What the hell was I doing here? I missed the sky. I missed the airports and the clash of accents, the smell of spices, the robes and the duty-free and people hugging each other on arrival from faraway. I missed the nightclubs and the music and the pheromone smells, the packed humanity of my former life. Already I felt I was going to shrivel up like old fruit.
I walked up to the imposing black door of 44 Heriot Row and knocked. There was an immediate and powerful sound of dogs, barking. Big dogs, barking like the horns on trucks, scrambling towards me with a cracking of claws on tile. Enough noise for at least seventeen of them. I stood quaking on the doorstep. The street was deserted. We were five minutes’ walk from the biggest shopping street in Edinburgh, but nothing moved on the cobbles of Heriot Row and the nearest pedestrian was a speck.
Two large bodies struck the door: Thump. Thump. Scrabble of claws. The brass mail slot wobbled and flipped back, and I glimpsed the tip of a black snout. The barking stopped. There were only two of them; they started whining with hopeful sincerity.
Nothing new about that. Animals love me. What can I say? I’m lovable.
I waited. No one came.
‘OK, guys,’ I said through the door. ‘See you later. Looks like I gotta come back when somebody’s home.’
As I started to turn away, the door snicked open. I heard panting. A dark nose came around the corner and a moment later a full-grown Doberman had worked the door open and with a wriggle, burst out. He leaped at me. His paws hit my chest and I staggered backward and down one step while he licked my face joyously. I shoved him off, and he bounced off the other dog, an almost-as-large female. I’d shoved him hard enough to take him almost off his feet, but both dogs seemed to regard this as me initiating some kind of game, because they rebounded at me, wagging and panting and bouncing. Meanwhile, the door was swinging wide open but there was no human in sight.
I shoved one dog away with each hand and stepped into the gloom.
‘Hello? Anybody home?’
The house was spectacular. The entrance hall had chessboard tiles and a dripping-crystal chandelier and a wide staircase that swept up into darkness. No lights were on, and the rear hallway was shadowy and silent. There were no shoes, no coat racks, just a small ornamental table with a mirror over it. The place was a show home. The dogs escorted me in, and the female actually closed the door behind us with her long snout.
‘So it’s like that, guys?’ I said to them, patting their heads absentmindedly as we went from room to room, looking for a person. No one was here. ‘You know how to open doors? Thanks for letting me in. Now what should we do?’
That’s when I saw the blood smeared across a white chessboard tile.
* * *
It wasn’t that big of a deal. Truly, I’ve seen nosebleeds that were worse. But my hackles were up and my ears went on high alert. I couldn’t sense anyone’s pain; couldn’t sense any person in the house at all. There were smears of blood and little puddles of a foamy, translucent fluid on the tiles of the hall, and I followed them into the house until I could see through an open doorway into the big reception room that overlooked Heriot Row. The place had been ransacked. Cushions were off the sofa, papers were on the floor, the drawers of an exquisite cherry-wood desk were sticking out like crooked tongues. The firewood bin was tipped over and a bowl of cut flowers had spilled on a Turkish rug.
I looked the room over for several seconds before I noticed the bloody remains of a strange animal on the hearth. I squinted at the gutted mass of its body from several angles and finally decided it was an exceptionally large frog. My opinion of its species was based mostly on its legs; the rest of the body was mangled. It was blue, and its blood was sort of purplish. Organs were scattered on the stone. The blood smears seemed to originate here; blood had been tracked across the room and into the hallway.
I didn’t want to think what I was going to find if I went any further. I thought about calling emergency services and then remembered that I am emergency services, being an angel and all.
One of the dogs was nudging me with his muzzle, whining.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Does somebody need help? What are you trying to show me?’
The dog took off down the hall, claws slithering on the smooth tile. Avoiding the wet patches, I followed her to a narrow door in the right-hand wall, the kind that led to a cupboard under the stairs. It was open a crack.
