Murder on Show (18 page)

‘Douglas! Douglas!' There was no rest for the weary. Marcus Opal beckoned me across the aisle. Taking a firmer grip on the flaccid Silver Fir, I went over to see what he wanted.

‘It's going very well, I think,' Marcus confided jubilantly. ‘Precious seems to like her. I feel I ought to go and report to her owner. I was wondering ... could you take care of her while I'm gone? It will just be a few minutes.'

‘Of course,' I said, then was aware of Pandora stirring in the next stall. ‘If I could just ...?'

‘Naturally, naturally,' Marcus followed me into the stall and, as I sat down beside the pen, dumped little Topaz into my lap. Those extravagant topaz eyes blinked up at me trustingly as she settled down on my knees. Silver Fir was a dead weight in my arms.

Pandora came to the door of the pen and regarded me consideringly, as Marcus bustled off. ‘Now, look,' I said, ‘I can explain everything – I've been framed.'

‘Prryah?' That talented little paw snaked out and unlatched the door before I could move, immobilized as I was by furry bodies.

She marched out of the pen and brooded at us all for a minute. To my relief, she seemed to accept my story. She jumped for my shoulder. That was
her
domain. So long as no other feline had usurped that spot, I was going to get the benefit of the doubt.

‘Good girl,' I said. ‘That's my lovely sweetheart.'

A throat was cleared judiciously at the entrance to the stall. I looked up to find the Inspector – or whatever he was – watching me with his usual lack of expression. Which, as usual, did little towards masking his real thoughts.

There I was, a cat in my lap, one in my arms, and one on my shoulder, reeking of fragrant talcum powder, and baby-talking the beasts. It confirmed every worst suspicion he had had of me.

‘Just one question, sir,' he said, managing to make the ‘sir' itself sound like a question. ‘Have you seen Verrier lately?'

‘Verrier?' There was a blank moment, while I tried to adjust my thoughts. ‘
Hugo
Verrier?'

‘Yes, sir,' he said flatly. ‘Verrier.'

Verrier.
My thoughts raced out of control now. Not Hugo Verrier, not Mr Verrier, but Verrier. The suspected? The accused? The convicted? At what point in the judicial process does the impersonalization set in?

The Inspector seemed to realize that he had given just a bit too much away. ‘We want him to help us with our inquiries,' he said, smiling falsely as he used the other damning cliché. ‘Just a formality, sir.'

‘Of course,' I agreed glibly. ‘As it happens, I haven't seen Verrier for hours. I was talking to him this morning, but I haven't seen him since.

‘Was that
before
you decided to go home?' The nasty note was back in his voice.

‘Actually, it was after I came back.' (You don't get far in Public Relations if you can't blandly ignore implied criticism.)

‘And you haven't seen him since?'

‘That's right.'

He stood there indecisively, but frowning to try to make it look as though he were considering which of several highly important moves he should make next. (I recognized the technique – he could do well in PR if he ever left the Yard.)

A couple of Exhibition Hall carpenters came up. ‘All right to start taking this down, mate?' one of them asked me. ‘Not the whole thing – just the guard rail, like. Give us an 'ead start when you lot clear out tonight.'

I checked my watch and nodded, ‘Okay.' It was unlikely that we would be busy enough to require a guard rail for the remaining hour. Most of the activity on the Floor now was created by the Exhibitors, milling back and forth, exchanging addresses and gossip. The public had been drifting away for some time, responding to the inner clock which warned them of approaching tea-time.

The carpenters moved into Hugo's stall and began dismantling the guard rail. The photograph on the draped sculptor's stand looked oddly unprotected as the first rail fell away.

‘Just one more thing, sir.' The Inspector turned back to me. ‘You won't be rushing away immediately the Exhibition closes, will you?' It was an order, tactfully phrased or not.

‘I hadn't planned to,' I said defensively.

‘Quite.' He glanced down the aisle. ‘And you'll tell the others, will you, sir? It will be less conspicuous if you go round. We'll want to speak to all the Special Exhibitors in this aisle again, after the Exhibition closes.'

‘I'll tell them,' I said. This time, he went away.

