Headlong, p.26
Headlong, page 26
Swilley came up behind her, to urge her into movement. She started forward, then remembered something. Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘My cat. What will happen to my cat?’
‘We have an arrangement with an animal shelter,’ Slider said. ‘He’ll be well cared for. Eventually, he’ll be rehomed.’
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, at this further reminder that she would not be coming back. She opened them and looked at Slider. ‘I wish you could take him,’ she said. ‘He likes you. I don’t like to think of him being shut in a cage wondering …’ She stopped, perhaps thinking of her own cage.
The cat was sitting at the junction where the vinyl flooring of the kitchen area met the carpet of the lounge area, its tail curled neatly around its feet, watching the action uncomprehendingly. When Slider looked at it, it purred.
TWENTY-THREE
Gone to Ground
Hollinshead had a cat basket, a tunnel-shaped wicker thing with a cage door to the front, and when the first reinforcements arrived, Slider saw the cat put in it, in case with all the door openings and comings and goings, it got out and was lost. It went in without a fuss, but while he was giving instructions to his team he could hear it in the background, mewing. Not a mew of anger or protest, just an intermittent small sound that seemed to say, ‘You won’t forget I’m stuck in here, will you?’ His empathy circuits had had a real workout today, and it was almost the last straw to be having his heart tugged by a feline. He couldn’t cope with kitty-pity on top of everything else. He felt exhausted.
‘Make sure the animal shelter sends someone straight away,’ he told D’Arblay, one of the uniformed help. ‘I don’t want it frightened and knocked about by big trampling boots.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ said D’Arblay, with almost too much sympathy in his face.
Am I that obvious, Slider wondered. He had to pull himself together. ‘Right,’ he said brusquely. ‘Let me know when it’s been picked up.’
And if it sounded as if he didn’t trust him, Slider couldn’t help that.
‘Sir,’ said D’Arblay.
The scowl of furious thought was Porson’s default expression, but his brow was so furrowed you could have grown radishes in it.
‘Another confession?’ he said when Slider stopped. ‘Are you sure this time?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Slider. ‘We’ve got the murder weapon, the CCTV, the lip print, hopefully traces on clothing. And her account fits all the known details – including the visits of Langley and Burke, which she couldn’t have known about if she hadn’t been there.’
‘Point,’ said Porson. Fair play to the old boy, he always managed to keep all the aspects of a case in his head while it was going on.
‘The timings fit. It all makes sense,’ Slider concluded.
‘And plenty of motive sloshing about,’ Porson mused.
‘Sexual jealousy always goes down well. You don’t have to get a psychologist in to explain it to the jury.’
She had talked again in the car, admitting that she had got rid of Liana Karev, who she felt had been getting too close to Wiseman. She didn’t know there had been sexual activity between them, but she feared it was heading that way. So she’d told him there was not really enough business for two assistants, and that he ought to be saving money where he could. He had taken the bait – of course, she didn’t know then that he had another use planned for his cash, and economy was an argument he was ready for.
‘Well, that’s all good, then,’ Porson concluded. ‘And you did it without involving the Hunt female.’
The truth about meeting her bustled up behind Slider’s teeth, hesitated, then shuffled off unspoken. He had done nothing wrong, he reasoned. If it came out of its own accord, so be it, but there was no need for him to volunteer his head for washing. What was it his mother used to say? Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you. He gave Porson an intelligent, receptive look, and said nothing.
‘Mr Carpenter’s going to be happy about that,’ Porson went on. ‘Pleased as a dog with two willies, he’ll be.’
‘I’m always glad when he’s happy,’ Slider murmured.
Porson gave him a sharp glare. ‘You needn’t look as if career means nothing to you. The Job’s a job, as well as a vocation. And you’ve not always been flavour of the month. There was that Gideon Marler business …’
‘Sir,’ Slider began to protest. He didn’t want all his sins trotted out again.
Porson lifted a hand. ‘I know, I know. Old history. We’ve all passed a lot of water over the bridge since then. I’m just saying, there’s no harm in doing yourself a bit of bon when you can. Looking out for number one doesn’t mean you can’t still be the capped crusader.’ He turned away, to signify the subject was closed. ‘So she’s in custody now?’ he said from a new position by the filing cabinets.
‘Being processed, sir, then we’ll start taking her statement.’
‘That’ll take a while. And then there’s the paperwork.’ He gave Slider an appraising stare. ‘You look knackered, laddie. You could go home, take a break.’
‘I’d sooner do it in—’
‘One foul sweep.’ Porson nodded sympathetically. ‘Quite right. You can forget things with a night’s sleep in between.’
Before plunging in, he rang Joanna.
‘It was the secretary?’ she marvelled when he had told her, in précis.
‘Assistant,’ he corrected. ‘She was much more than a secretary.’
‘Evidently,’ said Joanna.
There was a lack of sympathy in her voice. He supposed that was the woman’s take on it – the old, clichéd rivalry, wife versus secretary. Of course, having a career of her own, Joanna wasn’t so susceptible, but his first wife, Irene, who had been a stay-at-home, was always suspicious of any female at work that he mentioned.
