by Rebecca Shaw
“Like I said, on the slope up to the parking garage.”
Kate, intent on the cat’s suffering, said, “It’s very good of you to bring it in.”
Stephie said, “We’d really prefer a phone number, Mr. Thomas. Perhaps a neighbor’s? Or a friend’s.”
Mr. Thomas turned on his heel and left before they could stop him. Stephie dashed into the laundry room to watch the car park and was in time to see him get into a little Ford parked as close to the exit as he could get, start up, back out and drive away at high speed.
She raced back into reception and wrote down his registration number. Kate, smoothing the cat’s head with a gentle finger, asked, “What are you doing?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday; that chap has got a car, and I’ve written down his number. I was suspicious of him right from the start.”
“What do you mean?”
“Honestly, you’re too good to be true, you are. That’s his own cat.”
“No, it’s not. He said he found it in the gutter. Obviously, it’s been run over, or at least collided with a car or something.”
“Kate Howard! You’re not fit to be let out. I’d bet a million dollars on it being his own cat.”
“Well, why didn’t he say so, then?”
“Because he’s too mean to pay for it.”
“Well, honestly! I don’t believe it. Anyway, I’d better get some help. It looks in a bad way.”
“I’ve come back not a moment too soon. Gullible, that’s what you are.”
“OK, OK. Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you looked at.”
“Mungo’s free for half an hour; his last client didn’t get here.”
“Right.”
Kate watched Mungo’s sensitive hands delicately examining the cat. She marveled at the way they appeared to be “reading” the cat’s injuries. “Broken left hind leg—make a note—fairly certain a crushed pelvis.” The cat yowled. “Sorry, old chap. Fleas—look here—several ticks. God, what a state it’s in. Look at this!” Mungo held the fur of its throat between his fingers exposing the flesh. He carried on parting the fur all the way round its neck and found a nasty red weal encircling it, with raw flesh and dried blood in several places. “Goes all the way round. It’s a wonder its throat hasn’t been severed it’s so deep in places. As if someone’s tried to throttle it with a cord. That’s not a car accident, is it?”
Kate felt sick. “The chap, Mr. Thomas, left an address.”
“Did he? Got all this down?”
“Yes.”
“Look at his pads. As if he’s been dragged along the road and had the skin seared off. I’ve seen that before with a car accident.”
The door opened and in came Dan. “Mungo I … Oh! Sorry!”
“Come and look at this, Dan. What do you think?” Together they reexamined the cat.
Dan straightened up and asked Kate who’d brought him in. She explained.
“Check to see if his address is genuine. Please.”
Mungo asked him what he thought. “It all appears consistent with a car accident, but the neck injury … We both have been vets long enough to know how cruel people can be. I wonder if this cat has been tied by the neck to a car bumper, or a bike possibly, and dragged along the road. See his claws, almost pulled from their beds; friction burns on his pads and they’re bleeding in places. This isn’t a normal car accident, is it? I reckon this is a cruelty case. But the cat could have been dumped, and he genuinely has picked it up.”
“So why run off?”
“Frightened he might get blamed?”
“But it’s unlikely he would know what we’ve found out about the cord round its neck. Its fur is so thick he’d never notice it without close examination. If he was innocent, what has he to be afraid of?”
Kate, feeling even more sick than she had been when listing the injuries, came back in and said, “Must be a false address. I’ve looked in the street directory, and there’s no such road in Barleybridge.”
Mungo shrugged his shoulders. “We shouldn’t be surprised. Right. He needs a painkiller, rest and quiet, and a drip and antibiotic. We’ll leave him to sleep and get some strength back, then we’ll X-ray later today. He’s too bloody thin as well. Get Bunty for me, Kate, please.”
When she’d left his consulting room, Mungo said, “I’m not letting this go. I’ll get him for this, so help me.”
