“Oh, Katherine,” he said, his tone now morphing to sympathy as he went towards her and wrapped her in his arms. “No wonder you’re upset. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she sobbed into his shirt. “One minute she was curled up on the sofa, the next a man knocked on the door and handed her to me in a box. He said he saw a car run her over.”
She broke out into uncontrollable sobbing and Phil guided her back through to the living room and sat her down.
“She never goes out and definitely not when it’s raining, she hated water. I can’t understand how she got out, I’ve been in all day and not even opened a door or window.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea. Just don’t upset yourself, sit there and I’ll make us something to eat,” he said, not knowing what else to say.
He returned to the kitchen and quickly added another tin of soup to the pan and slotted some slices of bread in the toaster. The sight of the shoe box on the table where they ate made him cringe so he removed it and placed it outside the back door then hurried to the sink. Lathering his hands with anti-bacterial soap, he scrubbed at them repeatedly as he waited for the toast to pop up. His dislike for the cat was no secret and his suggestion at having it rehoused when Katherine had first learned of their current pregnancy had resulted in a row. The first consultation with the midwife had informed him of safety precautions and since then, he had wished the cat would simply disappear. Researching Leptospirosis and Toxoplasmosis had sent his mind into turmoil and he had done his best to discourage Coco from sleeping on their bed or entering the baby’s nursery.
How did it get out? Coco was a house cat and Katherine’s obsessed with keeping doors shut.
He mulled over the question in his head as he dished up the soup, sliced the toast into small squares and took them through to the living room on a tray.
“Here, it’s not much but you know I’m crap at cooking,” he said, placing the tray down on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” she replied, her voice choppy from the outburst of tears. “I—I’m sorry I accused you….”
“It’s fine,” Phil replied, giving her a faint hint of a smile and hoping the grief of losing her cat would end the conversation, but it didn’t.
“It’s just. It’s just you never seem to be here these days.”
“I’m just preoccupied with work, that’s all. I promise you it’s nothing to worry about,” he replied in between slurping his soup.
“You’ve been like it since the Fletcher case. I know you’re frustrated about missing the promotion but you’ve got to let it go. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Phil felt his anger rise, twisting his stomach and nearly choking him as he tried to swallow the soup. He wanted to release it. Let it go and scream at her for even entertaining the possibility of him making such an inept blunder. He remained silent, not wanting to pour fuel on a fire of questions he needed to avoid. Not giving her an opportunity to continue, he swept her bowl away as soon as she had finished and retreated back to the kitchen with the tray. The cat would have to be buried. Throwing it into the wheelie bin wasn’t an option although Phil had considered placing the box into a black bin bag and stuffing it underneath several days’ worth of rubbish to avoid Katherine’s eagle eye. He decided the upset of denying the cat a burial would cause more trouble and so he finished off the washing up and flicked on the outside light to illuminate the garden path leading to the shed. The ground was wet from the downpour of rain throughout the day and he selected a patch of border beneath a rose bush part way down their small garden. Plunging the spade into the soil, he stamped on its edge to start digging the small grave, when suddenly a scream from the house stopped him with a jolt. Leaving the spade upright, he ran back inside the house, his eyes wide and senses alert.
“Katherine?” he shouted.
He checked the living room where he had left her but it was empty.
“Katherine, where are you?”
A floorboard creaked above his head and he shot upstairs leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the pale beige stair carpet. Sprinting towards their bedroom, taking the stairs two and three at a time, a blind panic propelled him to their room and he burst through the door.
“What the?”
He shook his head slightly as he stared at the scene in front of him, Coco snuggled on Katherine’s lap as she sat on the edge of the bed in tears of joy.
“It must have been a mistake. She was curled up on the bed,” she blurted out in excitement.
Phil bent down and took a closer look. It was definitely Coco.
“It must be another cat which looks similar. The van driver must have made a mistake,” she said as she cuddled and kissed the bewildered mass of blue grey fur.
“Didn’t you look inside the box to check?” Phil asked with a slight sharpness in his voice.
“I only peeked and saw fur and blood. I couldn’t pull myself to look too closely.”
Phil inhaled deeply and let out a long drawn out breath as he placed his hands over his face to conceal his exasperation.
“Well, at least Coco’s okay I guess. No harm done. I better clean up the mess on the carpet and dispose of the box. Why don’t you take a bath, you’ve had a stressful day?”
Katherine nodded and smiled, more interested in Coco than what he was saying and so he returned back to the garden to put the spade away and lock up the shed.
“At least it gets me out of digging. Black bin bag it is, then,” he muttered as he made his way back up the path towards the kitchen.
He pulled off a bag from the roll and rubbed the top between his hands to separate the perforations then shook it open while he stood at the back door. But as his heart rate calmed after the panic of Katherine’s scream, his analytical detective mind came to the forefront.
“Who carries an empty shoe box around with them and how did the driver know we have a blue Persian?”
He squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees as he visually examined the shoe box. There seemed to be nothing unusual, just a plain brown cardboard box with a common high street brand written on the side along with the details of the shoes it had once contained. The outside light cast a shadow on the wording and so he carefully lifted the box, angling its base so the wording on the shoe label was clearly visible.
