The First of Nine

by James Barrie

  Theodore followed her as far as her yard. He took up a position on the back wall. He spied Belle sitting on the kitchen table.

  Zeynep went straight up to the back bedroom. She swept the unfinished Ottoman dolls house from the table with her forearm. She stamped on its roof. She grabbed the shoebox and emptied its contents onto the floor.

  ‘Pervert! she screamed, spying a pair of her black lace knickers.

  She pulled the completed models from the shelves around the room and stamped on them, balsa wood crumpling beneath her shoes.

  She came back downstairs and paced the kitchen. She took her mobile phone from her pocket again and began to jab at the screen.

  She pressed the phone to her ear.

  ‘Hello… Yes... Police…,’ she said.

  A few seconds went by.

  ‘Hello. Yes... Is that the police? Yes.’

  Another silence and then: ‘I have information about the Clementhorpe murder… My husband. He was very late coming home that night… And when he did, he washed his clothing… It is very unlike him to wash his own clothes. Especially late at night…’

  Theodore’s ears twitched.

  ‘I think he is acting differently since what happened… His name? It is Ahmet. Ahmet Akbulut. He works for Crow Line taxis.’

  There was a pause.

  Then: ‘He is at work now. Crow Line taxis. His car is white. A white Toyota Avensis.

  And then: ‘You should know he has a temper.’

  Theodore’s brow furrowed. Ahmet? A liar and a cheat perhaps, but a murderer?

  He jumped down from the wall and trotted back round to where Ahmet’s taxi was parked in front of Diane’s house.

  He sat below the still warm engine and waited for the police to arrive. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Le Morte d’Arthur

  Theodore entered the front room to be faced by two large orange-furred feline monsters. They stood their ground in the middle of the room, staring at Theodore with wide eyes.

  I’ll take you both on, Theodore cried, throwing himself into the melee. I’ll knock the stuffing out of you!

  He singled one of them out, jumped onto its stomach and began working with his hind legs, digging into and ripping at its soft underbelly. Orange fur flew up into the air.

  We’ll see who’s tough, he panted.

  His opponent soon gave up the struggle and submitted to Theodore’s superior strength. He turned to the other, who had stood waiting its turn.

  Now for you.

  Theodore flew at him, sending them both skidding across the floor.

  When they came to rest, Theodore was on top. He went for the other’s throat. He dug his teeth into the soft of the neck and took hold with his teeth. He shook his head from side to side, his jaw clamped shut. He pulled away and spat out the contents of his mouth. He sank his fangs in again, tugging at what lay beneath his enemy’s chin, his back legs working at the other’s soft belly. When he’d finished with him, he surveyed the scene.

  Orange synthetic fur and yellow foam lay scattered across the floor. The eyes of one of his enemies flicked open, then closed, never to open again.

  ‘My slippers!’ Emily cried, coming into the front room to see what the racket was about. ‘What have you done to my slippers, Theo? They’re ruined.’

  Theodore slunk past her into the hallway, his tail held low.

  ‘Theo!’ Emily called after him.

  He made his way into the kitchen and exited the cat flap.

  ‘Theodore!’ Emily shouted from inside, but he was already up on the back wall and on his way to Wendy’s.

  ◆◆◆

  The police had knocked on Diane’s door following Zeynep’s phone call and had taken Ahmet back to Fulford Police Station for questioning. They had kept him in custody overnight. In the morning they’d collected Zeynep and then shortly afterwards Diane.

  ‘I was out with Rocky,’ Irene said. ‘Diane was still wearing her nightgown when they took her away. They must have got her out of bed…’

  ‘You’d have thought they’d have let her get dressed,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I wonder what she has to do with it,’ Irene said.

  ‘She had a thing for that taxi driver,’ Wendy said. ‘Peter told me about them. He’d seen him coming out of her back gate one evening.’

  ‘Did he now? They took away some bin bags from the Turkish couple’s. I reckon they were his clothes. Evidence, you know.’

