The Collared Collection (11 page)

He smirked. ‘I’m about ready for bed,’ he said. ‘You?’

She yawned on cue. ‘Yes, are we all staying at Ginny’s tonight?’ she grinned, anticipating rampant sex.

‘That’s the plan. Come on, let’s go and hassle the lovebirds.’

They’d been driving for about twenty minutes when Callie began to feel sick. She couldn’t work out why – she hadn’t had much to drink and had sensibly lined her stomach with party food before her second glass. The deep breathing she tried didn’t work.

‘Mike, do you think we could stop?’ she called from the back seat. ‘I’m really sorry, but I don’t feel too well.’

‘Actually, I feel a bit off too,’ said Ginny. ‘Don’t tell me we’ve picked up a dose of food poisoning from the catering! I’ll sue the sodding hairs off their legs.’

As Mike pulled over to the kerb, David said, ‘It can’t be that, it’s affecting me too and I didn’t have anything to eat from the buffet.’

‘Hold tight, everyone,’ said Mike pulling up the handbrake, ‘I need to check under the bonnet. It’ll be fumes from the engine making us all nauseous – I can feel it at the back of my throat.’

He opened his door and got out of the car. ‘Wait here and I’ll see what’s happening – probably an oil spillage burning, or something like that.’

Mike threw up the bonnet and then threw up his hands in horror. ‘Aw,
fuck
! That is really gross!’ He staggered backwards, roughly swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. When he recovered he said, ‘I think we may have found Jasper.’

Chapter Nineteen

There was just about enough room for the four of them to sit around a small cedar wood table in Ginny’s paved patio garden on Saturday morning. At crazy expense, she’d had someone in to ‘landscape’ and they’d done an excellent job of creating an illusion of space in the small area. At that particular moment, though, Callie wasn’t in any mood to appreciate the mini Kew Gardens – she was feeling mighty jaded, after the night of passion she had looked forward to with David had been ruined, because she couldn’t rid her nostrils of the stench of fried feline.

She poured another mug of coffee in stony silence, having established with a series of eloquent nods that she was the only one interested in a refill.

‘We don’t know for sure it was Jasper,’ David said. ‘He didn’t have any distinguishing marks and the corpse was a charred mess.’

‘That’s meant to make it alright?’

He looked offended. ‘No, I was just saying,’

‘Saying what, exactly?’ He didn’t answer, just relied on the smirk.

Mike shook his head. ‘It’s going to take some industrial chemical usage to get that stink out of your car, Ginny.’

‘I know,’ she sighed, ‘I think I’ll just trade it in as is – I don’t want to sit in it again, just in case I find a horse’s head under the driver’s seat next time.’

‘I have some updates,’ David announced, chewing on a piece of wholemeal toast loaded with ginger preserve. He was the only one who could face anything to eat. They all looked at him, waiting for him to swallow. ‘First, the Fire Investigation Officer has filed his report.’

Ginny jumped down his throat. ‘And?’

‘And – as we already suspected – it was arson. There was evidence that whoever started the fire tried to lever off the wooden board covering the broken window, but failed. Instead, a pane of glass in the back door was removed using a cutter, and they lobbed a version of a Molotov cocktail through. Hardly an exact science, but effective – the seat of the fire was where it landed, roughly in the middle of the floor, and it caught the wooden table. We were lucky it spread more to the living room side and not under the bathroom – or our means of escape would have disappeared.’

‘Yeah, dead lucky,’ Callie grumbled. Realising how churlish that sounded, she immediately apologised. ‘Sorry … it’s just … well … So, no sign of Jasper, then?’

‘Not a paw print. The crew are satisfied the place is sound, so you can go back anytime you like and see what’s to be salvaged. The Walkers moved back in the next day.’

Grateful for something to organise, she said, ‘Right, I’ll do that later today – and I must get onto the insurance company to send assessors round, though I suppose that’ll have to wait until Monday.’

‘You have paid your premiums up to date then?’ Ginny asked. She looked surprised.

‘Yes, thank God – miracles do happen. And while I’m at the house, I’ll get someone to replace the windscreen on my car so we can use that for work next week, if you don’t mind being seen in an old banger, Ginny?’

She laughed theatrically. ‘Daah-ling, I
am
an old banger. So, David, when will your lot be finished with my car? I want to get rid of it as soon as possible and move on.’

‘The lab people are going over it – a few days, I expect.’

