The Dead Dog Day (4 page)

He called the lift, lugged all his gear into it, and hit the button for the ground floor.

Five minutes later, the boot and back seat of his Volvo straining with luggage, he shut the driver's door, sat back in his seat and pulled his mobile from his jeans pocket. He couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to ring Cora.

5

Monday 18
^th
December

M is for Monday – M is for murder! OMG Cora – what the hell? Nx

Cora shook her head as she read Nathan's text. What the hell indeed, she thought.

It was all a little hard to process. She'd been feeling dreadful enough today after spending most of her weekend in tears, thanks to Justin. And now Jeanette was dead. Not just dead either, if the rumours racing round the newsroom were to be believed, but
murdered
. She'd never been a popular woman – well, if we're being honest here, she was probably the most unpopular person I know, Cora thought. But still – murder?

She snuggled deeper under the crisp white duvet on her hotel room bed and shut her eyes. It was only 6 p.m., but she was desperately tired, and she had to be back in work at 3.30 tomorrow morning. It had been quite a day. Quite a few days, in fact. Yes, today had been awful. But – Friday. Friday had quite possibly been one of the worst days of her life.

She'd made it quite a long way after Justin's phone call – all the way along the A39 in fact, fists clenching the steering wheel so tightly they ached, eyes fixed unblinking on the road ahead, her stomach contracting.

It wasn't until she'd reached the motorway that the crying had started, and she'd had more than one curious look from overtaking drivers as she crawled along in the slow lane sobbing, mascara streaking down her cheeks, the tears blurring her vision until she decided the only sane thing to do was just to stop. Pulling up in the furthest corner of the busy Sedgemoor services car park, away from prying eyes, she had howled until her throat hurt. Justin had dumped her. He had, in fact, already moved out. It was all over.

‘I just didn't see it. I didn't see it coming! Why didn't I see it?' Cora had cried out loud, banging both hands on the dashboard.

She'd sniffed again and pulled another fresh tissue from the pack in her glove compartment. OK, so they hadn't seen much of each other recently, and she wasn't a particularly easy person to be involved with, she knew that – her work always came first for her, and she was always so tired …

But she and Justin had been together for two years, ever since they had fallen lustfully into each other's arms at a mutual friend's wedding in Oxford. She had been instantly smitten by this tall, clever, creative man with his hard rugby player's body, and he had fallen equally quickly for her, the pretty brunette he had been watching on morning TV for months. They had lived together for nearly a year, for goodness' sake! They were going to have that big party after Christmas to celebrate! Fresh tears had come to Cora's eyes and she'd wiped them away viciously.

They had seemed so right for each other. Justin worked almost as hard as she did, commuting daily to a big Birmingham design studio and, like her, wanted to get to the top of his profession, maybe retire early, travel, have a couple of properties abroad. No children, that had always been the plan. It was one of the things she had been so awed by when they first met – the fact that, unlike every one of her previous boyfriends, who all, when pushed, admitted a desire to procreate somewhere down the line, this one genuinely seemed to want the life she did. Just the two of them, in love, happy together, needing nobody else. And now he had landed this on her.

‘It's partly that I just never see you, but it's also the kids thing, Cora,' he had said, as she sat in stunned silence listening to his farewell speech. ‘I want them. I know I said I didn't, but I do. I just haven't admitted it to myself until now. I'm going to be 40 in a couple of years, and I want kids. I want kids, and a wife who's at home with them. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I think deep down that's what I've always really wanted.

‘The big plans, the making our fortune, the homes in the sun, it all sounded great, and for a while I thought, yes, that's the life for me. But it isn't, Cora. Well, I do want some of it, but I want a wife and kids there doing it with me. And I know that's not what
you
want, so there's no point. I'm so sorry, Cora, I know it's Christmas and everything but I thought, you know, a new year and all that, a clean break …'

And that was it.

‘Two years down the toilet,' Cora said to herself. ‘And to be dumped by
phone!
'

She huddled deeper into her duvet, feeling utterly miserable. Lost in thought, she jumped as her mobile began to ring on the bedside table.

