The Dead Dog Day (27 page)

‘Hey Cora, Nath, Rodders. Made a big decision – going to tell you what's been going on. I'll hotel with you tonight if we're assigned? We need to talk …'

39

Cora shifted position in the worn, red leather armchair and held out her hands towards the fire crackling in the cast iron Victorian grate. Opposite her on a deep Chesterfield sofa, Rodney and Nathan sat in silence. Rodney, who was wearing a plaid orange and green shirt with brown suede elbow patches, stared at the ceiling, and Cora watched as Nathan glanced sideways at the hideous garment, opened his mouth and then shut it again.

‘Gosh,' she thought, turning back to gaze into the flames. ‘If Nathan's refraining from commenting on Rodney's clothing, things
must
be serious.'

They were the only people in the hotel lounge at this early hour. After all three had received Scott's text, they'd arranged to meet at six at the hotel booked for them for tonight's stopover in Buckinghamshire. Cora glanced at the gothic-looking black clock on the mantelpiece: 6.15, and still no sign of the engineer.

‘Wonder where he is?' she said.

Rodney lowered his eyes from the ceiling. ‘Maybe he's changed his mind? About telling us whatever it is he wants to tell us?'

Cora nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.'

‘No, I haven't changed my mind. Sorry I'm late.'

They all jumped as Scott suddenly appeared in the doorway. He shrugged off his heavy coat and dumped it on a table, then sat down cautiously in the armchair next to Cora's. All three of his friends turned to face him, and he rubbed his hands over his face for a moment, then took a deep breath.

‘So, here goes. First off, I did
not
kill Jeanette. I'm not here to make a confession of that sort, just so you know.'

‘We never thought that, Scott,' said Cora hastily. ‘But we have been really worried about you.'

‘I know, I know. I'm sorry. I was just … well, ashamed I suppose.'

‘Ashamed of what? Come on, mate, there's nothing you can tell us that can change what we think of you, you know that! We're a team, aren't we?'

Nathan leaned over and patted Scott on the knee. Scott nodded gratefully.

‘OK – well – here goes. Basically – my name is Scott Edson, and I'm a compulsive gambler.'

He looked around at all three of them in turn.

‘OK. Go on.' Cora's voice was gentle.

‘It started a couple of years back – not sure why really, it was just a bit of fun, a way to relax after a long day. Mostly online to start with, and I won just enough to make it exciting. Was able to buy some great bits and pieces for the house, even some quite rare pieces.'

He paused. The others watched him intently.

‘And then, of course, as these things do, it got out of control. I started losing, and bet even more to try to win it back, and then lost bigger … and then when the bank account ran dry, I just couldn't bring myself to tell Elaine, so I ended up going to a loan shark. Yes, I'm an idiot, you don't need to say it.'

Rodney shook his head. ‘Mate, you're not an idiot. These things happen to people. Go on.'

Scott sighed heavily. ‘Well, we've done enough stories about them – you can imagine the rest. Ended up having to sell pretty much everything to meet the payments. That's why the place was stripped when you came round, Nath.'

Nathan nodded.

‘Elaine went mental when I eventually had to tell her what was up. She's standing by me, amazingly. I love her so much, don't know what I'd do without her and the kids …' His voice shook, and Cora leapt from her chair and perched on the edge of his, draping a comforting arm around his shoulders. He sank his face into his hands and breathed deeply.

‘So, that explains some of what's been going on – but what about the police, the murder? How does that tie in, Scott?'

Scott raised his head, an anguished look on his face.

‘That day, after I had the disciplinary with Jeanette, I had one last payment to make to the loan shark. Elaine had borrowed it from her parents, enough to pay it all off, clean slate. I was shit scared after seeing Jeanette – she told me I was on my last chance, one more strike and I was out, and that's why I lost it in the lift. Thought, if I lost my job, how would I ever pay the in-laws back, make it up to Elaine, you know?'

Cora hugged him, and he smiled weakly and continued.