‘Great – not.’

‘Anyone got a theory on who might have stuck a dead cat – whether it was Jasper or not – under the bonnet last night?’ asked Mike. ‘Was your alarm activated, Ginny?’

‘No, I never bother in our underground parking – it’s meant to be secure.’

‘It could have been anyone at Bernard’s party,’ Callie said. ‘Damn, that’s really horrible.’

‘We can’t make that assumption,’ said David. ‘Is CCTV installed down there?’

Ginny reddened. ‘No, I have to confess I was too mean to pay for all the technology – Security do regular checks instead. Perhaps I’d better review the situation. Talk about shutting the stable door …’

‘Or the cat flap – did anyone notice a guest wafting eau de chat?’ Callie asked. Only Mike took pity on her and chortled quietly. When she’d drained her mug, she asked, ‘You said “up
dates
”, David, what else is new?’

He looked coy. ‘Ah, not good news, I’m afraid.’ Her heart sank. ‘My boss has decided he can no longer justify the expense of a permanent minder for you, Callie. Resources are stretched to the limit as it is – and since Balaclava Man has been conspicuous by his absence for a week, your protection is being withdrawn … as of now.’

Ginny banged the table with her fist, juddering crockery, ‘What about the small matter of a dead cat, baked to a crisp on my car engine? And I don’t much care if it was or wasn’t Jasper, it’s a very anti-social thing to do. Is your bastard superintendent having a laugh?’

‘That’s the point, Ginny – it was your car. We can’t be sure it wasn’t a disgruntled client getting their own back on you and nothing whatsoever to do with Callie – it could be a coincidence they went the barbecued moggy route.’

Through clenched teeth, she seethed, ‘Some coincidence.’

Callie didn’t think he could possibly be serious?

‘It’s not that much of a problem, anyway …’

That was too much; Callie dived in, banging her own fists on the table, juddering the same crockery as Ginny. ‘Not for you, maybe!’ She felt her stomach tying itself in complex knots at the thought of being cast adrift, at the mercy of Balaclava Man.

David raised both hands, palms forward in supplication. He looked at her intently, ‘If you’ll hear me out, you spend Monday to Friday in an office, surrounded by people, right? And there are security guards in the building?’

She growled, teeth still grinding. ‘Yes …’

‘You drive there and back with Ginny?’

‘Mmm … except Tuesday evenings. And she has to go away for trials sometimes.’

‘Alright – those are odd occasions that can be covered. But as a rule, the times you could be vulnerable during the week are when you’re not at work?’

Her jaw relaxed a notch. ‘Yes?’

‘And weekends.’

‘Your point, Columbo? That’s actually a high percentage of the week, according to my reckoning!’

‘Calm down, Callie, Mike and I have talked it over and ninety-nine per cent of the time, we can work it so that one or other of us will be with you. In the event we can’t, I’ll call in some favours – maybe arrange for the squad cars to do a regular drive by, that sort of thing – to make sure everything is OK. Trust me; the pair of you will be safe as houses.’

‘No kidding! My bloody house just burned down!’

Chapter Twenty

‘Did you hear what he said?’ she asked David, feeling mighty insulted.

‘No, I wasn’t listening – what?’

‘The new windscreen is worth more than the car! What a cheek – I didn’t give him a tip.’

He threw back his head and guffawed, glancing at her car. ‘He may have a point …’

It was late Saturday afternoon, as she sat astride the low wall at the front of her house, slotting her replacement credit card into her replacement wallet. The Neanderthal who’d just fitted a new windscreen for her got into his luminous orange van and sped away, leaving substantial deposits of rubber on the tarmac. At her feet were four bulging black refuse bags – mostly packed with clothes she’d rescued; anything she hoped might recover after a few trips around the washing machine.

‘Are you ready to go?’ he asked, ‘Time’s getting on … classy luggage, by the way.’

Now
she
wasn’t paying attention, her mind off on a virtual tour of the house. When she’d walked around the ground floor surveying the total devastation caused by the fire, she’d felt a mixture of sorrow, despair, and horror. Everything was black and sooty and the smell was overpoweringly acrid – enough to make her eyes water. Charcoal dust had settled in places she’d forgotten there were places. Worst of all, someone had done this because they hated her enough to want her dead, for whatever reason – and they hadn’t been too fussed about who else was in the house at the time. This was one mighty sick individual. Yet again, she thanked God – not that she was a religious person, but it never hurts to cover every eventuality – that they all got out alive. Oh and she thanked David too, for his quick thinking and instant command of the situation … if he hadn’t been there …

She inhaled a lungful of air and stood up, ‘Sorry … I was just … never mind.’ She pulled him to her, stood on tiptoe, and brushed his cheek with a kiss. ‘Thank you.’

