The Collared Collection (2 page)

‘Did you think there was a chance she was still alive?’

‘No … yes … oh, I don’t really know what I thought. Logically, she couldn’t be.’ She cuffed a drip that was dangling on the end of her nose, ‘She was much heavier than she looked and I struggled, so water splashed everywhere; I drenched myself – and the floor, probably. And all the time, I was trying not to look at her dead, white face …’ Another hoarse sob escaped her and echoed round the room. ‘Is this making any sense at all?’

He brushed away tears she was unaware of with cool fingertips. ‘Yes, it is; I’m really sorry to have to put you through this, Callie.’

She made a supreme effort to get a grip, ‘I’m fine, honestly – there’s not much more to tell … I knew I had to get help and I didn’t have my phone with me, so I ran to the master bedroom to use the extension … the Emergency Operator was brilliant.’

‘Did you go out into the garden immediately you’d ended the call?’

‘No. I’d made a mess, so I tried to dab up puddles on the bedside table with a tissue, and I had a go at scrubbing the Flokati rug – the water dripping off me had stained tufts of it pink … I know it sounds crazy, but I kept thinking how cross Dee would be about that – then I felt so sick I had to get out … I’m afraid I puked in the flower bed.’

Just as she thought she might cry again he said, ‘You’ve done a great job, thank you – now are you as sure as you can be that you went round to Dee’s at about eleven o’clock?’

‘As far as I can remember, yes. It felt like I was in the house for ages … I don’t know … I remember I was trying to do everything right, but I was getting everything wrong …’

He put his arms around her, pulled her close so their foreheads met. ‘Your 999 call was logged at 11.08, so you’re probably pretty accurate about the timing.’

Something else occurred to her; she pulled back. ‘The water was stone cold – I suppose that means she must have been dead for a long time?’

‘That’s the pathologist’s job, and they’re backed up with bodies because of this heatwave – but working on the time the children should have left and your arrival, she would have died between say 8.30 and 11.00. The water temperature suggests death occurred earlier, rather than later … tell me, was there much water on the floor when you first entered the bathroom?’

She tried to visualise the scene, omitting Dee. ‘Err … no, I don’t think so.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘I see …’ He looked around the shabby kitchen, which was well overdue a facelift, if not demolition – Callie wondered if he was comparing it to Dee’s up-to-the-minute designer showcase. Dee had everything – why would she want to kill herself?

She glanced at the clock. ‘I should go and meet Sam and Alex from school today, in case they haven’t heard what’s happened – or even if they have. I don’t want them wandering home to find the place swarming with police.’

‘I’ll give you a lift – we’ve got plenty of time. I expect you’d like to take a shower, maybe have a lie down first?’

‘Yes … thanks.’

He smirked. ‘All part of the service.’

‘What are you, David – rank, I mean?’

‘Detective Chief Inspector.’

She rolled it around her mind, trying it out for size – DCI David Bennett.

Chapter Three

She woke on Thursday feeling a lot better, after two days in limbo.

When she still felt alright after risking a couple of slices of toast and a glass of juice, she decided to do something constructive and go job-hunting … again. Out came the sensible suit and shoes, plus a facial expression tweaked to convey her worthiness as a strong candidate for any job on offer.

But by the time her aching feet carried her into the fourth employment agency she’d visited along the High Street, she was feeling thoroughly deflated and ready for the scrapheap; she wanted nothing more than to run home and curl herself into a protective foetal ball.

‘Have you done a typing test?’ asked a horsy gel called, according to the plaque on her desk, Melinda.

Callie’s chair was uncomfortably hard and low, giving Melinda a subtle psychological advantage. She shifted her pose. ‘No, as I can’t type there didn’t seem to be much point, when I spoke to your colleague last week. I’m afraid I forget her name.’

‘Oh
dear
…’ Melinda loudly sucked in air through teeth as uneven as a row of bombed houses – Callie didn’t need to be a genius to predict this would end in tears; hers. The girl’s lip curled. ‘And you’re thirty-nine?’

‘Chest or hips? I’m aged thirty-eight.’

Melinda let out something between a sigh and a yawn and then took an obvious peek at her watch. ‘Are you at least
au fait
with a computer keyboard?’