‘So I went back to where I'd parked the van, grabbed the bag with the money – all had to be in cash of course – and went off to pay the guy. I knew there was no easy parking near his flat, you know what central London's like, so I walked instead of driving, and then walked back. Course, the cops eventually saw all that on CCTV, and to them it looked like I'd parked up nearby, grabbed – I dunno, a murder weapon? A disguise? – and headed back to kill the old bitch. And I didn't want to say anything, because I was so ashamed, and I thought the loan shark guy would never back up the story anyway. So I just stayed schtum, when the cops questioned me …'

‘You've cleared it all up now, though?' Rodney sounded anxious.

‘Yeah, yeah. Amazingly, the bloke said OK, he'd tell the cops I was with him and what for. Said he had nothing to fear, was running a legal money lending business and so on. And he had a security camera in his office, showed the cops footage of me in there, handing over money at around eight o'clock that morning, which gives me a solid alibi. I should have just fessed up in the first place, I'm a dick. I put you all through all that worry, and Elaine …'

His voice wobbled again and his eyes filled with tears. He wiped them away angrily.

‘Oh, Scott.' Cora's eyes were wet too as she hugged him again, and Nathan and Rodney rose from the sofa simultaneously and patted Scott awkwardly on the back.

‘Thanks so much guys. You don't know what it means …'

‘Rubbish, mate.' Nathan's voice was gruff with emotion. ‘We're just glad it's all out in the open at last … oh bugger.'

He glared at his phone which had just started to ring loudly on the coffee table.

‘Nathan here. Oh. OK. Well, we're all at the hotel already …'

Scott, Cora, and Rodney looked anxiously at each other. Now what? Another hundred-mile drive to a different location?

‘OK, great. Thanks. Have a good night!' Nathan ended the call with a grin.

‘Well, that's a bit of a result! Story's cancelled, but as we're all here and the hotel's paid for, they said we might as well stay here till we're assigned tomorrow!'

‘Woo-hooo!' Rodney threw his scarf in the air, Cora flung herself joyfully back into her own armchair and even Scott managed a broad smile.

Nathan was already heading for the bar. ‘Two white wines and a pint of cider?' he called over his shoulder.

‘Cheers, mate!' Scott was looking happier than Cora had seen him in a long time. She smiled fondly at him. Thank goodness, maybe things could go back to normal now. She stretched luxuriously in her chair, long legs warmed by the fire, as Scott suddenly noticed Rodney's remarkable shirt and started ribbing him mercilessly.

Cora listened happily. Whoever had killed Jeanette, it definitely wasn't her friend Scott. And that would do, for now.

‘So that's that. Another dead end. We're screwed on this one, guys. I have no idea where to look next. Any ideas? Anyone? Please?'

Adam stood up abruptly, shoving his chair noisily backwards. His frustrated gaze swept the room, taking in the glum, weary faces. Damn it. A high profile murder like this, that seemed to have happened right under the noses of dozens of people, and they couldn't solve it? HE couldn't solve it? This was not good. Not good at all. Bloody terrible in fact. The CCTV pictures from the loan shark's office had finally confirmed Scott Edson's alibi, and Adam was all out of ideas.

‘What about the newsreader – Alice Lomas? Should we look at her more closely?'

Adam glanced at Donna, the officer who'd spoken up. He shook his head.

‘No. We've considered her. Opportunity – possibly. Motive – none. None that we can see anyway. Feel free to investigate her a bit more if you like, but I'm not bringing her in unless you get something concrete. She's never out of the papers, and she seems to be a right little diva – we don't need the bad publicity.'

Donna nodded and sat down.

Adam sighed and looked at his notes. The only other person on his list with a question mark against her name was Samantha Tindall, the ambitious producer who was now doing Kendrick's job, but he had nothing to actually connect her to the murder either. It was hopeless. With a heavy heart, he made the announcement he'd been dreading.

‘Hence, folks, we're going to have to scale down the case. Some of you will be back to the day job as from tomorrow – I'll send a memo round as to who's staying on it with me full time. Thanks for your hard work – I'll bring you back on board if we get another lead. And we'll release the body, let her family organise the funeral, they've waited long enough.'

His voice tailed off. He turned and walked to the window, his own reflection glaring back at him, and pressed his nose against the glass. Outside, cars crawled by, ‘bumper to bumper' as the cheery radio traffic reporters loved to call it. London's rush hour in full swing. Adam slowly bumped his forehead against the cold pane. Who the hell had killed Jeanette Kendrick? Why couldn't he figure this out? He stopped bumping and turned to face the room again. His colleagues were back at their desks, but there was a subdued air in the big office.

