The Dead Dog Day (20 page)

‘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, maybe. 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 26
^th
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.

As Cora watched admiringly, Sam grabbed her phone and quickly assigned the programme's Europe correspondent to the story, then slammed it down and turned round with a grin.

‘OK, my lovely, I can take fifteen minutes now. Canteen?'

‘Sounds like a plan. You're loving it, Sam, aren't you? This job I mean. It's so nice to see.'

Sam nodded, her eyes bright.

‘I really am. It sounds terrible, Cora, but whoever killed Jeanette did me a huge favour. I'd never have been given this chance if she hadn't died so suddenly.'

She turned to stare at the glass-walled office in the corner, and Cora saw something flash in her eyes. For a moment she sat there motionless, as if deep in thought, then dragged her gaze back to Cora.

‘OK, let's go. Clock's ticking.' Sam stood up, grabbing her mobile from the desk and shoving it into her jacket pocket.

They headed for the café on the third floor, banging on the door of the graphics suite as they passed and picking up Wendy, who eagerly agreed that 9 a.m. was definitely not too early for a Danish pastry. Choosing a cosy blue sofa by the window, they quickly caught up with the latest gossip.

‘So you and Mr Boland – hot couple or
what
?' Wendy shoved a large piece of Danish into her mouth and chewed ravenously.

‘It IS going rather well, I must admit.' Cora beamed and broke off another chunk of double choc muffin, delicately removing a large chocolate chip and swallowing it.

Sam followed suit with her own muffin. ‘I'd say! What are you doing this weekend then – he's back from Dubai tonight, isn't he?'

Cora nodded. ‘He's invited me to his again. I'm zooming home now for an early night and driving back up tomorrow afternoon. Not sure what we'll do, but I can't imagine we'll get much sleep …'

She raised her eyebrows lasciviously as the others chortled.

‘Anyway Sam, enough about me – how's your latest farmer boy? Got down and dirty in the hay yet?'

‘Not yet! Give me a chance, it's only our second date this weekend. I'm far too busy being the boss at the moment. Although he is
very
nice …'

Her voice tailed off. Cora followed her gaze. While they'd been chatting, Alice Lomas had settled herself at a table right behind them. She smiled icily as Sam gave her a half-hearted wave, and took a tiny sip from her glass of sparkling water.

‘Hello.'

‘Er – hi, Alice,' Cora replied.

‘So, Cora – saw you and Benjamin in the paper. I was quite surprised you were dating to be honest – I mean, he's just SO good looking.'

Cora, unsure what to say, said nothing.

Alice took another sip, dabbed the corner of her lip-glossed mouth with a napkin, and stood up.

‘I guess he gets sick of all those gorgeous models throwing themselves at him. He probably wanted to try, well – a different type, for a change,' she said bitchily, and tossed her blonde mane.

The three friends stared at her, speechless, as she turned and stalked out of the cafeteria, hips swinging.

‘Seriously, what is her problem? That girl is
vile
,' spat Sam.

‘She is, but she has a point,' mused Cora. ‘He
is
incredibly good-looking, and he
does
normally go out with those dolly, modelly types. But what she doesn't realise, what I think a lot of people don't realise, is that he really isn't as shallow as he seems. He honestly is a really nice guy under all that macho exterior, and I genuinely do think he likes me. I know he does, in fact.'

‘Well, good, we're delighted for you. Alice can take a running jump into the Thames as far as I'm concerned, stupid bimbo.' Wendy crossly wiped crumbs off her tartan miniskirt onto the carpet.

‘She doesn't bother me,' said Cora. She sat back and gazed out of the big window at the river, and the morning joggers pounding along its bank. ‘Really. She can think what she likes. I know the truth, and I'm very happy at the moment. He's certainly helped me get over Justin in record-quick time, that's for sure.'

She hesitated, for the five hundredth time wondering if her decision not to tell anyone at all about what was going on with Justin was the right one. But she knew her friends – they'd only tell her what she knew already, which was that she should have gone to the police on day one, and angry though she now was with her ex, she knew she wasn't prepared to do that. Not yet anyway. Things were complicated enough with the investigation focussing so closely on Scott, and she honestly didn't think she could bear it if the spotlight was on yet somebody else she was close to.

‘Well, hooray for Benjamin Boland!' cheered Sam, and they all clinked mugs. Cora drained hers and plonked it on the table with a sigh.