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azombiewritesTitle: The Collected Hurts of DS Jones
Fandom: Midsomer Murders
Genre: Hurt/Comfort.
Rating: PG
Summary: 7 times DS Jones was whumped and 1 time he wasn't.
Main Characters: DS Ben Jones, DCI John Barnaby, Sarah Barnaby and Kate Wilding.
Disclaimer: Created and based on the characters and books by Caroline Graham. A Bentley production for ITV.
Spoilers: Set during season 14.
Word Count:4,136
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
8. The I-Should-Have-Done-It-Sooner Dog Bite
Summary: DS Jones really didn't like dogs and he was certain they didn't like him.
All Jones could see was dilapidated buildings, weeds and mud. Lots of mud. At least it had stopped raining. The storm the night before had come from a slasher horror movie; thunder, lightning, flickering lights and a power outage that lasted into the early hours of the morning.
He sidestepped around what he assumed was cow dung, hard to tell amongst all the mud. Weaved his way through the puddles of rain, successful so far, his shoes the only thing covered in mud. Jones paused, watching Barnaby as his boss stepped into another puddle, the water thick. Smiled when Barnaby swore.
They reached a stone path leading to the front door of the cottage belonging to Eric Hodges, here to investigate a stolen cow. Hodges hadn’t called the local nick; he had called a friend who had called a senior officer who had called DCI Barnaby. His boss was not in a good mood, Jones keeping his distance, only speaking when necessary.
Barnaby wiped his shoes on an already dirty door mat and knocked on the door with a closed fist, the sound hollow, the door thin. Jones expected Barnaby’s fist to break through the door. Inside a dog started barking. It sounded vicious, angry… hungry. Jones stepped back, behind his boss. If the dog attacked, it would go for his boss first. More meat on Barnaby’s bones, it would give Jones time to get back to the car, a straight line through mud, water and shit.
The door opened, an overweight man standing in the doorway. He wore gray overalls accompanied by a dirty heavy overcoat and black gumboots. Gray hair shaggy, his lower jaw was covered with stubble. Beside him stood a Doberman Pinscher, Hodges fingers wrapped around the dog’s collar. It looked as angry as it sounded, the dog still barking.
Jones thought back to when he was a child, the moment he’d begun to dislike dogs. When he was eight, an aunt he didn’t like very much bribed him with ice cream and popcorn to watch a horror movie with her on a wet and stormy night during Halloween. He couldn’t remember the name of the dog, only that it killed people and ate the flesh from their bones. It didn’t help that he had woken up from a nightmare during the night only to throw up over the side of his bed. Never felt comfortable around dogs after that, still afraid of them.
‘Mr. Hodges,’ said Barnaby. ‘DCI Barnaby. DS Jones. You called.’
Jones heard the sarcasm in his voice, his boss’s shoulders tense, his fists clenched. He’d never seen his boss so angry. The dog continued to bark. It was obvious Hodges had no intention of telling it to be quiet. Jones peaked around Barnaby’s shoulder. The dog stopped barking and stared back at him. He could feel the nerves in the pit of his stomach. Took a slow breath and moved back to his previous position behind his boss. The dog remained silent.
‘I did,’ said Hodges. ‘Some bugger nicked one of me prized cows. I only got the two and Mavis can get lonely when she’s alone like. She gets depressed when she’s lonely. Can’t milk her like that. I’m parched I am. Haven’t had a cuppa all day. Don’t like me tea without milk so I need you to find her for me.’
‘You want us to find your cow so you can have a cup of tea?’
‘Well, yes, that and she’s my favourite.’
‘Why can’t you get milk from Mavis?’ said Jones.
‘Don’t like the taste.’
‘Have you looked for her yourself?’ said Barnaby.
‘What? I’m not going out in that. She’s been stolen. It’s your job to find her.’
Jones stepped to the side, calm now that the dog wasn’t barking. ‘What does she look like?’
Barnaby turned his head to look at Jones, a look of disbelief on his face. Jones shrugged. It had sounded better in his head.
‘Oh aye,’ said Hodges, ‘so you don’t confuse her with Mavis. She’s brown like. All over. Mavis has a white patch on her rump. Unless she’s covered with mud. Can’t really tell them apart when that happens.’
‘You think she’s still on the farm?’ said Jones.
‘If she was, she wouldn’t be stolen, would she?’
‘Could your cow have wandered off,’ said Barnaby.
‘Might have. She’s got no sense of direction that one.’
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Barnaby, ‘we’ll have a look around. Just in case.’
‘Sure, but mind Sadie, she’s out there somewhere.’
Jones wasn’t going to ask. He’d leave that one to Barnaby. His boss didn’t disappoint, the question asked through gritted teeth, Barnaby’s patience hanging by a thin thread.
‘Sadie?’
‘My other dog. Got two.’
‘Is she as vicious as that one?’ said Jones, pointing at the dog beside Hodges.
‘Gertrude? No. Gertrude here is a saint.’
‘Call Sadie in, Mr. Hodges.’
Hodges shrugged. ‘Can’t do that.’
Jones could feel his own patience start to dwindle, his anxiety growing. Bad enough he was going to search a mud-infested farm for a missing cow that might not be missing, he really didn’t want to have a run-in with a dog that had nothing better to do than chase detective sergeants off the farm.
‘Why not?’ said Barnaby.
