To Catch a Rat

by S J Grey

  Caleb made the front page. Again.

  Guess how Dad-killer Rush-ed loose? blared the headline. Emma winced. Who thought up this clickbait? And besides, Bill Doyle wasn’t Dad material. Abusive stepfather was a better description, but the headlines were designed to attract readers.

  She clicked for the story.

  The details were brief. Caleb had been part of a community working group this morning, planting new trees at the edge of a park near the prison. He was deemed a low-risk prisoner, and this had been his first time outside the facility. One of his fellow workers collapsed, and Caleb called the guard for help. The fallen prisoner then apparently attacked the guards, and in the confusion, Caleb disappeared.

  He was now on the run and hunted by the police, with his picture on every news page across the country. At the bottom of the story, it finally mentioned Joss and her accidental death yesterday.

  —the fuck? There was no way it was accidental. Emma clicked on another news page, and then a third, but they all ran the same line.

  This was bullshit. Who could she ask?

  DS Miller.

  She dug his card out of her pocket and dialled his number before she could change her mind.

  He answered. “Miller.”

  “This is Emma Blackthorne.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to loosen her grip on the phone. “I just read the news. It says that Joss’s death was accidental.”

  “They’re quick off the mark. It’s not been confirmed yet.”

  “But… I mean, how can it be?”

  “Be an accident, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was the initial finding, from the coroner. There are still some test results to come back, tox screens and that, but he’s confident in his assessment.”

  Emma’s headache was back at full strength. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. This was so crazy, she didn’t know where to start. “What about the house? It was trashed.”

  “Could have been a burglary gone wrong. Or maybe that was normal for how she lived?”

  “Normal? Did you see it?”

  “According to her neighbours, Ms. Rush was a recluse. Keeping her house tidy wasn’t a priority.”

  “Fingerprints. Did you find any?”

  “We found those we expected to. Yours and your boyfriend’s. And Ms. Rush’s, of course.”

  “So what do you think happened? Really?”

  “The simplest answer is often the most likely. Let’s say Ms. Rush slipped on the wet grass and fell in the river, banging her head as she went.”

  “She was an excellent swimmer. She used to take part in the charity swims to Kapiti Island. She knew how to handle herself in the water.”

  “If she knocked herself out, it wouldn’t matter if she were an Olympic gold medallist.”

  No. Emma didn’t believe it for one second. “She was being harassed. I told you that. She was posting on the local forums, asking for help. There’s more to it, Detective.”

  He huffed a sigh. “Like I said, this is only the initial assessment. But it’s pretty conclusive. The evidence fits.”

  “That’s what the police said about Caleb.” She whispered the words.

  “Excuse me?”

  “At his trial, that’s what one of your colleagues said. That the evidence fit the scene. Is that a standard line you use?” Her voice was sharp, but she didn’t care. “I suppose I’d better be careful, in case you accuse me of pushing Joss into the water.”

  There was a pause. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Ms. Blackthorne. Based on the calculated time of death, Ms. Rush had been in the water for over two hours. At the time she died, you were drinking in the Thistle in Wellington, with half a dozen people able to give you a cast-iron alibi.”

  His words crashed over Emma like a bucket of ice. She swallowed and dug deep for her composure. “You’re thorough.”

  “I’m a police officer, ma’am. I have to be.”

  There was nothing more to be said. Emma cut the call and dropped the phone by her side. This was insane. Call himself a detective? He couldn’t detect his way out of a paper bag.

  Her phone chirruped with a text, and she glanced down. If that was DS Miller, she wasn’t going to engage with him again.

  It was Mark.

  I’ve landed back in Welly. Home 1 hour-ish. Stay safe. Love you.

  By the time Mark arrived home, Minerva had ventured out from her hiding place and eaten a little of the food, although she retreated again at the sight of him.

  “Hey,” he said, shaking his head like a dog, raindrops cascading down. “You okay?”

  Emma hurled herself into his arms. “I’m glad to see you.” His coat was wet, but she didn’t want to let go yet. “The police think Joss fell in the river. That it was an accident.”

  “Really? What about the state of the house?”

  “They think she was just untidy.”

  “Bullshit.” His retort was reassuring. At least someone was taking Joss’s death seriously.

  He gave her a squeeze, and then stepped free. “Let me take this off. You’ll be saturated.” He shrugged out of his coat and went to hang it on the hook by the front door. “Any news on Caleb?” He looked over his shoulder at her.

  “I know you were worried when you heard he escaped, but he wouldn’t hurt me. You don’t know him like I do.”

  Mark flinched, but then turned back to his coat, patting it, as though looking for something.

  “What was that look for?” she asked, but he didn’t reply. “Mark? Talk to me.”

  “Yeah.” He turned to face her and shoved his hands in his pockets. His face was wary, his eyes glittering in the light from the window. “I know Caleb better than you think. And from what I do know, I’m worried about your safety. In fact, it’d be a great idea for you to take a few days off work and go visit your parents.”

  Emma laughed at the seriousness of his expression, but it died away when he didn’t say anything else. She replayed his words in her head. “You know him? How?”