He grinned, laughter lines creasing around his eyes, ‘I don’t know what for, but you’re welcome.’

As she was pummelling and moulding her garbage bags to fit into the back seat, a voice called from behind, ‘Afternoon, Callie!’

She spun around to see Robert Wyatt, dragging a rat dog with a silly big bow on its head along the pavement.

‘Oh hi,’ she wiggled her fingers in an apathetic wave.

‘Everything OK?’ he asked from the other side of the road. The dog was digging its claws in, reluctant to go walkies.

‘Great, thanks,’ if you don’t count a fire damaged house that’s uninhabitable and a homicidal maniac hot on my trail, she added telepathically, ‘you?’

‘Oh yes … you know how it goes.’

She didn’t, nor did she encourage further stilted conversation by answering him. She shot him a tight smile and then said to David sotto voce, ‘Let’s scram. I don’t know why, but that man gives me the creeps. He’s the sort that makes you want to scrub down with sheep dip when you’ve been anywhere near him.’

‘That’s a bit harsh – he speaks very highly of your backside, I seem to remember.’

She tossed the keys at him over the boot, ‘Just for that, you can drive! Let’s see what that does to your street cred.’

Ginny and Callie rustled up a quick, but impressive, tomato and tuna Provençal with linguine, a tossed green salad, and warm ciabatta bread with olives.

‘Who needs Jamie Oliver when they can have Montague and Ashton?’ Callie asked as they chinked glasses. ‘Cheers.’

There were four again for dinner and they resumed their breakfast seating formation at the garden table. Ginny swatted a mosquito that was about to take sustenance from her bare forearm. ‘So, the house looks pretty grim, eh?’

She sighed deeply, ‘Grim doesn’t quite cut it, Ginny. The damage is amazing – seeing what the force of the fire has done makes it all the more miraculous that none of us died.’

‘The age of the building would have been a contributing factor – a more modern place would have gone up like a torch, I guess. Those Victorians knew what they were doing when it came to the construction business. Anyway, no use dwelling on it …’

David groaned loud and long.

Ginny appeared suitably chastised and snorted, ‘Sorry, it just slipped out – but I am great believer in the Phoenix rising from the ashes. Once you get a decent team of builders and decorators in there, it will be good as new – or even better.’

She saw the sense in that view, ‘OK, everyone,’ Callie said, raising her wine glass, ‘Let’s all toast to new beginnings – and remember how lucky we are.’

It was nearly midnight, although still balmy outside. David and Callie had stayed at the table, canoodling by the light of a small brass lantern, while Ginny dragged Mike inside to watch a DVD of
It’s A Wonderful Life
. Hardly seasonal, but it was her favourite film of all time and Callie hoped Mike appreciated how honoured he was to be invited to share it with her. She always cried the whole way through, while Clarence did his stuff – one of the rare-as-a-chicken-wearing-lipstick moments when Ginny allowed those special to her to take a peek at her deeply-buried fragile side. Callie suspected her friend was falling – or perhaps had already fallen – in love, and was delighted.

She heard her new phone warble and dashed inside to grab it, before the annoying ring tone ruined the moment for Ginny and Mike.

‘Sorry,’ she hissed as she zipped past the sofa – though it didn’t seem like either of them noticed the interruption, their moist eyes transfixed by the screen, their fingers tightly entwined. Perhaps Ginny had found her soul mate at last, Callie hoped.

Caller ID told her it was Alex; she said, ‘Hi, Alex – shouldn’t you be in bed … or is that bunk, seeing as though you’re on the ocean wave?’

She listened to spooky static and the hairs on the back of her neck sprang to attention.

The second time she screamed his name, her hand squeezing the phone so hard, she was amazed the casing didn’t shatter, ‘Alex!’ David leapt up, his cheeks skewed by concern. Her life flashed before her eyes several times before she got an answer, by which time she was a hopeless basket case.

‘Um … it’s not Alex, Mrs Ashton.’ The voice was young and female with an Essex accent.