Scaling down. How he hated that phrase. But this wasn't over yet. He'd find Kendrick's killer if it was the last thing he ever did. Failure was simply not an option. And, fortified by the thought, he headed for the coffee machine.

‘And then he said … he said …' Cora dissolved into helpless giggles.

Nathan snorted and picked up where she'd left off.

‘He said, in his poshest voice: “What do you think of the clitoris on the back wall? Planted it myself, you know …”'

Scott and Rodney howled. Cora was already laughing so much she could barely sit upright, and slid slowly off her chair onto the carpet.

Nathan hauled her back up, still giggling. They'd been swapping funny work stories for the past hour, this latest about a rather unpopular director who'd invited some of the studio crew round for dinner and shown them round his newly designed garden.

Scott wiped his eyes. ‘Well, that beats my chlamydia cock-up, that's for sure! Clitoris! Hilarious. Clematis. Why do we seem to find that so hard to remember? Clematis. Clematis …'

He got up and headed for the gents', still muttering the word under his breath. The others looked at each other contentedly. They had Scott back.
And
they had an unexpected free night, together in a hotel. Wonderful! Cora drained her wine glass and then jumped as her phone beeped.

‘Uh oh. They'd better not move us now … I've had a bit too much to drink to start driving anywhere …'

Then she sighed with relief as she read the message.

‘What?' Nathan frowned.

‘Just Benjamin. Telling me he loves me.' Cora grinned.

‘Phew.' Rodney waved his empty glass. ‘One more before we hit the hay?'

She nodded. ‘One last drink, and then a proper night's sleep. How blissful.'

‘How blissful indeed,' sighed Rodney.

Cora stared into the fire, and for a moment Justin and the stalker flashed back into her mind. She felt the familiar lurch of unease. Then, determined not to let anything spoil the evening, she turned back to the boys. They were all together, Scott was part of the gang again. All was right with the world.

40

One month later – Wednesday 28
^th
March

Adam was leaning across the table, bright-eyed with anticipation. He loved Cora's ridiculous stories about her life as a roving reporter – they were the highlight of what had become a weekly coffee shop meeting, ostensibly to pass on updates on Jeanette's murder. However, as he'd had nothing at all to report for weeks, with the investigation now at a total standstill, their little get-togethers were really just getting-to-know-you sessions, during which he always tried to forget that she was actually dating someone the magazines called ‘the hottest man on telly'. He could deny it to himself all he liked, but he had become rather fond of Miss Cora Baxter.

‘So, your colleagues in Solihull announced a crackdown on airguns after a spate of cat-shootings – remember, about a year ago? – and we were sent off there to do a live with this poor cat that had been shot six times and survived, but was too traumatised to leave the house,' Cora was saying.

She paused to nibble her Bath bun, swallowed and continued. ‘Except, of course, when me and the boys turned up at the house at 5 a.m. to set up for the live, the flipping cat wasn't there, having gone out the night before and not come home. Honestly, I felt sick! I rang Jeanette and, well, you can imagine …'

Adam grinned as Cora drew herself up to her full height in her chair and launched into her Jeanette impression.

‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THE BLOODY CAT HAS GONE OUT? HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE TRAUMATISED! BLOODY WELL GO AND FIND HIM THEN!'

Two elderly women sitting opposite turned simultaneously and glared at Cora. She shrank back in her seat, suddenly aware that she was being rather loud.

‘Er, sorry,' she said.

The ladies tutted and returned to their coffee and croissants. Adam sniggered.

‘You're hilarious. What happened next?'

What had happened was that Cora, her crew and the cat's owners had spent the next forty-five minutes stumbling around the garden in the dark, shrieking the cat's name and waking up all the neighbours. Two and a half minutes after they gave up, and just as Cora, with heavy heart, was about to dial Jeanette's number again, the cat strolled nonchalantly into the kitchen, looking remarkably untraumatised. Thankfully, he was scarred enough by his airgun wounds to
look
traumatised which, after all, was all that really mattered on TV, and the story was saved.