The Dog Collar Murders Read Free

just needs clearing out, the curtains cleaning and the paint washing. All it needs is a new bed.’
    ‘There
is
a bed. There’s that bed in the summerhouse that came from your mother’s.’
    ‘She can’t sleep in
that
. It’s about a hundred years old.’
    ‘It’s a valuable antique. It’ll be cosy.’
    ‘It’ll smell.’
    ‘She’ll never notice.’
    She breathed in rapidly and said, ‘Michael. We
need
a new bed.’
    He rinsed the brush out vigorously and put it in its stand to dry.
    ‘It can go on my credit card,’ she added. ‘We’ll hardly notice.’
    His eyebrows shot up again. ‘It’ll still have to be paid for. It won’t come free because it’s on
your
credit card. The gas bill’s due, and the half-year rate bill is overdue. Forget it, love.’
    ‘We need a new bed, Michael, and then if anybody wants to visit us, we’ve the accommodation.’
    ‘Why?’ he said through the towel. ‘Are we going into competition with The Feathers?’
    She glared at him again, then stormed out of the bathroom.
    Northern Bank, Bromersley, South Yorkshire, UK. 10 a.m., Monday, 11 January 2010
    The First Security Delivery Services van driver and his mate came out of the Northern Bank on to Main Street, dropped the boxes they had collected through the slot in the side of the van, locked it and then climbed into the cab. The next point of call was the Yorkshire and Lancashire Building Society on Market Street, so the driver carefully drove the van along to Western Bank then turned right down into Almsgate, a tiny one-way back street, manoeuvred his way through the line of parked cars and delivery vans and suddenly discovered a large black furniture van slewed across the road blocking the way. The FSDS driver had just applied the brake when there was a thunderous bang on the cab roof. It resounded in their ears. The vehicle rocked and the roof collapsed several inches. The two men gasped and crouched down as they thought it might cave in completely and kill them. Then through the windscreen they saw a giant metal claw pierce the radiator. The sight of the advancing claw made the driver’s mate’s blood run cold.
    ‘What the hell?’ he said.
    Steam hissed and billowed over the bonnet. The windscreen shattered . Their vision ahead was entirely blocked. The driver struggled to open the cab door to make his escape but he could not budge it. They heard the crunch of metal behind them as the van sides were being pierced by two other giant metal claws. The noise grated on their ear drums.
    The vehicle was on the move upwards. It was swinging from side to side.
    ‘God. What’s happening?’ the driver said, his chest banging like a Salvation Army drum.
    ‘Press the automatic raid transmission advice, John,’ he managed to remember to say.
    The driver’s mate pressed a red button on the radio transmission set. It was programmed to send a standard recorded emergency message that the vehicle was being raided to the branch office in Sheffield. There was already an automatic live twenty-four-hour satellite navigation system link that advised them of the vehicle’s location at all times.
    The van then suddenly rose upwards.
    The two men looked at each other. Their eyes showed stark fear.
    The van swung to one side, clipped a parked car then rushed straight upwards as if it was a bouncing ball on the rebound. The men’s stomachs dropped as it gained momentum. Through a broken side window the driver could see some first-floor office windows. The van was swinging away from them. They were sailing through the air as if in a hot-air balloon.
    They stared at each other, their mouths open and their eyes the size of traffic lights. ‘What’s happening?’
    There was the screech of torn metal as the giant claws opened to release their grip.
    The van was in freefall.
    ‘Hold tight, John.’
    ‘God help us.’
    The driver grabbed hold of the steering wheel. His mate grabbed the door and the handbrake cowling, preparing himself