To Catch a Cat (11 page)

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Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: To Catch a Cat
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‘See here, old man, you've hurt her feelings. I mean, it's just not on.' Edward gnawed at the stem of his pipe uneasily. ‘We can't have this.'
Stupid, pompous, insufferable bore! How satisfying it would be to ram that pipe so far down his throat that it came out his other end! And, as for that wife of his –
‘Look …' Nils took a deep steadying breath. ‘I'm sorry. I was upset. It was such a shock, coming on those posters like that. I didn't mean to shout at her – '
‘She was only trying to help.' Edward shook his head reprovingly. ‘This has all been a terrible shock for her, too, you know. She and Ingrid were very close friends.'
‘I know. I'm sorry.' How much did he have to grovel to this idiot? Every muscle in his body ached with the effort of controlling them. He wanted to hammer his fists into Edward's stupid face, kick him to the floor and keep on kicking until he was exhausted, then run out of the house slamming the door and never return to see either of their stupid faces again.
But he couldn't. He needed the air of respectability and background of normal friendship they provided. He had noticed the way the police had nodded with approval – and relief – that there was nothing more they would have to do about it – when he had told them that he had friends to go to. If he were to walk out on those ‘friends' now, especially after a raging fight with them … well, it might be passed off as an extreme reaction from a grieving widower … it might … but it might also make the police look more closely at him. He couldn't have that.
They had already looked askance at his loosely-constructed alibi, even though a watertight one might be even more suspicious. When their questions had centred on his sleeping in the car, he had taken a chance. There had been a genuine meeting the day before with six exhausted Japanese businessmen, who had started with Australia and so far had visited more countries than they were able to remember clearly, although they had spoken warmly about karaoke bars they had visited along the way. They had dragged Nils along with them to one in London after the travesty of a meeting ended. He had partied unwillingly until their eyes had glazed over and he had been able to slip away.
‘I'm not used to sake,' he had confided to the police. ‘It caught up with me suddenly and that was why I pulled off the road and took a nap. I hadn't bothered mentioning the Japanese to you earlier because they've left the country and you won't be able to contact them.'
‘If you'll just give us their names and companies, sir …' He had taken great delight in doing so, spelling out the names painstakingly and watching the recording officer trying not to wince.
And good luck!
He knew that the Japanese group were splitting up at Heathrow, two of them going on to Toronto, three to Moscow and one to a family wedding in San Francisco. By the time they got back to their respective companies, everything would be one great blur. Too many countries, too many karaoke bars, too much jetlag. And didn't crossing the International Date Line come into it somewhere to further muddy the waters – and the dates? They would never be able to remember one particular night and would agree with everything he had said. He was safe there.
But was he safe here? Edward was still looking at him disapprovingly, perhaps waiting for even more of an apology. He must grind his teeth and make peace.
‘I'll send Edith some flowers,' he said. ‘Chocolates … a bottle of champagne. Anything she likes.'
‘That isn't necessary,' Edward said gravely. ‘We understand the strain you're under. It was an appalling thing to have happened. But I think you might remember that Edith is hurt and grieving, too. Just have a bit of consideration for her feelings, old man. You're not the only one suffering a terrible loss.'
‘I know. I'm sorry. I – I just didn't stop to think. I wouldn't have upset her for the world.' His nails dug into the palms of his hands. ‘Especially when I'm so grateful – so very grateful – to both of you for having me here, for helping me through this … this nightmare.'
‘What are friends for?' He was forgiven. ‘I'll talk to Edith later. She'll feel better after she's had a bit of a weep and a lie-down. The posters were all her own idea, you know. I thought it a jolly good one. She knew you had so much on your mind, you couldn't think of everything. She paid to have them printed herself.'
‘How many?'
‘No, no, wouldn't dream of your paying, old man. Our contribution to the cause. We're only too pleased to – '
‘I didn't say, “how much?”' Nils bit down on irritation. ‘I said, “how many?”'
‘Oh, fifty, I think. She thought that would do, for a start. If it doesn't have any effect, she'll get another fifty printed and post them farther afield. No telling how far the poor old chap might have roamed, eh?'