‘She’s deaf, isn’t she. Can’t hear a thing that one. Only comes in when she’s hungry. Even then, she sometimes prefers fresh meat. She’s eaten an odd rat or two. Rabbits as well.’
And detective sergeants.
‘Best pest control I’ve got, that one. Don’t know what I’ll do when she’s gone.’
Jones turned away, his back to the two men. There was nothing for it. Stupid to delay the inevitable. He’d dealt with dogs before… run like hell and hope they don’t catch you. He walked away, no longer taking care of where he was stepping. It didn’t matter anymore. If he had to run – and he hoped to hell, he didn’t – his trousers were going to get dirty. He went left, area less open, old buildings scattered around the main cottage. If he had to run, at least there would be something he could run into, hide from a dog who preferred fresh meat over canned food. Out in the open, there would be nowhere to run.
Where would a cow hide if it was still on the farm? Barnaby certainly thought it was. If he hadn’t they’d be back in the car and on the way back to Causton nick, passing the case over to a uniform who wasn’t afraid of dogs.
Stopping at one of the old buildings, Jones opened the door; possible the cow had wandered in, the door closing behind it. He peered into the darkness, the sun behind him creating shadows within the building, giving him enough light to see. No cow but there were plenty of tools, old and new. He could see an old shovel, the handle damp with moisture. Jones picked it up, stepped back and tested the weight. Swung it, left to right. If Sadie came at him, teeth bared, saliva dripping from her teeth, he would be able to defend himself. He wasn’t going to be any dog’s dinner.
A small set of stables his next stop. Shovel in his left hand, Jones opened the first stall. Nothing, apart from the mouldy hay and a floor cacked with old cow dung. Closed the stall and opened the next one. Empty. The third stall also empty. He moved on, two more buildings to check.
Knew he was only fooling himself. The missing cow wasn’t in one of these buildings, what cow would hide in a cold and damp stall. He was staying close to the buildings because he didn’t want to have far to run when he met Sadie and he knew he would. Why these things happened to him, he didn’t know but he wished someone would tell him.
There were two more buildings in the distance, a stone fence behind them marking the line of Hodges’s farm. Jones didn’t want to go that far, didn’t want to distance himself from what he knew would be safety. If he met Sadie between here and there… he couldn’t outrun a dog, but he could hit it with a shovel.
Jones hesitated. He was sure he was doing the wrong thing. Why didn’t Barnaby arrange for uniform to search the farm, give someone else the dirty job. Shook his head, he’d put it off long enough. He would walk the field and if he didn’t see the missing cow, he was done. He’d go back to the car and wait. Let Sadie be someone else’s problem.
A deep breath to calm his nerves and he began to walk toward the field, the area covered with mud and puddles of water. There was no grass, nothing a cow could feed on. Hodges must have spent a small fortune on hay. Wondered how Barnaby was getting on. Wondered if he had met Sadie yet. Decided Barnaby was probably still standing on Hodges’s doorstep, letting his sergeant do the dirty work while his boss chatted and had a cup of milk free tea.
Reaching the edge of the field, Jones stopped and turned in a circle, searching for anything that looked like a cow or a dog searching for its next meal. He saw nothing other than the obvious. Kept walking. He noticed a door hanging off one of the buildings… a building large enough to provide cover for a cow hiding from last night’s storm. He had to make sure.
Jones adjusted his grip on the shovel, took a step, mud squishing beneath his shoes stopping again when he heard a noise behind him. Snapped around, his feet slipping, Jones almost fell, the shovel helping him to keep his balance. There was nothing there, the field empty. No cow. No dog.
He reached the building unscathed, only his shoes and the bottom of his trousers wet and covered in mud. Heard the cow before he saw it. Jones smiled. He’d been right, didn’t feel so stupid now, searching small buildings for the cow Hodges believed stolen.
He set the shovel against the building, close to the doorframe, within reach. Just in case. A window empty of its frame allowed enough light for Jones to see. Not-Mavis stood before him, no white patch on her rump, tail flicking like a dog with a wagging tail. Realised he didn’t even know its name, Hodges making no introductions.
Jones turned around to head back the way he had come and saw a dog covered with mud staring back at him. He couldn’t tell what breed of dog she was, her coat so thick with mud he could only see the white of her eyes, but he could see her threat of injury clearly.
It wasn’t Gertrude.
Sadie bared her teeth, saliva dripping from her jaws, eyes glinting with hunger, or so Jones thought. He stepped back, bumping into the cow-with-no-name. Sadie growled. Jones didn’t attempt to talk her down, no sense. Turned his head slowly to the left and then the right, looking for somewhere to hide. Noticed the shovel he’d left against the door frame. He reached for it, stretching his left arm, his fingers. He couldn’t reach it.
The cow shifted her rump, stepping back, pushing Jones toward Sadie. The dog reacted. Badly. It lunged for Jones, jaws wide, her teeth biting into his left forearm. He let out a short scream, in surprise and pain. Made a poor attempt to grab the dog’s collar and pull her way. In response, Sadie tugged, her front paws planted firmly in the mud, and pulled Jones closer to her. Closer to the shovel.
She pulled again. Jones stumbled but kept his balance. He knew, if he fell and the dog went for his throat, he wouldn’t survive. Sadie released her grip, only to snap her jaws closed again, a firmer grip on his arm. Pain pushed aside his desire to escape. He’d never been bitten by a dog before, always keeping his distance. The pain was strong, heavy, pulsing with the beat of his heart.