She wrestled briefly with her conscience, deciding it wouldn’t do to be caught out in a blatant lie so early on in their relationship, ‘Um … not exactly.’

‘I
see
…’ Melinda was clearly regretting her kind invitation for Callie to perch at her ‘work station’. She was at least becoming
au fait
with the lingo.

As she watched the girl tapped at keys and studied several colourful screens that popped up, she became the teeniest bit excited – until Melinda started to shake her gel-spiked head.

Her icy glare harpooned Callie to the seat. ‘You see, unfortunately, Caroline …’

Her hackles rose; where did she get off calling her Caroline? Only her mother had been allowed to call her that, since she was about six. ‘It’s Callie. Or Mrs Ashton.’

‘Hmm … we don’t appear to have anything currently on our books that would suit your … err … qualifications and …’ her lips twitched eloquently, ‘
experience
. I’m sorry.’ She looked around the too-bright blue office and then focused on the door – a rude, unsubtle hint that Callie was monopolising her precious time. Callie itched to point out the girl’s bad attitude – just after she’d decked her.

Gulping down her pride, Callie opened her mouth to argue, or at least plead, then closed it again, accepting she’d be wasting her breath, and left the office, praying she’d never have to return.

She did briefly toy with the idea of drowning herself in the local canal, but since water levels were exceptionally low courtesy of the unprecedented run of sweltering weather, she knew she’d probably just break a few bones on the abandoned shopping trolleys and other rubbish festering in there. Plus, of course, she didn’t want that infant whore Freckle Face getting her fangs into the boys, not when she’d already absconded with her husband.

She mooched about aimlessly for a while, trying to persuade herself there
was
a job waiting somewhere out there for her – they simply hadn’t found each other yet. Feeling artificially buoyed by positive thinking, Callie made a detour to window-shop along a row of posh new outlets; proper retail therapy was out of the question now she and the boys were on such a restricted budget following Nic the Prick’s departure. Instead, she indulged in self-flagellation, gazing longingly at a jeweller’s display of twinkling diamonds with obscene price tags – until a sudden flashback of Dee’s slashed body reflected in the glass caught her off-guard, and she jumped back as though jet-propelled, for fear the corpse might reach out and touch her.

When she went to cross the road, she was still reeling from the horrible, impromptu vision and didn’t even see the speeding black car with dark tinted windows that came within a millimetre of dispatching her to join Dee in the afterlife.

Callie flopped down heavily on the pavement, showing her knickers and shaking like a jelly. She heard running footsteps behind her.

‘Callie? Are you alright?’

Still dazed, she cranked her head around, ‘David … oh, err … hello again.’

‘Christ, that was a close call!’

He helped her up – her legs wanted to concertina back down, but she wouldn’t indulge them. As she dusted herself off, hoping to appear dignified, she assured him, ‘It was my own stupid fault – I wasn’t paying attention.’

He gripped her arm. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Um … sort of.’

‘I’m afraid I was too far away to get the damned idiot’s number.’

‘It doesn’t matter – as I said, it was down to me. I was thinking about other things and I didn’t look properly.’

A small group of people were staring at her; she reclaimed her arm and made to walk away with as much grandeur as she could muster. But he blocked her path, ‘Please don’t go yet. How are you otherwise, after – well, you know?’

She manufactured a smile. ‘Recovering nicely, thanks. Almost back to my old self.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Are you in town looking for work again?’

‘Yes, but nothing doing as usual. My degree is basically prehistoric and I’m computer illiterate – which makes me not everyone’s idea of the perfect job applicant, apparently.’ To her utter shame and annoyance, she burst into tears.

He hugged her, stroked her hair, and spoke into her fringe, ‘Hey, things can’t be that bad … and you’re probably in shock. Will you let me buy you a coffee?’

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with an ancient tissue excavated from her pocket – it blackened with non-waterproof mascara and she knew she must look like a panda, only not nearly so cute. ‘Thanks … yes, um, if you have time. Sorry about the waterworks.’

‘Don’t be silly – you’ve had a really rough ride lately. And some of that’s my doing. I’d like to apologise properly.’

