No Remorse by Robert Crouch

Author:Robert Crouch [Crouch, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-06T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Six

When Kim Jaggers dozes off again, Gemma insists we remain.

“Maybe Violet will keep an eye on her,” I say, heading for the door.

I don’t catch Gemma’s remark, but it didn’t sound complimentary.

Outside I ring Louise to explain. “I’ll ask one of the neighbours to keep an eye on her. Then I’ll be with you.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to call a doctor?”

“Gemma said that, but I –”

“You’re with Gemma?” Louise cuts in. “Can’t she stay with Kim Jaggers?”

The tension in her voice irritates me. She means, what’s Gemma doing there?

“Gemma had a puncture and doesn’t have a car. Once we’ve taken care of Kim Jaggers, I’ll drop her home and be with you as soon as …”

I sigh, realising Louise has hung up.

No dinner for me. I’ll have to make do with some of Violet’s fruit cake.

“One for you and one for your lovely fiancée,” she says, popping two large slabs into sandwich bags. “You look so handsome together.”

I pop the cake on the rear seat of my car while Violet heads for Kim’s bungalow, armed with her knitting and some puzzle books. When I join them, Violet’s found a tin of cat food in the larder unit. Gemma’s trying to shoo the cat away as it strokes itself against her leg.

It takes another twenty minutes before Violet’s settled beside the bed, puzzle book in hand, cup of tea on the bedside cabinet. No one’s eaten any cake at this point, though I suspect the cat will be on the table the moment we’re gone. Kim’s sleeping, her breathing shallow but rhythmic, still sounding like an effort.

“We should have rung the emergency doctor,” Gemma says again as we race along the Pevensey bypass towards Tollingdon. “She’ll need one if she eats any of Violet’s cake. It’s half-cooked inside.”

“Half-baked,” I say.

“Like your ideas,” she says with a grin. “Have you rung Louise?”

“She’s cool,” I reply. “I was going to offer her the second slab of Violet’s cake, but it was meant for you. We make such a handsome couple. I don’t know what gave her such an idea. I mean, you can hardly see your engagement ring, it’s so small and insignificant.”

She covers it with her hand. “Richard likes big displays of affection.”

It looks more like ownership to me. “He wants the world to know how lucky he is,” I say. “I imagine the bonsai people are itching to meet you.”

“Don’t,” she says with a shudder. “I’m sure they’re lovely people, but I’d rather talk about murder.”

“Who’s?”

“Yours, if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean.”

Within minutes we’re in Tollingdon town centre. I take a left opposite Station Road into a street with terraces of grand Victorian houses, converted into flats many years ago. Students tend to occupy the basement and attic flats, swamping the streets with their old cars and recycling boxes filled with beer bottles. The flats are comfortable, reasonably priced, and a short walk from the shops, train station and work, which might explain why she’s the last to arrive in the morning.

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