“Jude,” he said as he read the name given to the style of shoe.
A shock travelled through him causing him to let go of the box, its edge hitting the sandstone patio paving. The bump flipped the loose fitting lid, exposing an angle of darkness and Phil carefully slid a finger underneath the gap and raised it fully. At first glance, it looked like a dead cat and he understood how Katherine had easily been mistaken, but as he squinted from the glare of the halogen lighting the truth soon emerged.
“What the hell?”
Snapping off a twig from a nearby fuchsia bush he poked at the mass of bloodied fur inside the box. It didn’t feel right. There was an almost spongy texture to it and whilst he hadn’t had much experience with dead animals he knew enough to know that Coco was a supple, bendy cat.
“It’s a bloody stuffed toy!” he exclaimed.
Instantly making the connection between the name on the box and the mock cat, he flipped it out onto the grass beside him to take a closer look.
Whoever’s done this knows we have a blue Persian.
No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than a realisation hit. Not many people have ever seen Coco. An aloof cat, she usually preferred the foot of their bed whenever guests entered the house. The paranoia, which regularly dogged him on a daily basis since he had started his investigations, had now turned to danger.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Phil luxuriated in the dry warmth underneath the duvet, his body more relaxed than it had been in months. The night hadn’t started off well, with sleep evading capture until a little after two o’clock when a welcomed heaviness had formed over his eyelids. The events surrounding the fake cat haunted his mind. It
was a message, he knew it. The style of shoe printed on the label coinciding with the name of St Jude’s. The darkness had manifested an anger within him fuelled by the events entering his home and upsetting his wife. This was his sanctuary and it had been defiled, making him more determined than ever to get to the bottom of Jason’s dealings with the traffickers.
The alarm let out a soft click as it always did when it was about to go off and he pressed the button to prevent it from ringing out and waking Katherine. She looked so peaceful and he had made sure to keep well away from her after his nightly prowl of the house so as not to disturb her rest. With the caesarean scheduled for eleven days’ time, she needed to build up her strength in readiness for the sleep deprivation of a new born. Coco was laying at the foot of the bed between their feet and Phil cringed as he recalled the list of diseases she might carry. Normally, he would never allow her on, claiming her fur would set off his allergies but after the ordeal Katherine had been through he decided to give in. They had come further with this pregnancy than they had the previous three, and with the end in sight he didn’t want to jeopardise it in any way. He had taken great care to conceal the debts incurred to give her this child and it was in his interest to keep her calm and blood pressure down.
The tinkling sound of rain as it ran off the roof into the guttering combined with the cool air of the room made him reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed. Four hours of continuous, uninterrupted sleep had been a luxury he was unwilling to end. Gently rolling over to face Katherine, he pushed his feet underneath Coco and shuffled closer, lifting the section of quilt which had formed a partition. Warm air drifted upwards, carrying with it a heavy metallic undertone which only his subconscious recognised. He gazed at her long dark lashes as they framed her delicate cheekbones, not giving so much as a faint flicker. Her face was cool as he stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek.
“Oh, you’re cold,” he whispered as he bent his knees and moved in closer to warm her up.
There was a delay of a few seconds while his subconscious added the sensations together and his knees met with a sticky resistance on the sheet.
“Katherine?” he whispered.
There was no movement, she didn’t stir. He rotated his arm back to his bedside lamp and fumbled beneath the shade for the switch. The low wattage bulb dazzled him as it contrasted sharply with the darkness his eyes had become accustomed to and he screwed up his face.
“Katherine?” he whispered a little louder, nudging her shoulder to rouse her and squash the subconscious knowing which was travelling at lightning speed into his reality.
He shook her shoulder again, a little harder this time and stared intently at her face, expecting her to open her eyes and grumble at him for waking her but she remained still. Throwing the top of the duvet back off her shoulders, the horror of the stickiness and the metallic odour was just visible at it crept along the fibres of the sheet.
“Oh, my God! Katherine!” he exclaimed, tapping her cheek in a desperate attempt to bring her back to consciousness.
He leapt out of the bed, panic causing him to gasp for air and sending him into a tailspin of confusion as he shot round to the other side of the bed. Throwing himself down on his knees beside her, he grabbed his hair and frantically tried to decide what to do next. He had attended many road traffic accidents during his time at The Met and had often administered first aid but this was different, it was Katherine. Struggling to quell the panic he forced himself to lift her arm and check her wrist for signs of a pulse. Maybe he wasn’t doing it correctly or the trembling in his fingers was masking the small beat? He let go of her hand and searched for the stronger, more pronounced pulse in her neck and after a few seconds he was just able to make one out. By now, rational thought had returned and he raced out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the phone in the living room. He briefly lifted it to his ear to check for the dialling tone then punched in ‘999’.
Moments passed, although they felt far longer as he held Katherine in his arms, wrapping the quilt around her for warmth and talking to her when the neon blue lights flashed through the bedroom window. Footsteps ran up the stairs, and he called out to let them know which room they were in.