Jones set his own feet in the mud. He wanted to pull back but knew her teeth would tear his flesh further. Remembered he had two feet. Gripped the door frame with his right hand and kicked out with his foot, heel first. He didn’t know how but Sadie dodged to the side. Jones missed and then he slipped, falling onto his arse.
His change of position surprised Sadie, the dog letting go. Jones kicked out a second time, this time the heel of his shoe colliding with the side of Sadie’s head. She let out a yelp of surprise – Jones certain he hadn’t hurt her enough – before releasing his arm.
Forgetting the shovel, fear driving his actions, Jones started to scramble backwards. Something slammed into his lower back, pain shooting up his spine. Sadie still in front of him, the cow had kicked him. Two against one. He didn’t like the odds. Changed direction, moving to his left, heels scrapping through the dry dirt, right arm taking his weight. Pushed himself into the corner, back against the wall, knees up, his left arm cradled in his lap. His heart was pounding in his chest. His stomach churned with fear and bile. Lungs tight with fear, he struggled for each breath and his arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
Jones risked a glance at his arm. It looked almost normal, the puncture holes in his jacket sleeve betraying normality. Knew there would be matching holes in his flesh. Tried to move fingers that felt numb. There was some movement, not enough to satisfy him, now worried the dog had damaged the nerves in his forearm. Looked up to find Sadie sitting in the doorway, watching him. She was calm and composed. Curled her lip when Jones tried to move further back.
He couldn’t think. Didn’t know what to do. He was on the ground. If he made an attempt to get to his feet, Sadie would go for him and if he did manage it, what then? He couldn’t outrun her. He couldn’t do anything.
Except sit here and think about the movie he’d watched with an aunt he didn’t like. Could only see himself as a dog’s dinner and then he had his first coherent thought; remembered his phone. His movements slow, Jones reached into his coat pocket, Sadie watching him with a calm demeanour he did not like. The phone slipped from his fingers, his body shaking too much with pain and anxiety, Jones certain Sadie would be the death of him. He wasn’t surprised he’d dropped his phone. A decent day had gone to shit, literally.
His mobile didn’t fall far, within reach if he moved slow… Sadie stepped toward him, her head low, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She really didn’t like him. Maybe she sensed his fear and decided to take advantage, possible she was playing with him. Playing with her food.
He had to risk it. He couldn’t just sit here, docile and let a dog get the better of him. The phone began to ring, the sound sharp, sudden, Sadie reacting. She began to growl, a deep guttural sound. Crept forward. Jones froze. Help was only a few inches away, but he didn’t dare pick it up.
The cow kicked out, angry at the sound. It missed Sadie, its hoof striking the door frame. The shovel fell, surprising Sadie when it struck her hindquarters. She jumped out of the way, turning her body away from Jones.
Jones didn’t think. He picked up his phone, a snapping movement and held it against his chest. Held his breath as he waited with patience he didn’t have, expecting Sadie to attack. She didn’t, instead turning slowly back to face him. Jones was sure Sadie was angrier, as though it were his fault the shovel had hit her.
His phone stopped ringing. Of course, it did. Jones didn’t want to take his eyes off Sadie to look down at his mobile. It began to ring again, the caller persistent. It could only be Barnaby. He had to take the risk. Couldn’t just sit here. Jones answered his phone, muscle memory pressing the correct button.
Sadie snarled, revealing teeth dripping with blood. His blood.
‘Jones, where are you?’
‘I’ve met Sadie.’
It was all he could think to say. Heard his boss sigh. It was at times like this that Jones wondered if Barnaby liked him or just put up with him. Today, it was the latter.
‘Did she bite you?’
‘Did more than that, sir,’ said Jones.
Sadie took another step closer. Jones pressed his back further against the wall behind him. Grimaced when Barnaby sighed a second time, his tone full of impatience.
‘Where are you?’
‘Sitting in a shed with Hodges’s missing cow. Sadie and I are having a Mexican stand-off.’
‘Jones. Where. Are. You.’
About to answer, Jones dropped the phone when Sadie lunged at him. He was down on the ground, his throat within easy reach. He could hear his boss calling his name. Sadie disappeared from his sight, her body slamming up against the wall before collapsing in a muddied heap on the dry floor. The cow had kicked her… again. Jones grinned, body relaxing, the pain in his arm building. The cow changed position, its back hoof standing on his phone. The sound of the phone breaking echoed around the small building.
Right. Not a serious problem. He’ll just have to get up and walk back to the car. Pushed up with his right arm and legs, body shuffling up the wall until he was standing. He was about to move forward when Sadie stood up and shook herself off, wet mud from her coat flung in all directions. Jones instinctively turned. Felt the wet mud hit the side of his face, clinging to his skin. It felt cold. Sadie stared at him, lips curling up in a snarl.
This is it then. Down and out, his opponent more aggressive than him. Barnaby didn’t know where he was and if he did, he would get here too late. Find his sergeant dead on the floor, his throat ripped out and Sadie licking the blood from her jowls. Jones hoped she choked on his flesh, her death slow and painful.
He really didn’t like dogs.
And they really didn’t like him.
