‘Like Mike Rook?’
‘Mike?’ He laughed. ‘Mike was merely my driver, though he had other uses until he started going soft, reckoning my plan to burn out Binks was a step too far.’
‘Is that why you killed him?’
‘I had him killed when he threatened to inform Hobbes.’
‘He sounds like one of the decent folk you were making Sorenchester fit for,’ I said, gulping, in case I was provoking him.
‘Decent? He was only going to tell Hobbes if I didn’t buy him off. He was nothing but a lousy blackmailer, like Henry Bishop.’ He chuckled. ‘Still, Mike did have an inventive mind, and his elephant scheme was a classic. Unfortunately, when he was no longer an asset, he had to go.’
‘How did you get at him in the hospital?’
‘Through a window. It wasn’t difficult. Right, I’ve answered some of your questions and now it’s your turn to answer some of mine. What do you know about the tunnels?’
‘How do you know about them?’
‘That drunken runt, Billy, told me after I bought him a lot of drinks, and Hobbes’s sudden disappearances and unexpected reappearances proved he hadn’t been lying, though he knew little more than that they existed and ran as far as Blackdog Street. I expect one connects to Hobbes’s wine cellar. Am I right?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m just curious, like you are, Andy. I expect you’d like to know why I’ve been telling you all about my business affairs?’
‘No, not really.’
‘You really are stupid aren’t you?’
‘Umm …’
‘Just accept it, man. Has it not occurred to you that everything I’ve told you could get me into serious trouble? If you told anyone that is.’
Though he still sounded calm, his voice had grown cold again. I shivered.
‘But I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Promise?’
‘Umm … I promise.’
‘Do you know, I think I believe you. In fact, I know you won’t tell anyone.’
His voice had grown louder, or was he closer? The eyes had disappeared.
‘Can you guess why?’
The shock of his voice just next to my ear, his hot breath on my neck was too much. Giving in to terror, lurching to my feet, I ran.
‘Come back,’ said Felix. ‘It’ll be easier on you.’
Putting my head down, I fled, longing for light, unseen branches whipping my face, roots and logs trying to trip me, stumbling forward, breathing through my mouth. After a while, the fear he’d set the panther on me forced me to slow down and listen. My head was throbbing and I could feel blood congealing over my face and hands.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ His voice was in front of me. ‘Go on, guess why I believe you.’
Green eyes and white teeth glinted where a hint of moonlight seeped through the heavy canopy. Putting my hands in my pocket, so he wouldn’t see how much they were shaking, trying to be cool, unprovocative, I found my penny, hoping it was a lucky one.
‘Alright, I’ll tell you anyway. I trust you not to tell anyone because I’m going to kill you.’
The eyes approaching, I hurled the coin but I guess my aim was off, because it was Felix who cried out. Turning away, I ran, blindly, desperately.
It might have been a great escape had I not tripped and rolled into a hollow.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said Felix. ‘You’ve made me angry. I was intending to make it quick and painless – well, quick anyway, but now you’re going to die like Henry did.’
‘Please, no!’
A shadow, even darker than night-time, was approaching and I feared I was going to die. Curling into a ball, I lay still, knowing I was trapped, that I was going to experience pain. The panther growled and I felt a thud as it landed at my side. Rank breath blew in my face, sharp claws raked my side. I cried for help, though my nose being stuffed with clotting blood, my scream sounded more like a duck call.
There was a sudden slight breeze, as if something had leapt over me, an angry hiss, as though from an infuriated cat, and I passed out.
Soft hands were stroking my forehead as I came to. ‘I’m so sorry,’ said a gentle voice.
‘Violet?’
‘Yes, you’re going to be alright.’
‘What happened?’
‘You’re safe, but I’ve got to go.’
‘Don’t leave me, please.’
‘I must. They’re coming to help you. Goodbye.’
As she moved away, I heard voices. Torch beams flashed between the trees.
‘I’m over here,’ I croaked.
‘Are you alright, dear?’ Light was around me and Mrs Goodfellow was peering into my face.