“She’s pregnant,” he blurted out when the first paramedic entered the room and instantly started to check her vital signs. “Is she going to be okay?”
The paramedic ignored his question as he focused on Katherine while another two entered the room and assembled a stretcher. Phil felt helpless. He knew he had to stand back and let them do their job but the feeling he was spiralling out of control was unbearable. Pacing the room, he clutched and pulled at his shiny black hair, hardly daring to watch the paramedics as they lifted her onto the stretcher and fitted her with an oxygen mask.
“We’re taking her straight into A & E,” the first paramedic said. “It’s an emergency so need to set off quickly, can you follow in your car?”
Phil nodded. He was only wearing boxer shorts and he threw on a t-shirt and jeans ignoring the brownish streaks on his legs from the bloodied sheet. Sirens wailed and by the time he had reached the foot of the stairs to put his shoes and coat on, the ambulance had already left the small suburban estate. He patted his pockets to locate his car keys then squeezed the pockets in his coat.
“Damn, where are the bloody keys?” he shouted, not remembering he always placed them in the china dish at the end of the kitchen worktop.
Soon, he was in his car and travelling down the A105 to the nearest hospital. There was no sign of the blue flashing lights as he drove breaking every speed limit to catch up, and he wished he had been in a police car so the traffic would move over and let him through. He hit down on the centre of his steering wheel to blast his horn at anyone who didn’t get out of his way, making wild gestures with his arm to indicate his impatience if the drivers glared at him.
“It can’t be too far ahead. I only set off a couple of minutes after,” he yelled, frustrated as he waited behind a van at the last set of red lights near the hospital.
As soon as they turned to green, he blared his horn at the vehicle in front and overtook. He pushed his foot hard down on the accelerator and the engine revved loudly as the car raced along the final road and swung into the hospital’s main entrance. Accident and Emergency was directly in front of him, its sign lit up in bright red letters. The ambulance was already outside with its rear doors open and the paramedics were lifting Katherine out on the stretcher.
The car tilted as Phil turned the wheel down into full lock, slamming the brakes on once it was in the nearest parking space. He leapt out and sprinted the length of the car park, just reaching Katherine as she disappeared into a cubicle.
“What’s happening? Is she going to be okay?” Phil panted, flinging the curtain back and barging inside.
“Who are you?” the doctor asked as a nurse blocked him from stepping any further inside.
“I’m her husband. Detective Constable Philip Harris,” he added.
“I’m really sorry but you’re going to have to wait outside,” the nurse said firmly. “The doctor needs room to work.”
She gently took his arm and led him to the waiting area.
“We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got her stabilised,” she said, kindly. “Try not to worry, she’s in good hands.”
She touched his shoulder to give him a little comfort then hurried back through the waiting room doors leaving him alone with his anguish. The time crawled by with no further visits from the nurse and Phil paced the room occasionally opening the door and staring back down the corridor. Finally, just when he was about to leave the waiting area and go in search of answers, the door opened and the doctor he had seen inside the cubicle stepped inside. Phil stood up. He searched the doctor’s face for the ominous expression everyone in his position dreaded, but he was unreadable.
“Mr Harris? I’m Doctor Khan,” he said, offering his hand to Phil as if it were a business meeting.
“H
ow is she? What’s happening?”
“She’s lost a great deal of blood, Mr Harris. It’s a good job she came in when she did.”
He sat down on one of the blue faux leather seats and gestured for him to do the same. Phil noticed his expression turn more serious as he started to deliver his diagnosis.
“Abruption? I’ve never heard of it. What is it?”
Phil listened as Dr Khan explained in layman’s terms what had happened to Katherine and he tried to gauge how serious it was from the tone of his voice.
“We’ve had to rush her down to the operating theatre, Mr Harris. She’s lost a great deal of blood and we need to get her stabilised as soon as possible. They’re prepping her for surgery, now.”
He pushed a form over to Phil and passed him a pen.
“We need your consent.”
Dazed and shocked, Phil scribbled his signature at the bottom of the form not bothering to read the small print as he would normally do with anything he signed.
“Thank you,” Dr Khan replied, taking the form back and placing the pen back into the top pocket of his white overcoat.
“What about the baby? She’s booked to have a caesarean at the end of next week.”
Dr Khan gave a faint smile and Phil assessed it was more a smile of sympathy than of comfort.
“I’ll be able to tell you more once she comes out of theatre. She’s going to be a few hours so maybe you have a relative you can call who’ll come and sit with you?”
The doctor’s words were concise with a sense of urgency behind them, and he hurried out the room to resume his duties leaving Phil to mentally digest the information. The doctor’s words had not soothed him yet somehow not knowing what was happening had been worse than hearing the facts. He slumped forward, rested his elbows on his knees and rested his head into his palms as the previous hour drained him physically and emotionally.
“If only she hadn’t had the shock of the cat,” he muttered to himself. “Then she wouldn’t have phoned work and Jason wouldn’t have got her even more stressed.”
The Death of Me Page 17