  “From Uni.”

  She gazed at him and saw the truth in his eyes. “You were at Uni with him?”

  “Yes.”

  Her chest was tight. It was a struggle, to speak clearly. “How well did you know him?”

  Mark shrugged, his gaze never leaving her face. “Well enough. We were kinda friends.”

  “Friends?” It came out as a squeak. “How come I never met you back then?”

  “You think you know all his friends? That’s unlikely, sweetheart.” His tone was serious.

  Emma wasn’t asking the right question, the important one, but she shied away from it. “You knew Joss, then?”

  “No. Never met her.”

  This didn’t add up. Emma pressed her knuckles into her temples. “You knew who I was, when we met.”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is why you never asked me about Caleb or the trial—because you already knew.”

  “Yeah.”

  No. She was missing something. Emma thought hard, her brain searching for a loose thread.

  “When you recognised Joss, yesterday”—she spoke slowly, still working through the puzzle—“you called her the sister of that murderer, Caleb Rush. You asked me how well I knew them. Were you there? At the trial? Did you see me give evidence?”

  He nodded.

  “Then you know I think he’s innocent. And if you knew Caleb properly, you’d know he wouldn’t have killed his stepfather.”

  Mark covered the distance between them and tugged his hands free, to catch hers. He squeezed her fingers and stared into her eyes. “That’s what he wanted everyone to think. I hate to say it, but he fooled you, love.”

  Chapter Seven

  Emma had the feeling that she stood at a crossroads and whatever she said next had the potential to colour their relationship. She had to be careful. Words held more power than anyone gave
them credit for.

  “When we met”—she spoke slowly—“did you recognise me right away?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Did it? It mattered that he never mentioned Caleb to her. Not once. “I think it does.”

  He shrugged, flashing a lop-sided smile at her. “I thought you looked familiar. I’d seen you in the coffee shop a few times, but then you lost your purse and couldn’t pay for your order, and I was next in line. If I hadn’t bought you coffee that day, we wouldn’t have gotten talking.”

  It had been a meet-cute right out of a romantic novel. Her, standing there flustered, unable to pay, and the handsome guy behind her, stepping up and saving the day. Her purse wasn’t mislaid; it was gone. Lucky there’d not been much in it. The bank was quick to replace her debit card, and she’d only been carrying a small amount of cash.

  “You noticed me before then, right?” He lifted her hands to his lips. “I’ll be hurt if you say you didn’t.”

  His puppy-dog expression made her smile. “You know I did. But that’s not the point. When did you figure out who I was?”

  “When you told me your name.”

  In the aftermath of the trial, Emma tried to hide from the media. Joss refused to speak to the reporters, so they swarmed after Emma instead. She cut and coloured her hair, changed jobs and moved house, and deleted all her social-media accounts. Changing her name would be a step too far, so she hid in plain sight.

  “Why did you never mention it? That you know Caleb? We’ve been together for a year, Mark. You’ve had plenty of time.”

  “I didn’t think it was important. We’re still new, sweetheart, and I’ll bet there’s a million other things we haven’t talked about, besides a six-week period, three years ago.”

  “I guess.”

  His phone burst to life with the rock riff she associated with him, and he released her before digging into a pocket for it. “Sorry, Em. I need to take this. It’s work.”

  “This conversation isn’t over. Okay?”

  He nodded, already turning away and answering the call. He walked off into the house, phone pressed to his ear.

  Emma retreated to the bedroom, where she found Minerva sitting on the bed again. This time, the cat let her approach, but not within touching distance.

  “What am I going to do with you, Min?” Emma perched on the edge of the bed. “Maybe you’d be better at my mum’s place. They’ve got a big garden, but you’d have to share it with her two existing moggies.” The cat crept closer, before sitting by her side. Emma dared stroke the top of Min’s head and was rewarded with a tentative purr.

  She ran her fingers down Min’s neck, over the thick collar, and then down her back. Should she take it off? It had a bulky tag on the front. Probably the magnet for a cat door, but redundant since Emma had no intention of letting Minerva out.

  Footsteps approached, and Emma looked up to see Mark in the doorway.

  “I’d better take some anti-histamine, if you’re going to keep it in here,” he said. “Can’t it sleep in the lounge?”

  “Minerva is a she. I’m not going to tell you again.”

  He grinned. “I was teasing. And listen, I’m sorry, but there’s a problem in the office and I need to go sort it out. I won’t be long. Will you be okay?”

  “Of course. I still think you’re wrong about Caleb.”

  “Teasing aside, I know I’m not. Is there any way I can persuade you to take a few days off? Maybe take the cat to your parents? She’d be happier there, and we wouldn’t get any hassle from the landlord.”

  “Mum and Dad already have two cats.”

  “Wouldn’t that be better for her, rather than staying here? We have no garden, and we’re close to the road.”

  He was right. “I don’t know. It feels mean, to abandon her.”

