Cat Kin (25 page)

She shifted into the Sphynx crouch and let the rumble rise from her larynx. Soon it became automatic. Breathe in, breathe out. The purr sank into her like a padded drill, soothing her nerves and
letting clearer thoughts through. Perhaps there would be more chances to escape. If and when they came, she would be prepared.

Then Cobb was standing over her.

‘What are you doing?’

She stopped the sound. ‘Nothing.’

‘You were
purring
.’ He squatted down. ‘Is that one of your tricks? How is it done?’

Tiffany said nothing.

‘I doubt you’re happy. So what’s it for?’ Cobb wore a friendly smile, patting the cage. ‘What else did that woman teach you?’

‘If you let me out of here,’ said Tiffany, ‘I’ll tell you. Just let me go home to my parents. I’ll teach you everything I learned.’

She was so desperate, she half-believed it herself. Cobb, however, didn’t.

‘That’s not a workable scenario,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’ve no desire to run across rooftops myself. All that interests me is the process. How does a simple girl defy
physical laws?’

‘How can a person kill his own mother?’ Tiffany shouted at him. ‘How can a human being keep animals in tiny cages and stick tubes in their guts?’

‘These animals you love so much often kill their own relatives,’ Cobb replied. ‘And as for my treatment of them—you eat meat, don’t you? You take medicines and wear
makeup. All of it’s been tested on animals.’

‘But, no, listen—’ Tiffany floundered. ‘What you’re doing is—’

‘We can sit and have this pointless debate,’ said Cobb, flourishing a piece of paper, ‘or we can discuss…aha. This is familiar, is it?’

Tiffany, with a lump in her throat, found herself looking at a printout from the BBC’s website. There was a photo of her dad speaking into a microphone. Beside him stood Mum, her heavily
made-up eyes ruined from crying.

‘So it is you,’ said Cobb. A sound broke from Tiffany’s throat. Cobb smiled. ‘Tiffany Maine. And these are your parents. Yes?’ He moved the picture further to her
right, holding it in his claw-like hand. She followed it, magnetised.

‘If you want them to see you again safe and well,’ Cobb went on, in a gentler tone, ‘then all you have to do is…’

There was a stirring in her peripheral vision. She turned sharply. Cobb’s other hand was poking a hypodermic syringe through the bars.

‘No!
No!
’ Even as she grabbed at it, the needle jabbed into her shoulder. She fought in crazed fear, bashing herself against the cage’s interior. Her struggles lasted
brief seconds, before the pain faded in a cloud that dampened sound and turned the light black.

Ben’s hands shook so much that he had to try three times to dial the right number.

‘Hello, this is Safeline.’

Safeline. A nice name that surely fooled no-one.

‘H—hi. M-my name is Ben—’

‘You don’t have to say your name if you don’t want to. This is a confidential line,’ said the comforting female voice.

‘I’m Ben Gallagher. I’m a friend of Tiffany Maine’s. The missing girl. On the television.’

‘Oh…’ There was a short silence on the line. ‘Good, Ben, go on. What do you want to tell me?’

‘I think I know where she might be.’

Think? He knew it. Knew it with terrible certainty. When he hadn’t been there to help, Tiffany had simply gone ahead without him.

‘Go on, Ben.’

‘I think she’s been…’ he felt ridiculous saying it, ‘kidnapped.’

She had gone to that place. She had tried alone to free the animals. And, inevitably, she had failed. How could he have let this happen?

‘Where are you at the moment, Ben?’

‘In a phone box.’

‘And how do you know about Tiffany?’

‘I’m her friend.’

‘Is she with you now?’

‘No!’ he snapped. ‘I told you. I think some men have…abducted her. They’re at the old factory in Stoke Newington.’

‘Okay, Ben. Keep calm. I need to know how you know this.’ Not even a bomb could have shaken this woman’s calm. ‘Can you explain some more? If we’re going to alert
the police, we need to convince them that no-one’s telling tales.’

‘I am not making this up!’ Ben shouted. ‘Listen, if I’m lying, arrest me. My name is Ben Gallagher and I live at flat one, twelve Defoe Court. Come round and check.
Okay?’

‘Thank you, Ben.’ Deftly the woman wound up the conversation. ‘We’ll look into it. Take care now.’

Ben put the phone down. His rush of relief lasted less than a second. Too late he remembered that flat one, twelve Defoe Court didn’t exist any more. He punched the phone, sucked his
skinned knuckles and tried to think. Who would believe him? Who in the world? There was no-one. No sane person would spare him a second—

No sane person. Of course. He ran out of the phone box and down the darkening street.

The syrupy blackness began to ripple. Tiffany swam up against the tide of unconsciousness, to where voices echoed like water in a cave. She fought to open her eyes.

‘If it had been left up to you,’ someone was grumbling, ‘the girl would be in a police station by now, telling them everything.’

‘It was your thug who nearly let her escape.’

‘Toby is my chief of security. You should be grateful I brought him.’

‘And the dogs? I don’t like dogs. You never said you were bringing dogs.’

With a mighty effort Tiffany prised her eyelids apart. She was lying on her back on the cage floor. Oh, no—had she been doped again? She felt sicker than ever. Merged into one blur,
Stanford and Cobb stood talking close by.