When I opened the door and tugged on the light string I fully expected to find a dead body. Instead, I found a sick cat. It was huddled on the stone floor of the pantry, wedged between a big bag of kitty litter and a bigger bag of dog chow. It had vomited on the floor and over a dustpan and brush, and when I came in it tried to move, but there was something wrong with its hind legs so that it could only drag them. It was trembling, eyes black with fear, breathing harsh breaths with a noise out of proportion to its size. I could smell its urine.
I stepped away, putting my hand on the dog’s head as I returned to the corridor. I kept walking back through the deep house, passing an empty dining room with locked French doors looking out on a patio. At the very rear of the house there were spiral stairs going down. I found a big kitchen done out in gold and white and inhabited by two more cats. These were perfectly healthy, sitting on the sill above the sink chattering at the birds in a window feeder on the other side of the glass.
There was a beautiful green leather bag on the kitchen counter. Keys. Wallet. Phone.
I went out the back door and called into the garden.
‘Hello? Is anybody there?’
It wasn’t a big garden. Everything was done out in stone and pebbles. There were a few potted plants in what might have been an attempt at minimalism; or, judging by the way the dogs were now careering around the space peeing and squatting, maybe plants couldn’t survive with these guys around.
At the back of the garden was a small, arched door. It was shut but unlocked, and led into a narrow alley that led in turn to Gloucester Lane. I found the key and locked it. Then I went back upstairs. I searched the whole house but found nobody. I was keyed up. At least there was no corpse, which was what I’d been expecting since the moment I saw the blood. But how much relief could I feel at the thought that Liam and his girlfriend had been abducted?
I couldn’t call Marquita. She’d explicitly told me not to contact her. So I went to the phone in the green bag and found Liam’s number. It rang several times before a muffled-sounding man picked up.
‘What now?’ he grunted.
‘Liam Forbes? This is Pearl, I’m a friend of Bethany.’
‘It’s not a good time. What do you want?’
‘I’m really sorry about this, but it’s urgent. I came to see Bethany and the front door was open, the dogs are here but she’s gone.’
‘Are you serious? She probably just stepped out.’
‘No, listen. Her bag is here. Her keys. Her phone. It looks like somebody’s been in the house. There are drawers open, stuff thrown around. I’m concerned for her. I think I should call the police.’
‘What? No, wait.’ There was a noise of shuffling and movement, then a silence. He came back on sounding sharper. ‘Look . . . sorry, what did you say your name was?’
‘Pearl.’
‘Pearl. There must be some mistake. We have an alarm system. We have two big dogs.’
‘I know, they’re with me now.’
‘But how did you get in?’
‘The door was shut. I knocked on it and the dogs came—’
‘And they let you in, right? Leonard knows how to do that. But if the alarm system wasn’t set, then that means Beth probably just went down the road to get some milk or something and she’ll be right back.’
I didn’t know what to make of it. I know I’m not human, but if somebody called me to tell me my house had been ransacked and my girlfriend was missing, I think I’d be a little more upset. There was something in his tone that seemed to suggest I was wasting his time, spoiling his beauty
sleep . . .
‘OK,’ I said. ‘You don’t want me to call the police. You sure?’
‘How do you know Bethany?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I don’t remember her mentioning a Pearl. I take it you’re American?’
I winced. My default Long Island accent. I should have modified it.
‘I’m here on vacation and she said to look her up. Look, I think the best thing is for me to wait a little bit, and if she’s not back soon I’ll call the police and they can come around and see what’s gone on here. Oh, and the cat is sick. Throwing up blood and stuff like that.’
There was an audible groan.
‘Can you just not call the police, all right? I don’t want Bethany’s parents to get involved. I don’t know how close you two are, but she’s a lively girl and she can be a little . . . unstable.’
Why didn’t I believe that?
‘She may have just thrown a wobbly about something,’ he went on. ‘She’s been known to go off on the odd adventure. And if the house is a mess, it’s always possible the dogs have done it. Let’s just take this one step at a time.’