As Mungo washed his hands, Dan commented, “I thought I’d seen everything there was to see out in the Caribbean and in Dubai, but this … in a country which prides itself on being compassionate, it takes some beating. But we’ve nothing to go on. False address, wrong name too, I suspect.”
“Obviously. I’ve another client in ten minutes. Did you want to see me?”
They were interrupted by Bunty coming in to attend to the cat. Mungo gave her instructions for its care, asking her also to photograph him, especially the neck injury, and by then his next client had arrived; so Dan said he’d see him later, that it wasn’t important. He’d been going to tell Mungo about Lord Askew at the charity auction but in the circumstances decided it could wait.
At the reception desk Stephie was comforting Kate. “Look, you weren’t to know; the chap seemed genuine enough. It was something to do with his shifty eyes. Did you notice he never really looked us in the face?”
“That poor cat. Mungo thinks it’s a cruelty case.”
“Really? Not a road accident, then?”
Kate shook her head.
Dan came out of the consulting room to have a word with them. “Don’t you go blaming yourselves, girls, just one of those things.”
Kate answered him almost before he’d finished speaking. “I am blaming myself. I’m far too trusting of people.”
“Look, write down a description of him while he’s fresh in your mind. It could help the police.”
“Police!”
“Yes. Mungo is livid and so am I. A disgrace. But don’t you girls feel guilty, please. You weren’t to know. Write down his description and as much of the conversation you had as you can remember.”
“I’ve got his car registration number.” Triumphantly Stephie held up the notepad she’d scribbled it on.
Dan leaned across the desk and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “Clever girl. You should be in the police. Hang on to that; it could be our only link.”
Stephie blushed.
“Bunty’s taken charge of him now.”
Stephie approved. “He’ll pull through, then. She’s brilliant with hopeless cases, is Bunty.”
“We know now why he didn’t go to the RSPCA—too afraid of prosecution. Well, bad luck. Thought we’d be a soft option. We’ll get him yet. Quiet day. Finished my calls. I’ll have lunch and hope something comes in meanwhile.” He gave them half a salute, but not the Nazi one he reserved especially for Letty, and disappeared into the back.
THE police arrived later in the afternoon in the shape of Sergeant Bird. Only his uniform made him recognizable as a police officer, because true to his name he was a thin, birdlike little man. At some time he must have had the height qualification necessary to join the force, but since then he’d shrunk. The peak of his cap almost engulfed his face and shaded a pair of piercing, almost black eyes, which viewed one with the apparent intention of taking one into custody immediately.
Placing his cap on the top of the reception desk, he said, “Sergeant Bird. Where’s his nibs, then?”
Kate asked, “His nibs?”
“Mungo. He thinks he has a cruelty case. A cat.”
“That’s right. He’s operating all afternoon, so he can’t be interrupted I’m afraid, but—”
“Understandable. Mustn’t disturb the great man at his work, of which I am his warmest admirer.” Sergeant Bird settled his forearms on the top of the desk. “Five years ago my German shepherd, Duke, was within an ace of having to be put down, all hope lost. I brought him to Mungo. He operated on his hips when the practice was down the town in the old premises, and he’s
never looked back. Since then I’ve had the greatest of respect for him. He said on the phone there’s no evidence of identification.”
“All we have is a description of the man we wrote down as soon as he left and … his car registration number.” Kate brought out the notepad like a magician bringing a rabbit out of a hat.
“Ex-ce-llent. Quick thinking, that. Photographs too, I understand.”
“They’re here and Bunty’s done a list of his injuries for you.”
“Now that Bunty is a treasure. If she’s in charge, he’ll pull through. I’ve great faith in her too.”
“Hope so. He’ll look like a nice cat when he gets better and puts on some weight. He’s terribly thin.”
“I’ll have a look, if I may.”
Before Kate could say she thought it inadvisable as they were so busy, Sergeant Bird had disappeared into the intensive care room and hadn’t come out when Stephie came back on at four.
