Chapter 7

The next morning, the village was empty and subdued. Even in the daylight people stayed indoors and the Old George was empty but for the land lord who sat cleaning his gun by the fire. In the church a few people had lit candles, but none of them had stayed and reverend Butler found himself alone for morning prayers. After having asked his God for help, he climbed the squat tower to look out over the village as was his wont.
From the harbour came the distant sounds of the fishermen, carried on the wind, and some where in the distance was the sound of some one hammering. Nearby came a few voices of children playing in some garden or other but other wise the village was still and silent. Only one person could be seen. In the distance, a lone man was walking on Church Street. As he watched, the priest realised this was his guest, the man Stokes. In one hand he dragged some thing behind him and in the other he held his rifle over his shoulder.
After ten minutes or so, hugging himself in the cold, reverend Butler realised that Stokes was dragging what appeared to be a dead sheep behind him. Some what bemused, the priest climbed back down the tower and came out to meet him.
“Why are you doing?” he asked.
“Where are Mister Bailey and the others?” Stokes replied. He dropped the grisly remains which turned out to be only half a sheep and Butler pointed in the direction of Bailey’s cottage.
“I think they are still at home”.
“Surprise surprise…” Stokes muttered. Without any further word, he picked up the half sheep by a leg and began walking towards the cottage. Curiously, Butler followed him.

Bailey had been sitting at the table with Melchior and Arkwright and staring at the map all morning. Norris and de Hogue had gone to speak to the old woman Meg Tyler, leaving Bailey and the others to try and think of any decent alternative strategy.
Arkwright was pushing for a house to house search for evidence, and Melchior was worried that they were losing sight of their primary mission on the island.
Bailey sat drinking a mug of coffee and paid them little attention. It had been a week now and he was no closer to the killer now than the day he had examined Mary Coleman’s corpse. He was inclined to agree with both Melchior and Arkwright but that morning he had no enthusiasm for anything. He sat and stared at the map, reading the names of the various places and letting his mind wander.
The door was pushed open and they all looked around to see Stokes entering, brushing his hands and followed by the vicar.
“Where have you been?” Arkwright asked.
Stokes regarded him then shifted his cold eyes to Bailey.
“I’ve brought you something to see” he said and then turned and walked back out the door.
Bailey sat and stared at the door, then got to his feet and followed. Outside Stokes was squatted down beside the foremost half of a sheep, its head lolling about as he picked it up.
“Look” Stokes said. He indicated the sheep’s head and bending down to see, Bailey noted a row of wounds along the sheep’s muzzle. Puzzled he looked up at Stokes impassive face.
“What am I looking at here?”
“This is a bite mark” Stokes told him. He tilted the sheep’s head to reveal more marks. “What ever killed this sheep bit its head, perhaps to hold it down, I don’t know, but it left this bite mark, like a signature.”
Bailey was still staring in incomprehension and finally Stokes dropped the head and stood up.
“This sheep was not killed by a man” he said.
“What?” Bailey gaped at him. “What are you saying? That some animal did this?”
Arkwright, Melchior and Reverend Butler had all followed them outside and now Arkwright knelt down to examine the bite mark.
“Are you sure this is a bite mark?” he asked. “It’s too big to be any animal I know of.”“I know” Stokes replied. “We are not dealing with a native to the Britannic islands here. This is something else. Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.”