Authors: Marian Babson
To Catch a Cat (4 page)
Robin awoke slowly, as though reluctant to face the day. His arm pulled the comforting cushion closer.
But ⦠He swam up gradually through the layers of consciousness. But ⦠there was something wrong about this cushion. It was strangely warm ⦠and furry â
He opened his eyes. The cat was staring gravely into his face. When he had gone to sleep, it had been sprawled at the foot of the bed. Now it was curled in the crook of his arm ⦠watching him.
As he stared back, blinking, the cat opened its mouth suddenly, displaying two rows of sharp pointed menacing teeth.
Robin froze.
The mouth opened wider still, the little pink tongue inside curled back, the eyes closed. The cat wasn't about to attack â it was only yawning.
Now it stretched, the sharp little claws appearing and disappearing again harmlessly, the back arching and relaxing.
Robin felt himself relax, too. He watched in fascination as
Leif Eriksson sat up and proceeded to give himself a slow and meticulous bath. The contortions involved finally convinced Robin that the cat had no broken bones.
Leif Eriksson sat up and proceeded to give himself a slow and meticulous bath. The contortions involved finally convinced Robin that the cat had no broken bones.
That still didn't mean the cat wasn't hurt. It might have been his imagination, but he thought the cat flinched and licked more cautiously at certain spots. Bruises, perhaps, where it had hit the wall.
Did cats bruise? Once more, the helpless rage swept over him as he realised how little he knew.
âI'll find out,' he promised softly. âI'll go to the library and get some books about cats. They'll tell me how I can help you.'
Leif Eriksson paused in his ablutions, looked up and seemed to nod in agreement.
âBut first you need something to eat, don't you?' Even as he spoke, Robin realised that the simple act of feeding the cat would give him more information about its condition. If it ate the food, then the major part of its insides were probably all right.
If it refused the food, they were in trouble.
Downstairs, the sickly sweet acrid tang lingering in the air told Robin that Joshua and Mags had ended the night as he had come to learn they usually did: smoking pot. At least, Joshua did. Mags maybe not so much, she was better-tempered in the mornings.
And that reminded him of the other requirement for his acceptance into the gang: he was supposed to bring them three sticks of pot.
They probably thought that was the one that would stop him dead in his tracks. They didn't know how easy it was.
He lifted his head, listening. The house was silent. Mags and Josh were still sleeping it off, probably. They hadn't been smoking before Robin went to bed. They thought that, if he didn't see them, he wouldn't know about it. He knew more than they thought.
He knew where to look. They thought they were talking over his head with their veiled allusions, but any child who
had gone through a parental divorce had learned to identify and interpret every nuance of adult conversation. And as for the subsequent courting and remarriage â¦
had gone through a parental divorce had learned to identify and interpret every nuance of adult conversation. And as for the subsequent courting and remarriage â¦
Robin pulled his mind back from the painful subject and concentrated on present problems.
He knew where Joshua kept his stash, all right. It was in the old Victorian tea caddy on the top shelf of the Welsh dresser.
He carried a chair over, set it down silently and climbed up on it, stretching on tiptoe for the high shelf. The tea caddy nearly slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor. He caught it just in time and clutched it to him, lifting the lid.
He was in luck. It was full. Josh must have scored a hit recently. They'd never miss three. He took them out carefully and stowed them in his pyjama pocket, restored the tea caddy to its place, then replaced the chair. Now for his other mission.
He padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge door, taking stock of its contents.
His luck was holding. There was a roast chicken, only half consumed. No one would notice a few extra slices missing. If they did, he could say he ate them all himself and his mother would pay for it when she came back ⦠if she came back.
Another subject not to be contemplated at this moment.
Cats drink milk. He concentrated on the safer subject. One he could do something about. Well, one he could probably do a little something about â until he found out more.
He piled the hacked-off pieces of chicken into a saucer and poured a glass of milk. Once the cat had eaten the chicken, he could use the saucer for the milk. Or maybe he could pour the milk right in with the chicken. How fussy were cats, anyway?
Meanwhile, if anyone caught him going upstairs, he could claim it was all for himself.
No one did. The cat was asleep again on the bed. Asleep â or unconscious?
The first sniff of chicken settled that worry. The cat lunged to his feet and gulped at the food as though he was starving.
Perhaps he was. Who knew when he had had his last meal? Even if Mrs Nordling had fed him before she went to bed, that was a long time ago now.
Mrs Nordling ⦠He didn't want to think about Mrs Nordling.
He had begun to nibble absently on a piece of chicken but, as his stomach turned over abruptly, he replaced the chicken in the saucer where the cat snatched at it greedily.