Fifty!
And she'd splashed them all over town! The room tilted and a faint red haze blurred everything. How many had he recovered? He tried to calculate: the first four had been clustered at a main crossroads, one on each corner. After that, he'd raced from one corner to another until exhaustion and second thoughts had set in. How many had he retrieved altogether? In his rage, he had torn the first few to shreds before he began to realise that he would do better to confront Edith and try to get some information from her as to what she'd actually done.
Only she had chosen to retreat into hysterics just because he had raised his voice a little. And then Edward had returned.
‘Fifty!' he said aloud, shaking his head. He thought he'd accounted for about eighteen or twenty but …
‘I'm not sure she had time to put them all up this afternoon. In fact, I think there's still a stack of them in the corner of our room. She was going to go out first thing in the morning to put up the rest.
‘No! Don't let her put up any more!'
‘Erm …' Edward looked dubious; the idea that he might control Edith's movements was obviously new to him. And none too welcome. ‘But she says it's the best way to find the cat. She's worried about it, says it's still half a kitten. Seems those Norwegian Forests are slow developers, don't attain their full growth until they're four years old. Leif Eriksson might look big to most of us, but he's only about two years old, still half-grown.' Edward regarded him disapprovingly,
as though he should have known that. As though he should have cared!
‘Yes … No …' Nils fell back on the distracted mourner act again. ‘I don't know.'
‘Don't you worry about anything. Erm, especially the reward – we'll be happy to pay it, by the way. Edith said that part was very important. Sets everyone looking for the cat.'
‘Hunting it, you mean!' The room was regaining its normal colours. Nils tried to smile. ‘The poor cat has been traumatised enough. I don't want it being hunted and frightened. If we leave it alone, it will come home by itself. Money doesn't come into the equation.'
‘No, no, of course not. I wasn't suggesting – '
‘Sorry … sorry. I'm just so … overwrought.' Nils felt his teeth beginning to ache from the force with which he was grinding them together.
‘Of course you are. Perfectly natural. In the circumstances. No one knows how to behave at a time like this. An ordinary death is bad enough, but this – ' Abruptly aware of tactlessness, Edward broke off and tried again:
‘Erm, a drink. You need a good stiff drink. So do I.'
For Christ's sake, shut up and leave me alone!
For a chilling instant, he was afraid he'd said it aloud. Shouted it. But no. Edward was still frowning at him with concern, although he had involuntarily taken a half-step back. Had he recognised something dangerous flashing in Nils's eyes?
‘Good idea.' Nils smiled weakly.
‘Right.' Edward waved a hand expansively towards the drinks trolley. ‘Name your poison. Scotch? Gin? Brandy? What would you like?'
I'd like to strangle you!
The violence of his unuttered response shook Nils. He had to get a grip on himself. Edward had retreated another step. The man's brain might not be first-class, but there was nothing wrong with his instincts.
‘Whatever you're having.' Nils forced another smile. ‘And then, if you don't mind, I think I'll go up and take a sleeping pill. I'm feeling …'
‘Right, right. Quite understand. You have an early night. That would be best,' Edward said with obvious relief.
‘Mmmrrrmmmph …?
' When this elicited no response, it was repeated in a slightly higher, more insistent tone.
‘Mmmrrrmmph?'
‘Shhh!' Robin sent a frantic look towards the inquisitive cat. ‘Not so loud. They'll hear you.' Leif was getting more talkative as time went on and he obviously began to feel a lot better. He was also moving around more, getting restless and too eager to leap up and perch on the windowsill and look down on the world outside.
‘
Mmmreeeoow?
' Leif was growing more and more anxious as he watched Robin lift each sodden malodorous sock and drop it into the black bin liner.
‘It's all right.' Robin realised suddenly that the cat was disturbed because what it had thought was its private loo was disappearing rapidly. ‘I'll get you something better. I'll dig up some dirt from the garden.' He would need something to hold the dirt; he wondered if Mags would notice if one of her baking pans disappeared. Not that she did much baking.
