Authors: Marian Babson
To Catch a Cat (3 page)
âIt's all right,' Robin whispered as he leaned over the bed and slid the straps from his shoulders. âHe can't get us now.'
The backpack lay inert and silent on the bed. There was no movement inside it.
âAre you all right?' Robin felt sudden fresh panic. Had he smothered Leif Eriksson by cramming him in there?
âHold on, I'll get you out.' His fingers were clumsy as he fought to unbuckle the flap. âYou'll be all right. You've got to be all right.'
There. He lifted up the flap and moved back, waiting.
At first, he was relieved that the cat did not burst out in a flurry of teeth and claws and spitting rage. As the moments dragged by and nothing happened at all, he began to worry again.
âCat ⦠? Um ⦠Leif? ⦠Eriksson? Are you all right?'
Was he going to have to put his hands inside to pull the cat out? And maybe get horribly scratched and bitten? How would he explain that to Auntie Mags and Joshua?
âCat â¦?' He grasped the backpack by its bottom fold and tilted it, sliding its contents out on to the bedspread.
Slowly, Leif Eriksson slid into view, surrounded by pencils, sweet wrappers, conkers and all the miscellaneous clobber that had lined the bottom of the backpack when he had been shoved in on top of it.
âCat â¦? Leif â¦?' He stretched a tentative finger out towards the motionless ball of fur.
One glazed eye opened slightly, one ear twitched. Dazed and disorientated, the cat seemed to struggle to lift up its head and look around, but then abandoned the struggle and sank back into unconsciousness.
With a sickening lurch of his heart, Robin remembered that awful thud as the cat had hit the wall. Had Mr Nordling broken all its bones? Killed it?
Robin didn't want to think about Mr Nordling. Or Mrs Nordling. Or broken bones. Suddenly, he found himself shivering uncontrollably.
âCat â¦?' It was still breathing, anyway. Its side rose and fell in a slow, shallow, barely perceptible movement. Robin blinked against the tears prickling in his eyes.
âCat â¦?' Gingerly, he ran a finger lightly down one of the forelegs. He was afraid of hurting it, but he knew he had to get some idea of what damage had been done.
The leg felt all right, nothing was sticking out or anything, but it might still be broken. He didn't think so, though.
Emboldened, he checked the other legs, using both hands now, probing gently, carefully; they seemed to be all right. So far as he could tell â which, he realised, wasn't very far.
He was working his way delicately up the cat's spine when it opened its eyes and turned its head to look at him.
âI didn't hurt you, did I?' he whispered, stricken. âHere â ' He thrust his hand in front of the cat's face. âIf I did, you can scratch me â a little bit.'
The cat sniffed at the offered hand for a moment, then lightly licked one fingertip.
âYou know I'm trying to help you!' Robin's heart swelled with awe and pride. âAnd you're right. I'll get you on your feet â your paws â again.'
Leif Eriksson closed his eyes and let his head sink back. His breathing seemed to be slightly stronger.
âNow, why can't you hold your head up, boy? Let's have a good look at your neck.' For a minute, he felt almost expert ⦠assured, grown-up ⦠as he probed the fleecy ruff.
Then he froze. There seemed to be a thin ridge of small broken bones circling the neck â on the outside.
Circling? Outside?
He held his breath as he parted the fur, burrowing down towards the skin. It was very thick fur which seemed almost to have two layers, the long silky hairs on top and a long thicker woolly coat beneath. A cat which had evolved to live in the Norwegian forests in the depths of winter. Nature was certainly â
His breath caught in his throat as something glittered at him from the depths of the fur. He worked his fingers underneath it and tugged gently.
Bright glittering square stones the colour of blood rose to the surface and caught fire from the light of the lamp. Gold links gleamed between the stones, joining them together.
In stunned disbelief, Robin pulled at the brilliant circle, sliding it around Leif's neck, trying to find the clasp.
Leif gave a faint choking cry as some of his fur caught in the links.
âSorry ⦠sorry â¦' Robin found the clasp and released it. âYou'll be all right now.'
He tossed the bracelet aside and gently probed the cat's neck again. Nothing was obviously out of place. So why wasn't Leif Eriksson sitting up and moving around?
Of course, there was more to an animal than just the bones - there were all the soft vulnerable things in its middle. Was something vital crushed or damaged?
He didn't know. He was suddenly, violently, angry with
himself. He didn't know enough to be of any real help. He didn't know anything. He was stupid, stupid, stupid! And, because he was so useless, the cat might die.
himself. He didn't know enough to be of any real help. He didn't know anything. He was stupid, stupid, stupid! And, because he was so useless, the cat might die.
He slammed his clenched fist down and struck the hard sharp object he had released from Leif's neck. He lifted it up and stared at the glittering prize now dangling from his hand. Gold and diamonds and rubies. Everybody knew the Nordlings had heaps and heaps of money â it had to be real.
Maybe that was why Mr Nordling had been so mad at his wife. Playing with her cat by placing precious jewels around its neck might have driven him into that murderous frenzy.
Only ⦠now he had Mrs Nordling's precious bracelet. And Mrs Nordling's cherished cat.
And Mr Nordling wasn't going to like it. He was going to want to get both of them back.
Nils carefully avoided looking at the body lying between himself and the door. It was nothing to do with him. It must come as a terrible shock when he eventually returned home and discovered it.
He'd taken the precaution of putting on a pair of black leather gloves and now he opened the jewellery box and upended it into the pillowcase, watching impassively as the glittering shower of gems cascaded in. They were nothing to do with him, either.
Still carrying his shoes (they could trace shoes by some unnoticeable pattern on the soles, couldn't they?), he switched off the light, then recalled hastily that he shouldn't and switched it back on. A thin film of sweat broke out on his forehead â there were so many things you had to think about. Things that might trap you.