‘Fraternizing with the law, eh?' I could see that Gerry had had a
very
working lunch. He leaned against the shaking guard rail and leered at me. ‘Think it will get you time off for good behaviour?'

Penny giggled as the guard rail swayed forward and back again in slow motion. Gerry took a determined grip on it, obviously thinking
he
was the one swaying. The cats and I watched with interest.

‘Perhaps I shouldn't have had that last one.' The rail curved forward again, swooping Gerry nose-to-nose with little Topaz. She blinked at him amicably.

‘That's a very pretty puss.' Gerry swung back to standing, still trying for nonchalance. ‘Do we know her?'

‘She's his lady-friend.' I gestured towards Precious. ‘Or she will be, as soon as they've been properly introduced.'

Gerry looked at Precious, crouched up against the bars of his pen, glaring out at us, and recoiled. ‘My God – they can't send a kit up in a crate like that! It's murder!'

‘Here we are!' Betty Lington rushed up and swept Silver Fir out of my unresisting grasp. ‘Say thank you to Uncle Douglas,' she instructed her. Silver Fir looked through me vacantly.

As Betty Lington bore Silver Fir off, the guard rail gave way with a tearing crack. Penny, standing directly behind him, braced her hands against Gerry's back and kept him from toppling backwards. Topaz took off from my lap and flew for refuge to the top of Precious's cage. Precious transferred his attention from outwards to upwards.

Still holding a section of the guard rail, Gerry stared at it blankly. ‘Don't know my own strength,' he muttered.

‘Ta, mate, I'll 'ave that.' One of the carpenters came up and whipped the railing out of Gerry's hands. Then they went to work on the rail dividing the stalls. Gerry watched them, his face clearing.

‘Had me worried for a minute,' he admitted. ‘Since I seem to be fit, after all, is there anything to be done?'

‘You might go up and down the aisle and spread the happy news,' I said. ‘We are formally requested not to leave when the Exhibition closes. The police require further assistance with their inquiries.'

Gerry whistled softly. But the carpenters were advancing on the railing at Marcus Opal's stall, and I had visions of Topaz taking off for regions unknown. ‘Sorry,' I said, ‘we can talk about it later, I'm rather fully occupied cat-sitting right now.'

Sure enough, Topaz was preparing to spring when I pounced on her. ‘Steady, baby. Easy, now, easy.' After a restless moment, she settled down in my arms again.

Pandora, undisturbed by the carpentry, had spread out along my neck and shoulder. Fortunately, she seemed prepared to overlook Topaz – so long as I wasn't feeding choice tit-bits to her.

‘I think,' Penny said wistfully, ‘I'll go over and say goodbye to Mother Brown – if that's all right with you.'

‘Sure it is,' I said, ‘run along. And take your time. There's nothing urgent to be done here.'

She hurried across the aisle and Helena Keswick smiled warmly in welcome. Roger Chesne-Malvern wasn't there now. I wondered where he had gone. I ought to be thinking about handing Pandora over to him soon. Or perhaps to Helena.

Or perhaps – a low, mean, unworthy thought sneaked into my mind and took root rapidly – perhaps those immunizing treatments were failing and that was why he had disappeared again. To nurse his allergy in the open air. Perhaps he wouldn't even want Pandora now.

The carpenters were getting into the swing of it. That railing was demolished already and they moved on to the Lady Purr-fect stall. As usual, her attendants seemed to be elsewhere. I could see white fluff where she pressed against the bars of her cage. The carpenters paused and looked in.

‘There now,' one of them said, ‘that's what
I
call a proper cat. Pretty, like. Not like some of them 'orrors some of 'em are so keen on, wiv funny dirty faces an' bits missing.'

I was swept by a wave of irrational fury. How anyone could prefer a chocolate-box cat with no personality – I pulled myself together. It was nothing to me.

Dave Prendergast came up to me, carrying a new shovel. ‘Have you heard the news?' he asked. ‘The guard is coming out of it. That means he'll be able to identify his assailant. He's given the police a description already.'

‘Actually,' I said, ‘I
have
noticed that things seem to be moving. By the way, I don't know if it pertains to you, but the police have asked everyone in the Special Exhibits Section to remain after the closing.'

