The Dead Dog Day (17 page)

He pressed stop and dropped the remote on the floor, as Cora moaned softly next to him. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the forehead.

‘Sorry, sleepy-head. I was trying not to wake you. Coffee?'

Cora blinked and rubbed her eyes, grimacing as she realised she hadn't done a very good job of taking off her make-up last night, despite Benjamin's extremely well stocked bathroom cabinet.

‘Never touch the stuff. Got any Earl Grey tea?' Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Earl Grey, black, no sugar. If possible?'

‘Think I've got some somewhere. Back in a jiffy. Don't go anywhere.'

‘I won't.' Cora watched sleepily as Benjamin slipped out from under the heavy, white duvet and padded across the thick carpet, stark naked. Wow. Incredible body. Great thighs. And, er, other things. She felt herself blushing yet again as she remembered the events of last night, and pulled the duvet over her head in sudden embarrassment. Gosh. She'd slept with Benjamin Boland. What on earth had come over her?

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to work out how she was feeling. Physically, definitely a bit hung over. Dry mouth, slightly pounding head. Could be worse, though. Amazing, considering how much champagne she'd put away last night. But how was she feeling, well, emotionally? She pondered for a moment. Well, she definitely liked him, quite a lot actually. He was so different from his telly image, and he'd treated her so well last night, been such a gentleman. But she
never
normally slept with anyone on the first date. Rebound sex, that's what it had been. Good sex though. Bloody incredible sex, actually …

‘One Earl Grey tea, black. Here you go.'

Cora emerged from the duvet, still feeling a little hot and bothered, and sat up cautiously, suddenly aware that she was naked in a very bright room with an equally naked man.

‘Er, thanks. Very kind,' she murmured, and reached out for the smoked glass mug with one hand, the other clutching the duvet to her chest.

‘Pleasure,' Benjamin said, smiling at her, his large penis bobbing slightly. Cora gulped down a mouthful of tea. He really was extraordinarily body-confident.

She averted her eyes slightly, trying to concentrate on her drink, as he slipped back into bed and edged closer to her. Then she nearly choked as a finger started to stroke its way up her thigh in seductive circles.

‘Erm – I think I'd better put this tea down. Don't want to spill it on your nice bedding,' she spluttered.

‘Good idea, Ms Baxter. Excellent in fact,' whispered Benjamin.

Cora leaned over and carefully placed the mug on her bedside table. ‘What
am
I doing?' she thought. For a moment she paused, unsure. But the circling finger was too much.

‘Oh sod it!' And all shyness forgotten, she pushed the duvet off and flung herself on top of the grinning, gorgeous man beside her.

Adam looked at the clock. 11 a.m. already. He pushed a few piles of paper around his desk in a half-hearted attempt to tidy it, then gave up and slumped back in his chair, feeling gloomy.

He'd questioned Scott Edson himself earlier today, determined to get to the truth about why his van had been in the wrong place at the wrong time on the day of Jeanette Kendrick's murder. The man had been cagey and defensive, finally saying he'd popped in to see a friend on the way home and didn't think it was important enough to mention it before. He'd refused to give the friend's name, saying he didn't want him or her involved, and without any real evidence, there wasn't much more Adam could do. He simply didn't believe that was all there was to it, but with his team still working on tracing the van's movements, he had no proof Scott had returned to TV Centre. Not yet, anyway.

‘We'll be talking to you again. Don't leave the country,' he'd snapped, as the surly engineer marched out of the interview room.

Now Adam groaned and rubbed his eyes. Sodding murders. Who'd be a cop, eh?

On the South Bank, Cora waved again to Benjamin as her cab pulled away from his apartment block and then sank back in her seat, simultaneously thrilled and exhausted.

She started to dial Sam's number then stopped herself. Maybe not in a taxi. Too many deliciously naughty details to share – the taxi driver had already given her an interested look when he'd recognised the TV star who'd waved her off. No, no phone calls yet. She'd go back to her hotel, get out of last night's clothes and pick up her car, then zoom home to Cheltenham first.

