DemiChat and the Kent Street Mystery, Toni Brisland [romantic books to read .txt] 📗

           DemiChat and the Kent Street Mystery           

By Toni Brisland

Chapter 1 – Police Dogs

The day I met DemiChat was both the saddest and the happiest day of my life.

It was a typical rainy London day: grey clouds, grey buildings, grey pavements and everyone dressed in grey clothes. All grey except for the police men and women of the Dog Squad of Scotland Yard who stood at attention in their stark white and black uniforms waiting for the Police Commissioner and guests of honour to arrive.

I was one of those guests.

My response vehicle had pulled up at the kerb and my uniformed handler had opened my comfortable soundproof air-conditioned kennel compartment. I looked out at two straight lines of police officers leading from the kerb to the Town Hall steps at Chigwell in the Redbridge Police Borough. My tail drooped.

The badges on the police officers’ hats glistened and their boots shone in spite of the raindrops. Everyone smiled and their happiness should have brightened my mood but nothing could lift my spirits.

My handler pulled me down to the wet pavement and into a puddle. I shook my front paws. I looked up at him all dressed up in his best uniform to meet the Commissioner.

‘Cheer up, Lord Flannery,’ he said. ‘How many police beagles get a medal from the Commissioner on their retirement day? It’s not the end of the world.’

Not the end of the world!

It was for me. It was the end of the world as I knew it!

I wailed and my hazel eyes filled with tears. My retirement day! I rubbed the round tip of a long ear across my eyes with my paw. Where had my life gone? Yesterday I was just a puppy bred and born, and taught to sniff and find, at the Metropolitan Police Dog Training Station at Keston. Today I was being put out to pasture like an old horse!

I had enjoyed the benefit of one handler all my life. I lived at the station in a comfortable concrete kennel and spent every working day with him. I had thought that when I retired I would live with him as a pet. But, alas, no! He was replacing me with a younger and fitter dog and sending me to live with his archaeologist brother in Kent Street in the Greater City of London.

A soggy police flag flapped and I looked up. There, standing on the top step of the Town Hall in front of the six other dogs of my unit was my dear young friend Jake, a tawny German Shepherd, also born at Keston. I barked and Jake and the other dogs barked in reply. I trotted up to them pulling my handler behind me.

Jake nuzzled me and said, ‘Hi, Flan, we’re all proud of you and jealous that the police are throwing you a big party.’

‘Today’s not just about me, Jake,’ I replied, timidly. I was pleased though that Jake had said something so kind. ‘Quite a few officers are getting medals and retiring today, even your handler, Jake,’ I said.

‘Yes, too bad about that,’ Jake sighed. ‘I am very fond of him.’

‘What’s going to happen to you?’

‘I’m transferring to the city into homicide this afternoon and working with a young detective.’

I whistled. I wish I were Jake, I thought. ‘Good for you. What’s he like?’

‘Haven’t met him yet but his name is Inspector Robert Cooper. Saw a photo of him though: about thirty, dark hair, chubby hands, a square chin and big teeth. He’s in the Scotland Yard Criminal Investigation Unit.’

‘Sounds like you’re being promoted. Congratulations.’ 

My handler pulled hard on my lead and dragged me into the Town Hall. Jake and the others followed.

I sighed.

The hall was decorated with bunting and balloons and people buzzed excitedly. The Commissioner hadn’t been to this area for years. Newspaper reporters were everywhere and a camera flash blinded me momentarily.

My nose, ever alert, smelt food and my stomach rumbled. I looked at the sandwich-and-cake-filled trestle tables at the side of the hall. Steaming urns bubbled in the centre of the table and I hoped that I might be lucky enough to be given a cup of tea.

My handler dragged me onto the podium next to Jake. ‘Sit, Boy,’ he said.

I was in no mood to obey. I barked in protest. After all, I didn’t know where I was going to be taken after the ceremony!

At that very moment the Commissioner walked into the hall and the crowd must have thought I was signalling for them to stand because they all did! Jake leant closer to me and whispered,

‘Good work, Flannery. You’re always on the ball and first to notice something important as usual.’

