Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (43 page)

‘Like
Mike Rook?’

‘Mike?’
He laughed. ‘Mike was merely my driver, though he had other uses until he
started going soft, reckoning my plan to burn out Binks was a step too far.’

‘Is
that why you killed him?’

‘I
had him killed when he threatened to inform Hobbes.’

‘He
sounds like one of the decent folk you were making Sorenchester fit for,’ I
said, gulping, in case I was provoking him.

‘Decent?
He was only going to tell Hobbes if I didn’t buy him off. He was nothing but a
lousy blackmailer, like Henry Bishop.’ He chuckled. ‘Still, Mike did have an
inventive mind, and his elephant scheme was a classic. Unfortunately, when he
was no longer an asset, he had to go.’

‘How
did you get at him in the hospital?’

‘Through
a window. It wasn’t difficult. Right, I’ve answered some of your questions and
now it’s your turn to answer some of mine. What do you know about the tunnels?’

‘How
do you know about them?’

‘That
drunken runt, Billy, told me after I bought him a lot of drinks, and Hobbes’s sudden
disappearances and unexpected reappearances proved he hadn’t been lying, though
he knew little more than that they existed and ran as far as Blackdog Street. I
expect one connects to Hobbes’s wine cellar. Am I right?’

‘Why
do you want to know?’

‘I’m
just curious, like you are, Andy. I expect you’d like to know why I’ve been
telling you all about my business affairs?’

‘No,
not really.’

‘You
really are stupid aren’t you?’

‘Umm
…’

‘Just
accept it, man. Has it not occurred to you that everything I’ve told you could
get me into serious trouble? If you told anyone that is.’

Though
he still sounded calm, his voice had grown cold again. I shivered.

‘But
I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Promise?’

‘Umm
… I promise.’

‘Do
you know, I think I believe you. In fact, I know you won’t tell anyone.’

His
voice had grown louder, or was he closer? The eyes had disappeared.

‘Can
you guess why?’

The
shock of his voice just next to my ear, his hot breath on my neck was too much.
Giving in to terror, lurching to my feet, I ran.

‘Come
back,’ said Felix. ‘It’ll be easier on you.’

Putting
my head down, I fled, longing for light, unseen branches whipping my face,
roots and logs trying to trip me, stumbling forward, breathing through my
mouth. After a while, the fear he’d set the panther on me forced me to slow
down and listen. My head was throbbing and I could feel blood congealing over
my face and hands.

‘You
didn’t answer my question.’ His voice was in front of me. ‘Go on, guess why I
believe you.’

Green
eyes and white teeth glinted where a hint of moonlight seeped through the heavy
canopy. Putting my hands in my pocket, so he wouldn’t see how much they were
shaking, trying to be cool, unprovocative, I found my penny, hoping it was a
lucky one.

‘Alright,
I’ll tell you anyway. I trust you not to tell anyone because I’m going to kill
you.’

The
eyes approaching, I hurled the coin but I guess my aim was off, because it was
Felix who cried out. Turning away, I ran, blindly, desperately.

It
might have been a great escape had I not tripped and rolled into a hollow.

‘You
shouldn’t have done that,’ said Felix. ‘You’ve made me angry. I was intending
to make it quick and painless – well, quick anyway, but now you’re going to die
like Henry did.’

‘Please,
no!’

A
shadow, even darker than night-time, was approaching and I feared I was going
to die. Curling into a ball, I lay still, knowing I was trapped, that I was
going to experience pain. The panther growled and I felt a thud as it landed at
my side. Rank breath blew in my face, sharp claws raked my side. I cried for
help, though my nose being stuffed with clotting blood, my scream sounded more
like a duck call.

There was a sudden slight breeze, as if
something had leapt over me, an angry hiss, as though from an infuriated cat, and
I passed out.

Soft
hands were stroking my forehead as I came to. ‘I’m so sorry,’ said a gentle
voice.

‘Violet?’

‘Yes,
you’re going to be alright.’

‘What
happened?’

