Technically, it was a degree or two warmer, but by the time the spine-chilling rain had dribbled through people’s clothes, it didn’t feel like it. Andrew left his car engine idling, the windscreen wipers squeaking back and forth in a losing battle against the elements. Jenny had spent the journey in the passenger seat sorting through her notes. It took her a few moments to realise the vehicle had stopped. She flicked her glasses off and plopped the cardboard file on the back seat. ‘Are we here?’ she asked. ‘That’s why the car’s not moving.’ ‘Did you make contact with—?’ ‘Yes but I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow, so that means today is—’ ‘Cat day. You’re just annoyed because you’re a dog person who’s scared of cats.’ ‘I’m not scared of cats.’ ‘Pfft. Why are we here?’ ‘I got a call from someone named Pam Harris last night,’ Andrew explained. ‘She owns the Bengal queen cats that Margaret Watkins’ studs were supposed to be mating with.