‘Sure,’ I said. His fear was strong enough to haunt his voice over the crackling line. It was a specific kind of fear. Fear for his girlfriend’s safety? Mmmm . . . no. Fear of losing control. ‘When are you going to be back?’
‘Me? I’m in Singapore, I can’t get away.’
So if Dr Sorle had been hoping to meet Liam Forbes, he was going to be disappointed. Had he been disappointed enough to abduct Bethany?
‘What about the cat? Looks pretty sick.’
‘Oh, there’s a card for the vet somewhere in the kitchen. Best thing is probably to get them to come collect it.’
It. How nice.
‘Do vets make house calls?’
‘I don’t know. Bethany has an account with them. They know us. Thanks, and sorry you’ve got caught up in all this. I owe you one.’
The line cut.
‘I don’t believe this.’
I stood in the kitchen with its softly ticking clock, the dogs at my feet gazing up at me hopefully.
* * *
The lilty-voiced woman who answered the vet’s phone said she couldn’t come out until after office hours. I found myself promising to bring the cat to her surgery.
Being at death’s door didn’t seem to have an effect on the cat’s refusal-to-get-in-carrier-fu. Even though it was partially paralyzed, it managed to resist all my efforts to cram it into the plastic cage I found in the pantry. I ended up returning to the ransacked front room and fetching a pair of heavy-duty fire gloves to protect my hands. The dogs wagged and barked as I shoved the cat in, both of us hissing. I was sweating by the time I got the cage closed.
I really don’t know what people think is so charming about these creatures.
Teacake
Bethany’s keys led me to a Land Rover parked neatly outside. In the glove compartment there were receipts from shops on Princes Street, a broken 3D projector, and a cherry chapstick. Also a stash of Maltesers. The dogs both tried to claim the passenger seat, which must be a normal occurrence judging from the state of the tartan throw Bethany had placed there. I banished them both behind the metal grille in the back. The cat was still retching intermittently, but the struggle to get in the carrier seemed to have worn it out and it lay on its side, breathing fast and shallow.
I started the car. I don’t technically have a licence. I never needed one, flying from city to city. I had to pull on my archives to get the subroutines I needed for operating the vehicle, and even so I found the cobbles disconcerting. I plugged the vet’s address into the satnav and off we went through the back streets of Edinburgh’s New Town. It didn’t look very new to me. They could have filmed Amadeus here. A lingering sense of sadness – maybe even grief – oozed from window frames and stone, and at the same time a feeling of resistance. Stalwart. That was how the buildings felt. The streets were narrow and sometimes I passed other cars with only inches to spare between our wing mirrors. I could feel the whites of my eyes popping out, but the other drivers waved cheerily like, no biggie.
We ended up going downhill into a scruffier, damp neighbourhood with a school, a Morrison’s and a line of shops surrounded by terraced houses. On one side of the vet’s was an off-licence and on the other an off-track betting outlet, a launderette and a kebab shop. The dogs rushed in ahead of me. I opened my mouth to apologise for them but found myself in an empty reception area sporting posters advertising wormers, diet cat food and flea remedies.
The places I find myself.
‘Hello, what have we here?’
The ethereal voice floated ahead of the woman. She was stout and sixty-something, with a ruddy face, curly grey hair and very small purple-framed glasses. Her voice was high and clear and its sound made something shine inside me.
‘I’m Alison. I gather Teacake’s poorly.’ Her accent made ‘poorly’ made sound like Pearly, and I was thrown for a second because I thought she’d said my name, and I hadn’t told her my name.
‘Uh . . . I guess.’ I found myself tongue-tied. I don’t know what it was about her. ‘I came to see Bethany, but she’d gone out and I found the cat like this. He’s been trying to be sick but nothing comes up, and . . . Well, you can see how he’s breathing.’
She had taken the carrier and now she went back to an examination room. Teacake was unconscious now; she poured him out of the carrier like syrup. She examined him with a thoughtful, abstracted expression on her face. She asked what he had eaten, how long he’d been like this, and I had to explain that I had no way of getting in touch with Bethany to find out more.