  “You won’t be. And the sooner you move her, the sooner she can get settled in her new home.” Mark glanced at his watch. “I’ll be an hour at most. Please, Em. I’m stone cold serious about this. Pack some stuff for a couple of nights and let me drive you over to Reikorangi. I can stay tonight, and then come back to pick you up in a few days, when it’s safe again.”

  “What about my work?”

  “We can drive down to your office first, so you pick up your laptop. You’ve got twenty-four-hour access to the building.”

  He knew that from the many times she had to go in at the weekends. He made sense.

  “Okay. But only until the end of the week,” she said.

  She couldn’t miss the relief that swept over his face. “Thank you. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I’ll call Mum.”

  “And if you can’t go there, for whatever reason, let me know. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Be ready in an hour.”

  She phoned her parents. Dad picked up, pleased as always to hear from her. Talking to him, she felt a wave of affection, mixed with guilt. They only lived half an hour away, but Emma rarely saw them. She was their only child. She should make the effort to visit more often.

  She didn’t tell them Mark’s worries about Caleb, just that she needed to find a home for Minerva and it’d be nice to spend a couple of days with them if they were free.

  Mum came on the line and assured her it was fine to stay. They’d heard about Joss and Caleb, and it was no problem to take Minerva and give her a home. They were both pleased at the chance to see Mark again. They adored him.

  Emma called her boss next. She explained her absence as a domestic issue, but assured him she could work from home after she picked up her laptop. As long as she was back in the office next Monday, he was okay.

  The plans fell into place with ridiculous ease. Now Emma needed to pack some clothes and toiletries, and get Min’s things ready to go. That didn’t take long at all.

  She glanced at her phone. Mark left half an hour ago. She’d check the news channels for updates while she waited.

  It was still raining, which meant the journey in traffic would be slow. It’d take an hour each way into Wellington, to get to her office and back. She and Mark would pick Min up on the way back, and then drive another half-hour up to Reikorangi, where her parents lived. Mark’s plan meant Emma would be stranded in Reikorangi without transport, but if she needed to go anywhere, she’d borrow Mum’s car.

  The news page was slow to load. Emma gazed out of the kitchen window while she waited. A motorbike cruised past slowly. It looked like a pizza delivery, with an insulated box on the back of the bike. Emma stared at it until it disappeared out of sight.

  What was the matter with her? She was jumping at shadows. She blew out a breath and headed to the lounge with her tablet.

  The news had the same stories as earlier, with more wild speculation about why Caleb had broken free. He’d been a well-behaved prisoner up to now, and parole had been a possibility in his near future. Why would he jeopardize it by escaping?

  A knock on the door made Emma freeze. Mark would let himself in. Was it the police again?

  The top half of the front door had frosted glass panels. On the other side stood a tall, stocky guy, in a biker jacket and motorbike helmet. He carried a pizza box.

  She didn’t order any food. Maybe he was lost?

  Opening the door a fraction, she peeked out. “Can I help you?”

  “Hello, Em.” The guy’s voice was muffled by the full helmet. He flipped up the visor.

  Caleb.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma’s mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. She had no words.

  Caleb moved closer, the bright red box between them. “Are you alone?” It was an urgent whisper.

  Emma should have said no. She should have closed the door in his face and called the police right away. She did neither. An older instinct, one that continued to shout, he won’t hurt you, had her whispering in reply, “Yes. At the moment.”

  “Can I come in? I need your help, Em.”

  She stepped back, holding the door op
en, and he came in, dropping the box and tugging off the helmet.

  “How did you know where I lived? And how did you get out of prison? The police are hunting you.” It was at once nerve wracking and wonderful to see him again. She grabbed hold of his arm. “I’m so sorry about Joss.”

  Familiar blue-grey eyes, the same colour as the sea on a stormy day—the same colour eyes as Joss—stared at Emma, his pain visible. “What happened? I need to know the truth. You owe me that.” His voice was rougher than she remembered.

  He was heavier built, too. He’d always been tall and slim, with a runner’s build—equally fast in the water or on land—but now he’d filled out. His corn-coloured hair was cropped close to his head. She catalogued the changes in her mind.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I found her, Caleb. In the river.” The memory wrenched at her, and she had to pause, to get her feelings under control. “They say it was an accident, but I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t either. Not with everything else.”

  “Everything like what?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s safer that way.”

  Emma gazed at him. “Talking of safe, you’re not safe here. The police warned me to look out for you. They might come back. You need to go.”

  “In a minute. We need to talk first.” Caleb dumped the helmet on the table, and spun around, at the same moment as the front door clicked shut.

  Emma looked up. It was Mark, phone in one hand, car keys in the other.

  “Caleb Rush,” said Mark. “I thought you might come here. Move away from my girlfriend. I’m calling the police.”

  Caleb grabbed Emma and tugged her in front of him. He had a knife in his hand, and he pressed it to her chin.

  The breath stalled in her lungs, and she froze. What the hell?

  “Whoever the fuck you are, stay back,” said Caleb. “I’d hate to hurt her.”

  Emma found her tongue. “What are you doing?”

  Mark took a step forward, and Caleb pulled Emma more tightly against his body.