I remained on the ground, laying flat, peering along the scarlet tipped
grass towards the mutilated corpse of the sheep. I inched forward slowly,
sniffing the air - was that after shave?
1 �What�s he doing?� The speaker was Detective Inspector Dai Boyo.
�Shh,� Teddy Davies, the man I knew as Reporter Boy and who had
become something of my sidekick said. �He�s doing the business, detecting.�
�Is that how you do it?� Dai Boyo said and scratched the back of
his head with sumpy looking fingers. �Never knew that was how you did it.�
�He�s very good.� Reporter Boy, crime reporter for the Gwenwelly
voice, said, defending me once again. �He�ll have the culprit soon enough.�
�I sure do hope so,� Dai Boyo said, glumly. �It�s getting out of
hand now.�
I knew how he felt. This was the third sheep in as many months.
Each of them had been hideously mutilated, their innards all over the place
looking almost like latex. The other two sheep had been sexually assaulted
and as I reached forward, noticing a condom amongst the offal I realised
this one had also had its back legs inside someone�s wellies.
�It�s been loved up.� I said, getting to my feet and working the
kink out of my back. �Threre�s a condom there and I�ve no doubt
forensics ,will find it�s a Trojan Rough-rider.'
�Like the others?� Dai Boyo rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. �Whoever�s doing this he�s a monster.�
�Not to mention a pervert.� Reporter Boy chipped in.
�I get my hands on him.� Dai Boyo wrung his meaty looking fists
together to illustrate his point.
�Yeah. Well I�ll be in touch.� I took the makings from my trench
coat and made a cigarette with my trademark liquorice skins. �Come on
Reporter Boy. I fancy a little lubrication.�
2
The Bullock�s Pride, the best watering hole this side of Abertowniedumdah,
was situated at the dark end of the street. This suited me fine. I spent my
life in the shadows and I felt at home here.
�This is all a great bloody mystery,� Reported Boy said, further
observing: �We�ve got absolutely nothing to go on.�
�There�s the John.� I wisecracked but, as usual, my jokes went over
his head and I had to explain. �You said we�ve got nothing to go on and I
said the John. To go on, get it. The John to go on.�
�Such hilarity I nearly shit my pants.� Reporter Boy said. �Let me
rephrase. We have absolutely no lead in the case of sheep rape and
mutilations.�
�Oh I know who is responsible.� I said and took a sip of the thick
warm Welsh beer.
�You do? Who? How?�
�Questions in triplicate,� I sneered, pulling my upper lip back
over my teeth like Bogart. �I can�t prove it yet. When I can you�ll know.�
Reporter Boy removed his notepad and made a few notes. I smiled,
knowing he would write things up in his section for the Gwenwelly Voice,
making me sound like the detecting genius I undoubtedly was. Hey, it stoked
my ego - big deal!
3
It had been a month since the last attack.
�This is absurd.� Reporter boy said. �This�ll never work.� I
ignored him and slipped the mask over his head, zipping it to the suit at
the neck and ruffling the wool to conceal the zip. �Smeggf jhj nevl win.�
He said or something like that as his words were muffled, totally
intelligible from within the suit. This was as it should be. Who ever heard
of a talking sheep.
�Stop bleating,� I said and laughed. �Get down on all fours.� I
felt kinda� kinky saying that but I shook the impulse away. The case was
getting to me. I had spent so long trying to get into the maniac�s mind
that I was developing unhealthy feelings towards the bovid population. That
was the trouble with my job, sometimes the sleeze, the filth rubbed off on
a person.
�FUSMFFCK KJWEKDHWYE.� Reporter Boy said but I grabbed his back
and pushed him down until he was on all fours. He protested but I insisted,
with a fist to the small of his back and once he was in position I stood
back and admired the suit. He didn�t look exactly like a sheep but it was
close and as the rapist/killer only struck at night I decided it was good
enough.
�Right,� I said, knocking together a liquorice smoke. �Nod your
head if you can hear me.�
�Mmuff scumff.� Reporter Boy said.
�Just nod,� I retorted, wearily. �I can�t understand a bloody word.�
The sheep�s head nodded.
�Good now walk around.� I said.