Jones waited, hoping the cow would kick Sadie a third time. There was always hope. Until there wasn’t. And that moment would come… soon.
‘Jones?’
Surprised by Barnaby’s voice, Jones flinched, his body jerking in response. Sadie growled, keeping him silent. She was deaf but she wasn’t blind. If he moved, responded to Barnaby, Sadie would attack. He knew it with a certainty he’d never felt before.
She didn’t wait, sensing something wasn’t right. Sadie lunged forward, too quick for Jones to follow. Too quick for him to react, she snapped at his face, teeth snagging the flesh of his cheek. Body finally responding, the pain an incentive, Jones grabbed the dog’s ear and twisted. It did nothing to deflate her violence.
Sadie opened her jaw, Jones snapping his head to the side, out of reach. Clenched his right fist and punched the dog in the face, hitting her left eye. She didn’t care. Went for his face a second time. Jones threw his body to the right, shoulder slamming against the floor. Sadie didn’t give up. Jones lifted his arms to cover his face. Pain exploded through his arm as Sadie bit into his left arm a third time, causing further damage.
Something blocked out the sun, shadows created in the small building. Jones felt a glimmer of hope. Sadie tugged and pulled on his arm. He felt something tear and Sadie fell back, a piece of his flesh hanging from her mouth. And then she was howling in pain before she turned and ran, leaving Jones on the floor, his chest heaving with anxiety, his arm numb. Closed his eyes.
‘Jones!’ Barnaby dropped the shovel and knelt by his sergeant.
Jones opened his eyes and stared up at his boss. He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, an emotional lump of relief was stuck in his throat. His body was shaking, the adrenaline he’d felt no longer there.
‘Here,’ said Barnaby, placing a handkerchief in his sergeant’s right hand, ‘hold this against your cheek.’
He couldn’t comprehend what his boss was saying, not until Barnaby took his sergeant’s right hand and pressed it against Jones’s left cheek. He didn’t have the strength, his arm falling to his chest. Watched his boss with eyes filled with fatigue and gratitude. Grimaced when Barnaby ripped open his sleeve. Jones refused to look. He didn’t want to know. Closed his eyes.
.
.
.
Jones sat on the edge of a gurney in a small cubicle in the emergency room of the local hospital, his arm in a sling, his cheek stitched and covered with gauge. The curtain was drawn, a moment of privacy. He needed it. Rushed to the hospital and through the emergency room, caged in by nurses and doctors, everyone had wanted to help. All Jones wanted was to be left alone.
Left alone to drown in his own misery. Three hours of nurses asking if he needed anything. Three hours of different doctors telling him he’ll been fine. He didn’t feel fine. Three hours of them telling him the scars would fade.
The memories wouldn’t. It was as though he was still there. Scared and waiting for Sadie to attack, to tear him to pieces. To gnaw the flesh from his bones. He would have nightmares, the doctors already offering sedatives to help him sleep. Told him it wouldn’t stop the dreams, but he wouldn’t remember any nightmares he’d had while sleeping. He’d said no. He didn’t want to sleep. He just wanted to go home.
Jerked with surprise and, yes he would admit it, fear when the plastic curtain was pulled to the side. Barnaby stood in front of him, a bag of prescription drugs in his right hand… painkillers and antibiotics. He looked smug, his expression familiar, his boss wearing the smile that told witnesses and suspects he was a bit dim; a lie of course, Barnaby one of the smartest people he knew. Jones frowned, confused, unsure of what was happening.
‘The doctor said you can go,’ said Barnaby, stepping further into the cubicle.
Jones felt the relief, his shoulders slumping in response. He could go home, his boss dropping him off, quickly driving off to leave Jones to wallow in self-pity and his own company. Almost overwhelmed with emotion, the days events catching up to him, Jones lowered his face, hiding his damp eyes from his boss. Barnaby didn’t think much of him on a good day, didn’t want to know how he would react if he saw the emotions in his sergeant’s eyes.
Barnaby coughed, Jones ignoring his embarrassment. ‘Sarah insisted you stay with us for a few days.’
Blinking the moisture from his eyes, Jones looked up at his boss. Barnaby looked awkward, as though he disagreed with his wife. His boss struggled to invite his sergeant into the house for a cup of coffee, he sure as hell didn’t want Jones to stay with them for a few days.
‘I agreed,’ said Barnaby. ‘After what happened to you today, I don’t believe it would be good for you to be left alone.’
Jones turned his head away. He thought about Sykes, the small dog always rushing toward him when he was in the Barnaby’s home, always jumping up, eager to say hello.
As though he knew what he was thinking, Barnaby said, ‘Sykes could help you.’
Felt a stab of fear at the thought.
‘Think of it as getting back on the horse.’
He didn’t want to get back on the horse.
‘The longer you leave it, the harder it would be. There will come a time when you’ll be in similar situation and how you react will determine the outcome.
Jones never wanted to be in another situation like that again. Ever. But Barnaby was right. He didn’t want to be terrified of dogs, an emotion that could stop him from doing a job he loved.
‘And you’ll have help to get through it.’
Felt a lump in his throat.
‘First time you’ve invited me into your home and all it took was…’ his attempt at brevity failing, his emotions closing his throat.
‘And it’ll be the last time,’ said Barnaby, his tone giving him away, his boss cracking a smile.
‘Thanks for that, sir.’