‘You’re
safe, but I’ve got to go.’

‘Don’t
leave me, please.’

‘I
must. They’re coming to help you. Goodbye.’

As
she moved away, I heard voices. Torch beams flashed between the trees.

‘I’m
over here,’ I croaked.

‘Are
you alright, dear?’ Light was around me and Mrs Goodfellow was peering into my
face.

I
blinked. ‘Not really.’

‘You
are a mess, dear. We’d best get you back to the farm and clean you up. Can you
walk?’

‘I
don’t think so.’

Very
soon I was being carried on a stretcher. The woods were left behind. In front
was the comforting light of the farmhouse.

I
didn’t half feel ill when my eyes opened.

‘He’s
in shock,’ said a woman with a penetrating, brisk, no-nonsense voice that hurt
my head.

Although
I thought I recognised it, I struggled to work out why the ceiling looked
familiar and why something was pressing on my mouth and nose.

‘I
thought so,’ said Mrs Goodfellow.

‘Indeed.
He’s displaying many of the classic symptoms: a rapid, weak pulse, shallow
breathing, low blood pressure, clammy skin, blue lips …’

Raising
myself on one arm to see what was happening, realising I was wearing a face
mask with a plastic tube, I tore it off. ‘Oh. Hello, doctor,’ I said, seeing Dr
Procter smiling down at me. Then, having vomited into a bucket that appeared in
the right place, I slumped back onto my bed.

‘Nausea
is, of course, another classic symptom,’ said the doctor, ‘but the oxygen has
taken care of the cyanosis and his lips are back to normal – the colour I mean.
The swelling will go down, in time. He’s evidently had a traumatic experience,
but I gather he’s quite used to them and, fortunately, he appears to have
suffered no major physical injuries. His symptoms are already showing distinct
signs of improvement and he should recover quickly. Nevertheless, he has taken
quite a beating and it seems a cat’s had a go at him again. I wonder what he
does to annoy them. I’ll write him a prescription for antibiotics; we wouldn’t
want him to catch whatever he had last time.’

‘Is
there anything else?’

‘Not
really. Keep him warm and quiet and give him plenty of fluids. You may notice
some strange moods and behaviour as the psychological effects work themselves
out.’

Mrs
Goodfellow laughed. ‘Strange moods and behaviour? How will I know?’

If
I’d had the energy, I would have snorted with disdain, but, the blankets being
warm, my bed feeling soft, I let myself drift back to sleep. Mrs Goodfellow
woke me a couple of times to pour liquids into me or to thrust antibiotics down
my throat. Though I’m sure they did me good, what roused me in the end was the
pungent aroma of curry.

I
got up, limping to the bathroom for a wash, shocked at the unfamiliar face
looking back at me from the mirror, for, where there would normally have been
pale, smooth, pinkish skin, there were lumps and purple marks, red eyes and a
bottom lip, swollen as if someone had inserted half a saucer into it. Yet, my
body showed no evidence of wounds or bruises at all, having been covered in
bandages, like a mummy. A tentative poke suggested tentative pokes should be
avoided.

After
dressing, a slow, painful process, I hobbled downstairs towards the kitchen.
When Dregs bounded towards me, I cringed, expecting the worst, but, seeming to
understand my delicate state, he contented himself with licking my hand.

Mrs
G, stirring a vast black cauldron, from where the delicious, enticing, smells
were emerging, looked up from the stove. ‘Hello, dear, I wondered if this might
tempt you. I take it you’re feeling better?’

‘It
did and I am, though I’m starving. Umm … when’s supper ready?’

‘At
half-past six, as usual.’

‘When’s
that?’

‘In
about twenty minutes, dear.’

‘So
long?’

‘I’m
afraid so. The old fellow will be back then.’

‘Why
isn’t he at the festival? And … umm … shouldn’t you be there, too?’

‘It’s
been called off.’

‘I’m
not surprised,’ I said. ‘It was getting rather out of hand, though your boys
did quite well … in the circumstances.’