The cab stopped at a red light and a heavily pregnant woman in a straining black coat shuffled across the road, pushing a screaming toddler in a buggy. Cora's mind wandered back to last night, when Benjamin had pointed out a pregnant footballer's wife at the party and then apologised for bringing up kids again.

‘Oh don't worry, honestly. I know you probably think I'm weird not to want them,' she'd said hesitantly. ‘I just never have. You know when you're young and people ask you how many children you'd like to have? Even when I was about twelve, I was always surprised that everyone just assumed you'd have them – I always said none! And everyone always told me I'd change my mind, but I never have. And never will.'

To her great relief, Benjamin had simply nodded and agreed with her. ‘Don't blame you. They're not for everyone. And certainly no room for them in MY life – too busy having fun!'

Cora sighed a happy sigh, gazing out of the window at the Saturday crowds as the taxi slowly weaved its way through the London traffic. She suddenly realised she hadn't thought of Justin for hours. He hadn't replied to her message from last night either, but suddenly she didn't care. Good. It was about time she forgot all about him and got on with her life. If Justin
was
involved in Jeanette's murder, let the police sort it out. She was going to be a little bit too busy to care. Benjamin Boland, she decided, might well be very good for her indeed.

24

Monday 15
^th
January

‘Rodney – can you just test the boom for me?' Scott's voice came through the soundman's earpiece.

‘Sure. OK – talking into the dog now. Talking into the dog, talking into the dog …'

The man who was standing nearby dressed in a big game hunter's outfit stared at Rodney, and started looking around in a confused manner. Rodney gestured to the grey, fluffy microphone cover on the end of his boom pole.

‘No, mate, this is what we call a dog, don't worry!'

Cora laughed. ‘Technical terminology,' she explained, and the man smiled, still looking a little puzzled, then wandered off to take a call as his phone rang.

Cora shivered. She was wearing a khaki suit too, completely inappropriate for the freezing weather.

‘Brrr. I'm going to sit in the truck, I'm so cold,' she said. ‘I swear Sam is turning into Jeanette – can't believe she made me wear this!'

Rodney, snug in a shockingly ugly, pea green ski jacket, grinned. ‘Yep, she's making the most of being the boss, isn't she? Suits you though. Go on, I'll mind the kit. But send Scott out here with a couple of cuppas for me and matey boy, will ya?'

Cora nodded and skipped off to the satellite truck, silently cursing the locals who'd claimed they'd seen a crocodile swimming in a Gloucestershire river over New Year and drawn it to the attention of the breakfast show. As a result, Cora had spent her Sunday trying to track down a crocodile expert and trawling fancy dress shops to find them both costumes for this morning's broadcast.

She hopped into the truck, where Scott and Nathan were involved in a heated discussion about the merits of one X-box football game over another, and slid into the passenger seat, leaning forward and waving her stiff fingers in front of the heating vents in an effort to defrost them.

Her phone beeped and she slid it out of her pocket awkwardly. A text.

Morning, gorgeous. Looking sexy in your croc hunter suit on my telly. I'm still in bed – wish you were here. Bx

Cora's heart skipped a beat. Lustful text messages had been flying back and forth between her and Benjamin since she'd left him on Saturday, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

She giggled as she tapped out a reply.

Scott and Nathan stopped talking and watched her.

‘Oooh, who's a smitten kitten then? No prizes for guessing who's got you acting like a schoolgirl,' cooed Nathan.

‘Shut up,' Cora said, then raised her eyes heavenward as Scott reached for his copy of the
Mirror
newspaper and waved page five at her for the sixth time that morning.

‘Scott, put that away and bring Rodney and the guest some drinks, will you? Please?'

‘Oh alright.' He threw the paper at her and she caught it, smoothing it out to look again at the photo that had brought her so much teasing. It was a paparazzi shot from Friday night, Benjamin looking tall and handsome, her leaning into him, both of them looking very happy under the cheesy headline, which read ‘COR-A! WHAT A COUPLE!'

‘No chance of keeping anything quiet when you go out with someone like him, is there?' Scott said over his shoulder as he spooned coffee into two mugs.

‘I s'pose not. I don't mind really though. It could be quite good fun,' Cora mused.

