‘You like cats then?’ Gem asked with just a hint of suspicion.
‘Yeah, I’m quite potty about cats,’ I lied. ‘Though I don’t have one myself at the moment.’
‘Yes, I suppose he’s Al’s, technically, though he’d only just appeared out of nowhere a short while ago, as they do. Al wasn’t sure he should keep him. He wasn’t very well, you know. He wasn’t even sure that he could afford to keep him. . cat food, flea collars, worming tablets, vet bills. .’
‘Do you know the cat’s name then?’ the constable asked Gem. She was obviously a cat lover herself and oblivious to the fact that her uniform had already collected enough cat hair for her to knit her own moggy.
‘He didn’t want to give him a name until he’d made a decision about whether to keep him, he thought it would make it more difficult to let him go. What’s going to happen to him?’
The constable pulled a pained face. ‘Normally, in these cases, unless someone comes forward to claim the animal, like a relative, for instance, then he would have to be put down — ’
‘Put down?’ Gem echoed, horrified. ‘As far as I know Al didn’t have any relatives.’
‘How about you then?’ The policewoman smiled invitingly and held the cat out to her.
‘I can’t. I’ve got a dog who wouldn’t take kindly to introducing a cat. Anyway, herb beds and cats don’t really mix.’
Deeks appeared by my side and just stared at me as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Perhaps he couldn’t. I tried to ignore him.
‘How about you, Mr. .?’ The constable proffered the wriggling thing.
‘I really can’t. My place is. . ehm. .’
‘Huge,’ Deeks completed. ‘A cat is exactly what you need. Thank you, constable.’ He relieved her of the cat and shoved him at me, where he clawed his way up my leather jacket so he could stare at me with enormous eyes.
‘Hang on. . I’m not sure I can afford to take on a cat, you know? Vet bills, worming collars, flea tablets — ’
‘Rubbish, the moggy’s yours. Now beat it.’
‘Hey, just wait a second — ’
‘You’ve run out of seconds.’ He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me along to the Landy. ‘You’re getting out of here and I don’t want to see you again near here or Gem Stone’s or anywhere, actually.’ He opened the door for me. ‘Get in there before Needham turns up and hauls your arse down the station again.’
I deposited the cat beside me. The first constable supplied my keys. I backed the Landy up as fast as I could. I knew when I wasn’t wanted and despite my curiosity the mention of Needham had convinced me I’d better figure this one out from a distance. When I glanced back towards the bungalow I saw Deeks talking intensely to the constable while keeping an avuncular arm around her shoulder, the constable nodding, nodding, nodding. The cat jumped into the footwell. He looked panicked by the sudden turn of events. I’d have to get rid of the animal at the first opportunity or I’d end up like one of those private eyes who discuss their cases with their moggy and take them down the pub for a beer. At least we’d achieved a stay of execution for the thing. At the moment I had plenty of other worries. We needed to get Jill’s son back and for that we would break into Telfer’s house and rob his safe. But I now had new stuff to worry about: for a start, Deeks obviously knew Gemma Stone. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her there, nor did he object to her presence. Me however he couldn’t wait to get rid of. And since in the past few years he’d never missed an opportunity to drag me into Manvers Street under the flimsiest of pretexts this new attitude of wanting to keep me out of the interview room worried me not a little. Now I had an animal to look after, at least until I could find someone to foist it on. While rattling back towards Mill House through a fresh offering of drizzle from the man upstairs I couldn’t help marvelling at how, since answering that dreaded phone call from Griffin’s on that stormy morning, when I had nothing more hectic planned than squeezing a tube of cobalt blue, my life had suddenly become rather crowded. Sometimes though you just couldn’t back out or delegate. Serenity lay at the other end of burglary and — I was getting to know myself — a certain amount of mayhem.
I parked the Landy in the puddle-pocked yard close to the door and got out, walked round to the other side and opened the door for the cat to jump out. He looked at me with almond-shaped eyes of palest green, then looked past me left and right, sniffed, meowed and didn’t budge. ‘It’s just a bit of rain,’ I chided, ‘don’t be pathetic.’ He retreated into the furthest corner. I grabbed him. He scrabbled and clawed up my jacket and meowed. I carried him like a squirming baby indoors and set him down on the stone-flagged floor of the hall. He began sniffing around at once and cautiously inspected every nook and cranny. If he was going to give the whole of Mill House this kind of treatment he’d be a very busy cat for a few days. Annis appeared from the direction of the kitchen, having heard me suggest to the cat he may go ahead and spray my carpets if he was tired of life, and then started making exactly the same noises Gem and the constable had made. It had to be a genetic thing.
‘What’s his name? Kittykittykitty.’
‘He hasn’t got one and he won’t need one since he’s not staying. He’s just a refugee. He used to belong to the dead guy.’
‘Poor thing, lost your daddy.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Look at this as a transit camp,’ I told the cat as I squeezed past the mutual admiration society. ‘A clearing house.’
‘How can you be so cruel? You could call him Tiddles.’
‘No chance!’ Last thing I saw when I slipped round the corner was Annis hugging him to her chest and examining his bits. As if I didn’t have enough competition already. I had nearly made it to the kitchen when she called me back.
‘Did you bring any cat food?’
I walked back warily. ‘Cat food?’
‘Cat — meow — hunger — food. Cat food.’
‘Can’t he eat what we’re having?’
‘Pumpkin, sweet potato and banana curry?’
‘Ah.’
‘So then you’d better go and get some. I think he’s hungry.’ The cat looked at me from the safety of her arms and meowed his agreement.
It had started.
Chapter Eleven
‘If it’s Thursday then it must be burglary,’ Annis murmured, wrapping her warm limbs tighter around me and snuggling her face deeper into my shoulder. It was still early, judging by the thin quality of the light, and I was wondering whether it was time for breakfast yet when I heard a scrabbling noise at the door. I saw the brass door handle move a little, then stop, then silence. Interesting. Not interesting enough to let go of the woman in my arms — not many things were — but still noteworthy that the nameless cat could stretch that high. More scrabbling. The door handle dipped, the door opened a few inches. I briefly saw the cat hang from his front paws on the handle, then drop out of sight. The door closed. Seconds later the thing had jumped on the bed and was walking confidently all over us.
‘Annis, the cat can open doors,’ I said in alarm.
‘Great. We could call him Paws.’
‘No chance.’
‘Let’s try and teach him to warm croissants then. .’
It was over a breakfast of said croissants, heated in the oven without feline help, that I sought once more to simplify my life. I called Giles Haarbottle at Griffin’s and told him again that I was now convinced Lane was kosher.
‘All right, if you say so, but I don’t believe a word of it. Ah well, you can’t win them all. Sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles, you win some, you lose some.’
‘Mr Haarbottle, there are only so many clichés I can handle at breakfast time. .’