The sheep did so. Got to admit it looked good. When Reporter Boy
moved around like that, on all fours, in that woollen sheep suit he would
have passed for a sheep. A rather sorry looking sheep but a sheep all the
same. I flicked my smoke away and skinned another. �Now we wait for
night.� I said. �I�ll hide up there, behind those rocks and you just eat
the grass or something. When he comes we get him.�
�Scumff mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.� The sheep that was Reporter Boy said.
�Okay, have it your way,� I said and patted his head. �We�ll get
him before he comes.� My mood suddenly soured and I pulled the collars of
my trench coat up against the brisk wind. I made my way up the hill and
crouched down behind a rock, ensuring I had a good view of the sheep that
was my friend and sidekick and waited.
Tonight it ends, I thought and smoked some more.
4
The plan had been meticulously worked out. Each and every detail, all
eventualities had been prepared for. And so I found it easy to relax as I
waited there, smoking until my lips were stained liquorice.
See, I�d already figured out who the killer was and by instinct
alone. I�d thought long and hard about what kind of man could do this to a
poor defenceless sheep and one name came to mind. I made it my business to
know people and there was only one man perverted and kinky enough to do
this.
Trevor Peterson. It was obvious - the guy was fucking strange and
as kinky as a politician after a stiff whiskey. Fred the Paper, the
newsagent, had told me that his monthly magazine subscription consisted of
Farmer�s Monthly, Farmyard Slappers and Woollen Knickers Crutch Shot
Digest. And besides that he had once been arrested for loitering with
intent at the dog pound. Not that anything came of that but there were ugly
rumours and my figuring was that a sheep was a hell of a lot less likely to
bite than a canine. I mean a dog could tear your throat out but a sheep,
well if it managed to break free which was highly unlikely since their bulk
was hardly suited to breaking a lover�s embrace, then the very worse it
could do would be to nibble you a bit.
It all made a perfect kind of sense. Add to that the fact that each
killing took place on the first full moon of the month which was what I was
currently looking at, and it pretty much added upto the fact that the
sheepshagger would strike tonight.
Earlier today we had gone around all the farms and requested they
keep all their beasts locked away for safety sake. This meant that the only
sheep currently on the Gilcwy mountains was actually Reporter Boy. As soon
as Peterson attacked I would leap forth and bring him down. He�d had his
last woolly piece of arse.
5
I�m not sure how long I waited (though it was a bloody long time) before I
drifted off to sleep and dreamt of sheep, lambs - silent lambs, their
bleating cut off by the death of their mothers. I was awoken by a strange
yell which sounded all muffled but which I knew was Reporter Boy.
I quickly got to my feet and looked at a scene that could have come
from the worse imaginings of the pornographer. The attacker had come and
what�s more he had Reporter Boy and had managed to force the back legs of
the suit into his bright yellow wellington boots. He had his back to me
didn�t see me and I watched as he dropped his trousers, revealing a large
and untoned arse and tried to find an entry point for his hardness.
�Funschhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh meeeeeeebh.� The sheep that was
Reporter Boy screeched. I'd never heard a sheep screech quite like it
before.
�Come on my lovely,� the attacker said, stroking Reporter�s Boys
head and trying to calm him. �You know you like it.�
�Stop.� I stood up, pulling my replica revolver, only nine quid
from Ebay, from its holster and aiming it squarely at the sheep shagger.
Everything happened so quickly and the attacker turned to face me, terror
on his face. He seemed to lost his ardour and tried to get Reporter Boy�s
hind legs from his wellies but they were stuck fast and he fell, taking the
sheep that was my friend with him. It wasn�t Peterson, - I�d been wrong.
It was Fred The Paper. The bloody newsagent who had been at great
pains to tell me what a pervert Peterson was, forcing my suspicions onto
him. I had been played like a piano and I felt sick to the stomach. But I
had no time to think about that at the moment as Reporter Boy and the
newsagent were currently rolling down the hill, unable to stop.
I ran after them.
A large rock soon interfered with their momentum, stopping them
dead and knocking the newsagent unconscious. I quickly freed Reporter Boy
and removed the sheep suit. He breathed a sigh of relief.
�One more second and I�d have been used goods.� He said and rubbed
his backside. He groaned as he stood upright and then looked down at his
unconscious attacker.
�Call the police.� I said and handed him my mobile.
�Shit,� Reporter Boy said. �I�m just glad it�s all over.�
�Fred The Paper,� I said and quickly skinned together a smoke. �Of
course I knew it all along.�
THE END