  ‘But why would he want to harm Peter?’ Wendy asked. ‘They didn’t even know each other.’ She was standing in front of the kitchen window, rolling out dough. Her navy blue apron was grey across her bosom from decades of flour and grease. She’d had her greying hair dyed red that morning. It looked more carroty than she’d hoped.

  ‘There must be something in it,’ Irene said. ‘They wouldn’t have taken him in for no reason now, would they?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Wendy laid the dough into a pie dish and thumbed the edges.

  ‘But why would he want to harm Peter?’ she said again.

  From the back wall of Wendy’s yard, Theodore also pondered this question. Peter Morris had known that Ahmet was sleeping with Diane. Had Ahmet killed Peter Morris because he knew about the affair? He could have used the pretext of asking after the missing cat, and when Peter had opened the gate, Ahmet had clobbered him.

  Theodore looked across at the pigeon loft. One solitary bird perched on its roof. He inspected the sky for its companions but there was none. He turned his attention back to the kitchen window and saw Wendy washing dishes at the kitchen sink.

  ‘Have you heard from Laura?’ Irene asked. ‘Since the funeral.’

  ‘No,’ Wendy said. ‘Not a peep.’

  ‘Such a shame,’ Irene said. ‘If I were you, I’d be round there. He’s your grandchild, you know.’

  ‘It’s all because of what happened between her and Peter… They never saw eye to eye… But Peter was set in his ways. He had his opinions and he stuck to them.’

  ‘I know that,’ Irene said bluntly. ‘But Peter’s not around anymore. You have a chance to set things right. You have a beautiful grandson. You don’t want to miss out on that…’

  Then Theodore sensed another animal approach. He turned to see Arthur padding along the back alley, his tail up straight. The black cat stopped directly below Theodore and miaowed up at him. It was an order: ‘Get out of the way or else!’

  Theodore backed away, further down the wall.

  Garfield slippers were one thing. Arthur was another.

  Arthur jumped up onto the wall and took up Theodore’s spot, behind the barbed wire topped trellis that surrounded the Morris’s yard. He hadn’t eaten that morning. Diane had been whisked off to the police station to be interviewed before she’d had chance to feed him.

  Theodore watched as he eyed the last remaining pigeon, the tip of his tongue showing.

  He doesn’t have a chance, Theodore thought, watching as Arthur paced backwards and forwards, up and down the length of wall.

  The eighteen inch high trellis was fixed in the middle of the wall, a slight gap on either side. Arthur paced on the outside of the trellis. He went beyond the Morris’s yard, towards Theodore, who retreated further along the wall.

  Then Arthur began to run towards Wendy Morris’s yard. When he reached the trellis he jumped two feet into the air before landing on the inside of the trellis, three yards further along.

  Theodore blinked in astonishment. Arthur was inside the Morris’s yard.

  The black cat stalked up and down along the wall, his eyes fixed on the pigeon, his ears folded flat.

  The pigeon launched itself into the air and flapped about the yard. It was making for the safety of the loft when Arthur jumped. They met in mid-air. Arthur’s teeth sunk into the bird’s nape. By the time they hit the ground, the bird was dead. Arthur shook it for good measure.

  He turned around, the bird held firmly in his mouth, looking for an escape.<
br />
  The stepladder Peter Morris had used to clean out the pigeon loft was leant against the back wall. Arthur was soon up the ladder and back on top of the wall, the dead pigeon clasped in his mouth. He paced along the wall once more. Then, breaking into a run, he jumped into the air.

  Then Theodore saw Wendy Morris out in her yard, rolling pin in hand. She raised the wooden cylinder, then threw it.

  It flipped through the air before cracking Arthur’s skull.

  Arthur landed in the back alley with a soft thud. The pigeon dropped a few feet away. The rolling pin landed a moment later.

  Theodore saw a small pool of blood begin to form on the cobbles around Arthur’s head. He heard a bolt being pulled and then slippered steps across the cobblestones.

  He hurried further along the wall seeking the cover of an overgrown privet hedge. When he turned, he saw Wendy leaning over the dead cat.

  She picked him up and carried him at arm’s length into her yard. Arthur hung limp. A moment later she returned with a sheet of newspaper for the pigeon.

