Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (46 page)

‘Good
morning, dear.’

After
the usual enquiries, she fed me bacon and eggs, delicious, despite the
lingering numbing effect of antibiotics. I felt surprisingly well, and even
better after topping up with toast and marmalade.

‘Where’s
Hobbes?’ I asked, pushing my plate aside.

‘He’s
still out hunting. It’s not like him to miss his breakfast.’

‘That’s
true. Do you think he’s caught them?’

‘I’m
sure he’d be back if he had.’

I
half hoped he had caught them; that is, I hoped he’d caught Felix and slung him
in a cell, or a cage. At that moment, Hobbes, looking dishevelled and filthy,
walked in, without saying a word, slouched across to the sink, picked up the
washing up bowl and poured in a full box of Sugar Puffs and two pints of milk,
before putting it on the table. Not bothering with a spoon, he simply shovelled
the mess into his mouth with his hands, hands criss-crossed by deep cuts.
Finishing the last Sugar Puff, lifting the bowl to his mouth, he poured the
remaining milk down his throat.

‘That’s
better,’ he said. ‘Is there any tea, lass?’

The
old girl handed him a steaming mugful, which he drank in one gulp. She refilled
it and he repeated the procedure.

‘Thank
you. It’s been a long night.’

‘Did
you catch them?’ I asked, desperate to know about Violet.

‘No.’

‘So,
why are you all scratched?’

‘Oh,
that,’ he said with a glance at his hands. ‘There was a fire at the Feathers,
which I suspect was arson carried out by Mr King or his sister, possibly in
revenge, or to keep me occupied and out the way. Whatever the reason, I had to
abandon the hunt, break in to the Feathers and extinguish the blaze, finding,
unfortunately, that Featherlight had just installed razor wire around every
possible entrance. I had to tear it up to get in and it was lucky for Billy
that I did; he was fast asleep behind the bar and drunk.’

‘He
must have been relieved when you turned up,’ I said, memories of my terror and
despair, when I’d burned down my flat and been pulled out by Hobbes, returning.

‘He
will be, when he sobers up.’

‘Did
you put the fire out?’

‘Yes,
though I had to shake up a couple of beer kegs and punch holes in them, since
all the fire-extinguishers were empty.’

‘Featherlight
should be prosecuted for that,’ I said, virtuously.

‘No
one was hurt.’

‘Umm
… apart from you, no one was hurt, and Billy could have been killed.’

‘Yet,
I’m fine and so is Billy, so why add to Featherlight’s problems?’

‘Fair
enough. Umm … is he still banged up?’

‘No,
the murder charge was dropped, due, in no small part, to your evidence, and he’s
been released, which is just as well as we needed all the cells for Mr King’s
boys. Most of them, I’m glad to say, are inclined to talk, and their boss will
be in a heap of trouble if we catch him. So, I’m afraid, will Miss King.’

‘She
only did it because he made her.’

Hobbes
shook his head. ‘Sorry, Andy, that might have been true once, but she had no
cause to attack Mr Bullimore.’

‘But
she stopped attacking him to save me. That’s got to be worth something.’

‘I’m
glad she did and, though there’s obviously a better side to her, she murdered
Henry Bishop.’

‘No,’
I said angered at the accusation, ‘that’s ridiculous. I was with her. She didn’t
do it.’

‘I
believe she killed Henry when he went into the restaurant.’

‘But
surely it was Felix who attacked him. She was having a meal with me.’

‘True,
but dead men don’t open doors. Henry was still alive, badly wounded admittedly,
but alive when he got through the door. Who was the first to react?’

‘Violet:
and she tried to save him.’

‘That’s
what it must have looked like. You said the first thing she did was check his
pulse?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That,
I fear, was her cover for tearing his carotid artery, thus killing him
instantly.’

Putting
my head in my hands, I tried to think back. Henry had certainly been alive when
he’d fallen at my feet, and Violet knelt beside him. I remembered her hand,
such a pretty little hand, reaching out to his neck, my feeling of nausea as he
haemorrhaged over that same hand. Could it have been as Hobbes was suggesting?
I had to admit it; it could.