I blinked. ‘Not really.’
‘You are a mess, dear. We’d best get you back to the farm and clean you up. Can you walk?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Very soon I was being carried on a stretcher. The woods were left behind. In front was the comforting light of the farmhouse.
21
I didn’t half feel ill when my eyes opened.
‘He’s in shock,’ said a woman with a penetrating, brisk, no-nonsense voice that hurt my head.
Although I thought I recognised it, I struggled to work out why the ceiling looked familiar and why something was pressing on my mouth and nose.
‘I thought so,’ said Mrs Goodfellow.
‘Indeed. He’s displaying many of the classic symptoms: a rapid, weak pulse, shallow breathing, low blood pressure, clammy skin, blue lips …’
Raising myself on one arm to see what was happening, realising I was wearing a face mask with a plastic tube, I tore it off. ‘Oh. Hello, doctor,’ I said, seeing Dr Procter smiling down at me. Then, having vomited into a bucket that appeared in the right place, I slumped back onto my bed.
‘Nausea is, of course, another classic symptom,’ said the doctor, ‘but the oxygen has taken care of the cyanosis and his lips are back to normal – the colour I mean. The swelling will go down, in time. He’s evidently had a traumatic experience, but I gather he’s quite used to them and, fortunately, he appears to have suffered no major physical injuries. His symptoms are already showing distinct signs of improvement and he should recover quickly. Nevertheless, he has taken quite a beating and it seems a cat’s had a go at him again. I wonder what he does to annoy them. I’ll write him a prescription for antibiotics; we wouldn’t want him to catch whatever he had last time.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Not really. Keep him warm and quiet and give him plenty of fluids. You may notice some strange moods and behaviour as the psychological effects work themselves out.’
Mrs Goodfellow laughed. ‘Strange moods and behaviour? How will I know?’
If I’d had the energy, I would have snorted with disdain, but, the blankets being warm, my bed feeling soft, I let myself drift back to sleep. Mrs Goodfellow woke me a couple of times to pour liquids into me or to thrust antibiotics down my throat. Though I’m sure they did me good, what roused me in the end was the pungent aroma of curry.
I got up, limping to the bathroom for a wash, shocked at the unfamiliar face looking back at me from the mirror, for, where there would normally have been pale, smooth, pinkish skin, there were lumps and purple marks, red eyes and a bottom lip, swollen as if someone had inserted half a saucer into it. Yet, my body showed no evidence of wounds or bruises at all, having been covered in bandages, like a mummy. A tentative poke suggested tentative pokes should be avoided.
After dressing, a slow, painful process, I hobbled downstairs towards the kitchen. When Dregs bounded towards me, I cringed, expecting the worst, but, seeming to understand my delicate state, he contented himself with licking my hand.
Mrs G, stirring a vast black cauldron, from where the delicious, enticing, smells were emerging, looked up from the stove. ‘Hello, dear, I wondered if this might tempt you. I take it you’re feeling better?’
‘It did and
I am, though I’m starving. Umm … when’s supper ready?’
‘At half-past six, as usual.’
‘When’s that?’
‘In about twenty minutes, dear.’
‘So long?’
‘I’m afraid so. The old fellow will be back then.’
‘Why isn’t he at the festival? And … umm … shouldn’t you be there, too?’
‘It’s been called off.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘It was getting rather out of hand, though your boys did quite well … in the circumstances.’
‘Thank you, dear. That’s kind.’
I thought I ought to give her some support for, after all, it hadn’t been her fault there’d been so much trouble and, in the circumstances, she really hadn’t done badly. ‘I saw you wallop the guy with the club. That was great.’
‘No, it was regrettable, but I had to take him down when he wouldn’t listen to reason and threatened to hurt people. The old fellow reckons he was acting under orders.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘No, dear, though it is a reason. By the end of the night, we’d detained thirty young men, who were all acting under orders. Though most of them tried to put up a fight, a few ran and are being picked up by the police.’ She looked glum for a moment, until a gummy smile broke through. ‘On the bright side, I obtained six new teeth for my collection. Unfortunately, one was gold and another had a diamond in it, quite ruining it.’