The Commissioner strode towards us and mounted the steps. He bent and rubbed my head.

‘Hello, Boy,’ the Commissioner boomed. ‘I hear your good work led to the arrest of a prolific burglar who has been making the lives of people in this area a misery. One of your many accomplishments they tell me. You deserve a good rest now after a life of hard work.’

And that’s exactly what my handler said to me two hours later as we walked along a poplar-lined street, past a busy construction site and crossed the road to a cream gate. He bent down and looked at the commendation medal that hung from a leather collar around my neck. I barked.

‘Pity they didn’t give me one,’ he said. ‘I suppose I should leave this with you Boy. You’ve earned it. You have had a hard life and deserve a peaceful retirement.’

I whined. How insensitive of me not to realise that he felt that his good work had not been recognised. Everybody knows that good police work is good teamwork and that I couldn’t have caught over two hundred and fifty criminals without him.

He rubbed his forehead against mine. ‘Sorry I have to leave you, Flannery.’  He grabbed my ears. ‘I’ll come and visit you every week, promise.’

I knew he meant it. I also knew he wouldn’t keep his promise. He’d get too busy and time would pass without him realising.

I looked up at him and then at the two-storey brick house before us. We headed through the gate into a rose garden and up the front steps of my new home in Kent Street. It started to rain again and as we hurried I thought I saw something move in the bay window upstairs.

He pulled me to follow him. I trotted submissively up to the mahogany door. He knocked and knocked and waited.

‘They mustn’t be home, Flannery. Typical.’

I watched him take a key from under the mat. He opened the door and let us into the house. It was dark and quiet and cold. He dropped the key into a glass bowl that stood on a little table in the hallway.

‘Come on and I’ll show you around,’ he said. My paws slipped on the wooden floorboards as he pulled me behind him.

A library was off to the left of the hallway. He flicked on the light switch and we walked into the room. Dusty Egyptian statues and artefacts lined the walls, some on stands in glass cabinets. I shivered.

‘They keep it cool in here to help preserve their collection of museum pieces from around the world,’ he told me.

Journals and books of all shapes and sizes stood on the floor in tall columns ready to topple. Two desks strewn with maps and papers and computers were pushed up against the front windows, their black leather chairs scratched with claw marks. I barked. Then I sniffed. There was an unusual scent in the air. I looked up at my handler.

‘You’ll get used to it. I know it looks like a mortuary but the rest of the house isn’t this bad. They’ve got a housekeeper who keeps things clean and in order generally, but she’s not allowed in this room. This is where my brother John and his wife Melissa work. I thought I’d show you this room in case they don’t let you in here.’

I scratched behind my ear. Was I going to be restricted in my new home? What next?

‘They’ve put a kennel for you in the laundry so I’ll have to leave you tied up in there. I’ve got to get back to the station.’

I followed him down the long hallway, past a staircase, through the kitchen, across the doorway of a downstairs bathroom and came to an abrupt stop outside a spacious green tiled laundry. My eyes bulged. My front paws struggled unsuccessfully to dig into the tiles.

‘Look. They’ve left you some food and a bowl of water.’

It was not the food and drink bowl that I was looking at. To one side of a washing machine under a big window were two litter trays. I sniffed and smelt that same unusual scent that I had detected in the library. I looked at my handler enquiringly and let out a short whine. 

‘The litter trays are not for you, Flannery. They’re for the cat.’

CAT!  I thought. What cat? Nobody said anything about a cat! --

Toni Brisland, born in Wollongong, NSW, Australia, and of Italian heritage, taught English and History in high schools before undertaking further study in management and law and working as a Senior HR Manager and Corporate Lawyer. In 2005 she won a Children's Book Council of Australia writing competition for children's authors and now focuses full-time on writing for children and young adults. Toni lives in Sydney with her husband and two Himalayan cats.

Find out more at: http://tonibrisland.com

Publication Date: 07-16-2013

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