He didn't really want any of the milk, either. He poured some into the saucer and felt a little better as he watched the cat lap it up eagerly. The poor thing had been parched as well as famished. It wouldn't be surprising if it went back to sleep again after this.
Sleep ⦠it was a tempting thought. Robin felt his eyelids grow heavy. The bed beckoned, but only Leif Eriksson could answer its call.
The saucer empty, the cat leaped back on the bed. Before settling down, it gazed intently at Robin, then looked from the remaining milk in the glass to the empty saucer and back again.
âYou want more milk?' Robin emptied the glass into the saucer and was conscious of a warm glow of approval from the cat, just before it slumped down and closed its eyes.
It didn't want the milk right now, he understood, it just wanted to be sure there was some waiting for it when it awoke.
From the room down the hall, there suddenly came sounds of stirring. Robin dressed hurriedly.
âYou stay here and keep quiet,' he whispered, arranging the quilt to cover the sleeping cat. âI'll be back as soon as I can.'
As he passed the bedroom door, he shouted, âAuntie Mags, I've got to go to the library. I'll be back soon okay?'
He ran down the stairs and was out of the house before she had roused herself enough to answer.
âI ⦠I can't believe this! It can't be true! I keep thinking I'll wake up soon and find Ingrid safe beside me. Oh, God! It's a nightmare and I can't wake up! I can't â ' He allowed his voice to break and covered his face with his hands, sternly resisting the temptation to peek and see how his audience was reacting.
âSteady on, old chap.' The best thing about Edward Todmaster was that he was totally predictable. You could bet your life on what he was going to say next. âLet me fix you a good stiff drink. Are you sure you don't want me to call the doctor for you? You've had a nasty shock, you know.'
âYes ⦠no ⦠I mean â¦' He uncovered his face, hoping it was arranged in a suitably bearing-up-under-this-tragedy expression. âThere's nothing a doctor can do.'
âErm, quite.' Edward was puce with embarrassment but, typically, persevered. âNot for ⦠erm, ah â¦' Edward hesitated for so long that Nils wasn't sure he was actually going to say it. Did the fool think she had lost her name along with her life?
âNot for poor Ingrid,' Edward finished with a gasp of effort. âBut he could do something for you. Give you something to help you sleep â¦'
âI'd still have to wake up.'
âOh, quite, quite. But it would tide you over these first few days ⦠nights. Time is the great healer, you know.'
âRevenge might heal me more.' For a moment, the fantasy killer became real, someone to be caught, to be punished for what he had done to Ingrid. âIf I could only get my hands on him â '
âTry not to think about it.'
âNot think about it? You didn't see her. The blood ⦠the
bruises ⦠the open eyes â¦' He covered his own eyes again, in earnest this time. Would he be able to sleep?
bruises ⦠the open eyes â¦' He covered his own eyes again, in earnest this time. Would he be able to sleep?
Not in that room. No, of course not. The question wouldn't arise for some time yet. The bedroom was still sealed off. The police were photographing, measuring, prying into drawers and corners, and carrying out all the grubby, petty, small-minded routines they imagined might lead them to the identity of the anonymous burglar who had violated the Nordling home. No wonder people called them Plods.
âCome back to my place.' Good Old Edward was still running true to form. âYou can't stay here tonight ⦠alone.'
âI â I don't know?' He tried to react with surprise, gratitude and bewilderment. Why else did that fool Edward think he had called him? âIt's kind of you â '
âNothing of the sort, old chap. You'd do the same for me. I mean, if the circumstances were reversed â I mean â ' Edward broke off, visibly sweating.
âYes ⦠yes. I suppose you're right â¦'
âOf course I am.' Edward appeared to refrain with an effort from giving him a hearty slap on the back. âSee if the police will let you pack a few things, otherwise you can borrow a pair of my pyjamas and a spare dressing-gown. Don't think anything else of mine would fit you, though.' Edward was more comfortable and assured when dwelling on practical matters. âSee here, would you like me to have a word with the coppers for you?'
âI â I don't know.' He didn't. Would a traumatised newly created widower allow his old friend to take over for him? Or would he try to do things for himself, still trying to exert some control over an impossible situation? Would he be willing to move in with a friend? Or would he want to be alone? âI â I can't think!'
âNo need for you to try.' Edward moved into his take-charge mode, sure of himself now. âI'll ring Edith and have her get the spare room ready. You can do what you have to do with the police and then come straight to us.'
âI â I â Thank you.' Perhaps that would be best. It would show the police that he had friends, that he was a respected, integrated member of the community.
âThe office â¦?' he remembered suddenly, looking at his watch. Eleven o'clock already. Where had the intervening hours gone? He had returned to discover Ingrid's body at the latest he dared. The latest that would be commensurate with his story of a late-running meeting in London, then getting lost on the way home and pulling over for a little nap when tiredness threatened to overcome him.
