Creeping Ivy by Natasha Cooper Page B

you can go in first, then. I’ll—’
    The door opened before she could finish telling him her plan, to reveal a tall thin man with one hand on the door and the other on the collar of the barking dog. Neither of the visitors paid any attention to the man. Both were too busy assessing the likely viciousness of the animal, a large black beast with a tan nose and a wildly flailing tail.
    ‘Yes?’ asked the man. ‘Can I help?’
    ‘Mr Benedict Weblock?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘We’re police officers, sir. I’m Sergeant Lacie and this is Constable Herrick,’ she said, showing her warrant card. ‘We’d like to talk to you.’
    ‘Fine. Come in quickly or I won’t be able to hang on to Daisy and I don’t want to have to chase after her down the road again. I take it this is about Charlotte. Is there any news?’
    ‘Daisy?’ echoed Sam Herrick in a voice of extreme disbelief as he hung back. ‘Touch of Rottweiler in there, is there, sir?’
    ‘So the vet claims. I’d have said Doberman myself. Is there any news?’
    ‘Nothing yet,’ said Sam, pushing the door back with the flat of his hand and keeping his gaze firmly on the dog. ‘The park’s being searched and we’re talking to everyone who might have seen her yesterday. You sure that animal’s gentle?’
    ‘Definitely. Visiting children use her as a footstool and practise hairdressing on her. I’ll put her in the kitchen. Go on into the sitting room, will you?’
    Exchanging glances, the two officers walked into the long, dark hall, which was floored with the original tiles and papered with mustard-coloured Anaglypta below the dado rail and a lighter shade of yellow above. There were long claw-marks in the Anaglypta and a couple of adult-sized bicycles to show what had made them. A large pair of muddy green gum boots stood beside the door mat and three leather dog’s leads hung from a hook beside a bunch of keys. There was a mirror on one wall beside the door through which the man and dog had disappeared, and two doors opposite. The nearest was open.
    The police chose that one, only to find themselves in what was obviously a study. There were two flat-topped desks, one impeccably tidy with papers neatly arranged in a series of wicker baskets; the other had heaps of children’s exercise books, papers, boxes, pens and computer disks piled higgledy-piggledy all over the top and balanced on the corners of several opened drawers below.
    ‘D’you suppose this is the living room?’ asked Sam Herrick.
    ‘No. This is our study,’ said Ben Weblock from behind them both. ‘Come on through.’
    Without the dog to distract her, Kath Lacie had a good look at him, rather liking his long, lined face with the tired gentle eyes and full lips. His floppy greying hair looked so soft that he must have just washed it, and he seemed to have cut himself shaving, or else scratched his neck on something. There were two fine red marks just below his chin, already scabbing over. She did not want to antagonise him by making notes, but she examined them carefully so that she could include everything about them in her report.
    Apparently unaware of her interest, he turned and led the way into a pleasantly shabby room with a fitted carpet in a colour somewhere between beige and mushroom. Four soft-looking armchairs upholstered in a variety of faded prints and a sagging sofa were the only pieces of furniture, apart from a couple of ugly tables made of scarred dark oak. Along one wall was a fitted bookshelf crammed with hard-backed books and a serious musician’s hi-fi system. That was the only expensive object in the room and, unlike the rest, it looked well dusted.
    ‘Have you really found nothing at all?’ he said as he turned to face them again. ‘It seems extraordinary.’
    ‘Nothing yet, sir,’ answered Kath. ‘And we wanted to ask you a few questions.’
    ‘Why me? Oh, do sit down, both of you.’
    ‘Thanks. You must see, sir, that we need to find out when you last saw