  Theodore listened as the back gate was bolted behind her. He looked up and down the back alley. There was no one… No one to have witnessed the felinicide.

  He approached Wendy’s yard, stopping short of the trellis. He glanced at the splash of blood on the cobbles and the few flecks from the pigeon a few feet away.

  Theodore had not been friends with Arthur but he would never wish such a brutal end to one of his own kind.

  Arthur had been acting in accordance with his baser instinct. He hadn’t been fed that morning. He’d been hungry. Food had presented itself in the form of a pigeon. He had risked his life in killing the bird and, as a result, he was dead. Arthur had taken a gamble, Theodore thought, and had lost. He had paid the price with his life.

  Theodore looked down into the yard. Arthur lay on the concrete beneath the pigeon loft. On the chimney of the Morris house a crow cawed out the death.

  Wendy was in the outbuilding. She came out with a bucket and mop.

  Irene was standing by the back door. ‘I can’t believe you’ve gone and killed Diane’s cat,’ she said, clucking her tongue.

  ‘Well, I did,’ Wendy said. ‘It had one of his birds.’

  ‘But you killed Diane’s cat…’

  Wendy pushed past Irene and filled the bucket at the kitchen sink.

  ‘Those cats are always killing things,’ she said.

  ‘Diane thought the world of that cat,’ Irene said.

  ‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ Wendy said. ‘I only meant to scare him off.’

  She turned off the kitchen tap. She went out the back door carrying her plastic bucket of soapy water.

  Irene followed. ‘I’d better be getting along, she said. ‘I need to take Rocky out for his walk.’

  ‘Don’t you go telling to Diane about this,’ Wendy said.

  Irene didn’t respond. She hurried down the back alley to her own gate.

  Theodore watched as Wendy washed the cobbles of blood.

  Then she went back inside her house. She took a bin bag from a kitchen drawer. She came outside again and pushed Arthur’s body inside the bin bag. Then she went back inside.

  A few minutes later Theodore watched as Wendy Morris pulled her shopping trolley along the back alley.

  Theodore looked back down into the yard. There was a dark stain where Arthur had been. He jumped down into the alley. He raced out into the street. He spied Wendy, her shopping trolley bumping along behind her, as she turned onto Scarcroft Road. Then she disappeared from sight.

  He raced down Alcuin Terrace and spotted Wendy hurrying along the road. Then she disappeared.

  When he arrived at the spot where she’d disappeared, he noticed a gate set into the hedge. He ducked under and began to pad along the path that extended up through the allotments.

  Wendy was further up the path, dragging the shopping trolley along behind her over the rough ground.

  Theodore trotted behind, keeping to the sides of the path. Several times she glanced behind her but Theodore darted into the undergrowth.

  Wendy stopped in a small clearing beside a large mound of decomposing grass clippings. Theodore watched as she undid a zip and took from her shopping trolley the black bin bag. She made a hole in the brown mulch and pushed the bag inside. Then she pushed the moulding grass back over. A moment later she continued along the path, over Scarcroft Hill towards the Knavesmire.

  Theodore approached the mound. He inspected the place where she’d replaced the brown grass. Then he dug out the grass with his front paws, sending it flying behind him. He soon exposed the black bin liner. With a claw he split the thin black plastic.

  A lifeless amber eye stared back at him.

  The Allotments

  Jonathan was watching television while Emily was upstairs having a bath.

  Suddenly Theodore darted in, carrying a plastic bag in his mouth. He rolled over, wrapping the bag around himself.

  ‘What an earth are you up to?’ Jonathan said, removing his feet from the table. ‘Don’t you know it’s dangerous to play with plastic bags?’

  Theodore rolled onto his back, paws in the air, the plastic bag below him.

  Arthur’s been killed by Wendy, wrapped in a bin liner and buried in the allotments, he wanted to say.

  Jonathan lent over. He pulled the plastic bag from beneath the cat. ‘You want your tummy tickling, Theo?’ he said, digging his fingers into Theodore’s stomach.

  Theodore got to his feet and exited the front room.

