Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (20 page)

‘Why
would anyone watch you? And why can’t you catch the cat? It can’t really
vanish.’

‘I
don’t know. It’s a mystery.’

I
scratched my head for Hobbes rarely admitted ignorance, and asked another
question that had been bugging me. ‘What are the tunnels for? Who made them?’

‘I’ll
tell you what I can,’ said Hobbes, ‘but I’m no expert on tunnelling. I
discovered them by chance many years ago while searching for a lost farthing.
They are, I believe, ancient and, I suspect, may pre-date human settlement in
this area. However, there are extensive crypts under the church that may have
been part of the tunnels once upon a time.’

‘Any
idea who did make them?’

‘Not
for sure, but something still lives down there. I’ve picked up their scent now
and again but I can’t categorise it. I just think of them as troglodytes and if
I use their tunnels I make sure to leave a gift of meat in payment. It always
goes, and goes quickly.’

‘Troglodytes?
Do you think they’re dangerous?’

‘Probably,
though they’ve never bothered me and, since they do not, to my knowledge,
commit any crimes and, since they evidently don’t wish to meet me, I leave them
be. They are not the only dangers, though. You were right on the edge of a
shaft when I found you. Two more steps and you’d have dropped right in.’

I
shivered and, the phone warbling suddenly, spilled tea down my shirt.
Fortunately it had cooled.

Hobbes
shook his head. ‘You’ll need another clean shirt and it’s still only two o’clock.’
Chuckling, he reached for the phone.

‘Inspector
Hobbes,’ he said, ‘how can I help you? … Yes, he is here. Would you like to
talk to him? Right you are.’ He winked at me. ‘It’s for you.’

Since
no one ever rang me, I took the phone from Hobbes feeling confused.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi,
Andy, it’s me.’

‘Violet?’
My heart dancing ecstatically, I broke into a sweat. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘Who
were you expecting?’

She
sounded a little hurt.

‘No
one. I just thought after … well … after last time you’d probably want to
forget all about me.’

‘It
was hardly your fault, was it?’

‘No
… but I just thought …’

‘I
called round this morning, but Mrs Goodfellow said you were out. Didn’t she
say?’

‘Well
… yes, she did. Umm … I’m glad you’ve called.’

‘Thank
you. Did you go anywhere nice?’

‘No,
I got lost.’

‘Where?’

Hobbes
shook his head.

‘I
don’t know … I just found myself lost, if that makes any sense. I’m found now.’

‘Good,’
she said with a gentle laugh, ‘because I was wondering if we might … er … meet
again. If that’s alright with you?’

‘Umm
… OK,’ I said. ‘If you’d like.’

‘Oh,
you don’t have to if you don’t want.’

It
dawned on me that my response might have suggested a lack of enthusiasm. The
only excuse I could make was that I’d still been reeling from Hobbes’s
revelations when the surprise of hearing her voice had knocked me off balance;
it was a good thing I still had the wits to realise in time. ‘Sorry, that didn’t
come out quite the way it should have. What I mean is, I’d really like to see
you again.’

‘That’s
good, because I’d love to see you, too.’

My
heart leapt. ‘That’s great … fantastic. Umm … when?’

‘How
about tomorrow afternoon? I finish at four on Fridays so I could come round
straight after.’

I
paused, as if checking through my varied appointments. ‘Umm … yeah, that sounds
fine. What would you like to do?’

‘I
don’t know,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘I
don’t know either … umm,’ I replied, my mind completely out of ideas.

‘How
about,’ said Hobbes in what he evidently meant as a whisper, ‘going to the
pictures or for a picnic?’

‘Good
ideas,’ said Violet. ‘Are you alright? Your voice sounded hoarse.’

‘I’m
great. It wasn’t my voice, but it was a good idea.’

‘Which
one?’

‘Both,
I suppose.’

‘I’ll
just check the forecast,’ said Violet, clicking computer keys. ‘It says the
rain’s going to pass, so a picnic could be good fun.’