THE END.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five
Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
Master Fan Fiction List
Fandom: Midsomer Murders
Genre: Hurt/Comfort.
Rating: PG
Summary: 7 times DS Jones was whumped and 1 time he wasn't.
Main Characters: DS Ben Jones, DCI John Barnaby, Sarah Barnaby and Kate Wilding.
Disclaimer: Created and based on the characters and books by Caroline Graham. A Bentley production for ITV.
Spoilers: Set during season 14.
Word Count:4,136
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
8. The I-Should-Have-Done-It-Sooner Dog Bite
Summary: DS Jones really didn't like dogs and he was certain they didn't like him.
All Jones could see was dilapidated buildings, weeds and mud. Lots of mud. At least it had stopped raining. The storm the night before had come from a slasher horror movie; thunder, lightning, flickering lights and a power outage that lasted into the early hours of the morning.
He sidestepped around what he assumed was cow dung, hard to tell amongst all the mud. Weaved his way through the puddles of rain, successful so far, his shoes the only thing covered in mud. Jones paused, watching Barnaby as his boss stepped into another puddle, the water thick. Smiled when Barnaby swore.
They reached a stone path leading to the front door of the cottage belonging to Eric Hodges, here to investigate a stolen cow. Hodges hadn’t called the local nick; he had called a friend who had called a senior officer who had called DCI Barnaby. His boss was not in a good mood, Jones keeping his distance, only speaking when necessary.
Barnaby wiped his shoes on an already dirty door mat and knocked on the door with a closed fist, the sound hollow, the door thin. Jones expected Barnaby’s fist to break through the door. Inside a dog started barking. It sounded vicious, angry… hungry. Jones stepped back, behind his boss. If the dog attacked, it would go for his boss first. More meat on Barnaby’s bones, it would give Jones time to get back to the car, a straight line through mud, water and shit.
The door opened, an overweight man standing in the doorway. He wore gray overalls accompanied by a dirty heavy overcoat and black gumboots. Gray hair shaggy, his lower jaw was covered with stubble. Beside him stood a Doberman Pinscher, Hodges fingers wrapped around the dog’s collar. It looked as angry as it sounded, the dog still barking.
Jones thought back to when he was a child, the moment he’d begun to dislike dogs. When he was eight, an aunt he didn’t like very much bribed him with ice cream and popcorn to watch a horror movie with her on a wet and stormy night during Halloween. He couldn’t remember the name of the dog, only that it killed people and ate the flesh from their bones. It didn’t help that he had woken up from a nightmare during the night only to throw up over the side of his bed. Never felt comfortable around dogs after that, still afraid of them.
‘Mr. Hodges,’ said Barnaby. ‘DCI Barnaby. DS Jones. You called.’
Jones heard the sarcasm in his voice, his boss’s shoulders tense, his fists clenched. He’d never seen his boss so angry. The dog continued to bark. It was obvious Hodges had no intention of telling it to be quiet. Jones peaked around Barnaby’s shoulder. The dog stopped barking and stared back at him. He could feel the nerves in the pit of his stomach. Took a slow breath and moved back to his previous position behind his boss. The dog remained silent.
‘I did,’ said Hodges. ‘Some bugger nicked one of me prized cows. I only got the two and Mavis can get lonely when she’s alone like. She gets depressed when she’s lonely. Can’t milk her like that. I’m parched I am. Haven’t had a cuppa all day. Don’t like me tea without milk so I need you to find her for me.’
‘You want us to find your cow so you can have a cup of tea?’
‘Well, yes, that and she’s my favourite.’
‘Why can’t you get milk from Mavis?’ said Jones.
‘Don’t like the taste.’
‘Have you looked for her yourself?’ said Barnaby.
‘What? I’m not going out in that. She’s been stolen. It’s your job to find her.’
Jones stepped to the side, calm now that the dog wasn’t barking. ‘What does she look like?’
Barnaby turned his head to look at Jones, a look of disbelief on his face. Jones shrugged. It had sounded better in his head.
‘Oh aye,’ said Hodges, ‘so you don’t confuse her with Mavis. She’s brown like. All over. Mavis has a white patch on her rump. Unless she’s covered with mud. Can’t really tell them apart when that happens.’
‘You think she’s still on the farm?’ said Jones.
‘If she was, she wouldn’t be stolen, would she?’
‘Could your cow have wandered off,’ said Barnaby.
‘Might have. She’s got no sense of direction that one.’
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Barnaby, ‘we’ll have a look around. Just in case.’
‘Sure, but mind Sadie, she’s out there somewhere.’
Jones wasn’t going to ask. He’d leave that one to Barnaby. His boss didn’t disappoint, the question asked through gritted teeth, Barnaby’s patience hanging by a thin thread.
‘Sadie?’
‘My other dog. Got two.’
‘Is she as vicious as that one?’ said Jones, pointing at the dog beside Hodges.
‘Gertrude? No. Gertrude here is a saint.’
‘Call Sadie in, Mr. Hodges.’
Hodges shrugged. ‘Can’t do that.’
Jones could feel his own patience start to dwindle, his anxiety growing. Bad enough he was going to search a mud-infested farm for a missing cow that might not be missing, he really didn’t want to have a run-in with a dog that had nothing better to do than chase detective sergeants off the farm.
‘Why not?’ said Barnaby.
