Daniel lifted his hands and gazed at my white plaster ceiling, which was accumulating some long strands of cobweb. Yet another reminder to me of my interrupted life of late. ‘Who knows? I can’t see why a creepy parish priest can take confessions, but a nun of invincible virtue can’t. But, then, Christians are a mystery to me. Anything he’s willing to let on to her, she will probably tell you. And your sixth item?’
‘My ninja burglar, who was a lot more efficient than poor deluded Jordan. And this is the bit that I don’t understand at all. Do you, Daniel?’
He frowned. ‘I can’t connect the two burglars. I can’t match Jordan’s medieval obsession with heresy with your ninja. I doubt he cares about missing gospels. He was after something different. And he hasn’t found it. If anyone here is a coincidence, it has to be Jordan King. But an efficient burglar, targeting this apartment block, is far more likely to be connected with one of our other cases. But which? Not the dognapping, surely. You don’t have a dog, you have cats. And I can’t envisage a crime gang trying to use a cat for anything at all.’
On cue, Horatio strolled across the kitchen floor and sat pointedly in front of his munchies bowl. Daniel reached for a packet, shook some of the contents into the ceramic bowl and watched devotedly as Horatio began to munch his way through the endangered species of the Southern Ocean. And I admired my beautiful lover, reaffirming my conviction that men who love cats are far more trustworthy. My ex-husband James refused to have cats in the house. As part of my Declaration of Independence from the squalid, petty tyranny of my marriage, I had acquired Horatio within days of moving out.
Daniel resumed his seat and folded his hands on the tabletop.
‘No. There’s something else here. And we have no idea what it is. Yet. It may not even be a thing we actually have on the premises. But it would be well worthwhile to see if any of our inhabitants, new or old, have acquired something that could be noteworthy. Ask around, please.’
‘All right. But if you don’t mind my asking, my beloved, what will you be doing while I spend my precious weekend sleuthing around here and at the Soup Run?’
He grinned. ‘I shall divide my time between my own flat, where I shall give aid and comfort to Sergeant Sinclair; and Uncle Solly, to see if he knows anything new; and scouting around for information about Kilmarnock. Which may be the most scarlet of red herrings, but we have to check it out anyway.’
Suitably mollified, I said, ‘Tell me more about Kilmarnock. Who lives there?’
‘All sorts. Anyone who wants to buy a house and can’t afford the ridiculous prices closer in to the city. I’ve heard whispers about an Azeri crime gang. There’s some sort of turf war happening. There aren’t many Azeris there; and most are, as you would expect, law-abiding but not exactly willing to talk to strangers. But they’re a possible lead. They might feel that all this crime is bringing down the neighbourhood and giving them all a bad name.’
‘Daniel dearest, please pardon my utter ignorance, but who are these people? I’ve never heard of them.’
‘From Azerbaijan, one of the former Soviet republics. They’re not as terrifying as the Uzbeks, but you don’t mess with people like that without a really good reason. And the Eastern Bloc countries specialise in cyberwarfare.’
‘Do you think they could be responsible for the ransomware attack on Cafe Delicious?’
‘Why not? If this little community of ours has attracted their attention, why would they stop at burglary? Crime gangs always need money, for girls, guns, gambling habits and the rest of it. And it may also be a deliberate distraction, to keep us off balance.’
‘It worked, then. No, wait. What religion are the Azeris?’
Daniel leant over and kissed me. Hard, on the lips. ‘Corinna, you are a genius. Of course. They can’t have kidnapped the dog, can they?’
‘Because they’re Muslims, and dogs are haram?’ I ventured.
‘Yes. So even if the Azeris are behind all this, someone else took the dog. Damn! Still, all information is useful. All right. You talk to the actors.’
‘Oh, one more thing?’ I tried to recall the melody, or whatever it was, from the ninja burglar. I hummed it as best I could, while he looked at me steadily. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’ He shook his head.
‘No. Where did you hear it?
‘From Ninja guy. He was intoning while casing my apartment. It sounded unbelievably creepy, no? Daniel, we really have more than our fair share of mysteries, don’t we?’
He gave me a wry smile. ‘We do. Are any of them connected to each other? I don’t like coincidences any more than you do, my beloved, but really: how could any of these things be related? I can’t see it at all. So, let’s concentrate on Geordie, shall we? And that can wait till tomorrow, because right now I have other things on my mind.’
And thereupon he lifted me to my feet, and without further ado, he carried me to by bedroom. I do so admire strong men.
Philomela: So close today! He is such a kind, patient man. He just sits with me, and brings me cups of tea and biscuits. And he talks about anything and everything: Herodotus, Thucydides – whom he does not admire at all, and I admire him for that – and stories from all over the world. Maybe he’s telling me stories his dad told him. He seems to have the idea that I was attacked by a gang. He didn’t say the word ‘rape’, but that’s what he was thinking. And of course that’s all wrong. It’s worse than that. But I can’t get the words out. We’ll try again, though. And we will get there. We must.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
’Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 4, SCENE 2
Four am again. My least favourite time of day. I blinked wearily at the digital alarm clock as it flickered from three fifty-eight to three fifty-nine. I have taken to waking a couple of minutes early so I can forestall the alarm with my finger. Otherwise, sooner or later, I am going to forestall it with a ballpein hammer.
My bed was so warm! I stretched out my toes and found they were impeded by Horatio, who moved in his sleep for a moment. I could feel his tight body stretch out then subside gratefully back into slumber. And my back was also warm: far more so than normal. Sometimes I dreamt that Daniel was with me in bed, warm and chocolate-scented and utterly adorable. The alarm clock ticked over to four. I reached out my hand, but there was no stentorian clangour. I felt Daniel’s achingly warm stillness, and realised that (a) yes, Daniel really was here in bed with me, and (b) the alarm had not been set and therefore (c) it must be Saturday. As my drowning senses subsided into grateful oblivion, the last remnant of my conscious mind provided me with the inevitable conclusion that (d) it really was Saturday and I could go back to sleep.
I awoke refreshed and invigorated by the gentle, yet persistent scraping of what appeared to be a small strip of bacon-flavoured sandpaper. I opened my eyes to find Horatio giving me the benefits of a thorough dermabrasion. His paw was resting on my cheek, and I felt him applying the finishing touches to my nose. Usually you have to pay good money for this. Mostly he stops there, though if I manage to sleep through the facial he has been known to proceed to pedicure. This gets me out of bed and vertical in seconds. I stroked him, and he arched his back in luxurious contentment and sauntered down to the end of the bed to resume what was manifestly going to be a post-breakfast nap. Which also meant that Daniel was up and about, and had already performed this most essential service. He was nowhere to be seen, but the delectable scent of Someone Doing Things to Bacon began to waft from without. I arched my back in sympathy with my cat and wrapped my arms around a pillow. I opened my eyes long enough to take in the clock face telling me it was now nine-thirty-two am and all was tremendously well with the world. And suddenly I was asleep again.