Page 116 of Marble Hall Murders

To her credit, she reacted instantly, putting down the phone mid-sentence and rushing to a door at the back of the surgery. I heard her call someone and, seconds later, she came back with a man dressed in blue scrubs. He was young, bearded, immediately professional. He took the cat from me. ‘When did this happen?’

‘I don’t know. I just got home.’

‘Do you have any idea who did this?’

‘No …’

He had already given the wound a cursory examination. ‘This is bad. But maybe not as bad as it looks. Please, take a seat …’ He took the cat and disappeared the way he had come.

The other pet owners were looking at me in alarm. I’d jumped the queue but nobody complained. The receptionist asked me if I wanted some tea and I nodded. I was feeling very cold and I was shaking. I kept trying to tell myself that it was just a cat and that I didn’t even want it, but that wasn’t how I felt. About fifteen minutes later, the vet reappeared.

‘He’s going to be OK,’ he said. ‘It’s a serious abdominal wound, but you did the right thing putting an icepack on him and getting him here quickly. He was lucky. He’s been stabbed, but the blade missed the neck and the thorax and it didn’t hit any major blood vessels.’

‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ I said.

‘Yes. We’re giving him a blood transfusion, but if he wasgoing to die, it would have been hypovolemic shock that killed him. And that would already have happened. My colleague is with him now and we’ll stitch the wound. He may have to stay in a couple of nights – we’ll keep an eye on him. Are you registered here?’

‘No. I haven’t had him very long.’

‘Is he insured?’

‘I don’t know …’ I suddenly couldn’t remember if I’d insured him or not. I knew I’d meant to.

‘Well, I should warn you that you could be looking at several hundred pounds …’

‘The cost doesn’t matter.’

‘OK. Give Jocelyn your details and we’ll call you later this evening and tell you how he’s progressing. But I honestly don’t think you need to worry.’

I handed over my name, phone number, email and home address to the receptionist and left.

Walking back to my flat, I felt completely exhausted, and it didn’t help that this time it was uphill. I didn’t want to go back inside but I had no choice. I hadn’t even locked the door. I walked into the horrible mess that someone had made of my lovely flat and wondered what I should do. It seemed obvious that I should report this to the police, although, for obvious reasons, they were the last people I wanted to see. Also, I wasn’t sure what number to use. It wasn’t an emergency. What could I expect them to do?

And then I remembered. I found the card that Detective Inspector Blakeney had given me. He had written his private number on the back.

I called it.

DI Blakeney

I did almost nothing until Blakeney arrived. I sat in a chair in the middle of the wreckage, trying not to look at it, vaguely wondering who had done this to me. Someone thought I had killed Eliot Crace and had decided to punish me – that had to be the motive. But who could have loved Eliot so much that they felt themselves driven to this course of action? Gillian, perhaps. Or Roland. He could have allowed the guilt of what he had done to his younger brother, along with the fact that I had found out about it, to propel him into this madness. I wasn’t thinking straight and I was utterly miserable and drained. It was only the fact that Hugo had managed to survive and was, miraculously, going to be all right that was holding me together. I’d never been, by nature, an animal lover. I suppose I’d become one now.

The entire flat reeked of wine and spirits, which was ironic as my visitor hadn’t left me a drop to drink. Not that I wanted anything. I’d always associated alcohol with friendship and celebration. I wasn’t going to pour it into myself like medicine. I reached down and picked up the Amazon parcel thathad been delivered sometime that afternoon. All in all, I didn’t think I would be able to stay here. I wished I had never come back. Bloody Alan Conway! When was I going to learn to stay away from him?

The doorbell rang. I went over and opened the door.

Blakeney came in, casually dressed this time, no suit or tie. He looked around the flat and I saw the expression on his face, the disbelief. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Not really.’

‘I’m not surprised. This is horrible. When did you get in?’

‘About five o’clock.’ It was now well after seven. ‘I had to take the cat to the vet. Whoever did this also stuck a knife in him.’

‘How is he?’

‘Amazingly, he’s going to be OK.’

‘And how long had you been out?’ I was surprised how quickly he had set about interrogating me. There was no small talk, no coffee or tea. But I didn’t mind. This time it felt as though he was on my side.

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