At the bottom of the stairs, he put on his shoes, picked up the pillowcase full of loot again and went out to his car.
At first, he drove around aimlessly, mentally trying out bits of his story as he would relate it to the police, rehearsing aloud the intonation, the expressions, the break in his voice.
At first, he drove around aimlessly, mentally trying out bits of his story as he would relate it to the police, rehearsing aloud the intonation, the expressions, the break in his voice.
Should he cry? Or would that be going too far? Perhaps the blank incredulous look, the breaking off and staring into space, the man in deep shock, would be the best card to play. Too much emotion made people uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable people looked around for a distraction. If they happened to be the police, they might pay closer attention to their investigation, scrutinise everything too closely.
Loose ends. How many loose ends had he left?
So far as he knew, only that unexpected witness.
The thought that had been gnawing at the darkest corner of his mind broke into the open. Now that he had more time, he allowed himself to examine it thoroughly â and to consider all of the implications.
A witness. Someone who had heard Ingrid's screams. Someone who had seen him naked and blood-splattered. Someone who could testify against him at a murder trial. Someone who knew that a murder had been committed.
Concentrate, Nils, think. What did that witness look like? Who was he?
No one he knew, he was sure of that. No one he had ever seen before. But he didn't know all that many people in this miserable town Ingrid had insisted on moving to when she had inherited her aunt's house here. Ingrid, with her charity work, her coffee mornings, her cat shows, was the one who had settled comfortably into the dreary life of this dead-and-alive hole.
He wrenched his mind away from that dangerous detour and cast it back into the dark hallway, lit only by the light from the room behind him. In that brief instant before he had been blinded by the dazzling light striking his eyes, he had seen a small crouching shape.
A kid? This town was full of kids â and they all looked alike to him.
But there had been something odd about this kid. He was ⦠misshapen. A hunchback?
No ⦠He replayed the memory of the barely glimpsed form. The lump had been on the chest, not the back.
A female? There was nothing to say that a girl couldn't be as opportunistic a cat burglar as a boy but, somehow, he didn't think it was a girl.
Why not? Again, he visualised the elongated shadow that had stretched, lurching, down the front path. Almost shapeless, except for the lumpy blob slung low on its chest, the arms clutching it tightly.
What had the kid stolen before being discovered?
Instinctively, Nils glanced into the back seat where he had tossed the pillowcase filled with valuables. He had gathered up everything that might have tempted a thief, disdaining the TV and paintings as not being portable enough, but including Ingrid's jewellery. So, what else was left?
Everything that might have tempted a thief had still been in place for him to take. He shuddered now at the memory of going back through the bedroom, into the dressing room, and emptying Ingrid's jewel case, but it had been necessary to underline the fact that she had been attacked because she had discovered the burglar at work.
Nothing had been missing before he set to work.
But everything was missing now â and he had to dispose of it all. He swung the car in the direction of the deserted old stone quarry. The water was cold and deep there. It had engulfed old cars, bicycles, bedsprings and, doubtless, the odd body. It would swallow a pillowcase full of loot without even a ripple.
He tied a knot in the pillowcase and hurled it as far out as he could, without a moment's hesitation. He never wanted to see any of those things again â they had all belonged to Ingrid and, anyway, the insurance company would pay up on them.
His only regret was that bloody Leif Eriksson wasn't in the pillowcase, too, sinking down into the icy depths, fighting for the breath he would never get again.
The cat! That was what was missing!
He'd assumed that it had slunk off to lick its wounds after
he had hurled it out of the bedroom. Now he began to have his doubts.
he had hurled it out of the bedroom. Now he began to have his doubts.
He had thrown it with all his might, registering with satisfaction the dull thud as it had hit the wall. Then Ingrid had hurled herself at him in full attack. He had planned to go back and finish the cat later â but first, he'd had to finish Ingrid.
When he'd opened the door again, he'd seen the stooping figure and, yes, Leif Eriksson had no longer been on the floor.
The kid had taken the cat. Whether out of sympathy or because he thought the cat was valuable â which it was â the kid had made off with the cat. Nils remembered now the loud howl of what he had taken to be terror just before the kid streaked off down the stairs. But it hadn't come from the kid, it had come from the cat. Leif Eriksson.
Much good it would do the kid. Leif Eriksson was the most photographed cat in town. Ingrid had seen to that. If the kid tried to sell it, he would be caught immediately. The same went for entering it in any cat show. Ingrid Nordling's young Leif Eriksson had taken too many prizes to be passed off as just any new cat making its first appearance in a cat show.
Leif Eriksson was instantly identifiable!
The realisation struck him forcibly. He might not be able to tell one kid from another, but he'd know that damned cat anywhere!
Find the cat and he'd find the kid. And then he could eliminate the only witness. And eliminate bloody Leif Eriksson, too.
He savoured the thought. His fingers curled as though already tightening around the hated cat's neck. The end of Leif Eriksson â what a satisfactory moment that would be. Second only to the satisfaction he had felt when he had realised that Ingrid had stopped breathing.
Ingrid! It was time to go home and discover her body. And call the police. And tell his story. And set the wheels of officialdom into motion.
A chill wind rippled the deep cold water of the quarry and sent a shiver coursing through Nils's body.
It was time to get out of here. It would be too ironic if he were to catch pneumonia and die just as life was opening up properly at last.
He got back into the car and adjusted the rear-view mirror to practise a few more grief-stricken expressions before he had to face the hard eyes of the law.
After he'd taken care of that â his eyes narrowed, becoming harder than anything the law could display â he'd find the kid and the cat and take care of them.
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