The Dead Dog Day

by Jackie Kabler

  ‘There’s something going on with him, we know that. But not this. It can’t be, I refuse to believe it.’ Nathan pulled Cora closer.

  ‘Me too. But I’m frightened, Nath. I don’t like this.’ Her words were muffled by her cameraman’s thick fleece as she buried her face in his shoulder.

  Nathan stroked her hair. ‘Nor do I, babe. Nor do I.’

  28

  Sunday 21st January

  ‘Sweet dreams tonight Cora – dirty ones hopefully! Filthy, in fact. But not diarrhoea filthy – the good sort of filth!’

  Nicole cackled as she wrapped her big, black scarf tightly round her neck, then leaned forward to kiss Cora on the cheek before stepping out into the icy evening.

  ‘Oh, Nicole, you’re so one-track minded!’ Rosie giggled and gave Cora a hug, then followed Nicole outside. They linked arms and turned to wave as they crunched down the drive. Cora waved back and blew her friends a kiss, watching until they turned left onto the road and vanished. She was about to shut the door when something caught her eye – a shadow by the hedge at the end of the driveway. It moved briefly, then disappeared. Was somebody there?

  Cora stared into the darkness for a moment, but the light from the streetlamps didn’t penetrate far enough inside the gateway for her to see clearly. Then a movement by her right foot made her jump violently.

  ‘Oliver! You nearly gave me a heart attack!’

  The black cat peered haughtily up at her and walked disdainfully into the hall, swinging his tail.

  Cora glared after him.

  ‘Was that you, lurking down there by the gate?’ she hissed. The cat, now bounding up the stairs towards his first floor home, ignored her.

  ‘It WAS you, wasn’t it?’ Oliver’s bottom disappeared round the bend in the stairs. Flipping heck, she was talking to cats’ bottoms now. What next? She slapped herself on the cheek and closed the door firmly. But still feeling slightly uneasy, she bounded up the stairs to her apartment two at a time and double-locked her door.

  Telling herself not to be paranoid, she quickly tidied away the debris of a late afternoon tea with the girls, poured herself a small glass of red wine and snuggled up on the sofa, pulling a fake fur throw over her knees. It was only six o’clock, she was as yet unassigned for tomorrow morning’s programme and had been told that was unlikely to change, and Midsomer Murders would be on soon. A recipe for a perfect Sunday evening, if only she could quell the anxiety that kept bubbling up inside her.

  She sipped her wine and lay back on the cushions, reflecting on the past few days as she waited for the programme to start. Friday had been weird – with a temporary satellite engineer taking Scott’s place on the truck, Cora and the boys had been live outside the police station where their friend was being questioned. Having to tell the nation that a member of Morning Live staff had been arrested on suspicion of murder was one of the hardest things Cora had ever had to do.

  ‘At least I didn’t have to give his name – small mercies,’ she thought, and took another deep gulp of Shiraz. Despite several calls to Adam and the police press office over the weekend, she’d gleaned nothing except that officers had been granted extra time in which to question Scott. But that time was running out. She did a quick calculation. He’d been arrested on Thursday morning – the 96-hour rule meant they’d have to either charge or release him by first thing tomorrow morning.

  ‘Please, please let him be coming home,’ she sighed, heaving herself off the sofa to top up her glass. Then she snuggled down again, pushing Scott out of her mind and smiling soppily. The rest of her weekend had been rather good. Pretty fantastic in fact.

  Benjamin Boland. My boyfriend. Crikey. Who’d have thought it?

  Her boyfriend was currently on a plane to Dubai. Placing his champagne glass carefully on the little table next to him, he stretched luxuriously in his First Class seat and shut his eyes, mind drifting back to Friday night.

  Cora had been distraught when she’d rung him on Thursday, tearfully telling the story about how her friend had been arrested. He’d tried his best to comfort her over the phone, and insisted that as soon as she finished work on Friday she come straight to his place so he could cheer her up properly. When she arrived not long after ten, pink-cheeked and damp and still a little emotional after a morning broadcasting from outside the police station, he had been surprised at the depth of feeling she stirred in him. Wrapping her in his arms, he’d vowed to get her smiling again by Sunday morning. Luckily, it didn’t take that long, as they’d instantly fallen into bed and were both smiling rather broadly when they surfaced again at midday.