‘I won’t let Fred and Ginger hurt you.’ Stanford clicked his tongue. His two gigantic Dobermans sprang to their feet, tongues flapping. ‘But if one of your monster cats
gets loose, I want protection.’

‘Do you now?’ Cobb steepled his fingers. ‘Let’s suppose that a tiger such as Shiva did escape. Your ferocious dogs would have a life expectancy of, oh, approximately
three seconds each.’

Stanford drew himself up. ‘You’d be amazed at how far I can run in six seconds.’ He hooked a finger in one dog’s collar. ‘Speaking of which, your cats had a job to
do. Have they done it yet? Have
you
done it?’

Tiffany’s heart clenched. She had forgotten their hideous plan. How they intended to dispose of Mrs Powell’s dead body. All her sorrow flooded back, spilling fresh tears over her
cheekbones. Again and again, in her mind, she saw Felicity fall, struck down by the bullet that smashed just below her right shoulder.

Cobb hesitated. ‘I’ll sort it out. Soon. Don’t worry. No-one will notice one more carcass in the meat locker. Now I’ve other things to think about.’

He advanced on the cage. Tiffany tried to draw back but felt as if she were pinned with paving stones. She could only loll her head and watch the scientist approach.

‘John, my friend, share my excitement!’ Cobb’s eyes gleamed like ice. ‘We could transform our manufacturing process. Panthacea is distilled from cat bile. Think how much
time and money we might save if we could get it from a purer source.’

‘A purer–?’

‘The same basic product, already compatible with the human body. Here is the answer, handed to us on a plate!’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘It’s a theory,’ Cobb admitted. ‘I should test it.’

From a pocket of his coat he drew a syringe that look big enough to sedate a rhinoceros. He ripped a fresh needle from a paper sachet and fitted it. Tiffany’s throat closed in terror. She
didn’t care for needles at the best of times, and this one was practically a bayonet.

‘A bile sample is what I need,’ said Cobb. ‘Analysis will tell me if the right feline compounds are present in this girl’s system.’

He knelt by the cage. Tiffany sucked air in gulps. Move, her mind screamed at her, move out of reach. It was no use. Her limbs refused to obey, lying lifeless as a mannequin’s.

Stanford cleared his throat. ‘Is this a good idea?’

Cobb slid the giant needle through the bars. ‘It’s finding the right spot that’s tricky. My human physiology is so rusty.’

Tiffany bit hard on her own lip, trying to shock her body into life. Roll away, she had to roll away. Catras, where were her catras when she needed them? They floated out of reach, faint and
cold as distant planets.

‘Steady now.’ Cobb levelled the needle over her left side. ‘The bile duct ought to be somewhere around
here
…’

‘Cobb!’

Philip Cobb jerked backwards, the needle falling from his hand. Stanford had yanked him away by the collar. With a thump Cobb was sitting on the floor. He glared up at his associate in total
bewilderment.

‘No,’ said Stanford. ‘You make a mistake with that pig-sticker, what happens then? We call an ambulance? Why can’t you just
leave things be?
’

Cobb stood. He straightened the creases in his coat, picked up the needle and dropped it into his pocket. Bringing his face very close to Stanford’s he said, ‘Don’t ever touch
me again.’

Tiffany lay still, her heart crashing in her chest. Cobb withdrew to his office chair. He rotated it so that his back was turned.

‘Listen to me,’ said Stanford. ‘This girl. She isn’t a slum kid. They’re looking for her. We cannot keep her here.’

Cobb stayed silent. He appeared to be sulking.

‘We can’t!’ Stanford insisted.

‘But neither can we simply release her.’ Cobb didn’t look round. ‘She’s seen us. She knows our names.’

‘Yes, thanks to you. What do you suggest?’

‘You’re the strategist, John. You tell me.’

‘We’ll have to leave the country,’ Stanford sighed. ‘Write off this mess while we still can. Hide out in Eastern Europe for a bit and start over when things have cooled
off.’

‘A delightful prospect.’

‘You don’t have to tell me!’ Spit flew from Stanford’s mouth.

‘Calm down, John. You’re forgetting we have an alternative.’

‘
What
alternative?’ Stanford lowered his voice, moving farther from the cage. Tiffany reached out with cat hearing and managed to pull their whispers into earshot.

‘The other option,’ murmured Cobb, ‘is to make sure we’re never found out.’

‘And how do you propose to do that?’

‘You know, John.’

Silence fell, so that for a moment Tiffany thought her power had failed.

‘John? I want you to say it.’

‘All right, I know,’ Stanford breathed. ‘By destroying the evidence. Like we’re doing with the other. Our only other option is to kill her and feed her to the
cats.’

A shining claw hung over Theobald Mansions. Ben slowed to a walk, letting his eyes fall from the new moon to the single lit window beneath. She was back from holiday. Relief
soured to foreboding and he stood still on the pavement. It would be much easier to turn around, go home, sit on the sofa with Mum and Dad and watch late-night telly. For all he knew, his guess
about Tiffany was quite wrong.

He stood for a minute, debating with himself. Then he was walking towards the block. The main door stood ajar, wedged with a copy of
The Times
. That was odd. He tried the lobby
light—broken. He had almost forgotten what darkness was like. Blind, he groped his way up the stairs, missing more than ever the lightness of cat feet that would have carried him to the top
in seconds. He fell against the last door and thumped.