‘Yes,’
I agreed, ‘so long as we steer clear of Loop Woods, with things being what they
are.’

‘I’ll
second that. Where would you suggest?’

She
had me there. I caught myself ‘umming’, a bad habit I was occasionally guilty
of. I just couldn’t think of anywhere suitable.

‘How
about the arboretum?’ said Hobbes.

‘Umm
… how about the arboretum?’ I said.

‘Why
not? Where is it?’

‘Umm
…’ I glanced at Hobbes for inspiration.

‘The
other side of Hedbury. About a ten-minute drive.’

I
relayed the message, including an appropriate adjustment for normal driving. ‘It’s
the other side of Hedbury. That’s probably twenty minutes by car.’

‘It
sounds ideal. I’ll come round just after four.’

‘Sounds
great … umm … but what about food?’

‘Oh
yes,’ she said, laughing again, ‘I’d forgotten that. I suppose we could just
pop into a supermarket and pick up a few things. Anyway, I’ve really got to go
now; I’ve got emails to send. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.’

‘Great,’
I said, ‘I’m looking forward to it. Bye.’

Putting
the phone down, amazed, I turned towards Hobbes. ‘She’s going to pick me up
tomorrow at four.’

‘Who
is, dear?’ asked Mrs G, coming in from the kitchen, sagging beneath the weight
of the sledgehammer on her shoulder.

‘Violet
is,’ I said. ‘We’re going for a picnic at the arboretum.’

‘Good
for you, dear. I can make up a hamper if you’d like.’

‘There’s
no need. We can get something from the shops.’

‘You
could,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘but I could make up something special.’

‘I
don’t want to inconvenience you,’ I said, thinking I ought to put on a little
show of reluctance before accepting, for there was no doubt a spread she would
rustle up would put any shop-bought stuff to shame.

‘It
won’t be a problem, dear.’

‘OK,
then,’ I said, as if doing her a favour, ‘I’d be delighted.’

‘I
know,’ she said, smiling, stumping upstairs, dragging the sledgehammer.

I
have no idea what she did with it for I heard nothing after her door shut. I
sat back next to Hobbes, expecting to continue our little talk when the phone
warbled again.

‘Inspector
Hobbes,’ he answered, ‘how can I help you? What? … I see … How many? Right,
just the one? Are you sure? Yes, I suppose one is enough … I’ll be right over.’
Slapping down the receiver, he turned to me and grinned.

‘What’s
up?’ I asked.

‘It’s
not so much up as out.’

‘Out?
What’s out, then?’ I asked, puzzled by his gleeful expression.

‘An
elephant.’ He rubbed his hands together, sounding like someone trying to grate
a coconut shell, and pulled out his car keys.

‘What?’

‘You
heard.’

‘I
know but I meant “why?” or “where?” I mean why is there an elephant out? Where
is it? What’s it doing?’

‘I’ll
tell you in the car,’ said Hobbes, ‘if you’d like to come along … Dregs!’

Rain
pattering against the window, I grabbed my mac as the dog bounded past.

‘Come
along, and quickly,’ Hobbes urged, opening the front door, leaping down the
steps, looking like an excited child, if you could ignore his bulk and his
hairiness and his large, lumpy head, which I couldn’t.

Dregs
and I followed, running through the puddles, flinging ourselves into the car as
he drove away. Somewhere, a horn blared but he gave it no mind, unlike Dregs
who barked at the challenge. As I strapped myself in, hanging onto the seat, I wondered
again about the folly that kept me following Hobbes. Time and time again I’d
argued with myself that I didn’t have to but, whenever the call came, I
responded before my brain had a chance to stop me. Still, going anywhere with
him usually lead to excitement and, much to my surprise, part of me that had
never before manifested itself found it irresistible.

‘Right,’
he said, twisting the wheel as we screeched into Pound Street, ‘about the
elephant.’

‘Go
on,’ I said.