  After tea and toast with Stilton and strawberry jam – an unusual combination that it turned out they both adored – they’d dragged themselves out of the apartment for a walk in Hyde Park. It had turned into a perfect winter afternoon, sunny and cold, and as they’d strolled hand in hand among the joggers, cyclists and nannies and parents with prams, Benjamin kept glancing sideways at his new girlfriend, fascinated by the way her eyes flashed an even brighter green in the winter sunlight. She’d grinned up at him and slipped her arm round his waist.

  ‘What are you looking at, Mr Boland? In your, I have to say, rather strange hat.’

  Cora giggled and reached up to pull the red and white striped monstrosity further down over his eyes.

  ‘Oi!’ Benjamin laughed and straightened it again. ‘It’s my disguise – nobody’s ever bothered me when I wear this in public. I’m such a style king normally, no one would expect me to go out in this!’

  ‘Dead right.’ Cora yanked the hat down again and wriggled out of his grip, shrieking as he gave chase. She skidded to a halt at the bank of the Serpentine, snorting as Benjamin, still half-blinded by his hat, almost fell over a duck. He sank down onto a wooden bench and hauled her onto his knee, panting.

  ‘Aargh. Out of breath just chasing you, you little minx. I’m supposed to be desert hiking in Dubai on Monday – you’re wearing me out!’

  Cora leaned in for a kiss and then squeezed his biceps through the thick wool of his jacket.

  ‘Oh, I think you’re pretty fit, I wouldn’t worry too much!’

  She slipped her arms around his neck and for a moment they sat in silence. Benjamin rubbed his nose against the soft skin of her neck, inhaling her musky scent. He hadn’t felt like this for so long. He hadn’t even looked at another woman for – what? – ten days now. Or maybe it was nine, since their first date? Anyway, he hadn’t even thought of going out girl-hunting since he’d spent that first evening with Cora. And for him, that was a record. A first, in fact. And at the moment, he was quite happy with that. More than happy. Content, that was the word. Content just to spend his time with this one woman. It was a feeling he was not very familiar with, and he was very much hoping it would last.

  ‘Right, Cora Baxter. It’s freezing, and I need warming up. Time for tea?’

  ‘Mmmm, yes!’

  ‘Race you to the café then!’

  They’d spent the rest of the day and night in a loved-up haze, eating, drinking, and laughing, when they weren’t wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Now, with a few days of working abroad ahead of him, Benjamin drained his glass, waved away the steward who rushed over clutching a new bottle of Moët and pulled down his eye-mask. He’d ring her as soon as he landed, he vowed, and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

  29

  Monday 22rd January

  ‘The member of Morning Live staff arrested on suspicion of the murder of programme boss, Jeanette Kendrick, has this morning been released on bail pending further investigations, police have confirmed …’

  Hugely relieved, Cora sank back onto her pillows as she watched Alice Lomas read the seven o’clock bulletin, her voice unusually tremulous as she mentioned Jeanette’s name.

  ‘Drama queen,’ thought Cora. ‘Surprised she hasn’t burst into tears live on air, just for the attention.’

  Nestling back into her warm bed, and luxuriating for another long momen
t in the joy of being unassigned on a Monday morning and actually watching the show from home for a change, Cora smiled to herself about Scott’s release, then thought for a minute and started to worry again.

  What was the wording Alice had used? ‘Released on bail pending further investigations’? OK, so Scott was free. But that wasn’t the same as being released without charge – all that meant was the police didn’t have enough evidence to charge him. There was every chance he could be taken into custody again.

  ‘Dammit, Scott, why won’t you tell us what’s going on?’ Cora shouted to the empty room, and thumped her pillow.

  She suddenly decided she couldn’t wait a second longer. Grabbing her phone from the bedside table, narrowly avoiding knocking her water glass to the floor in the process, she punched in Scott’s number and waited.

  He answered within two rings.

  ‘Cora! Hi. Yes, I’m out. It’s been awful. You OK?’

  ‘Shit, Scott, we’ve been worried sick! Scott, look …’

  She paused, unsure what to say, and then ploughed on.