‘Oh,
thanks
' Dave said. ‘I'll stay. They must mean me, too. My stand is only just around the corner. I'm sure they'll want to see me, too. Besides, it will be hours before I'm all cleared up and able to leave.'

Translated, he wouldn't have missed the coming hours for the world. His eagerness would have flattered the Inspector.

‘Oh, well, duty calls!' He shouldered the shovel and moved off. I watched him swing away to his stand with renewed zest, only wishing that I could think of some way to skip out on the proceedings.

I was still looking after Dave, when I saw Marcus returning from that direction. The kids were trailing along some distance behind him and I gave them a cheery wave. Then, the first cold shudder congealed in a pellet at the base of my neck and rolled down my spine.

Those kids weren't casually drifting along in the same general direction as Marcus Opal – they were deliberately
stalking
him.

Marcus returned my wave happily, thinking it was for him. ‘Good of you, Douglas –' he bustled up – ‘very good of you. All's fairly well settled. She's moving her other exhibits out to her van. Then she'll join us for the acid test – not that there's much doubt.' He glanced towards the cage fondly. ‘He's interested. He's definitely interested.'

Marcus reached out to take Topaz from my arms. The rest is a bit blurred. Precious let out an unearthly yowl from his cage. The kids converged on us like a swarm of battling demons. ‘There he is!' one of them shouted.

Whirling dervishes, they swirled past us to Precious's cage. On the way past, they battered Marcus Opal. I collected a few thumps, too – just for good measure.

‘No! No!' Marcus dashed over to try to pull them away from the cage. He was outnumbered, as well as being outclassed. The strength of each one was as the strength of ten because they hated his guts. I'd never seen such fury as glowered from their eyes – except ... except for the way Precious glowered at him.

Despite Marcus, they wrenched the cage open and hauled Precious out of it. There was a flurry of fur and kids, shouts and frantic yowls. You had to be quick of eye to sort out the mêlée and see that what looked like a determined effort to pull the cat apart was being abetted by an equally determined effort by the cat to hurl himself into all three pairs of arms at once.

The other Exhibitors in the Main Aisle hurried over.

Helena Keswick and Kellington Dasczo plunged into the brawl and rashly tried to sort out the participants. Penny had come over with Helena, but stood irresolute. Betty Lington stood by, holding Silver Fir, both of them watching with the same smug look on their faces. Such a thing, they seemed to imply, could not happen in a really well-run Exhibition.

Being rather overloaded with cats myself, I couldn't do much to help. Or perhaps that was my excuse and my real paralysis was caused by the fact that there was a curious doubt in my mind as to just which side I ought to be on. (The determined scrawl chalked on the outside wall came back to me: ‘CHAMP IS OURS'.)

There hadn't been many blessings for me to count during the course of this Exhibition, but I was grateful for one. At least the Exhibition was over. I had been aware for some time of the successive dimming of lights in the subsidiary aisles as the Exhibitors packed up and went away. The rest of the Exhibition Hall must be nearly deserted now, the Main Aisle was the last pool of bright light. We were having our final little scandal in comparative privacy.

‘Now, what
is
going on here?' Helena had managed to pull the smaller boy away. Kellington had opted for the easy way out and was controlling the little girl.

The kids and Marcus all spoke at once. ‘He's
MY
cat!'

‘There appears to be a certain unanimity of opinion on the subject.' Gerry wandered over with Dave Prendergast, who was now clutching a pitchfork. ‘Can anyone elucidate?'

The kids looked at him blankly. ‘What makes you think it's your cat?' Gerry translated.

‘It
is
ours.' The smaller boy flung out an accusing finger at Marcus. ‘
He
stole him last year. We saw him do it, but he got away in his car.'

‘Nonsense,' Marcus Opal said. ‘Why should I do a thing like that? Precious is mine. I bought him.'

‘His name's Champ,' the boy said, just as Gerry said, ‘Then you'll have the bill of sale, of course.'

‘Of course,' Marcus agreed. ‘Naturally I don't carry it around with me. At home ... somewhere among my records ...'

‘That's a lie,' the older boy said. ‘Make him show it to you, mister. He can't do it.'

‘Can
you
prove the cat is yours?' Kellington asked. ‘Can you identify it?'