  Jonathan put his feet back up on the coffee table and tried to watch his programme again. But a minute later he heard a miaow from outside. He stood up and went over to the front window. He saw Theodore sitting on the front wall. He returned to the sofa, determined to watch his programme.

  Theodore miaowed again. He miaowed as loudly as he could. It was some minutes before Jonathan’s face appeared again at the window.

  He jumped down and marched into the middle of the road. He stretched out on the warm tarmac. It was not a busy street but it wouldn’t be too long before a car came.

  He heard Jonathan shouting up to the bathroom: ‘Your cat’s in the road.’

  Theodore did not hear Emily’s muffled response, but a moment later the front door opened and Jonathan appeared, shaking his head.

  Theodore stood up and began to walk down the middle of the street, between the parked cars, his tail held up behind him.

  ‘Do you have a death wish?’ Jonathan asked Theodore’s retreating fluffy rear end.

  He began to follow Theodore down the middle of Avondale Terrace, calling his name. He broke into a short sprint in an attempt to grab him, but Theodore was too quick for him.

  Theodore turned left at the bottom of the street and waited for Jonathan to catch up with him. As soon as he saw Jonathan rounding the corner, he trotted ahead, turning every once in a while to make sure he was still being followed.

  ◆◆◆

  Twenty minutes later Theodore led Jonathan back to the house. In his arms he carried Arthur, still wrapped in the bin liner.

  The front door had been left open while they’d been gone. Emily now stood in the doorway, her wet hair tied back.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ she said. ‘I was worried.’

  ‘Scarcroft Allotments,’ Jonathan said. ‘Theodore wanted to show me something.’

  He held up the black bag and grimaced.

  ‘What is it?’

  He opened the bag to show her the dead cat. ‘It looks like he’s been whacked over the head,’ he said, pointing to the black fur matted with blood.

  Theodore circled his legs. He’s not so stupid after all, he thought.

  ‘Why have you brought a dead cat in here?’ Emily suddenly shouted. ‘If you think you are going to bring that thing into my house, you’ve got another thing coming.’

  ‘But your cat led me to it,’ he said. ‘I think someone’s killed it.’

  ‘I don’t want a dead
cat in my house!’

  ‘I found it in the allotments,’ Jonathan went on. ‘It doesn’t have a collar… Somebody must have killed it and hid it in the allotments.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Emily said, hands on hips. ‘It’ll have been knocked down by a car and crawled into the allotments to die. Cats do that…’

  ‘But it was in a bin liner.’

  ‘Maybe the car driver put it in a bin liner and hid it in the allotments rather than owning up to it... I just don’t want a dead cat in my house.’

  ‘Well,’ Jonathan said, holding the bag out in front of him, ‘what do you suggest I do with it?’

  ‘I don’t care what you do with it. Just get it out of here.’

  The black cat Jonathan had found in the allotments had reminded him of his own cat that had died the year before. Perhaps that was why he had not hesitated to pick it up. He didn’t mention this to Emily. He shook his head.

  Theodore stared up at him. What are you going to do now? his eyes asked.

  ‘I’ll take it back to mine and bury it,’ Jonathan said, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll be back later and then we can go out and get something to eat.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Emily said. ‘It’ll give me time to dry my hair.’

  ◆◆◆

  As soon as the front door had closed behind Jonathan, Emily went upstairs, and Theodore heard the whir of the hairdryer. He padded through the dining room and back out into the yard.

  He jumped onto the back wall of his yard and looked down into the alley. The blue cobbles looked polished where Wendy had washed them of blood. He pondered the scene a moment. The rolling pin!

  Wendy had removed the dead cat. She had come back for the pigeon. But what had happened to the rolling pin?

  He replayed Arthur’s last seconds. The moment the rolling pin hit Arthur’s head with a crack. Wood on bone. Arthur hitting the ground with a soft thud. The hollow sound of the rolling pin landing and then another hollow noise as it bounced off down the alley.

  The rolling pin had bounced, then rolled down the hill, Theodore concluded.

  He looked down the alley. The rolling pin was nowhere to be seen. He jumped down.