walking around with ties in their pockets.’
Finally, they could hear the welcoming sound of a siren fast approaching, swiftly followed by a second set.
‘Help is on its way, love,’ said Rita.
‘I’ll go wave at them from the bottom of the hill.’ Liam rushed off. Betty, happy to see some action at last, followed and quickly overtook him.
He looked about thirty, thought Rita, five years older than she and Liam. Dark, lanky hair, and, on his left shoulder, a large tattoo of an eagle, its wings spread wide. But nothing else around – no clothes, no phone, no bag, nothing to tell anyone who this unfortunate man was. Whoever he was, he had a tale to tell, and someone, some sick bastard, needed to be punished for this. She just hoped the poor man lived long enough to find his voice and bring the bastard to justice.