‘Lucky for him you came when you did. I’ll just pop him back in his carrier and take an X-ray. Be right back.’
And she was off. I stood looking at the sweaty marks Teacake’s paws had made on the formica table, thinking about Liam. There was something fishy about him, but it was hard to tell what that was over the phone. I can read people much better when I’m in physical proximity to them. Anyway, I didn’t like him and I didn’t think he liked me, either. How was I going to get him to open up to me about Pace Industries and Dr Sorle when I couldn’t even get him to show the slightest concern for his missing girlfriend?
No two ways; I should call the police.
If I did, I could forget about Liam ever talking to me about anything.
‘Well, then,’ said Alison, returning after what seemed like forever. ‘There’s no gut impaction, no signs of injury internally or externally, so the most likely explanation is poison. His symptoms are symptomatic of having eaten, say a poisoned mouse or rat for example. You could check his environment and try to find out what he’s gotten into. I can’t give an antidote if I don’t know the poison. For now I’ve pumped his stomach and put an IV in, and we’ll look after him and hope he recovers. I’m afraid it could go either way.’
‘Oh, my . . .’ I said. I never say oh my god because as yet I’ve had no contact with this so-called god. In my mind the phrase sounds like ‘Oh my (blank)’ but people just hear ‘Oh, my.’
‘You could try reaching Bethany again.’
‘That may not be possible,’ I said uncomfortably. The vet folded her arms and fixed me with a canny gaze.
‘Don’t tell me she’s finally left him.’
I didn’t say anything. She picked up the idea and ran with it, though.
‘I always thought it was only a matter of time. She was only with him for his money. But I can’t understand her leaving and not taking her animals. She really does love them.’
I fumbled for a response. I am the world’s worst liar. A three-year-old can lie better than I can. But Alison was already trundling out into the reception area, where I found both dogs chewing on giant rawhide bones that had been placed on high shelves for sale. Various pieces of furniture were overturned and a poster displaying the life cycle of the heartworm was hanging half off the wall. I put everything back the way it shou
ld be and then a girl walked in carrying a rabbit in a basket. Both dogs lunged toward her, wagging, but I checked them. Nobody drags me.
The screen in the waiting room was filled by Dr Sorle’s face and my own.
AIRLINE TRAGEDY UNDER INVESTIGATION
‘What?’ said Alison as I froze to the spot. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
I moved so that I blocked the screen.
‘Call me if you find what he got into. I’ll keep a close eye on him and ring you around ten tonight, after my last check.’
I could feel this deeply practical woman staring at me openly after I turned my back. I tried not to be paranoid about that. People stare at me all the time. I’m six inches taller and substantially broader than most women in these parts. I have the shoulders of a rugby star and my skin is dark brown. People stare even when I’m not on the news feeds.
She watched me manoeuvre both dogs out on to the sidewalk. This involved a lot of slobber and shed fur. I stood on the pavement in the gathering gloom, breathing deep the cool, yeasty air.
That’s when I saw Two Phones in front of the estate agent’s across the street, pretending to look at ‘To Let’ ads.
Colonel Mustard in the library
‘There goes the neighbourhood,’ I said loudly. Two Phones was pretending not to notice me, so I walked straight up to him. The dogs felt my mood. The male gave a whuffling bark as we approached.
Two Phones didn’t know what to do. He looked right, he looked left. At a loss, he brought one of his phones to the ear that didn’t already have a device in it.
‘How’s it going, Jeff?’ I said.
‘Ms Jones,’ he said. He squared up to me, contracting his delts so that he puffed up the way animals do when they’re trying to establish dominance. This was a mistake. I’m bigger. Plus the dogs.
‘If you have Bethany Collins then let her go,’ I said.
He bent and ruffled Leonard’s ears. ‘Hey, Leonard, how you doing, buddy?’ he said.
Occupy Me Page 9
