To Catch a Cat (16 page)

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Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: To Catch a Cat
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They were talking about him again downstairs. He knew it. He wasn't just being paranoid, he knew it. He'd seen the glances they'd exchanged when he came in last night, using his own key, so as not to disturb them. He'd been hoping they'd be in bed. He'd stayed out as late as he could, hoping to avoid any contact with them. It hadn't worked.
‘Good evening, Nils.' Edward had been waiting just inside the living-room door, Edith hovering behind him, disapproval radiating from both of them.
‘Good evening.' Nils had been equally formal. He kept moving towards the stairs, hoping to get past them without any further comment.
‘Erm …' Edward's shoulders twitched tellingly and he took a step forward, trying to act as though he had not just received a sharp prod in the back. ‘We were just having a little nightcap. Care to join us, old man?' He gave a short, slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘It is your liquor, after all.'
‘No, thanks.' Nils had kept moving, throwing an apologetic smile over his shoulder. ‘I've been walking for hours and I think I've reached the state of exhaustion where I can finally sleep. If I stop to drink or talk, it will break the trance and I'll be awake all night. Again.'
‘Oh, erm, quite. Quite. Can't have that.' Edward could always be trusted to retreat from the threat of emotion. He shuffled backwards, quickly and awkwardly. There was a faint yelp from Edith as he trod on her toes. ‘You go right ahead, old man. Get a good night's sleep. Pleasant dreams – Erm, I mean – '
‘Thanks.' Nils was at the top of the stairs. He glanced down briefly. ‘I may sleep late. Don't worry about breakfast, Edith. I'll eat out.'
Edith's sniff resounded through the hallway, it even
seemed to echo. How could she make that much noise with just one intake of breath? One breath – what a pity it couldn't be her last.
When Nils heard them ascending the stairs a little later, he snapped off his light quickly so that no gleam would show beneath his door to betray that he was still awake.
Their footsteps slowed outside his room, then moved on rapidly to the sanctuary of their own room. Still murmuring softly to each other; still talking about him. But they weren't going to bother him, not tonight, and that was all that was important …
Only now it was morning and he'd overslept. He'd spoken more truly than he knew when he'd told them he'd walked himself into a state of exhaustion.
He could smell coffee and bacon, hear the low rumble of voices. Discussing him. Again – still. He should never have come here. Yet he couldn't have remained in that bloodstained house. And people – the media – could have got at him too easily if he'd gone to a hotel.
The media had caught him anyway – at least one of them - thanks to bloody Edith. Bloody Edith. It was her voice doing most of the talking – no surprise in that.
Bloody Edith
… It became a mantra he muttered under his breath as he tossed back the duvet and threw on his clothes. He wouldn't waste time shaving here, he had to get out before Edward went to work and left him alone in the house with Bloody Edith. It would be easier to get past both of them together than try to walk past her on her own. He'd get to a barber –
No, he needn't bother. He was going back to the house to wait for the telephone call from the mysterious woman. He could shave in his own time, in his own house. While he waited. While he braced himself for the demands that would be forthcoming. And there would be a demand – that was what it was all about. More blackmail. He was sure of that.
It was the only answer that made any sense. Who else would be calling him? He didn't know any women – not in the sense Edith had implied. He'd kept well away from that
trap, knowing that, if anything had ever happened to Ingrid, that sort of entanglement would be the first thing the police looked for. Safer, much safer, to keep that sort of thing on an anonymous financial transaction level. There would be plenty of time for anything else later – after the estate was settled and he had all the money he could want. Then he could begin looking around for anything else he might want.
If, after Ingrid – and now Edith – he ever wanted to see a woman again.
It had been quiet downstairs for quite a while now, he realised. Had they finished breakfast and gone off about the business of the day? He opened the door a crack and listened.
Silence. Perhaps he could risk making a run for it. He had to force himself to keep his shoes on. It would look too pointed if they appeared and caught him tiptoeing downstairs with his shoes in his hand.
 
 
In his own house, for the first time in days, he felt himself begin to relax.
He used the guest room bathroom, not that he felt any traces of guilt or ghosts in the master bedroom. Rather, there were too many reminders of the police crews who had swarmed over it. There were also the strange smears and discolorations he didn't want to think about.