  ‘Er, look, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on. Not whether you were involved with Jeanette’s murder, don’t think that, we all know you couldn’t have been.’

  She started talking even faster, not giving him a chance to interrupt.

  ‘But it’s just … well, you’ve been acting so strangely recently. And being so evasive. And we know the police saw you thumping that lift because you were cross with Jeanette, but there has to be more to it, Scott. They wouldn’t have zoomed in on you like this otherwise. You said when you were being arrested that you had something to tell us? We just want to help, but we can’t if you won’t tell us what’s going on …’

  Her voice tailed off. At the other end, Scott sighed heavily.

  ‘Cora, I can only imagine what you’ve all been thinking. Look – I’m sorry I’ve been grumpy with everyone. I’ve just been really tired recently, you know, the hours getting to me. And then the disciplinaries and all that. It’s just been doing my head in, that’s all.’

  He coughed and carried on. ‘And about the cops, and what I wanted to tell you … well all it is, is that I wasn’t entirely honest with them the first time they spoke to me. I said I went straight home that day, because what I actually did was call in to see a … er, a friend for a few minutes, and I didn’t want to get the friend involved. And they found out – saw the van parked up on CCTV – and got suspicious, and thought I might have parked up to go back and shove old bitch-face out the window. But I didn’t, honest.’

  He paused.

  ‘So – do they believe you now, the police?’

  ‘Think so. Got the friend to agree to back me up after all so there’s not much they can do. Think they still want me as prime suspect though, but there’s no evidence. Mainly because I didn’t do it, Cora.’

  ‘Well, that’s great.’ She hesitated. ‘And … is everything else OK? You know, at home and everything?’

  ‘Fine. Everything’s fine. And talking of home, I need to get back there. Elaine’s going ballistic. I only got out of the cop shop an hour ago so I’ve been shovelling down bacon sarnies and coffee at Heston services. Cop shop food is shit. I should be back on the road tomorrow – see you then, OK?’

  ‘OK, Scott. I’m so glad you’re out. See you tomorrow. Drive carefully.’

  ‘I will. Later, hun.’

  Cora pressed the red button to end the call and stared at the ceiling, her mind working overtime. Scott’s explanation seemed reasonable enough, but it didn’t explain why he appeared to have sold half his possessions. And who was this ‘friend’? Why would he not have mentioned him – or her – to the police on day one? Was he having an affair? None of it really made sense.

  She exhaled heavily and clambered unwillingly out of bed. Her phone was bound to ring shortly with her story for the day, and she suddenly felt the need to soak away her worries in a long, hot bath. As she wriggled into her soft velour robe, her phone beeped. She glanced at the text and suddenly cheered up. Good morning, Benjamin!

  ‘Er … Yorkshire? In an hour’s time? I’m in Gloucestershire, Mark. Unless Concorde is back in service, and taking off from my driveway, the answer is no, I can’t make the press conference.’

  Cora raised her eyes heavenwards. Sometimes she despaired. Did the duty news editors ever actually look at a map? Although at least this one had a bit of an excuse, being an Australian freelancer.

  ‘OK, no worries. We’ll skip the presser. Back to plan A. Call me later when you’re sorted.’

  ‘Fine. Talk to you later.’

  Cora grabbed her always-packed overnight bag, locked her front door and headed for Yorkshire. She’d only been on the road five minutes when the phone rang. She hit the button on her hands-free kit and Samantha Tindall’s lilt filled the car.

  ‘Hey, darlin’, enjoy your lie-in today? It’s been a while, eh?’

  Cora hit the brakes as she spotted a speed camera a hundred yards ahead.

  ‘Certainly has, thank you! And good news about Scott too. So how are things there?’

  ‘Yeah, fine! Ellie on autocue staggered in still smashed at 4 a.m. and we had to send her home, but otherwise it was a reasonably sane morning. Hey, you were lucky though – the night team nearly called you at 2 a.m. to send you to Manchester on a story they found in the first editions – fat woman who lost twenty stone so she could donate a kidney to her best friend’s dog. Hang on – that can’t be right. Must have been niece or something …’

  Cora laughed. ‘Phew! Glad that didn’t happen then. I hate diet stories – as Rodney so charmingly says, I’d rather sit on a bed of hot coals, plucking my pubic hairs out one by one!’