‘That is sad.’ I grinned, my face hurting and giving rise to a worrying thought. ‘Umm … I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat properly. Just talking hurts enough and I’ll never be able to chew.’
‘Don’t worry, dear, this is mulligatawny soup, so I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.’
She wouldn’t say any more about the events of the previous night, except that I should ask Hobbes. I tried to be cool and managed to sit quietly, with the exception of my stomach, which grumbled egregiously until he returned and took his place at the table. He looked tired and morose and, besides saying grace, didn’t speak until we’d finished. I didn’t mind, despite my curiosity, for I was fully engaged in the process of eating the thick, rich soup and, though my swollen mouth barely opened wide enough to let the spoon in, everything was chopped so finely I had no other problems eating.
Afterwards, while the old girl made tea and washed up, Hobbes and I sat on the sofa. He began twitching and growling, the overture to another bone-crunching episode I feared, until, after a short while, he turned to face me.
‘I’m happy to see you up and recovering,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be glad to hear I found the Bashem family safe and sound. They’d hidden in the crowd, which was sensible, and had taken Dregs, which was also sensible. They showed far more intelligence than you; you really shouldn’t have gone out. I’d hoped you and Mr Bullimore had the brains to stay put.’
‘Sorry, it was my fault; I thought we might be able to help find them. Is Mr Bullimore alright?’ I was ashamed I’d never given him, or his family, a thought until then.
‘Though he was mauled quite badly, he’s a tough old dog and is getting better. He thought the panther was going to kill him, but, for some reason, it simply stopped the attack and ran off.’
‘That’s odd,’ I said, ‘because Felix set a panther on me and I think another one turned up and drove it away, which saved me.’
‘That sounds like unusual behaviour for a panther,’ said Hobbes, looking at me as if expecting more.
‘Umm … I expect it was unusual. But …’
‘But what?’
‘But I think … umm … Violet brought the second one. I’m not sure quite what happened but, just after the first one ran off, she talked to me and stroked my head.’
‘So, she was there, too? That is very interesting.’
‘Yes and she said she was sorry, though I’m not quite sure why.’
Hobbes grinned. ‘I suspect she has rather a lot to be sorry about, but that can wait till later. I think you may just have provided me with a vital clue.’
‘Have I? That’s great … umm … talking of clues, Felix told me quite a lot during the attack. I thought it might be evidence.’
‘Tell me,’ said Hobbes.
I told him everything Felix had said, or, at least, everything I could remember.
When I’d finished, Hobbes shook his head. ‘I’ll get Billy to check his brakes, but why do villains need to gloat and boast about their cleverness and ruthlessness when he could just have killed you and slipped away? That’s what I’d do if I ever became villainous.’
I flinched at his casual attitude.
‘Your evidence would be useful, should the case ever go to court, but, unfortunately, I doubt it will: not the real one. The lass and her boys have detained most of Mr King’s henchmen, who are currently stewing in the nick, awaiting questioning. They will no doubt be prosecuted, yet, they weren’t behind the events. Mr King was and he’s vanished.’
I nodded, coming up with a phrase I’d once used in an article for the Bugle. ‘You could say his men were just the cat’s paws.’
I cringed, as memory pointed out that my article had not been a great success. It started with a lunchtime lager in the Feathers where, despite furious bellows from Featherlight, who was in dispute with some unfortunate customer, I’d overheard talk from a gang of shoplifters who’d just arrived in town. Having managed to identify the brains of the outfit, and where they were going to strike next, I rushed back to the office and typed up a couple of hundred words. I’d been extremely proud of the article and even Editorsaurus Rex had seemed pleased, until it turned out that my shoplifters had really been shop-fitters. Following a painful and unnecessarily prolonged interview with the Editorsaurus, I was rarely assigned to report anything other than pet shows and fetes.
Still, Hobbes chuckled. ‘Cat’s paws! That’s a good one.’