‘Thank
you, dear. That’s kind.’

I
thought I ought to give her some support for, after all, it hadn’t been her
fault there’d been so much trouble and, in the circumstances, she really hadn’t
done badly. ‘I saw you wallop the guy with the club. That was great.’

‘No,
it was regrettable, but I had to take him down when he wouldn’t listen to
reason and threatened to hurt people. The old fellow reckons he was acting
under orders.’

‘That’s
no excuse.’

‘No,
dear, though it is a reason. By the end of the night, we’d detained thirty
young men, who were all acting under orders. Though most of them tried to put
up a fight, a few ran and are being picked up by the police.’ She looked glum
for a moment, until a gummy smile broke through. ‘On the bright side, I
obtained six new teeth for my collection. Unfortunately, one was gold and
another had a diamond in it, quite ruining it.’

‘That
is sad.’ I grinned, my face hurting and giving rise to a worrying thought. ‘Umm
… I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat properly. Just talking hurts enough and I’ll
never be able to chew.’

‘Don’t
worry, dear, this is mulligatawny soup, so I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.’

She
wouldn’t say any more about the events of the previous night, except that I
should ask Hobbes. I tried to be cool and managed to sit quietly, with the
exception of my stomach, which grumbled egregiously until he returned and took
his place at the table. He looked tired and morose and, besides saying grace,
didn’t speak until we’d finished. I didn’t mind, despite my curiosity, for I
was fully engaged in the process of eating the thick, rich soup and, though my
swollen mouth barely opened wide enough to let the spoon in, everything was
chopped so finely I had no other problems eating.

Afterwards,
while the old girl made tea and washed up, Hobbes and I sat on the sofa. He
began twitching and growling, the overture to another bone-crunching episode I
feared, until, after a short while, he turned to face me.

‘I’m
happy to see you up and recovering,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be glad to hear I
found the Bashem family safe and sound. They’d hidden in the crowd, which was
sensible, and had taken Dregs, which was also sensible. They showed far more
intelligence than you; you really shouldn’t have gone out. I’d hoped you and Mr
Bullimore had the brains to stay put.’

‘Sorry,
it was my fault; I thought we might be able to help find them. Is Mr Bullimore
alright?’ I was ashamed I’d never given him, or his family, a thought until
then.

‘Though
he was mauled quite badly, he’s a tough old dog and is getting better. He
thought the panther was going to kill him, but, for some reason, it simply
stopped the attack and ran off.’

‘That’s
odd,’ I said, ‘because Felix set a panther on me and I think another one turned
up and drove it away, which saved me.’

‘That
sounds like unusual behaviour for a panther,’ said Hobbes, looking at me as if
expecting more.

‘Umm
… I expect it was unusual. But …’

‘But
what?’

‘But
I think … umm … Violet brought the second one. I’m not sure quite what happened
but, just after the first one ran off, she talked to me and stroked my head.’

‘So,
she was there, too? That is very interesting.’

‘Yes
and she said she was sorry, though I’m not quite sure why.’

Hobbes
grinned. ‘I suspect she has rather a lot to be sorry about, but that can wait
till later. I think you may just have provided me with a vital clue.’

‘Have
I? That’s great … umm … talking of clues, Felix told me quite a lot during the
attack. I thought it might be evidence.’

‘Tell
me,’ said Hobbes.

I
told him everything Felix had said, or, at least, everything I could remember.

When
I’d finished, Hobbes shook his head. ‘I’ll get Billy to check his brakes, but why
do villains need to gloat and boast about their cleverness and ruthlessness
when he could just have killed you and slipped away? That’s what I’d do if I
ever became villainous.’

I
flinched at his casual attitude.

‘Your
evidence would be useful, should the case ever go to court, but, unfortunately,
I doubt it will: not the real one. The lass and her boys have detained most of
Mr King’s henchmen, who are currently stewing in the nick, awaiting
questioning. They will no doubt be prosecuted, yet, they weren’t behind the
events. Mr King was and he’s vanished.’