The customer services number went through to a recorded message which offered various options including animal emergencies, but none of them were relevant for what she needed to ask, and included the suggestion of looking at their website. She cut the call, googled the number of the local police station and pressed to call. Another answerphone message that began by saying if it was an emergency to hang up and dial 999, if not stay on the line. She waited and was then presented with more options, the last of which was to hold to speak to someone in person.
Five minutes later, her call was answered and she explained she was phoning about the animal bodies found in Coleshaw Woods. The officer said he was unfamiliar with the case but would find out who she needed to speak to. He came back on the line with another number for her to phone. She thanked him, tried the new number, but an answerphone clicked in inviting her to leave a message. At the same time, Robbie woke; frustrated, she knew she’d have to try again later.
The rest of the day disappeared in keeping Robbie amused, housework and then preparing dinner. Ben was late home, tired, and had to catch an early train in the morning. They watched the news, although there was nothing more about the animals in Coleshaw Woods and Emily didn’t mention it again.
The following morning she kissed Ben goodbye and saw him off at the door in her dressing gown, grateful that she didn’t have to leave for work on a cold frosty morning. It was only when Robbie had his lunchtime nap that Emily was able to use the phone again uninterrupted. She called the number she’d been given by the officer the day before and this time it didn’t go through to answerphone but call waiting. She was third in the queue. Her initial enthusiasm for trying to find out if Tibs could be among the animals in Coleshaw Woods was waning and she wondered if she was wasting police time – phoning about a missing cat when they would have many other more important crimes to solve. When it was finally her turn, she began with an apology. ‘I’m sorry, this is probably nothing, but my cat is missing. I saw the news report about the animals found in Coleshaw Woods and was given this number to phone.’
‘Yes, your name please,’ the officer said with resignation.
‘Emily King.’
‘And your address and telephone number? We’re keeping details of all those who’ve phoned in.’
‘So others have contacted you with missing pets?’
‘Yes, hundreds,’ he sighed. ‘From all over the country.’
She gave him her contact details.
‘And a description of your cat please, although I should say we won’t be able to match owners to their pets.’
‘So they are definitely pets?’ Emily asked.
‘It seems likely.’
‘They haven’t come from a lab?’
‘No. Would you like to leave a description of your cat?’ he asked, a little impatiently.
‘Yes. Sorry. She was four years old, a brown tabby, spayed. She used to wear a collar with my mobile phone number on, but that was returned to me.’
‘So why do you think your cat might be among those in Coleshaw Woods?’
‘She’s vanished without trace. Were any of the cats microchipped? Tibs was.’
‘We believe some were, yes.’
Her heart missed a beat. ‘Have you contacted the owners?’
‘No. The microchips were cut out from the animals.’
‘What?’ she gasped. ‘Cut out? Why?’
‘Presumably to stop identification.’
‘Oh my God. That’s horrible.’ She thought she was going to be sick. ‘So I’ll never know if Tibs was one of them?’
‘It’s unlikely.’
She took a deep breath. ‘How long had they been dead?’
‘Varying lengths of time, but some quite recent. I’ve noted your details and someone will be in touch if we have any news. But, as I said, it’s unlikely we will be able to match the animals to their owners.’
‘Has anyone else had their pet’s collar returned to them?’ Emily asked.
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘So perhaps Tibs isn’t among them.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s impossible for me to say.’ And with a polite goodbye he ended the call.
Emily told herself that Tibs wasn’t one of the cats dumped in Coleshaw Woods, for the alternative – that she had died as part of a sadistic ritual and her microchip had been cut out – was too awful to contemplate. No, Tibs was dead, probably run over when her collar had become detached, as Ben had said.
That night, she put Tibs’ food bowl and bed in a bag in the garage where they stored items they no longer needed but couldn’t bear to get rid of.
Generally, Emily was enjoying her extended maternity leave, she thought, although it was essential to get out of the house with Robbie each day, otherwise he grew fractious and she developed cabin fever. Even now winter was setting in, she wrapped him up warm and they went out. The fresh air, exercise and change of scenery did them both good. Sometimes she met up with friends, other times, if the weather was fine, she took Robbie to the local playground, where he chuckled loudly as she pushed him in the baby swings and enjoyed playing on the apparatus for very young children.
Christmas was only three weeks away and Emily was also visiting the shops in the high street more to buy gifts. She was looking forward to Christmas but with a little trepidation as this would be the first time she was hosting Christmas dinner for both sets of parents. She wanted it to be perfect: the table laid with the festive linen tablecloth she’d bought, silver pine place mats, matching table centrepiece, turkey with all the trimmings. It was a huge operation and she had numerous lists of what to buy and when. She and Ben were also throwing a drinks party for their friends the Saturday before Christmas – homemade canapés, sweet mince pies and mulled wine. It would be their best Christmas ever!
Returning from the high street with yet more shopping, the pushchair was loaded with bags. They’d been to the park first and Robbie was exhausted and reasonably happy to sit in his pushchair rather than wanting to walk, which took forever. Emily turned into their road and glanced at the houses they passed. Like theirs, most of the houses in the street were decorated ready for Christmas, many with a Christmas tree in their front room window, festooned with baubles and fairy lights. Some had really gone to town – even over the top – with model reindeer, Santas on sleighs and illuminated snow scenes in their front gardens. Sometimes, less was more, Emily thought as she continued looking at the houses.
It had come as no surprise that the Burmans’ house wasn’t showing any signs of the festive season. It was possible they didn’t celebrate Christmas, Emily acknowledged, although it seemed more likely they just didn’t want to. She doubted Dr Burman had any Christmas spirit in him – definitely a bah-humbug type of person. Dour and sour. And, of course, Alisha, being ill, couldn’t make the effort by herself. Emily hadn’t seen Alisha since her fifteen-minute visit and had only caught glimpses of the doctor going in and out of his house and shed. She thought Alisha might have been a very different person without him, but then again she was ill and he seemed to take care of her, so she shouldn’t really criticize.
As she passed their house, she automatically glanced