Had they believed him? Did it matter? They had the burglar to worry about. He could hear them working in the guest room â another sealed-off room â fingerprinting the frame and sill of the open window. Measuring, checking, guessing â¦
âDon't worry about the office. I'll ring them and explain.'
âNo!' The reaction was instinctive. âNot now ⦠not yet.'
âThey're going to have to know, you know. This isn't the sort of ⦠problem ⦠you can keep to yourself. The evening newspaper will carry the story, the nationals are bound to leap on it for the morning. It might be a fairly small shipping company in the scheme of things, but there aren't that many women who own a company. Ingrid's ⦠passing ⦠will be big news. Better that your office should hear it first from you ⦠via me, if you like.'
âThen ⦠yes. I suppose you're right.' He hadn't really considered the publicity that was bound to ensue. It had been enough to get through the ordeal this far. Enough to know that Ingrid was out of his way at last. He hadn't thought of the aftermath, all the things to take care of, the lies to be told, the details to remember ⦠A deep bone-weary exhaustion swamped him suddenly; he leaned back and closed his eyes.
âLeave it to me, old chap. I'll take care of everything.' Edward patted him on the shoulder, visibly expanding under the cloak of authority he had assumed.
âThanks and didn't I hear you offer me a drink a minute ago?' If he didn't get this pompous bore away from him for
a few minutes, he might lose his temper with him. âI think I could use one now.'
a few minutes, he might lose his temper with him. âI think I could use one now.'
âComing right up.' Edward started for the drinks cabinet, then hesitated. âErm ⦠I suppose it's all right? I mean, the police don't need to go over it first, or anything? The burglar didn't raid it? Usually do, you know.'
He hadn't thought of that. Should he have thrown a couple of bottles in with the other loot?
âNo ⦠no, he was interrupted â remember? Ingrid discovered him taking her jewellery. That was when â when he â '
âEasy, old chap. Don't distress yourself. I quite see the fella wouldn't have loitered about after that.' Edward made short work of pouring the drinks, including a generous one for himself.
âThanks.' After a long swallow, Nils abruptly wondered whether this was wise. But surely it was a natural reaction. The police would not be surprised to find that a deeply shocked man had accepted a drink from a sympathetic friend; they might be more surprised if he didn't. How would a normal innocent man react? Was there a norm for these occasions?
âActually â ' He took another swallow and a faintly amusing vision of Edward, flustered and dabbing at ink-smeared fingertips, rose in his mind. âThey might want to take your fingerprints, now that you've smeared them all over the bar.' His lips twitched, the picture was really quite amusing. âFor purposes of elimination, of course.'
âOf course, of course.' There was a trace of relief in Edward's answering smile. âGlad to see you're getting your sense of humour back, old chap. You just keep working on that drink and I'll see to everything. Erm ⦠just tell me where you keep the carrier and I'll deal with that next.'
âCarrier?' Nils looked at him blankly.
âFor the beastie,' Edward said patiently. âYou know, the cat. Old Erikssson. I'll take him with me now and you won't have to bother later. Where have you shut him away?'
âThe cat â¦' He hadn't thought of that bloody nuisance in
hours, not since the police had taken over the house. âI ⦠I haven't seen him since ⦠since yesterday. He wasn't here when I ⦠I found Ingrid. He must have gone out ⦠run away ⦠I don't know â¦'
hours, not since the police had taken over the house. âI ⦠I haven't seen him since ⦠since yesterday. He wasn't here when I ⦠I found Ingrid. He must have gone out ⦠run away ⦠I don't know â¦'
âYou don't mean he's lost!' Edward set down his drink, looking shocked. âI say, old chap, we've got to do something! That's a very valuable animal. Erm, apart from the sentimental value, that is. Belonged to poor old Ingrid, and all that. Got to try to find him. Organise an advert in the weekly newspaper, contact the local radio station, offer a reward â '
âNo, no!' Leave it to that fool to complicate matters. Get everyone looking for the cat and he'd never have a chance of finding it himself â rather, of doing anything about it quietly when he did find it. âNo, I'm sure it will come back. When it's hungry. Wait a day or two and see.'
âYes, quite. I'm sure you're right, old chap. They never go far from home and mother, eh?' Edward seemed to pause and listen to what he had just said. His face flushed so deep a red it verged on purple. âI mean ⦠I mean ⦠they never stray far from food.'
âIt's all right,' Nils said dully. âI know what you mean. Don't worry about it. There's nothing tactful anyone can say at a time like this.' He added fervently, âEverything seems to go wrong.'
âQuite, quite. Mustn't blame yourself. Time like this, it seems nothing can ever go right again. But it will. Got to hang on to that. Of course the cat will come back. Where else could it go?'
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