She’d forgotten what a sexy voice he had. She allowed herself to be led by the hand to a nearby café – all Formica, sugar shakers, and tables covered in sticky rings. Iced cakes behind glass were sweating profusely in the heat – just like Callie, in her tight wool suit.

She used the primitive toilet facilities to clean herself up and when feeling almost human again, joined David at a window seat for two.

‘Is your coffee alright?’

She took a tentative sip – it tasted as greasy and vile as it looked. ‘Yes, thanks. Lovely.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?’

Despite a rumbling stomach, she didn’t fancy taking second pick after the wasps. ‘Positive. I don’t want to spoil my dinner.’

He studied the rim of his chipped coffee mug. ‘Listen, Callie …’

‘Yes?’

‘I … erm … you’re looking much better, there’s some colour back in your cheeks.’ He hadn’t managed to fully disguise a swift change of mind about what he’d originally intended to say.

She felt her shoulders ratchet down several notches, ‘I’m fine, really.’

‘Good … err … listen … about last Saturday …’

She held up a hand. ‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘Yes, I do …’

Feeling obliged to help him wriggle off the hook, she told him, ‘Look, I know how conniving Ginny can be when she sets her sights on something, or someone – not many wilting wallflowers make it to shit-hot QC, you know. Plus, we’d all had a lot to drink. Way too much, actually – I had a killer hangover next day.’

‘Even so …’

‘I wasn’t too drunk to notice what she was up to – she couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d lain naked across the kitchen table masturbating.’

Embarrassment turned his ears scarlet – he did a quick, nervous scan of the café to check no one was listening in on their conversation. He needn’t have worried. Of the three other patrons sitting separately – two male, one female, all of whom were probably old enough to remember the launch of the
Titanic
– none were remotely interested in their little tête-à-tête.

Sotto voce, he said, ‘That doesn’t excuse me taking her to bed – especially your bed – instead of you.’

She stuck flaring nostrils in the air. ‘Sex between us wouldn’t have happened anyway. If you remember, I postponed our romantic tryst because Dominic let me down as usual and the kids were at home with me, instead of staying with him.’

His ears were positively glowing now. ‘I feel particularly bad about that …’

‘C’est la vie; I had the moral satisfaction of throwing you both out – and Sam and Alex were none the wiser.’

‘I suppose you and Ginny still aren’t talking?’

‘Not a word. That’s why I’m back to job-hunting; she’d offered me a clerical post in her office – just basic stuff, but it would have got my foot on the bottom rung of the employment ladder. That went flying out the window the minute I took a stand against her – she’s not a very forgiving soul.’

‘I’m really sorry – if I hadn’t called round uninvited and gate-crashed your girls’ night in …’

‘You weren’t solely to blame.’

‘Well, please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help heal the rift. Have you two been friends for long?’

‘Yes, over twenty years – we met on our first day at university.’

He swigged some coffee, swished it through his teeth. Judging by the look on his face, his didn’t taste any better than hers. ‘How are the boys?’

‘Fine, considering Dominic has practically abandoned them for Freckle Face.’

‘Ah, the other woman?’

‘Not much more than a child, actually. A child slapper, obviously.’

‘I’m sorry – it must be rough. How long have you been on your own?’

‘Three, nearly four months. It’s not all bad – I’ve gotten used to making my own decisions; I get to watch what I want on TV and I can now change a fuse. Next challenge, putting up shelves – and will you
please
stop saying you’re sorry?’

When he reached for her hand, she clenched a fist.

‘Sor … ah … OK, I’ll try. Do you still want to go out with me after I disgraced myself so badly?’

‘You’re a man – your brains are congenitally in your boxers. Oh, that was almost a joke.’

He smirked and looked excruciatingly handsome. ‘That’s not a straight answer.’

She tried to appear super-cool, despite fancying him like mad. He had, after all, behaved appallingly with Ginny. By rights, she shouldn’t be talking to him at all, but Dee’s sudden, awful death had certainly put things into perspective. Calmly, she suggested, ‘Shall we play it by ear? I’m trying to keep a lot of balls in the air just now – and I’m really not sure I have either the time or the energy for a relationship.’ She couldn’t believe she’d said that – was she completely insane?

His lips stretched to a pale straight line. ‘At least it wasn’t an outright “no”.’