‘If
she did do it, she was trying to protect Felix,’ I said, as if that excused
her.

‘I’m
sure she was, though I have little doubt she administered the coup de grace
after Mr King did the initial damage. Henry’s sudden demise struck me as odd at
the time, but I was led astray, taking her at face value.’

Mrs
G, chuckling, poked him in the ribs with a bony finger. ‘You always do where
young ladies are concerned.’

Hobbes
smiled and returned to his serious look. ‘I’m also convinced Miss King murdered
Mike Rook. I picked up a trace of her perfume in the room, though,
unfortunately, since it was very faint and masked by all the hospital smells, I
didn’t recognise it until much later. Mr King was undoubtedly responsible for
the initial attack, trying to ensure Mr Rook wouldn’t speak to me. Since Mr
Rook was a tough lad and showing signs of recovery, he arranged for his sister
to finish the job.’

‘But,’
I said, unwilling to give her up without a struggle, ‘she can’t be a killer,
she’s too timid and gentle. What about when the werewolf frightened her at the
arboretum? If she was like you say, wouldn’t she have attacked it?’

‘I
suspect,’ said Hobbes, ‘it wasn’t Les Bashem who frightened her. Even in
werewolf form he offered no threat. He was merely keeping an eye on you two.’

‘What
then?’

‘She
was more concerned about her own reaction. Her instinct would be to
transmogrify and attack. Yet, since you were there, she couldn’t, because you
wouldn’t have been favourably impressed had she changed into a cat before your
eyes. She didn’t want to lose you.’

‘But
why not? I’m nothing special.’

‘True
… but you must have been something to her. I can’t, for the life of me,
understand why. Can you?’ He turned to Mrs G.

‘No.
Not at all, though he does have excellent teeth.’

I
was somewhat deflated by their opinions. Yet, when I looked up they were both
grinning.

‘Cheer
up,’ said Hobbes. ‘You’re not so bad, really.’

He
raised a hand and, though I cringed, he patted me quite gently and I didn’t cry
out.

‘Thanks,’
I said.

‘Don’t
mention it. I’m off for a nap before lunch.’ Standing up, he belched. ‘Pardon
me; it’s all the puff in the Sugar Puffs.’

‘Before
you go,’ I said, as a thought occurred, ‘what happened to Arthur Crud?’

‘Mr
Crud? The poor chap was maliciously accused. He’s a gentle, bumbling, young
fellow, not unlike you. Though the evidence I uncovered totally exonerated him
and he was found not guilty, I had to hide him when someone, Mr King I now
believe, whipped up bad feeling because he’d taken his sister to lunch on a
couple of occasions. Mr Crud is living safely in Cornwall for the time being.’

‘Did
you know the girl who accused him worked for Felix?’

‘I
did, though she was only a temporary assistant at his London office. At the
time it didn’t seem important.’

‘Did
Felix force her to accuse Arthur?’

‘Possibly,
but it’s more likely he paid her. Apparently, she went missing a couple of
weeks afterwards. The London boys couldn’t find her and I fear Mr King disposed
of a potentially dangerous witness. Right, I’m off.’ Yawning, he stamped
upstairs.

There
were a couple of hours before lunch, which the old girl was just starting. It
was going to involve chicken pieces. She could do wonderful things with chicken
pieces, though why she was attacking them with a mallet was beyond me.

‘I
think I’ll take the dog out,’ I shouted over the thumping.

‘Righto,
dear. It’s a lovely day. Enjoy yourself, if you’re well enough.’

‘I’m
OK, I’ll not go far.’

When
I left the house, it felt great to be in the sun again, despite a fierce wind
whipping up stinging dust from the dry streets. I was glad to reach the soft
greenery of Ride Park. As I let Dregs off his lead, he ran free with a joyous
bark and I wished I could enjoy such simple pleasures. Though I’d never
expected my relationship with Violet to last, I had hoped.