But then Joanna jumped straight back into his heart by saying, ‘I suppose she was the work-wife. Poor cow. Must be a rotten position to be in.’
‘Could I just mention that I love you?’ said Slider, not caring who could hear him.
She laughed. ‘It’s all right, I haven’t got a jealous bone in my body. I’m sure you’re not having a hot fling with Norma Swilley. I suppose you’re going to be horribly late home?’
Anxiety again. ‘I really can’t help it,’ he began.
‘Relax, your dad and Lydia are home, remember? Fortunately, since I’ve got a concert. When will you be back?’
‘There’s eight hours of paperwork to do,’ he said. ‘I don’t have to do it all tonight, but I’d sooner get it out of the way.’
‘Go to it, my lad,’ said Joanna. ‘I’ll expect you when I see you.’
She was about to ring off, when, with one of those tricks of the aural memory, he heard the cat mew again.
‘Wait – Jo?’
‘Yes?’
‘How would you like us to adopt a cat?’
‘Dunno. Do you feel that’s something we’re likely to do?’
‘Seriously.’
‘Well, George would love it, of course. And it’s good for children to grow up with animals. We’ve got a garden. And it’s not as much trouble as a dog – you don’t have to take it for walks.’ She paused. ‘Is this really the moment you want to talk about it?’
He smiled, though she couldn’t see him, of course. ‘I’ve got to go. Hot statement waiting. I just wanted to warn you I’d be late.’
Released in the hall from the basket, the cat crept out, and began exploring, a little wary but mostly curious.
‘He’s not frightened,’ Slider noted, pleased. The cat seemed to be following a pre-arranged trail down the passage and into the drawing room, as if he’d been here before.
‘He can smell you in the house,’ Joanna said practically. ‘He’s met you at the other place. It’s a link for him. What do you call it – continuity of custody?’
‘You could be right.’
George was entranced. ‘It’s a cat,’ he observed. No getting anything past that one, Slider thought.
‘You must be very quiet and gentle,’ Joanna warned him. ‘With all animals, but especially cats.’
‘Don’t go after him,’ Slider warned as he started towards it. ‘You’ll scare him. Let him come to you.’
George squatted in that effortless way children have, and watched the cat ambling back and forth, wiping its face on the furniture legs. After a moment it came stalking by and cheek-swiped him, too, and he lifted a face to Slider transformed by wonder and excitement. ‘He likes me!’ he whispered rapturously.
‘What shall we call him?’ Joanna asked.
George gazed at her, slightly open-mouthed. There hadn’t been much naming of things in his life up to now.
‘It’s a stripey cat,’ Slider said, to help him along. ‘What else is stripey?’
George thought furiously. ‘A onion,’ he said at last.
Slider blinked. He supposed it was, in a way. There was always a new way to look at things to be learned from little children. ‘But you can’t call a cat Onion,’ he decreed. ‘What else?’
More thought. Then George’s face cleared. ‘A jumper. I’ve got a stripey jumper.’
Joanna was laughing. ‘He has,’ she said. ‘It’s his favourite.’
‘Jumper’s a good name,’ Slider said. He supposed it was appropriate, remembering how it had jumped lightly up onto the balcony rail in another life.
Later, with George in bed, he and Joanna had supper at the kitchen table, with Jumper still restlessly exploring. It would wander off for a bit, then come back to brush against Slider’s leg; pivoting its journeys round the one familiar thing in the new order.
‘He’s not used to so much space,’ Slider commented. ‘It was quite a small flat.’
‘He’ll go nuts when he sees the garden, then,’ said Joanna.
‘We’ll have to keep him indoors for a while, so he doesn’t wander off.’
‘How long is a while?’
‘A week should do it. Luckily he’s been an indoor cat up till now.’
‘Luckily he’s already discovered the litter tray,’ Joanna said dryly. ‘And I suppose it’ll be my job to clean it out.’
He looked up from his plate, wondering if this was a test. ‘My job too. Whoever’s at home at the appropriate time.’
‘You’re a new man,’ she marvelled.
‘I used to change nappies,’ he pointed out. ‘Anyway, I brought the thing into the house, so it’s my responsibility.’
‘Yes, why did you?’ she asked. ‘Not that I mind – he’s a very nice cat, and George is crazy about him already. I’m just wondering.’
‘He looked at me,’ Slider said.
‘He – or his owner?’
‘She wasn’t that sort of girl. She was a one-man woman – in spades.’
‘I suppose she loved him,’ Joanna said doubtfully. ‘Ed Wiseman, I mean.’
‘I don’t know,’ Slider said. ‘It started with love, certainly. By the end it was obsession, passion, possessiveness, jealousy. And …’
‘And,’ she prompted when he didn’t go on.
‘She didn’t have anything else in her life. That’s never healthy.’
She surveyed him curiously. ‘Are you sorry for her? Or for him?’
‘That’s a funny question.’
‘I just want to know where your sympathies lie. You have an awkward habit of seeing both sides of everything.’
