Dogs and Canes (Original)

It was an exquisite piece of work. The walking cane had a polished ebony handle with mother of pearl detailing, and the stem was encased in finished ivory, right down to the ebony stopper. Okay, so it was a little gaudy, but in a way that absolutely screamed 'expensive'.

Detective Moriarty stared at it on his desk.

An octogenarian in the morgue, a quiet, harmless-looking dog in the pound, and a big question mark hanging over the whole lot. Moriarty could feel his ulcer growing just thinking about it.

Ordinarily, a dangerous dog file wouldn't fall into his caseload, but this one was a little quirky. The dead guy who owned the expensive cane was no stranger to the dog, and was taking it for a walk at the time along a beachfront road. The mutt was an absolute cream puff to anyone who cared to spend some time with it. Animal services hadn't been able to raise so much as a stifled yelp from it after an hour of deliberate agitating. Yet people who heard the attack swore that the dog was barking loudly, and snarling. What could possibly have driven the pooch to tear an old man apart?

The owner of the dog was Gregory Robertson – an nice fellow, also in his eighties, who seemed legitimately remorseful about his dog 'Jake' attacking the deceased.

"I feel just terrible about it, of course" he said to Moriarty. The old man shuffled back in to the lounge from the kitchen with a cup of tea in each hand. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you say you w-w-wanted sugar?"

Moriarty shook his head. "Straight is fine, thanks. So did you know Patrick Learman at all?" he asked.

Gregory placed the two cups on the coffee table and settled into his chair. "Oh yes. Well, we've been friends for over f-fifty years I believe."

Moriarty scribbled in his notebook. "And why was he walking your dog at the time?"

"Patrick always walked Jake for me in the afternoons. He liked doing it, a-and it was an excuse for him to get out of the house, I'm sure."

"And where were you at the time of the attack?" Moriarty asked.

"I was at Jeffrey's flat, about a m-mile from here. I thought I'd stop in and s-see him while Patrick was looking after Jake," he said. "Jeffrey is my grandson."

Later that day, Moriarty met with Jeffrey Robertson at his unit in the Sea Breeze apartments overlooking Coneshell beach.

"It was really weird," Jeffrey said. "Grandpa never visits even though I live so close, because I'm on the 8th floor. He's afraid of heights."

Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "And what did he do once he arrived?"

"He said something about wanting to look at the view, or something like that. And get this – he went out on to the balcony! Can you believe that? This guy has the worst vertigo, and he's out there wobbling on the balcony, I couldn't get over it!"

Moriarty walked out onto the balcony and had a look around. The view was really quite nice, with the rolling surf, sandy beaches, and roads below. He was surprised to find that he could quite clearly see the place where Patrick was attacked, between a parking bay and a phone booth.

"What did he do out here?" Moriarty asked.

"I dunno, he just looked out to sea – no, wait, he was looking down actually. Sort of, down at the beach front I think." Jeffrey nodded to himself, replaying the event in his mind. "And then, he came inside and said he wanted to use the phone."

"And he used it?"

"Oh yeah, he made a call, but he didn't actually talk or anything. I guess nobody was home."

Moriarty jotted it down. "And your grandfather was friends with Patrick Learman?" he asked.

"Sure, well, kinda, " Jeffrey replied. "They were really close until Patrick won all that money in the lottery, and they kinda fell out a bit after that. I think grandpa was less than understanding when Patrick decided not to share his wealth."

Moriarty smiled.

A search of Gregory Robertson's garage turned up things that made Moriarty's nose twitch. Firstly, there was a phone extension trailing into the garage, but no phone attached. There was also a cage that was obviously for Jake (which seemed unnecessary given the nature of the pup), and a pile of old rags on the floor. Some of the rags had Jake's teeth marks over them. But the most intriguing item was found in the garbage bin. A long stick, wrapped in black and white paper, almost identical to the pattern and colouring of the deceased's expensive cane.

Moriarty rushed out to the dog pound, where he was met by Cheryl Jones, assistant manager. She was genuinely confused by his visit.

"Well, I don't know what this is all about detective, but I've organised the phone extension into the animal hall as you requested," she said as they hurried through to the building.

"And a loud phone?" Moriarty asked.

"Yes, it's fairly loud, but I don't understand…"

"You'll see," Moriarty interrupted.

Moriarty brought the phone close to Jake's holding cage. From a large bag he produced Patrick's expensive cane, and held it in front of the dog.

No reaction.

"Do you want me to let him out, detective?" Cheryl asked.

"No, for god's sake, keep him locked up," Moriarty replied. "What's the phone number?" he asked, as he retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket.

Cheryl gave Moriarty the number which he entered, and then called.

The phone rang loudly in the hallway, and little harmless Jake morphed into a crazed beast – chomping, barking loudly, and scratching against the cage, trying to get out. Moriarty gave the cane to Cheryl, who then instantly became the object of Jake's hatred.

Moriarty hung up the phone, and the dog began to calm down again.

Gregory Robertson was arrested on charges of murder later that day. After hours of interviewing he finally confessed. He had decided that if he couldn't have any winnings, neither could Patrick. Each night he would lock Jake up in the cage, and then poke him viciously with the black and white stick. As a precaution and an aural cue for training, he took the house phone into the garage and dialled 1191 which caused the phone to ring itself. After this intense baiting, he would throw the cane onto the pile of rags and let Jake out. Jake would attack the rags for as long as the phone rang.

"I called the phone booth as Patrick and Jake approached it, a-and that was that," Gregory said.

Captain Summerville pulled Moriarty aside. "So was the murder weapon the phone or the dog?" he asked. Moriarty shrugged and walked out, striding happily with the expensive ivory cane.