“Unusual?” She turned, clicking her fingers to the dog who responded by not picking up his (or her, White couldn't tell from this angle) pace at all. “How do you mean, unusual?”
“Well...” White waved an arm. “Kids leaving stuff in the trees, broken trails through the brambles, tyre tracks where there shouldn't be. That sort of thing.” He shrugged.
“Out of the ordinary,” Peters added. “Mysterious figures, men acting suspiciously.”
“Why? Is there something you're keeping from the general public?” The woman looked from White to Peters and back, then leaned down to clip the lead she held to the dog when it finally got close enough. It sat and began scratching its ear with its back leg.
“Er...” White looked at Peters.
“We've had a report of illegal poaching.” He extracted a card from his wallet and handed it over. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, but if you happen to see anything odd, do let us know.”
“What sort of poaching?” The woman stared at the card, her lips moving silently as she digested the information on it. White's lip reading skills were up to the task of recognising 'Laverstone Police' as she read it. She looked up again. “Has he got a gun? I wouldn't like Samson to get hurt.”
Ah. It was a dog, then. “No madam, no guns. Rabbit snares, mostly.”
“And mink,” added Peters. “Little buggers are driving off all the native stoats and weasels.”
“No, I've not seen anything unusual.” She tucked the card into a pocket. “I hope you find him quickly. I'm not the only dog walker and none of us would approve of traps and snares where a dog could get hurt.”
“Indeed not, madam.” White gave her a curt nod. “I'm a dog lover myself. Good day to you.”