‘She’s deaf, isn’t she. Can’t hear a thing that one. Only comes in when she’s hungry. Even then, she sometimes prefers fresh meat. She’s eaten an odd rat or two. Rabbits as well.’
And detective sergeants.
‘Best pest control I’ve got, that one. Don’t know what I’ll do when she’s gone.’
Jones turned away, his back to the two men. There was nothing for it. Stupid to delay the inevitable. He’d dealt with dogs before… run like hell and hope they don’t catch you. He walked away, no longer taking care of where he was stepping. It didn’t matter anymore. If he had to run – and he hoped to hell, he didn’t – his trousers were going to get dirty. He went left, area less open, old buildings scattered around the main cottage. If he had to run, at least there would be something he could run into, hide from a dog who preferred fresh meat over canned food. Out in the open, there would be nowhere to run.
Where would a cow hide if it was still on the farm? Barnaby certainly thought it was. If he hadn’t they’d be back in the car and on the way back to Causton nick, passing the case over to a uniform who wasn’t afraid of dogs.
Stopping at one of the old buildings, Jones opened the door; possible the cow had wandered in, the door closing behind it. He peered into the darkness, the sun behind him creating shadows within the building, giving him enough light to see. No cow but there were plenty of tools, old and new. He could see an old shovel, the handle damp with moisture. Jones picked it up, stepped back and tested the weight. Swung it, left to right. If Sadie came at him, teeth bared, saliva dripping from her teeth, he would be able to defend himself. He wasn’t going to be any dog’s dinner.
A small set of stables his next stop. Shovel in his left hand, Jones opened the first stall. Nothing, apart from the mouldy hay and a floor cacked with old cow dung. Closed the stall and opened the next one. Empty. The third stall also empty. He moved on, two more buildings to check.
Knew he was only fooling himself. The missing cow wasn’t in one of these buildings, what cow would hide in a cold and damp stall. He was staying close to the buildings because he didn’t want to have far to run when he met Sadie and he knew he would. Why these things happened to him, he didn’t know but he wished someone would tell him.
There were two more buildings in the distance, a stone fence behind them marking the line of Hodges’s farm. Jones didn’t want to go that far, didn’t want to distance himself from what he knew would be safety. If he met Sadie between here and there… he couldn’t outrun a dog, but he could hit it with a shovel.
Jones hesitated. He was sure he was doing the wrong thing. Why didn’t Barnaby arrange for uniform to search the farm, give someone else the dirty job. Shook his head, he’d put it off long enough. He would walk the field and if he didn’t see the missing cow, he was done. He’d go back to the car and wait. Let Sadie be someone else’s problem.
A deep breath to calm his nerves and he began to walk toward the field, the area covered with mud and puddles of water. There was no grass, nothing a cow could feed on. Hodges must have spent a small fortune on hay. Wondered how Barnaby was getting on. Wondered if he had met Sadie yet. Decided Barnaby was probably still standing on Hodges’s doorstep, letting his sergeant do the dirty work while his boss chatted and had a cup of milk free tea.
Reaching the edge of the field, Jones stopped and turned in a circle, searching for anything that looked like a cow or a dog searching for its next meal. He saw nothing other than the obvious. Kept walking. He noticed a door hanging off one of the buildings… a building large enough to provide cover for a cow hiding from last night’s storm. He had to make sure.
Jones adjusted his grip on the shovel, took a step, mud squishing beneath his shoes stopping again when he heard a noise behind him. Snapped around, his feet slipping, Jones almost fell, the shovel helping him to keep his balance. There was nothing there, the field empty. No cow. No dog.
He reached the building unscathed, only his shoes and the bottom of his trousers wet and covered in mud. Heard the cow before he saw it. Jones smiled. He’d been right, didn’t feel so stupid now, searching small buildings for the cow Hodges believed stolen.
He set the shovel against the building, close to the doorframe, within reach. Just in case. A window empty of its frame allowed enough light for Jones to see. Not-Mavis stood before him, no white patch on her rump, tail flicking like a dog with a wagging tail. Realised he didn’t even know its name, Hodges making no introductions.
Jones turned around to head back the way he had come and saw a dog covered with mud staring back at him. He couldn’t tell what breed of dog she was, her coat so thick with mud he could only see the white of her eyes, but he could see her threat of injury clearly.
It wasn’t Gertrude.
Sadie bared her teeth, saliva dripping from her jaws, eyes glinting with hunger, or so Jones thought. He stepped back, bumping into the cow-with-no-name. Sadie growled. Jones didn’t attempt to talk her down, no sense. Turned his head slowly to the left and then the right, looking for somewhere to hide. Noticed the shovel he’d left against the door frame. He reached for it, stretching his left arm, his fingers. He couldn’t reach it.
The cow shifted her rump, stepping back, pushing Jones toward Sadie. The dog reacted. Badly. It lunged for Jones, jaws wide, her teeth biting into his left forearm. He let out a short scream, in surprise and pain. Made a poor attempt to grab the dog’s collar and pull her way. In response, Sadie tugged, her front paws planted firmly in the mud, and pulled Jones closer to her. Closer to the shovel.
She pulled again. Jones stumbled but kept his balance. He knew, if he fell and the dog went for his throat, he wouldn’t survive. Sadie released her grip, only to snap her jaws closed again, a firmer grip on his arm. Pain pushed aside his desire to escape. He’d never been bitten by a dog before, always keeping his distance. The pain was strong, heavy, pulsing with the beat of his heart.