‘I still don’t understand what’s going on,’ I said, feeling even thicker than usual.
‘But I’m beginning to.’ He smiled. ‘Yet, I fear I’ve been slow; I had all the evidence and still couldn’t fit it together, though, in fairness, it is an unusual case.’
I waited, puzzled, as he sat, eyes closed, as if in a deep trance.
‘I couldn’t understand,’ he continued, ‘why, though I could track the cats, their spore would suddenly vanish. I have an idea now.
‘Are you absolutely certain both Mr King and Miss King spoke to you last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Excellent. You see, I was stumped because having examined the place we found you, I found no trace of Mr King.’
‘But he was there, honest.’
‘I believe you. I did, however, find signs of two big cats and some tufts of fur that might suggest a fight, which agrees with your information. What I found really baffling was coming across clear signs a human had been there, though only around where you were lying. From the size of the footprints, I was almost sure it had been a lady, and I’m now confident it was Miss King. Strangely, she had bare feet and left no apparent trail either approaching or leaving.’
Having great faith in Hobbes’s tracking skills, I was puzzled by such a failure. ‘She must have done. She couldn’t just appear out of thin air, unless she swung through the trees like Tarzan.’
‘I did, in fact, check the trees and found nothing to suggest she’d been climbing. However, I think you may have provided the key to explain it all.’
‘Go on,’ I urged, unable to think of anything I’d said that was important.
‘Right. Consider this. Both Mr King and his sister spoke to you, yet he, apparently, left no marks at all, while she only left them near where you’d fallen.’
‘I still don’t understand.’
Hobbes grinned. ‘Yet, there were two distinct sets of big cat prints. Both had approached you and gone away.’
‘Weird.’
‘Precisely what I thought, so I had a word with Mr Catt at the Wildlife Park th
is morning. I showed him the fur I’d picked up and some casts I’d made of the paw prints and he was adamant they weren’t from a panther, or any cat he’s aware of.’
‘So, what are you getting at?’ I asked, starting to get an inkling, though my brain was having difficulties.
‘There is an explanation that fits the evidence.’
At the moment an unearthly cackle announced that Mrs Goodfellow had brought in the tea and, had I not been so sore and stiff, I’d have jumped into orbit, as usual. Setting down the tray, she filled two mugs. Hobbes chucked in a handful of sugar, stirred his mug, sucked his finger and took a great swig. He sighed, the sigh of a contented police officer.
‘Thanks, lass,’ he said.
She nudged me and grinned. ‘Well done – you’ve cheered him up again.’
‘I’m not sure how,’ I said, ‘but I think I’m going to find out.’
As she headed back towards the kitchen, I took a sip of tea, squealing as it parboiled my split lip. Hobbes poured himself a second mug, giving me a few seconds to think. It didn’t help.
‘So,’ he said, ‘have you got it yet?’
‘Umm … I’m not sure. You say Felix wasn’t there but a panther, no … umm … some mysterious big cat was? So was it a talking cat?’
‘You might say that.’
‘Really?’ I let the idea settle in my brain. ‘And you reckon Violet also got there without leaving a trace, though she was there, and there were signs of two cats.’
‘That’s right. Do you get it yet?’
‘No … not unless Violet and Felix could turn into cats!’ I laughed.
Hobbes wasn’t laughing.
‘Come off it,’ I said. ‘It’s bad enough the Bashems turning out to be werewolves, but now you’re saying my girlfriend is a cat?’ I shook my head. ‘It’s ridiculous.’
‘Is it?’
‘Of course. Look, if she was a cat, I’d know and would have taken cat food on the picnic and, what’s more,’ I felt myself blush, ‘I have … umm … kissed her, and, I can tell you, she’s a real woman.’
‘What I mean,’ said Hobbes, ‘is that she and her brother are werecats.’
‘You really mean she can change into a cat?’ I asked, trying to maintain a front of scepticism, even though what he was suggesting made sense, in a thoroughly nonsensical way. ‘You’re saying she can somehow – what’s the word? – wolfifest into a cat?’
Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) Page 32