Sell the place. As soon as was humanly possible. Would anyone want to buy it, considering its recent history? Or would some ghoul, or someone completely unimaginative, snap it up for a slightly below-the-market price?
Get rid of it, that was the main thing. Get rid of everything. and that reminded him …
He went downstairs and into the kitchen. The bowl of catfood sat untouched beside the catflap. Too bad. It would have been a delight to find that the beast, frightened and hungry, had slunk home in search of sanctuary and food – catch it and wring its bloody neck!
His fingers curled and clenched. His teeth ground together. The red mist began blurring everything again. He could
almost wish Ingrid alive and still up in the bedroom, so that he might have the release of slamming his fists into her again … and again … and again …
It took him a moment to realise that the ringing in his ears was not caused by some surge of blood but was actually the telephone ringing in the other room.
He covered the distance in record time and snatched up the phone.
“Ello? ‘Ello?' He retained just enough presence of mind to attempt to disguise his voice. If it was someone from the media, he could always claim – his English deteriorating with every word – that he was just the handyman, who had been in the house watering the plants and had automatically responded to a ringing telephone.
‘Hello …? Is that Mr Nordling?' The voice was so faint and unsure of itself that he realised why Edith had called her a girl. A very young girl.
‘That's right. Who are you and what do you want?'
A nervous gasp was the only answer. He shouldn't have been so sharp, he'd frighten her off before he found out what she was after. Not that he had any doubt.
‘I'm sorry,' he placated quickly. ‘I didn't mean to snap at you. I – I'm not at my best right now. It's a difficult time.'
‘Ye-e-es.' She sounded embarrassed. ‘And I'm sorry. I … I wouldn't bother you but … but … I'm afraid I need the money. I'm sorry.'
‘Oh, yes, the money. Of course.' He didn't bother to keep the contempt out of his voice. He'd known that was coming. ‘How much?'
‘Well … um …' There was a little gasp of breath, as of one bracing herself to make the demand. ‘Fi – fifty.'
‘Fifty?'
His bellow of outrage elicited another faint dismayed gasp. Too bad he couldn't frighten her to death over the phone. Where did she think he could lay hands on fifty thousand pounds, just like that? ‘And I suppose you'd like it yesterday?' he snarled.
‘It's not that much.' She fought back, frightened but determined. ‘It really should be sixty-five but – '
‘Sixty-five?'
Already she was upping the ante. ‘Don't crowd your luck! I'm not made of money, you know. Where do you think I can lay my hands on that much at a moment's notice?'
‘The bank,' she offered feebly. ‘Mrs Nordling – '
‘All right, all right. Just remember it's not that easy. People like you have no idea how financial systems work. There's money, yes, but it's tied up. The bank accounts are frozen while the estate goes through probate. I'll have to try to work around them, try other sources. I'll need some time.'
‘But I need the money,' she wailed. ‘You owe it to me. If Mrs Nordling – '
‘All right!' He cut her off again before she could say too much. Who knew whether or not the police might be listening in on the line? ‘I'll do the best I can.' God, she sounded young, taking her first faltering steps in crime, in blackmail. In that, as in burglary, an opportunist. She'd probably just thought of a number and doubled it. How little could he fob her off with?
‘I'll get some of it together, at least. Why don't you come round tonight? About nine o'clock? And I'll give you as much as I've been able to scrape together.'
‘Oh, no! No, I can't do that!' Too bad, she wasn't as stupid as she sounded. ‘You bring it to me. In the morning.'
‘Oh, very well, if you insist. Where shall I bring it? Where do you live?'
There was a long silence, while his hope faded. She wasn't going to fall for that one, either.
‘Hello? Are we still connected?'
‘Ten o'clock tomorrow morning,' she said. ‘Meet me in Sparrow's Coffee Bar in the shopping mall.' She hesitated, poised between embarrassment and righteous indignation. ‘Bring as much as you can. We'll sort it out about the rest then.'
‘All right,' he said. ‘By the way, how shall I recognise you?'
‘Don't worry about that,' she said. ‘I know what you look like.'
It was very nice of Granna to meet him at the school gate, but Robin hoped she wasn't planning to do it every day of her visit. It made him feel about five years old and the other kids were sniggering. Granna didn't seem to notice, as she stretched out a hand to catch Jamie Patel, who was trying to walk past, and pulled him into their circle.