Stephie giggled when Kate told her Sergeant Bird had come. “I bet he’s hanging about to see Bunty. Fancies her like nobody’s business. Keeps asking her out and she won’t go.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s a lot older than her.”
“Exactly. It’s been going on since I joined the practice, and I’ve been here three years. He’s round here like a shot on the flimsiest of excuses.”
“And he’s smaller.”
Stephie giggled again. “I know, I know … sh! He’s coming back.”
Sergeant Bird came to the desk, saying “I’ll be off now. Tell Mungo I’ll be on to this straightaway.” He picked up his cap and disappeared out of the door, some of the spring having gone out of his step.
After the door closed, Stephie said, “She’s turned him down again, you can see. Nice chap, but he’s not marriage material, is he now? You wouldn’t even fancy him enough to live with him, never mind marry him.”
Kate had to agree.
HE was back the following day. “It came to me after I’d left. Was your security camera switched on yesterday?”
Joy clapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course! Of course! Aren’t we fools! It’s so unnatural, all this modern technology, you don’t think to refer to it. He’ll be on there. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”
Sergeant Bird grew a whole inch. “No, I’m not.”
“What about the car number? Got anything from that?”
“Not registered. So that’s another thing I can get him for, once I catch up with him. Where’s the film, then?”
“Just a minute. I’ve got to think about this. Where is yesterday’s film? It should be in my office safe. Hold on.”
Sergeant Bird leaned his back against the desk while he waited for Joy and surveyed the waiting clients. He recognized one or two of them and said good morning to them.
“Morning, Dickie. How’s things?”
Sergeant Bird hated it when people called him Dickie. He’d always thought Aubrey was such a distinguished name, but no one ever called him by it. “Fine. Thanks.”
“I see your lot haven’t solved this stolen car racket in the parking garage we’ve all read about in the paper. Front page in the local paper again this morning.”
“No.” He turned to face the desk to put an end to the ribbing he knew he was going to get.
Joy returned with the video in her hand. “All is not lost. We’ll run it through, shall we?”
Eager to get away, Sergeant Bird took the video, saying “I won’t put you to any more trouble. I’ll do it at the station.”
“I need a receipt for it. Sorry, but you know, must follow the rules.”
“Of course.”
Named Copperfield by Bunty, who always went in for distinguished names for any animal without one, the cat in question had been operated on that morning. It had been long and difficult, but Mungo, when he finally stripped off his gloves, was very satisfied with the cat’s condition. “I’m handing him over to you, Bunty. Make sure the two Sarahs know what to do. He seems in good heart, and he must be a fighter to have survived what he’s gone through. All he needs now is careful nursing.”
“He’ll get that. We’ll have him up and about in no time.”
“I know you will. We shan’t get paid for it, but what the hell; the poor thing deserves the best after what I suspect he’s been through. I just hope Dickie Bird finds that chap before I do.”
Bunty carefully picked up the still unconscious Copperfield and took him to the recovery room, where loving care and constant monitoring had him eating and trying to get on his feet in no time at all.
They were gathered to watch him try to walk outside his cage one afternoon when the phone rang, and it was Zoe’s mother calling to say that Zoe had had her baby boy, six pounds ten ounces and fighting fit, and yes, Zoe was fine and would be out of hospital tomorrow, and she’d be bringing baby Oscar in for them to see in a few days.
Kate went out to buy a card for them all to sign. Dan came in at about half past six, having finished his calls, so Kate asked him if he’d like to add his name to it.
“She’s had her blip, then? What is it?”
“A boy. She’s calling him Oscar.”
“My God! What does she think she’s had, a dog? The poor child.”
“I know you always speak your mind, but really…”
Dan sat down to sign his name. “Oscar Savage! Has quite a ring to it, I suppose. But he still sounds like a dog to me.”
“Well, you’ll be able to see for yourself when she brings him in.”
“So long as I’m not expected to do the billing and cooing.”