  ‘Good old Rodney. Anyway – just checking you got the message about the flags. For the snails?’

  ‘Yes, I got the message. That’s my evening sorted then. Can’t wait …’

  ‘Sorry, love. Have fun, catch you later!’

  ‘Bye, Sam.’

  Later, in her snug hotel room, Cora laid out glue, scissors and paper on the desk and set to work, half-watching Coronation Street as she trawled through a pile of celebrity magazines to find the right faces. In the morning she’d be broadcasting live from a snail farm where they’d be filming a live snail race, and Cora’s ludicrous task this evening was to make little flags to stick on the back of the snails, each bearing the face of a TV presenter or reality star.

  ‘It’s one of Clancy Carter’s shows, actually,’ she explained to a bemused Nathan who’d just checked in and popped by to say hello before he went to bed. ‘Celebrity Cycle Challenge – have you seen it?’

  Nathan raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘OK, silly question, me neither. It’s about a group of celebs cycling around the coast of Britain. It ends this week and we’re supposed to be trying to predict the winner – whichever snail wins the race, that’s the celeb who’ll win the show …’

  She tutted as she squeezed the glue tube a little too energetically, squirting a sticky mess onto the desk. Ignoring Nathan’s smirk, she wiped it up with a tissue and then carefully stuck a picture of Davina McCall onto a tiny, flag-shaped piece of paper.

  ‘There! Last one done!’

  ‘That’s mental. I would have thought we could stop promoting Clancy’s shows now Jeanette’s gone.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Think we’d already agreed to it though, so Sam’s honouring the deal. Anyway, it’s an indoor job at least. And the snail farm’s promised to cook us breakfast, so count your blessings!’

  ‘Fair enough. Long as they’re not cooking the snails. Anyway – spoke to Scott earlier. He told me what he told you, and I agree, it’s not really a proper explanation. I’m worried Cora. He’s our mate, and I want to trust him, but it doesn’t add up.’

  Cora pushed her flags into a neat pile and nodded. ‘I know. It’s beyond me, Nath. Maybe Rodney can get something out of him, they’ve always been particularly close?’

  ‘Yeah, may
be. I’ll have a word. Anyway, sleep well. See you in Reception, 4.30 a.m.?’

  ‘Night, Nathan.’

  The cameraman closed the door quietly behind him. Cora yawned and flopped onto the bed. She’d just watch the end of Corrie then have a deliciously early night.

  The person who had murdered Jeanette Kendrick was making neat notes on a red, leather-bound memo pad. The second victim, of course, had already been decided. Decided a long time ago. It was just the timing and the method that had to be selected. It would need to happen soon though. Once it was done, life would be great. No point in delaying too long. The police were clueless anyway. Get it done. And then back to nice, happy, normality. The killer shut the notebook with a satisfied smile.

  30

  Friday 26th January

  ‘Sam – big train crash in the Alps!’

  Christina tapped at her keyboard, frantically trying to get more information before the journalists around her started screaming for details. ‘Right – it’s in a big holiday resort area, so lots of skiers probably on it …’

  ‘Brits?’ barked Sam.

  ‘Just looking … yes, it says dozens of British tourists thought to be on board …’

  ‘Oh good. Are they dead?’

  Cora, who’d been called to London yet again in the early hours and was standing behind Sam’s chair waiting to have a quick chitchat, punched her friend on the shoulder.

  ‘Sam, I swear you’ve been possessed by the ghost of Jeanette Kendrick! You get more like her every day.’

  ‘Well hopefully I’ll live a bit longer than she did – that’s the plan anyway,’ muttered Sam.

  Cora smiled. Sam really was grabbing this opportunity with both hands. At just twenty-nine, she was a few years younger than Cora, but had risen through the ranks of producers at an astonishing rate, her sharp mind and unerring nose for a good story making her stand out from her contemporaries. She’d even been awarded a place on Broadcast magazine’s annual ‘hotshots’ list a few months back, much to the delight of all her friends.