Leif seemed reassured and rubbed against his ankles, looking up at him expectantly.
‘You're a good cat.' Robin paused to bestow a few pats, then put the last sock in the bag. What was left wasn't too bad, just a damp patch on the carpet, the socks had absorbed most of it. The cat was pretty clever to have used the pile of socks, otherwise there would have been a real mess to clear up.
A door slammed downstairs. Robin got to the window in time to see Josh go storming down the street. In a temper again. That meant Mags wouldn't be in a good mood, either.
Leif jumped up on the windowsill and stood by his elbow, thrusting forward to see what so interesting in the street below.
If Josh looked back and spotted him …
‘Down, boy!' He quickly pushed Leif to the floor.
Leif protested loudly.
‘I'm sorry,' he told the indignant cat, ‘but if anybody sees you, we're in trouble. More trouble.'
He was almost certain that he'd heard Mags go out earlier, but decided just to take a little listen and see if he could hear any sound downstairs.
He opened the door carefully – but not carefully enough. Leif suddenly compressed himself to a fraction of his normal size, squeezed through the gap and skittered down the stairs.
‘Come back!' He dived after the cat but, giddy with freedom, it was not to be caught. It looked over its shoulder, seeming to laugh at his efforts, and skidded down the hallway and into the dining-room in high spirits. This was a lovely game and Leif was having fun, real fun, for the first time since Robin had known him.
Robin was laughing, too, he couldn't help it. The cat was so funny. One part of him rejoiced to know that Leif was so much better, nearly recovered from the shock and possible bruising he had sustained. The other half of him flinched away from the problems looming in the future. How could he keep a lively, inquisitive, talkative cat cooped up in one small room?
One thing was sure: Auntie Mags wasn't around or all this noise and laughter would have had her hovering over them right this minute. And how could he explain it to her? Almost as soon as he asked himself this question, a series of explanations – lies – began crowding into Robin's brain. He began to relax; there was plenty of time to sort them out and decide on the best story.
Leif had halted just inside the door and was looking around. This did not resemble any of the rooms he was accustomed to seeing when he was downstairs in his own house, but he was cheerfully open to new experiences. After
a halt to consider the situation, he began prowling around the dining-room.
Robin followed quietly behind him, marvelling at the way the cat went about investigating his surroundings. A twitch of his nose and a flirt of his whiskers and he had noted and dismissed the chair and computer that constituted Josh's workstation in the corner of the dining-room.
Robin found himself nodding in agreement. He felt the same about Josh himself. Josh occupied space and made a lot of noise, but was not really worth bothering about. Unless you were Auntie Mags, that is. What a pity she didn't have better taste.
Leif moved on to discover the kitchen. He went straight to the fridge and stood before it, looking at Robin hopefully.
‘Not much in there right now, I'm afraid,' Robin told him. ‘Not until Mags gets back from the shops. Oh, well,' he surrendered to the trusting gaze, ‘we'll take a look.'
Leif ducked, then moved forward as the door swung open, his nose twitching again as he looked to the top shelf. Robin inspected the cling-film-wrapped dishes ranged there. A bowl of cold boiled potatoes and three cold cooked sausages - it would be noticed if one went missing, Josh undoubtedly had them earmarked for his late-night supper. A large leftover piece of pepperoni pizza looked the most promising, if a bit doubtful.
‘Would you eat this?' He peeled back the clingfilm and lifted off a slice of pepperoni, offering it to the cat. Leif sniffed at it, then gripped it between his teeth and lowered it to the floor. He would eat it, perhaps not with as much enthusiasm as he would eat other choices, but he would eat it.
‘Good.' Robin gave him two more slices, then carefullly rearranged the remaining pepperoni so that the pizza did not look too denuded.
Leif abruptly abandoned the last fragments of pepperoni and turned away, licking his chops thoughtfully. He obviously thought he'd like to explore some more, this time at a higher level. He returned to the dining-room, leaped on to a
chair and then on to the table. He strolled the length of the table, gathered himself and sprang across to the Welsh dresser. The dishes on it rattled as he landed heavily.