She tore the page out carefully and slipped it into her pocket. Whatever happened with Benjamin, it would be a nice keepsake. She glanced through the rest of the paper, pausing halfway through to read a tiny, three-paragraph article about Jeanette's murder. It said little, only that police still had no idea who killed her, were continuing to question a number of people and were appealing for more help from the public. From being front-page news for the first few days, the story was slipping further and further down the news agenda. Cora knew that if there was nothing new to report soon, the papers would finally lose interest altogether.

Scott glanced at the page as he headed for the door, clutching two steaming drinks.

‘Mention me, does it?' he said sarcastically.

‘No, of course not. Look – don't worry, Scott. The police will soon stop pestering you, I'm sure. We all know you didn't do it!'

‘They've got channel vision when it comes to me. They think I did it, and that's that. Whatever,' Scott muttered, and marched off, coffee slopping onto the grass.

‘Tunnel. Tunnel vision,' Cora whispered, as Nathan followed Scott outside, grimacing at her as he went.

She watched them go and sighed. Scott was not a happy man, but there wasn't much she could do to help if he wouldn't talk to any of them. He'd told them earlier that he'd been questioned by the police again over the weekend, but had refused to say why, getting so irritated when they tried to get more details out of him that they'd simply given up. He was definitely hiding something – but what?

Cora's phone beeped again, and she instantly stopped worrying and looked at it eagerly, expecting another message from Benjamin.

‘Oh.' It wasn't a text, but a tweet. Disappointed, she clicked on it anyway, expecting a silly comment from a viewer about her choice of outfit. Then, a little shiver ran up her spine as she read the short message.

@a-friend
@CoraBaxterMLive Cora, I got your msg. But a warning for you. Be very careful. Watch your back.

What? Maddened, she quickly typed a reply.

@CoraBaxterMLive
@a-friend What do you mean, be careful? Is that a threat? What the hell is going on, Justin?

She waited. Nothing. Angrily, she tossed her phone into her handbag, her good mood ruined. OK, she had sort of threatened him, she reasoned, by saying she might go to the police. So maybe he was playing the same game. Fine. If he was going to be childish, let him.

‘Two minutes, Cora.' A voice buzzed in her earpiece. Bracing herself against the cold, she reluctantly stepped out of the warm truck and stomped off across the grass to join her crew.

25

Tuesday 16
^th
January

‘There's only one thing for it. We're going to have to cut the whole side of the car off. Sit back as far as you can mate, and don't move.'

The fireman stood back, decision made, and his colleagues nodded. Nearby an ashen-faced taxi driver looked on in horror as a huge electric cutting tool started whirring. Inside the silver Mercedes, the anguished face of an enormously fat man in a multi-coloured shirt stared out at the assembled group, pink with humiliation.

Huddled together on the pavement outside TV Centre, Cora and a gaggle of researchers and producers watched, agog.

‘So – tell me again – WHAT happened?' Cora hissed.

‘Well … he's the guest for the 8.40 alternative health slot – some sort of naturopathy expert. You know, all the sort of natural treatments – homeopathy and so on?' Angela, a young researcher, turned her brown eyes on Cora expectantly.

‘Yes, yes, I know.'

‘So. He lives in Reading, so we send a car. He did tell us on the phone last night that he was quite – well – large, and specifically asked for a big car, so we booked the Merc. Anyway, the driver says he got in OK, just about – he had to give him a bit of a shove, apparently, but he fitted through the door fine.' She paused as the screech from the electric saw reached ear-splitting levels.

‘Gosh. I hope they've given him earplugs. Anyway – they drive from Reading to London, and pull up here, and well, he can't get out. The driver tried pulling him, and then called the newsroom and a few of us came down and opened the other door and tried pushing him. But he literally couldn't fit through the door. It's like he swelled up on the journey or something.'

Cora spluttered. ‘Oh come on! That's impossible, surely.'

Angela shook her head. ‘Well, either that or the door's shrunk. That's why the fire brigade have to cut the whole side off. They tried just taking the door off but he still couldn't get out. Now they're taking away that bar thing between the back and front doors as well. Car's going to be massacred. Poor driver – looks like he's about to pass out …'