‘Hello?'

‘Cora – evening, darling. You OK? Hell of a day, eh?'

‘Sam! You're not back in the office already? Did you get ANY sleep? So – fill me in! What's the latest?'

Justin temporarily forgotten, Cora propped herself up on her pillows, eager for news. The police had allowed her, and all the crew members who'd been down on the studio level at the time of Jeanette's death, to leave the building by mid-morning, and she had heard very little about the on-going investigation since.

‘Well – as you know, she was found outside, more or less below her office window, and that's why at first everyone just presumed she'd jumped. I mean – seven storeys up – if you want to kill yourself, it's pretty much guaranteed, right?'

‘Yes – but then the police said there were signs of a struggle, inside her office, didn't they? They think somebody threw her out, pushed her. I know all this. What else?'

‘Well … oh hang on, Cora – what?'

Sam's voice tailed off as she turned to talk to someone in the newsroom. Cora rolled her eyes and impatiently rearranged her duvet, then grinned as she listened to the distant conversation.

‘A pig? Why would I want a pig on the sofa on Wednesday?' Sam was saying.

‘Well, it's that self-sufficiency story – you know, that “New Year, New Start” thing we're doing after Christmas? We're previewing it on Wednesday and the woman from the self-sufficiency organisation says she can bring a pig in.' It was a young male voice that Cora didn't recognise.

‘Well – how big is the pig? We can't have a monstrous great pig crapping all over the studio!' Sam sounded exasperated. ‘Tell her if it's a cute little piglet, she can bring it in. Otherwise, no pig. Right – Cora – sorry sweetie, what were we talking about?'

‘
Sam
! Come on – we were talking about Jeanette!' Cora sat bolt upright in bed, eyes bright. She instantly felt guilty about how excited she felt about getting the latest gossip on the case. She'd been deeply shocked by Jeanette's murder – of course she had – and saddened too, which had come as something of a surprise to her, as she'd wished bad things on her detested boss too many times to count over the past couple of years. But she couldn't help it – she'd always loved working on crime stories. There was nothing quite like a good murder, even if this time it was a little close to home.

‘Oh, yes – well, according to rumour, the security guard who found her claims she wasn't quite dead. I mean – she was still alive for a few moments when he reached her. Pretty astounding, considering how far she fell, I would have thought she'd be mush as soon as she hit the ground, but you know Jeanette, tough as old boots. And there was that case last year, of that guy in New York who survived a fall of twenty storeys or something mad like that, remember? Anyway, I digress – this is the intriguing bit. She said something.'

Cora gasped. ‘What? What did she say? Oh, for goodness' sake, Sam!'

Sam paused again. ‘Well – it's a bit spooky really, considering what happened with Christina and the dead dog thing. It was “Chris”. She said Chris.'

6

Tuesday 19
^th
December

Jeanette Kendrick's killer glanced at the clock: 4.30 a.m. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed. It had gone rather well. So. A little break now, let the dust settle. And then on to the next. The murderer looked in the mirror, and smiled.

‘OK, look, I know this is weird. Super weird. But, you know, the show must go on and all that …'

Sam paused, looking from face to weary face. Cora gave her friend an encouraging smile. At this hour the newsroom was normally buzzing. Not so today. Nobody had liked Jeanette, but without her, nothing felt right. Her empty office, police tape still hanging forlornly across the doorway, was like a brooding presence at the end of the big room.

We miss her, Cora thought. Who'd have believed it?

Sam cleared her throat and continued her little pre-show pep talk.

‘So – as I'm now in temporary charge, please, I need your support.'

There was a flash of pride in her eyes, and Cora smiled again. She knew how much this promotion, even if temporary, meant to Sam, who lived, slept, and breathed the breakfast show.

‘The decision's been made upstairs that we carry on as normal …'

Sam was interrupted by a loud sniff as Alice Lomas entered the newsroom, her face tear-streaked and eyes puffy.

‘Er, morning, Alice. You OK?'