Slider thought, watching the cat ooze back in from the hall, and across to the food bowl by the pantry door, to see if it had magically refilled itself. Life, for cats, was full of magic: the way food appeared, the way doors just opened.
‘They were both pathetic,’ he said at last. ‘But he’s dead.’ Ed Wiseman had gone to ground, and he wasn’t coming back. ‘One day, she’ll have the chance to rebuild a life.’
‘Without him?’
‘Point. But a chance, at least.’
So much crime came from thwarted passion, from sexual jealousy, from misplaced possessiveness. And it was none of it to do with love, as was generally claimed by the perpetrators. It came from the lack of love – or the fear thereof. It was so important, he thought, that small, banal thing of having someone to love who loved you: so universally desired, so simple in song and story, so fiendishly tricky to achieve in real life.
It made the world go round. At present, however, industrial-strength tiredness was making his go round. He hadn’t slept for two days. ‘I’m bashed,’ he said.
‘I know. You go up. I shan’t be long behind you.’
Perversely, as soon as he lay down, sleep rushed away from him like a teenage fan spotting a boy band, leaving him stranded – sleepless, but too tired to do anything, get up, read, even really think. He listened to the soft sounds of Joanna making ready, checking on George, in and out of the bathroom. She had seemed normal all evening. Perhaps whatever had been troubling her had gone away. He’d like to ask her what it had been, but he didn’t want to stir anything up. She’d tell him, eventually, he supposed.
She turned out the passage light and padded across to the bed, leaving the door open, as they always did, so they could hear if George called out. One day, he thought, they’d have to start closing it so that he couldn’t hear them. She climbed into bed, and inserted herself into his arms. He closed them round her, kissed the top of her head, and as if in response to that, she said, ‘I’ve been ratty lately.’
‘No.’ He murmured an automatic denial.
‘Ratty,’ she asserted. ‘I know you noticed. I was worried about something.’
‘You could have talked to me about it,’ he said. ‘You can always tell me anything.’
‘I know. But I didn’t know how I felt about it. I missed a period, you see. I thought I might be pregnant.’
He waited, cautiously, not sure what so say at that juncture.
She went on. ‘There’s my job, you see. I’m just really getting back into the swing of it. I’m on all the fixers’ lists, and there’s plenty of work coming in. And I love it. I love playing. I’d have to take a big step backwards if I had another baby. At my age, I might never get back onto the A lists again afterwards. And then there’s money. It would be really tight without my income.’
‘We’d always manage,’ he said. ‘We’ve got no mortgage, that’s the main thing. With a roof over our heads, and enough to eat …’
‘You’re such a Pollyanna!’
‘I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Micawber. My goal is staying sixpence ahead, not universal happiness.’
She turned over, and made the delicate backing movement – he always thought it of as docking – into the spoons position. He locked his arms round her again. The conversation felt unfinished. He waited a while, but she didn’t speak.
‘But you’re talking now. So you’re not worried anymore?’ he tried.
‘I’m not worried any more,’ she said. He gave her a little squeeze of acknowledgement. ‘But I am pregnant.’
‘Oh,’ said Slider. He would have said more, but such a rush of emotions fountained up in him, it took his breath away.
‘Oh?’ she queried. ‘I need a little more than that. Use your words, Bill.’
He sought for them amongst the sparklers and Golden Rain going off inside him. Someone to love, who loved you. It was the whole thing, wasn’t it?
‘I’m the luckiest man alive,’ was what he said, eventually.
She gave a little snort of laughter. ‘I suppose that’ll do. For a start. So you’re all right about it?’
‘All right? Children are tax deductible! Are you happy about it?’
‘It wasn’t in my plans. But it will be good for George to have a sibling – I have worried about that sometimes. And …’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve always been glad you feel the same way about abortion as I do.’
He thought of Liana Karev, and the cruelty of her boyfriend looking up the law. The very word abortion was a shadow, and he did not want it cast, like the uninvited fairy’s wish, on his unborn child. ‘I’m very happy about it,’ he offered.
‘You’re not Pollyanna, you’re just polyphiloprogenitive.’
‘But we make such pretty babies,’ he protested.
‘You’re a remarkable man, Bill Slider,’ she said.
‘In so many ways,’ he agreed. ‘Go to sleep now. Everything will be all right.’
And he felt her fall almost instantly, in that way she had, into deep sleep in his arms. She was tired, too.
He lay, not thinking much, just feeling great warm blankets of contentment wrapping round him. Pasithea tiptoed closer, drawing Hypnos after her by the hand. Take me, chaps, I’m yours, he thought. Don’t be shy. There’s plenty to go around.
He was almost down when there was a soft thud on the end of the bed, followed by a placatory purr. Jumper had found his way upstairs. He felt the hesitant, heavy footsteps come up the bed, the pause as the cat found the backs of Slider’s knees, then the two-and-a-half turns and the perfectly-judged flop into the curve of them.
The purring increased in volume for a moment.
We should have called him Harley, he thought. And slept.
Cynthia Harrod-Eagles, Headlong