Jones set his own feet in the mud. He wanted to pull back but knew her teeth would tear his flesh further. Remembered he had two feet. Gripped the door frame with his right hand and kicked out with his foot, heel first. He didn’t know how but Sadie dodged to the side. Jones missed and then he slipped, falling onto his arse.
His change of position surprised Sadie, the dog letting go. Jones kicked out a second time, this time the heel of his shoe colliding with the side of Sadie’s head. She let out a yelp of surprise – Jones certain he hadn’t hurt her enough – before releasing his arm.
Forgetting the shovel, fear driving his actions, Jones started to scramble backwards. Something slammed into his lower back, pain shooting up his spine. Sadie still in front of him, the cow had kicked him. Two against one. He didn’t like the odds. Changed direction, moving to his left, heels scrapping through the dry dirt, right arm taking his weight. Pushed himself into the corner, back against the wall, knees up, his left arm cradled in his lap. His heart was pounding in his chest. His stomach churned with fear and bile. Lungs tight with fear, he struggled for each breath and his arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
Jones risked a glance at his arm. It looked almost normal, the puncture holes in his jacket sleeve betraying normality. Knew there would be matching holes in his flesh. Tried to move fingers that felt numb. There was some movement, not enough to satisfy him, now worried the dog had damaged the nerves in his forearm. Looked up to find Sadie sitting in the doorway, watching him. She was calm and composed. Curled her lip when Jones tried to move further back.
He couldn’t think. Didn’t know what to do. He was on the ground. If he made an attempt to get to his feet, Sadie would go for him and if he did manage it, what then? He couldn’t outrun her. He couldn’t do anything.
Except sit here and think about the movie he’d watched with an aunt he didn’t like. Could only see himself as a dog’s dinner and then he had his first coherent thought; remembered his phone. His movements slow, Jones reached into his coat pocket, Sadie watching him with a calm demeanour he did not like. The phone slipped from his fingers, his body shaking too much with pain and anxiety, Jones certain Sadie would be the death of him. He wasn’t surprised he’d dropped his phone. A decent day had gone to shit, literally.
His mobile didn’t fall far, within reach if he moved slow… Sadie stepped toward him, her head low, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She really didn’t like him. Maybe she sensed his fear and decided to take advantage, possible she was playing with him. Playing with her food.
He had to risk it. He couldn’t just sit here, docile and let a dog get the better of him. The phone began to ring, the sound sharp, sudden, Sadie reacting. She began to growl, a deep guttural sound. Crept forward. Jones froze. Help was only a few inches away, but he didn’t dare pick it up.
The cow kicked out, angry at the sound. It missed Sadie, its hoof striking the door frame. The shovel fell, surprising Sadie when it struck her hindquarters. She jumped out of the way, turning her body away from Jones.
Jones didn’t think. He picked up his phone, a snapping movement and held it against his chest. Held his breath as he waited with patience he didn’t have, expecting Sadie to attack. She didn’t, instead turning slowly back to face him. Jones was sure Sadie was angrier, as though it were his fault the shovel had hit her.
His phone stopped ringing. Of course, it did. Jones didn’t want to take his eyes off Sadie to look down at his mobile. It began to ring again, the caller persistent. It could only be Barnaby. He had to take the risk. Couldn’t just sit here. Jones answered his phone, muscle memory pressing the correct button.
Sadie snarled, revealing teeth dripping with blood. His blood.
‘Jones, where are you?’
‘I’ve met Sadie.’
It was all he could think to say. Heard his boss sigh. It was at times like this that Jones wondered if Barnaby liked him or just put up with him. Today, it was the latter.
‘Did she bite you?’
‘Did more than that, sir,’ said Jones.
Sadie took another step closer. Jones pressed his back further against the wall behind him. Grimaced when Barnaby sighed a second time, his tone full of impatience.
‘Where are you?’
‘Sitting in a shed with Hodges’s missing cow. Sadie and I are having a Mexican stand-off.’
‘Jones. Where. Are. You.’
About to answer, Jones dropped the phone when Sadie lunged at him. He was down on the ground, his throat within easy reach. He could hear his boss calling his name. Sadie disappeared from his sight, her body slamming up against the wall before collapsing in a muddied heap on the dry floor. The cow had kicked her… again. Jones grinned, body relaxing, the pain in his arm building. The cow changed position, its back hoof standing on his phone. The sound of the phone breaking echoed around the small building.
Right. Not a serious problem. He’ll just have to get up and walk back to the car. Pushed up with his right arm and legs, body shuffling up the wall until he was standing. He was about to move forward when Sadie stood up and shook herself off, wet mud from her coat flung in all directions. Jones instinctively turned. Felt the wet mud hit the side of his face, clinging to his skin. It felt cold. Sadie stared at him, lips curling up in a snarl.
This is it then. Down and out, his opponent more aggressive than him. Barnaby didn’t know where he was and if he did, he would get here too late. Find his sergeant dead on the floor, his throat ripped out and Sadie licking the blood from her jowls. Jones hoped she choked on his flesh, her death slow and painful.
He really didn’t like dogs.
And they really didn’t like him.
