1

      The Plough

      Adam Hennessy rose early; he had beer taps to polish, a bar to wipe clean and optics to fill. He yawned. He needed to find another barman, fast. The Plough had heaved with thirsty locals last night, and he’d been run off his feet.

      He leaned on a windowsill, as he did every morning, to view Ham Hill above the village, still visible through pouring April rain cascading down the uneven glass of the sixteenth century window.

      He yawned again. Sleep. That’s what he needed. He’d be at The Streamside Hotel all afternoon, for Councillor Jones’ wake; Lower Hembrow’s biggest social event this year. Pity he would be there to serve, not on the guest list.

      Still, if you can’t do a favour for your neighbours, don’t live in an English village.

      Was there time for a nap before lunch?

      He walked through to the private rooms at one end of the long, low building. An easel leaned against the wall of the sitting room, inviting Adam to pick up a brush, but the desire for sleep trumped everything, just now.

      A muffled thump shook the back door. What was that?

      ‘Come in,’ Adam called, heart sinking at the interruption. ‘It’s not locked.’

      No one entered, so he cracked the door open an inch. Ex-detectives know better than to casually throw their doors wide at every knock.

      With an ear-splitting crunch, the safety chain zinged from the door frame and a whirlwind of fur punched Adam in the chest.

      He staggered back, grabbing the door for support. The guided missile, a shaggy brown dog, thudded two muddy paws on his shoulders and washed his face with sticky dribble.

      ‘Get down,’ Adam spluttered. ‘You’ve broken my door.’

      The dog, representing no recognisable breed, took a step back, head on one side, watching Adam’s every move from a pair of huge brown eyes. Apparently satisfied, it slurped water from a puddle on the path.

      It was thin, just skin and bone, and wore no collar.

      ‘Where did you come from?’

      The dog came closer, water dripping from its muzzle.

      Adam hesitated. He didn’t understand dogs. Cats, he liked, but dogs made him nervous.

      He