“You sound as though you don’t approve.”
Dan stood up and handed Kate the card. “Frankly, I don’t. It occurs to me that she’s having this baby as some kind of statement about making use of a man to give her the baby she wants, intending deliberately to deny him all knowledge of it just for the hell of it. One musn’t have children simply to make statements; they’re not pawns in the game of life. There’s five pounds toward a present for him. I expect we’re clubbing together, are we? The boss, is he in?”
Kate nodded.
He smiled at her and strode off to find Mungo.
Kate stood looking at his signature. A great flourish of a signature it was: Congratulations!!! Daniel J. F. Brown. Such confidence in every stroke of his pen—big, sharply pointed letters in a stylish, authoritative hand. He must have more insight than people gave him credit for, though, because Zoe had used very similar words to her about making use of men when they’d been discussing Oscar’s arrival some weeks before. She hoped he wouldn’t show his disapproval of the baby in front of everyone. He’d already made enough enemies in the practice without making matters any worse; he hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of staying permanently if he did. The interviews for his job began on Monday, and then it would be goodbye Dan; and she couldn’t help feeling it would be a mistake to rid the practice of such a good vet.
DAN had found Mungo working at his desk. He tapped on the open door and said, “Time for a word?”
“Of course. Sit down.” Mungo took off his glasses and prepared to listen.
“When Kate and I went to the charity auction, I don’t suppose you gave it a thought that Lord Askew would be there?”
“I did not! You didn’t have a showdown?”
“No.” Dan had to smile. “He took me to one side and asked me if I would see that roan privately.”
Mungo’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Did he?”
“I told him that I wouldn’t and haven’t heard from him since.”
“I see.”
“Thought I’d better tell you just in case something was said.”
“Thank you. He’s obviously worried, then?”
“He is. If he should ask me again, what would you like me to say? I wouldn’t go privately for obvious reasons, but would you be interested if he asked me to go as your employee?”
“I’ve never bothered with equine, not the slightest inter
est. It’s not the horses themselves; it’s their owners.”
“They can be the very devil; you just have to know how to get along with them. But I would do it if you gave me the go-ahead. He may never ask me again. However, I must have the position clear, in case he does. He’s very influential; his approval could bring in many more equine clients, and it would be another string to your bow. I know I’m not here to stay, but it might influence your choice of a permanent vet if I got Lord Askew’s account.”
Mungo tapped the end of his pen on the desk while he thought. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. “I’ll consult with Colin and Zoe. Thanks for being so straightforward about it. Do you enjoy it?”
“Wouldn’t want to be wholly equine. I like variety, you see.”
Mungo put his glasses back on and said, “I’ll let you know. Young Copperfield has been walking about today. Good news, eh?”
He rang Colin that same night, and they had a long conversation about the pros and cons of the situation. The upshot of it was that Colin thought it was highly unlikely Dan would get asked again; but if he did, why not? After all, the fellow wasn’t going to be there for long, was he. These new applicants seemed promising and one of them did have horse experience, so why not let Dan lead the way if it so happened?
Ten minutes after he’d spoken to Colin the telephone rang, and Mungo found himself on the receiving end of Letty’s bile. “Colin’s told me. You said yourself you weren’t keen on him when he first came, and I’ve seen nothing of him to endear him to me. Giving him this opening is nothing short of ridiculous. He’ll be thinking he’s here to stay, and I’m not having it.”
“You’re not having it?”
“No, I am not. The man is insolent and arrogant, and what’s more it seems to me he’s too keen on making the practice pay and not enough on the animals.”
“May I remind you that Colin is the decision maker and as he has gone along with the idea …”
“Colin is the decision maker only because I put him there and money talks.”
Mungo held a bitter retort in check. “Anyway, I haven’t spoken to Zoe yet, so if we all agree then that’s final; and even if it’s two out of three, namely Colin and me, it’s still final. Goodnight, Letty. Thanks for ringing.”