Alice glanced at Jeanette's office and a huge sob wracked her skinny body. Clutching a large Fendi handbag to her chest, she scuttled past, head down, and disappeared through the door to the stairs to the studio level.

Sam raised her eyes heavenwards and continued where she'd left off.

‘As I was saying, the decision's been made that we carry on as normal. Viewing figures have never been higher and they'll probably go up, if anything, after what happened yesterday, you know how ghoulish people can be, so – well, have a good show. And thank you.'

Sam stood still for several seconds, her eyes fixed on Jeanette's office, and Cora again saw that look of pride in her eyes, but this time mixed with something else. Grief? It was an expression Cora had never seen on her friend's face before, and she watched her, mesmerised, noticing too a slight shake in Sam's hand as she put the coffee cup she'd been holding back on her desk. Then she sat down, and the spell was broken. There was silence for a moment, and then the office hum gradually resumed, if a little more sombre in tone than usual.

Cora sighed. Poor Sam. She was clearly uncharacteristically nervous, knowing she had a tough job ahead of her now. And what was going on with Alice? What a drama queen. Probably scared she'll be exposed as a complete airhead now Jeanette's not there to watch her back, Cora thought.

She drained her mug of Earl Grey and turned back to her news scripts.
Police have launched a murder investigation after
Morning Live
editor Jeanette Kendrick was found dead yesterday morning outside TV Centre. Officers are talking to staff in an effort to establish …

‘Never thought you'd be reading that in one of your bulletins, eh, Cora?'

Cora jumped. ‘Oh, morning, Wend. No, flipping heck. I still can't really believe it, you know? I just keep staring at her office. It's so – bizarre. I mean, I know the newsroom is frantic in the mornings, and any number of people always popped in and out to see Jeanette all the time, but – how?'

Wendy heaved a pile of newspapers, all with lurid headlines about Jeanette's murder, off the chair next to Cora and plonked herself down.

‘Dunno. I really don't. She had the blinds down of course – remember, she pulled them down after the Christina thing? So once somebody was in there, I suppose none of us out here would be able to see what was going on anyway. But to go in, somehow throw her out the window, and then calmly walk out again as if nothing had happened … and for nobody to notice a thing? I can't get my head round it.'

‘It's bonkers.' Cora saved her script and hit print. ‘I can't stop thinking about it. It's this “Chris” thing that's the weirdest – any ideas? I mean, it can't be Christina, can it?'

Wendy rubbed her hands together in glee. ‘Intriguing, isn't it! Of course, we're not even supposed to know about it – not the sort of thing the police are going to make public.'

‘I know. But Bob on security's so damn indiscreet. I bet the whole building knows by now. Impossible to keep a secret in this place.'

‘Indeed! Well of course, we hear “Chris” and we all think “Christina”, don't we? Maybe not, apparently. I mean –
I
don't think for a minute she's got killer potential, but after Dead Dog-gate quite a few people mentioned her to the police – sort of had to, you know?'

Cora nodded.

‘But as she's in work this morning, and not locked up … not that she'd be strong enough to push a cat out of a window, would she? She's tiny!'

Cora nodded. ‘Or brave enough. She hated Jeanette, but she was scared of her too.'

Wendy brushed an errant curl out of her eyes. ‘Exactly. Anyway, she spent ages with the cops yesterday, but sounds like she's in the clear. She was down in Reception sorting out a delivery while Jeanette was flying out of the building – CCTV footage from down there will prove it, or so she says.'

Cora stared into space, chin on her hand. ‘So, if it's not Christina – who else? Who else is known as Chris?'

Wendy shrugged. ‘No idea. Don't know anyone else called Chris. Or Christina, or Christopher. Anyway, got to go. Weather graphics calling. See you later.'

‘See ya.' Cora sighed, logged out, and headed for make-up.

‘How many are we expecting?'

Detective Chief Inspector Adam Bradberry frowned as he surveyed the conference room. He'd asked all the
Morning Live
staff to assemble here after the programme, but he wasn't entirely sure the room he'd been allocated was large enough.

The young detective constable who was fiddling with a TV in the corner looked up.