Necrophenia by Robert Rankin Page B

‘But the tyre tracks are covered by snow.’
    ‘I’m not talking about tyre tracks,’ my brother said. ‘I’m talking about oil. There’s oil all over the place – it must have leaked from the lorry. We can follow the trail of the oil.’
    And, ‘Ah,’ I said. Because it was clear to me, at least, that the oil in question had probably not leaked from the lorry, but rather from our leaky old Bedford van. But then, if, by some unlikely means, my brother could actually follow the route taken by the Bedford, it would Shirley [11] lead to the same place as the lorry.
    ‘So how do you propose to follow the trail?’ I asked of my brother. ‘Employ the services of a bloodhound, would it be?’
    ‘Don’t be silly, Tyler.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But please tell me.’
    ‘I will take up the scent myself.’
    ‘Oh dear.’
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘All is clear,’ I suggested.
    ‘You’ll have to assist me, of course.’
    ‘But of course.’
    I hadn’t noticed that my holdall was in The Divine Trinity, but I noticed it now as my brother reached down, unzipped it, rooted about in it and then brought to light something rather furry-looking.
    ‘And what is that?’ I asked of Andy.
    ‘It is my dog suit, of course.’
    ‘But of course.’
    ‘Are you being sarcastic?’ Andy asked. ‘Because if you are-’ And he left the sentence unfinished, as the suggestion had sufficient power in itself not to require an explicit description of the potential horrors.
    ‘No, no, no,’ went I, shaking my head with vigour.
    ‘I will have to ask you a favour, though.’ And Andy slipped out of the trench coat and doffed away his fedora. ‘Take these, if you will be so kind, and put them on.’
    ‘Right,’ I said, without the merest hint of a question.
    ‘I’ll need to tog-up in the dog suit to really do the job properly. That’s where I messed up with my tiger-at-oneness – no suit. I couldn’t get the real feel for being a tiger. So I ran this suit up myself.’
    And Andy was now climbing into this suit, which had arms and legs and paws, a tail and a zip up the front. And then he put on the dog’s-head mask, which looked, I must say, very real.
    ‘That looks most convincing,’ I said to Andy.
    ‘Well, it should. It is made from real dog.’
    ‘Right,’ I said, and I tried very hard indeed not to be sick on the floor. But I did have the trench coat and the fedora. And so, without further words being said, I togged-up and felt a very definite detective-at-oneness sweeping over me.
    ‘Help me on with the collar,’ said Andy, and I did.
    ‘And take the lead.’ And he nodded at the lead, because he couldn’t lift it up between his paws. ‘And keep a very tight hold on that lead. There’s no telling what might happen if I got loose.’
    ‘Right,’ I said, hopefully for the last time that day. But probably, I suspected, not.
    And then we were off!
    Andy dropped to all fours and sprang through the open doorway. He sniffed about at all the oil. And there was a lot visible as the snow, it appeared, didn’t stay upon such oil. And then he was away, with me clinging on to the lead. Away at the hurry-up on four paws went our Andy.
    And he was good, for a sniffer-dog.
    We reached the allotment gates and Andy leaped into the road. And off we went at considerable speed with Andy now barking enthusiastically.
    ‘Barking,’ I said to myself. How apt.
    At short length we arrived at the derelict building that had posed as The Green Carnation Club.
    Andy straightened up and growled at me.
    ‘What?’ I asked him.
    ‘You could have told me I was following your van,’ he said.
    ‘My van?’
    ‘I picked up your scent at The Divine Trinity. You might have mentioned that this was your band.’
    I did chewings on my bottom lip. ‘You really picked up my scent?’ I asked him.
    ‘Well, I am a dog, aren’t I?’
    ‘Oh yes, you certainly are.’
    ‘So let’s get on with this tracking.’ And he growled loudly once