Chapter 11 – Pets II
Joe Penhale had left the Crab and Lobster after quite a long chat with Ruth Ellingham. Doctor Ellingham, or Ruth, he corrected himself, had a way of getting inside a fellow and scraping about without seeming like she was doing it.
But she was a friendly sort, even in her own slightly stuck up way. But Joe could forgive her stuffy ways, given she was from London like Doc Martin was. But in spite of that she Ruth had managed to get him to say things about Maggie, and himself, that he'd never told a living soul, and now he felt better for the telling.
Joe strolled along now, appearing to mind his own business, but all the while keeping his keen policeman's eye on people, cottages, and shops. At the corner of one of the narrow streets, he paused to look at a wall of missing pet placards that had been plastered there. He knew of around a dozen pets that had gone missing, according to what he'd been told directly, or by hearsay.
He sighed. He'd not seen Mrs. Tishell's on-going irregular behavior, so how could they expect him to find these dogs and cats! He swiftly counted the placards. Nine dogs and three cats. Granted some dogs do wander off, and he'd heard that old cats sometimes go off on their own to die, but this was getting ridiculous even for Portwenn. At this rate, there'd be not a pet in the village soon.
He stood there, thumbs over belt, reading flyer after flyer, when two boys ran up to him crying. "Say! What's wrong you two? Why are you crying?"
"Constable Penhale!" said the older boy, whose name was Billy Wilkens, who was ten or so. "Me and my brother was up on the headland, just walking along up there."
The younger one, name of Gil, butted in, "And there was somebody up there carrying some sort of electrical thing. We had just wandered over to see what was going on and he chased us!"
"Yeah and he yelled, too! Nasty sod," added Billy.
Joe waved his finger at him. "Now, now. Maybe he was checking the gas mains or finding a lost water pipe. No need to call him mean names. Probably a perfectly reasonable explanation."
The younger kid glanced at the wall of pet flyers. "Look, there's the one mum put up about Frank!" He pointed out a page showing a photo of a beautiful Sheltie. He ran off in that rainstorm the other night and never came back!" He hit the wall with his fist. "We'll find you boy. I promise."
"Oh? You boys missing a pet as well?" asked Joe.
"Yep," said the older boy. "Frank had never done anything like before. Weird. He's a nice dog, just three years old, but he was scratching at the door as the rains came down. My dad thought he needed to visit the back garden so he let him out. That dog shot out like a cannon and never came home."
Hm," said Joe. "He never ran away before?"
"Nope. Never," said Gil. "So PC Penhale, you looking for…" he waved at the placards. "All these?" The kid stopped and ran a hand over his face. "Our pets?"
Joe squatted down and faced the kid. "Son, I will. I have been looking, when I get the chance."
Billy tapped him on the shoulder. "Mum says that maybe he got bowled over by a car, our cottage isn't that far off the road. Maybe somebody hit him and carted him away to get aid. Maybe a vet might know something?"
"Maybe. Look, I'll make some calls."
"Right," said the little one. He wiped his face of an errant tear.
Joe stood up and looked carefully around. "Listen, I'll make some calls, and on my patrol I'll be on the lookout for Frank," he whispered to the brothers.
"That's great!" said Billy, "but why are you whispering?"
Joe craned his head to and fro, around the corner and then back again. "Because. Might be a gang of dog-nappers out and about. Might be anybody. So keep it quiet."
Billy and Gil nodded.
"And if you see something amiss, you let me know, straight away." Joe added.
"Like the man up on the headland? The one who chased us?" the little brother asked.
Joe smiled. "Right. Thanks for reminding me. Off you go then. Bets get back to work."
The kids ran away, slightly happier than they had been. Joe took out his radio and called Dispatch. "3021 Joseph Penhale," he spoke into the mic. "Can you tell me please the names of vets within a fifteen mile radius of Portwenn? The only one I know is old Darby Vellacot, out Pendoggett way."
A curt female voice boomed from the radio. "Vet? Did you say vet? You think Dispatch is a bloody directory? Get off the channel, will you Joe! Use the phone directory!"
Joe stared at the microphone. "I was just askin'…"
"Fool," came her voice and then she went off the air.
Joe slowly and sadly pocketed the radio. "I'm no fool." He tugged at his police jumper to straighten it. "Right. Now to find some vets." He went into the curio shop around the corner and asked to see their phone directory.