‘Come on,' Robin said nervously, ‘we'd better go back upstairs now.'
Leif didn't want to go. He evaded Robin's grasp, dropped to the floor and darted back to the kitchen, heading unerringly for the back door where he sat down and looked to Robin to open it for him.
‘Oh, no,' Robin said. ‘I'm not letting you out. You can forget that right now.'
‘
Mrrryaaah!'
Leif made what he thought of that attitude quite clear. He looked urgently at the door leading to the world outside again, but his tongue swept uneasily across his lips.
‘Leif, come on, Leif,' Robin coaxed seductively, crossing to the fridge and taking out the carton of milk. ‘That pepperoni was pretty spicy, wasn't it? I'll bet you're thirsty.' He poured milk into a bowl while Leif watched, licking his chops.
‘That's a good boy, Leif …' Robin replaced the milk in the fridge and held the bowl out enticingly. ‘Let's go upstairs and have a nice long drink, yes?'
He led the way upstairs, pausing every few steps to lower the bowl and swirl the milk around, encouraging Leif onwards and upwards.
‘That's right … that's a good boy.' Robin opened his bedroom door and they both went inside, Leif nearly tripping him as he wound around his ankles.
‘There we are …' Robin closed the door firmly before setting the bowl on the floor. He waited until Leif was up to his ears in it, drinking thirstily, before picking up the bin liner filled with the disgusting socks and debris and slipping quietly out of the room.
 
 
The small triumph of outwitting Leif sustained Robin on his trek across town to a section where the rubbish had not yet
been attended to. The wheelie bins were ranged in front of hedges awaiting collection.
Robin looked up and down the street. There was no one in sight. He turned his attention to the wheelie bins, inspecting them more closely. Some of them were so crammed full that their lids perched precariously atop a rounded heap of rubble. Others – and these he regarded more carefully – had their lids snugly fitting, with no gap apparent. He sidled up to the nearest, lifted the lid and peered inside.
No … it was filled to the brim with no room for any additions. He moved along to the next one.
That was better. Only three-quarters full. After another swift look around, he stuffed his bulging parcel into it and replaced the lid.
He began to whistle as he strolled away, a sense of freedom lifting his spirits. One big problem solved. There would be other problems – responsibilities – but he was beginning to feel that he could cope with them. Take one thing at a time. The next task was to collect some cat litter – and something to hold it. No, not litter, he remembered that he had decided on dirt from the garden – easily disposed of and replaced – and to half-inch one of Mags's baking trays to hold it. That would leave him more money to buy some proper catfood so that he didn't have to keep raiding the fridge.
Yes, things were looking up. He was smiling as he turned the corner and moved forward curiously to read the poster affixed to the lamp post.
‘LOST …' He stopped smiling abruptly as he stared at the picture of Leif Eriksson. The words in smaller print blurred until he reached the big black letters proclaiming: ‘REWARD'.
His knees suddenly went wobbly and he put out his hand to steady himself against the lamp post. Instinctively, he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. His hand was right beside the poster and, without thinking, he ripped it off the lamp post, crumpled it up and thrust it into his pocket.
But, where there was one, there must be more. More. And, with a reward offered, they would set everyone looking for poor Leif.
Too bad it was such a good likeness: Leif showed up sharply and clearly. That handsome white shirt front and proud ruff would be unmistakable. The darker markings on head and body were also distinctive, making him instantly identifiable.
The bracelet on the wrist of the woman holding him was also clear and identifiable – but he didn't want to think about that. One problem at a time was enough.
Or, if you had a whole town hunting for the cat, for the reward, did that count as a whole set of problems? He knew the reward Leif would get if Mr Nordling found him. And he wouldn't fare any better himself.
The memory he kept trying to repress resurfaced and threatened to overwhelm him. Mr Nordling: naked and vicious, splashed with his wife's blood, howling hatred and revenge at both of them as they fled from his house. He'd meant it … he would do it … he would kill them both.
Robin reeled back from the lamp post and stumbled away from the unfamiliar, but dangerous, neighbourhood.
What was he going to do?

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