Dregs,
ran back with a long stick, dropped it at my feet and bounced and barked until
I threw it, while I struggled to understand my feelings, for even after
everything I’d learned about her, I was going to miss her. Though she might
have been a murderer, she’d been good to me, and I still couldn’t really
believe that a woman so sweet and lovely had liked me, maybe even loved me. It
was just my luck her turning out to be a cat.

Still,
on reflection, I had always been a little afraid of her and, though it had
never been the debilitating terror Felix had caused, it had been more even than
my normal nervousness in the presence of an attractive woman. I couldn’t help
myself: I wanted her back, even if she was going to maul me.

As
Dregs rushed back towards me, a harsh voice yelled.

‘Oi,
Caplet!’

Seemingly
distracted, Dregs forgot to stop and his stick rapped my shins, making me hop
and mutter. Someone laughed.

I
turned to see Featherlight, standing on the edge of the woods, a can of beer in
his hand.

‘You
make me laugh, you do.’

‘Do
I?’

‘Yes.
Now, when you see your mate Hobbes, tell him I said thanks for rescuing Billy
and for putting the fire out and getting me out of the nick. And tell him he
owes me for the two kegs of lager he used for putting out the fire.’

‘What?’
I said, outraged, ‘that’s not fair.’

‘You
tell him,’ he said, displaying his horrible, big, yellow teeth in a grin, ‘he’ll
understand.’ He lumbered away, chuckling, a ring of pale flab flowing from
beneath his vest, like a part-inflated rubber ring.

I
guessed he’d been joking, though his usual attempts at humour involved pain and
humiliation for whichever poor customer he’d picked on. I had, on several
occasions, been that customer.

When
Dregs was limp and panting, we returned home to find Hobbes was up, washed,
groomed and back to normal. I passed on Featherlight’s remarks.

He
snorted. ‘He was in a good mood, I suppose.’

‘Well,
you did get him off a murder charge, rescued his barman, stopped the Feathers
burning down, and got rid of the crook who was trying to force him from his
home.’

‘I
was only doing my job. Now, let’s enjoy lunch.’

After
he said grace, Mrs Goodfellow served a fantastic gazpacho, a real gazpacho, so
very different from my disaster. I could hardly believe only three weeks had
passed since then; life with Hobbes moved at a hectic pace.

‘Would
you like a bottle of wine?’ asked Mrs G, as we were savouring the soup.

‘Good
idea,’ said Hobbes. ‘I intend to take it easy this afternoon.’

‘Excellent,’
said I.

‘Sorry,
dear,’ she said, heading towards the cellar, ‘you can’t have any until Doctor
Procter says so.’

She
returned, holding two bottles, tutting. ‘I really must clean down there. There’s
coal dust all over these.’

Having
wiped them with a damp cloth, she opened one and poured it into a glass big enough
for an adequate goldfish bowl. Placing it in front of Hobbes, she served the
main course.

‘What
is it?’ I asked, salivating. ‘It smells fantastic. Is it Chinese?’

‘That’s
right, dear, bang bang chicken.’

‘I
didn’t know you could make Chinese food.’

‘I
do sometimes. I nursed there once.’

‘When?’

‘When
I was a nurse.’

‘Right
… anyway … umm … it looks great.’

‘Thank
you, dear.’

It
was, as I expected, excellent, aromatic, savoury, piquant and served with a
refreshing simple salad, just perfect for a hot afternoon. Though, as usual, we
ate in silent homage to the old girl’s genius, unusually, not all of my
attention was focussed onto the meal, part of it still being with Violet. I
kept going back to her words about Felix having done what had to be done and,
though I’d assumed she’d been referring to his business dealings, I wondered if
there was more to them.

The
old girl’s remark about the coal dust on the bottle puzzled me for she normally
kept the cellar as spotless as a surgery. Hobbes, raising his glass, sniffed
the contents, making me realise how much I would have enjoyed a glass or two. I
tried to concentrate on the bang bang chicken, thinking it was a funny name for
a dish, though appropriate, considering the bashing she’d given it. It made me
think about the banging I’d heard before Violet turned up.