‘I thought it would be great fun to collect you and your friends and take you all for ice cream and cakes,' she announced happily. ‘Here's Jamie, now where are the others?'
Suddenly, there was no more sniggering and Robin found that he had more friends than he had been aware of. The gang had materialised at his side, smiling eagerly at Granna.
‘Your birthday, is it?' Even Kerry was thumping him on the shoulder. ‘You're a dark horse, you are.'
‘It's not my birthday, it's my grandmother. I mean, she is. Granna.' He was surprised and confused. He had not thought Kerry would be interested in things like ice cream and cake when he was so keen on collecting wacky baccy.
‘I'm visiting.' Granna beamed on them all. ‘And what's the point of visiting if you can't spoil your only grandson? And his friends.'
‘Yeah!' … ‘Right!' … ‘Great idea!' No doubt about it, Granna was an instant hit. And his own approval rating was also soaring.
‘Is this everyone, then?' Granna looked around, counting heads. ‘Ah, well, I suppose girls will come later. Where shall we go? You must tell me, I'm new in town.'
‘Old Colleno's?' Pete suggested.
‘Ice creams are bigger at the Tuck Shop,' Mick countered.
‘Sparrow's Coffee Bar,' Kerry said firmly. ‘It's a proper …
sit-down place. We'll …' He glanced meaningly at Granna. ‘We'll all be more comfortable.'
Robin blinked in amazement. He would never have suspected Kerry capable of such thoughtfulness, either.
‘Sparrow's Coffee Bar it is, then.' Granna had expected no less from friends of her grandson. ‘Lead the way.'
Once there, Kerry was strangely silent at first. He crowded into the large corner booth with the others, but his attention was divided. From behind the oversized menu, he seemed to be studying the layout of the room.
‘You all right?' Robin asked, with some concern.
‘Yeah. I mean, maybe.' He frowned down at Robin, sitting next to him. ‘I am but, if anyone asks you tomorrow, I wasn't very well this afternoon.' He frowned again and seemed to come to a decision, lowering his voice. ‘I'm bunking off school tomorrow. If anyone asks, I'm off sick.'
‘You are?' Robin felt his eyes widening. He wondered if this was going to be another test he had to pass to join the gang. Mags would go spare if she caught him doing anything like skipping school.
‘Got to.' Kerry seemed to feel the need to confide in someone. ‘It's Maureen. My sister, you know?'
‘I know.' Robin would never forget. Not the name Maureen, nor the window she had left unlatched over the garage. The start of this endless nightmare.
‘Yeah, well … she needs me. That Nordling, he owes her cleaning money. She rang him up about it and he went berserk. Told her it was too much and he didn't have it, couldn't get it, not all at once. Can you believe it? A man with all his money trying to do her out of a lousy fifty quid?'
Kerry shook his head over the iniquity of it all.
‘He says he'll give her as much as he can scrape together tomorrow. She wants me to come along when she meets up with him. She's afraid of him. She thinks he's crazy.'
‘She's right – he is!' Robin clutched Kerry's arm urgently. ‘Don't leave him alone with her. He's – ' A sharp kick from
across the table where Jamie Patel sat stopped him abruptly, reminding him that he was not supposed to know anything about the Nordlings or any peculiarities they might have.
‘Don't worry, I won't.' Kerry had not noticed Robin's slip. ‘We're meeting Nordling here, where it's good and public. We'll get Maureen's fifty quid – all of it – and then we'll get out and away. He can go crazy all by himself.'
‘Robin – ' Granna had been talking and laughing with the other boys, now she turned to him. ‘We've all decided what we're having. You're looking so solemn, dear, is the choice that hard? What do you want to order?'
 
 
It was starting already, Mags realised. She had begun to suspect it when Robin did not return from school at his usual time. Her suspicion had grown when Mummy did not show up, either.
Now here they were, rolling in together, obviously having been together all afternoon. Having a wonderful time.
She was right. Mummy had begun her games. Turning her grandson into her best friend, showing him what good times they could have – if he moved in with her.
And Robin was falling for it – how could he know any better? Babbling happily to his grandmother, making her laughter trill out, flushed with excitement and pride in being the centre of her attention, a tell-tale streak of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.