‘Apparently,
it was being transported from one zoo to another. When the driver stopped for a
cup of tea at the Greasy Pole it escaped and is now running amuck in the car
park.’

‘How
could it escape?’

‘You
have as much idea as I do.’ The car swerved and speeded up.

‘What
are you going to do?’

‘I
don’t know, yet.’

‘Will
there be backup?’

‘Oh
yes, Derek Poll is on the scene and, of course, I’ll have you.’

‘Oh, great.’

In a
matter of minutes we were screeching to a halt by the Greasy Pole café where
thirty or more gawping people had gathered. PC Poll’s long arms were holding
them back. An athletic-looking young man in a dark suit, towards the front of
the crowd, appeared vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place him. Besides, I
was more interested in the rogue elephant, which, though I couldn’t see it, I could
deduce, using the detective skills I’d picked up from Hobbes, had recently been
in the vicinity. It had clearly been on the café’s patio – all over it in fact –
and by the time I was out of the car, Dregs was sniffing at the steaming dung
as if at a rare perfume. I suspected, however, that the pile of pooh had not
yet registered with Eric Wyszynski, the café’s owner, who, dressed in his habitual
stained white jacket, his scrawny, tattooed hands clasped to his greasy hair, was
staring at what remained of his café, a pile of rubble having appeared where
there’d once been a wall. He wasn’t taking his misfortune well to judge from
the river of obscenities spewing from beneath his nicotine-stained moustache.

The
elephant had presumably escaped from the box-trailer in the car park, a trailer
that was, in my opinion, far too small to hold one in comfort for any time and,
to judge from the state of it, it had been inside for a considerable time. Though
I took the scene in within a few seconds, the star of the show was missing.

‘Where
is it then?’ I asked.

In
response, Hobbes, wrapping an arm around me, leaped backwards, completely over
the car, landing on the grass verge behind. The shock, knocking the wind out of
me, I was still struggling for breath as he set me back on my feet. Then, with
a trumpeting and the pounding of heavy feet, the elephant lumbered over the
spot where I’d been standing, heading directly towards the onlookers who
scattered like dry leaves in the wind. Only one elderly man, standing beneath a
black umbrella, didn’t move a muscle. It was Augustus Godley, the oldest human
in Sorenchester, who was still hale and well, despite the slowness of age.

As
the elephant pounded towards him, I thought he’d had it, for I couldn’t see how
even Hobbes could rescue him in time. Yet, he didn’t need to, for the beast,
swerving, ran across the road, causing a big blue car to brake sharply and a
small white one to run into the back of it. Neither driver got out as the
elephant trundled into a meadow by the side of the river Soren.

‘Are
you alright?’ I asked, running towards the old man, who was wearing a strange
smile.

‘Aye,
lad,’ he said, ‘I’m grand. This takes me back to the time I was in India, when
I had to shoot an elephant in my pyjamas.’

‘Really?’

‘How
it got into my pyjamas, I’ll never know.’ A thin laugh wheezed between his
lips.

‘C’mon,
Andy,’ Hobbes shouted. ‘And quickly, this is no time for listening to Mr Godley’s
jokes. There’s an elephant to catch.’

‘How?
Won’t you need a tranquilliser gun?’

‘Let’s
hope not.’

‘Oh,
great.’

He
loped across the road and into the meadow. The elephant, standing in the river,
drinking, watched, flapping his great ears.

‘Now
then, my lad,’ said Hobbes, approaching the beast, ‘let’s be having you. By
rights you should be in your trailer.’

The
elephant, shaking his massive tusks, lobbed a trunk-full of mud.

Hobbes
sidestepped it and continued. ‘That’s enough of your nonsense.’

‘Be
careful, sir,’ said PC Poll.

Hobbes
looked back with a grin. ‘Of course, but I’m sure Jumbo will come quietly.’ As
he reached for the elephant it shook its broad, grey head, seized him around
the waist, lifted him high in the air and shook him like a terrier shakes a
rat.