Jones waited, hoping the cow would kick Sadie a third time. There was always hope. Until there wasn’t. And that moment would come… soon.
‘Jones?’
Surprised by Barnaby’s voice, Jones flinched, his body jerking in response. Sadie growled, keeping him silent. She was deaf but she wasn’t blind. If he moved, responded to Barnaby, Sadie would attack. He knew it with a certainty he’d never felt before.
She didn’t wait, sensing something wasn’t right. Sadie lunged forward, too quick for Jones to follow. Too quick for him to react, she snapped at his face, teeth snagging the flesh of his cheek. Body finally responding, the pain an incentive, Jones grabbed the dog’s ear and twisted. It did nothing to deflate her violence.
Sadie opened her jaw, Jones snapping his head to the side, out of reach. Clenched his right fist and punched the dog in the face, hitting her left eye. She didn’t care. Went for his face a second time. Jones threw his body to the right, shoulder slamming against the floor. Sadie didn’t give up. Jones lifted his arms to cover his face. Pain exploded through his arm as Sadie bit into his left arm a third time, causing further damage.
Something blocked out the sun, shadows created in the small building. Jones felt a glimmer of hope. Sadie tugged and pulled on his arm. He felt something tear and Sadie fell back, a piece of his flesh hanging from her mouth. And then she was howling in pain before she turned and ran, leaving Jones on the floor, his chest heaving with anxiety, his arm numb. Closed his eyes.
‘Jones!’ Barnaby dropped the shovel and knelt by his sergeant.
Jones opened his eyes and stared up at his boss. He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, an emotional lump of relief was stuck in his throat. His body was shaking, the adrenaline he’d felt no longer there.
‘Here,’ said Barnaby, placing a handkerchief in his sergeant’s right hand, ‘hold this against your cheek.’
He couldn’t comprehend what his boss was saying, not until Barnaby took his sergeant’s right hand and pressed it against Jones’s left cheek. He didn’t have the strength, his arm falling to his chest. Watched his boss with eyes filled with fatigue and gratitude. Grimaced when Barnaby ripped open his sleeve. Jones refused to look. He didn’t want to know. Closed his eyes.
.
.
.
Jones sat on the edge of a gurney in a small cubicle in the emergency room of the local hospital, his arm in a sling, his cheek stitched and covered with gauge. The curtain was drawn, a moment of privacy. He needed it. Rushed to the hospital and through the emergency room, caged in by nurses and doctors, everyone had wanted to help. All Jones wanted was to be left alone.
Left alone to drown in his own misery. Three hours of nurses asking if he needed anything. Three hours of different doctors telling him he’ll been fine. He didn’t feel fine. Three hours of them telling him the scars would fade.
The memories wouldn’t. It was as though he was still there. Scared and waiting for Sadie to attack, to tear him to pieces. To gnaw the flesh from his bones. He would have nightmares, the doctors already offering sedatives to help him sleep. Told him it wouldn’t stop the dreams, but he wouldn’t remember any nightmares he’d had while sleeping. He’d said no. He didn’t want to sleep. He just wanted to go home.
Jerked with surprise and, yes he would admit it, fear when the plastic curtain was pulled to the side. Barnaby stood in front of him, a bag of prescription drugs in his right hand… painkillers and antibiotics. He looked smug, his expression familiar, his boss wearing the smile that told witnesses and suspects he was a bit dim; a lie of course, Barnaby one of the smartest people he knew. Jones frowned, confused, unsure of what was happening.
‘The doctor said you can go,’ said Barnaby, stepping further into the cubicle.
Jones felt the relief, his shoulders slumping in response. He could go home, his boss dropping him off, quickly driving off to leave Jones to wallow in self-pity and his own company. Almost overwhelmed with emotion, the days events catching up to him, Jones lowered his face, hiding his damp eyes from his boss. Barnaby didn’t think much of him on a good day, didn’t want to know how he would react if he saw the emotions in his sergeant’s eyes.
Barnaby coughed, Jones ignoring his embarrassment. ‘Sarah insisted you stay with us for a few days.’
Blinking the moisture from his eyes, Jones looked up at his boss. Barnaby looked awkward, as though he disagreed with his wife. His boss struggled to invite his sergeant into the house for a cup of coffee, he sure as hell didn’t want Jones to stay with them for a few days.
‘I agreed,’ said Barnaby. ‘After what happened to you today, I don’t believe it would be good for you to be left alone.’
Jones turned his head away. He thought about Sykes, the small dog always rushing toward him when he was in the Barnaby’s home, always jumping up, eager to say hello.
As though he knew what he was thinking, Barnaby said, ‘Sykes could help you.’
Felt a stab of fear at the thought.
‘Think of it as getting back on the horse.’
He didn’t want to get back on the horse.
‘The longer you leave it, the harder it would be. There will come a time when you’ll be in similar situation and how you react will determine the outcome.
Jones never wanted to be in another situation like that again. Ever. But Barnaby was right. He didn’t want to be terrified of dogs, an emotion that could stop him from doing a job he loved.
‘And you’ll have help to get through it.’
Felt a lump in his throat.
‘First time you’ve invited me into your home and all it took was…’ his attempt at brevity failing, his emotions closing his throat.
‘And it’ll be the last time,’ said Barnaby, his tone giving him away, his boss cracking a smile.
‘Thanks for that, sir.’
THE END.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five
Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
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