Mummy had opened the door to a different world to him, enticing him into it. How could he be expected to know how it would end? He thought it would go on for ever.
Once Mummy had him firmly in her clutches, she would see to it that his custody was transferred to her. It would suit her nicely if he never saw Eva, his own mother, again.
After displaying him to all her friends and taking bows for her cleverness and devotion, she would soon grow restless and weary of being tied down. Robin would find himself packed off to boarding school, where Mummy, to give her her due, could be depended upon to show up regularly at
the appropriate Sports Days and holidays and go into her Lady Bountiful routine.
Mummy was very good at the Lady Bountiful routine. She was not so great when it came to the day-to-day mechanics of having a child underfoot.
Robin clattered noisily up the stairs and Mummy appeared in the doorway.
‘Such a lovely afternoon!' She beamed at Mags. ‘So nice to be surrounded by little boys again. You should have been with us, darling.'
I wasn't invited
. There was no point in saying it aloud. Perhaps Mummy caught the unspoken thought hanging in the air, for she looked faintly embarrassed and hurried on.
‘Naturally, I expected to meet you at the school gate, too. I was quite surprised not to see you there.'
‘Robin is growing up,' Mags pointed out. ‘You can't treat him like a little boy. He's perfectly capable of finding his way home by himself.'
‘He's only eleven,' Mummy protested. ‘Still a child for a few years yet. And among strangers in a strange town.'
‘The town is perfectly safe – '
‘Then why has there been a murder here?' Mummy cut across her. ‘That doesn't sound very safe to me! And – ' She broke off, obviously suddenly aware of a presence looming behind her.
Mags hadn't heard the front door open and close. but there Josh was – with his impeccable awkwardness, right where she didn't want him to be, at a moment when she didn't want to see him, and ruining any chance of a serious discussion with Mummy. If he had planned it, he couldn't have timed it better.
‘She's right!' Josh growled, managing to make it sound as though that was a major miracle. ‘This town is the original whited sepulchre! Nobody knows the half of how bad it is! Did you hear my programme last night?'
‘I fear not.' Mummy raised an icy eyebrow, managing to convey the impression that she had been accused of something pornographic.
‘Dinner's almost ready,' Mags broke in urgently, trying to fend off hostilities. She had been locked in mortal combat with a large free-range chicken most of the afternoon and a rather delicious smell was beginning to waft through the house. ‘Why don't you go and freshen up?'
‘Mmm …' Josh sniffed the fragrant air and seemed to decide that food came first. He could deal with Mummy later. ‘Right. How long?'
‘Ten minutes,' Mags promised recklessly, knowing that it would be at least twenty.
‘I'll go up and hurry Robin along,' Mummy declared, heading for the stairs.
‘I hope you haven't ruined his appetite.' Mags took a slightly wicked pleasure in hurling the familiar accusation.
‘Nonsense!' Mummy paused halfiay up the stairs and looked down at Mags. ‘Nothing can ruin a young boy's appetite!'
‘Not for lack of trying, I'll bet.' Josh was right behind Mummy and she was not pleased to realise it. It would not be long, Mags knew, before she got a lecture on the inadequacies of a home with only one bathroom.
Josh kept moving, intruding on Mummy's space, crowding her until she was almost running as she reached the landing. She stepped aside to let him go past her and down the hall to the bathroom, but he ignored the opportunity, remaining resolutely behind her. She paused at Robin's door and tapped imperiously.
‘Robin, dear,' she called. ‘Robin – dinner's ready.'
Mags had followed them out into the hallway, impelled by some instinct she could not name. She was being silly, really. They were not about to break out into a knock-down drag-out battle in the upper hallway. They were both too civilised for that. Even now, Josh was waiting, with exaggerated courtesy, for Mummy to finish.
‘What was that, dear?' Mummy's voice rose. ‘I can't quite hear what you're – '
Mags heard the click as Mummy turned the knob and swung the door open.
There was a cry of anguish from Robin, a shriek of alarm from Mummy and a startled bellow from Josh as something furry and low-slung darted past them, out into the hallway and down the stairs.
Mags yelped involuntarily herself when the thing brushed against her ankles as it dashed past and into the kitchen.
Three wary heads appeared at the top of the stairs, gazing downwards over the balustrade.
‘What in hell,' Josh demanded, ‘was that?'

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