Authors: Peter Lovesey
I was in two minds whether to follow. Something of interest had been handed across and I strongly suspected it had a bearing on
our investigation. But you can’t be in two places at once and my main quarry was still here.
City break man didn’t remain long. Perhaps a minute after the woman had left, he got up. He hadn’t finished his beer, but he was off. Mission accomplished, it appeared.
I shielded my face with the menu. I’m sure he didn’t see who I was.
And just for a moment I was tempted to let him walk away to God knows where, just as the woman had. Inside I was as twitchy as a daddy-long-legs at a window.
Somehow, I found the courage to take up the pursuit.
Outside, it was getting darker. The cars had their headlights on. Hardly anyone was about. Sensible people were at home, getting supper. We were coming to a section of town where the shops had metal grilles in front of the windows. All my new-found confidence drained. I was your typical nervous woman thinking each shop doorway concealed a rapist or a mugger. Cursing the giveaway clicking of my heels, I stayed close to the kerb feeling less and less committed to this crazy quest.
But it was soon over. City break man turned right, crossed a kids’ play area and entered what looked like a council tower block. I looked to see how many floors there were. There must have been at least two hundred flats in the building.
I needed to know where he was going.
I pushed at the swing door and followed him.
He’d already started up a foul-smelling staircase covered in graffiti. I could hear his steps, so I followed him, counting the floors. At the fifth, I hesitated at the swing door he’d just gone through. It was still moving back and forth. Fortunately it had a square of glass and I spotted him halfway along the corridor using a key to let himself into one of the flats. I waited for him to close the door before I crept forward and checked the number.
With that, I don’t mind telling you, I’d reached the limit of my sleuthing for one evening.
15
W
hen I got home there were anxious messages on the answer-phone from my two so-called sleuthing buddies. I was to call Anita however late it was (‘Wake me up if necessary and give me a rollicking’). But Vicky’s message was more of an apology. She said she’d felt terrible about leaving me to cope on my own, and she hoped I understood that Anita had been in such a state that she needed shepherding out of the shop.
I called Vicky first. Actually I was home before ten, which I thought was a reasonable hour to touch base.
Her voice was strained. No joy that I survived. No curiosity about what happened. Just: ‘It’s not the best time. May I call you back?’
‘Any time,’ I told her, ‘I’ll speak to Anita.’
She’s a puzzle, that Vicky.
Anita was totally different, firing at least six questions at me before I could get a word in.
I gave her the gist of what my mission had uncovered: the council flat in the ugly tower block off the main road out of the city.
She asked me, ‘Was his name on the door?’
‘God, no. Just rusty old numbers. 513.’
‘Do you think he really lives there? Could he be leading a double life?’ The council flat existence conflicted with Anita’s image of city break man as a big-time villain.
‘How would I know? All I did was follow him there.’
‘And the woman he met in the pub? What was all that about?’
‘You tell me.’
‘She was a classy dame, you said?’
‘Smartly dressed, for sure.’
‘But they didn’t act like lovers?’
‘No, it looked strictly business. They obviously knew each other, but there was no embrace, no smiles even. He handed her something in an envelope and she left immediately.’
‘What size envelope?’
‘Standard A4, I think.’
‘Not large enough for drugs?’
‘Probably not. It wasn’t padded.’
Anita went, ‘She’s in on the scam. We’ve got to investigate her as well.’
I was firm with her. ‘One’s enough to be going on with. Let’s concentrate on him.’
‘All right. Now we know he lives in council property we can find out his real name. There must be lists of tenants.’
‘I expect he told the council he’s John Smith, like he told you. Maybe he really is John Smith.’
‘So? The name may not be so important, but we can check. One of my clients works in the council offices. She’ll help.’
Her enthusiasm lifted my spirits, weary as my legs were from trailing after city break man, or John Smith, or whoever he might be. ‘I’m wondering what he handed the woman in the pub.’
‘Blackmail money?’
‘I doubt it. Where would he get enough to pay her off as well as funding all his trips abroad?’
And she was like, ‘What’s your theory, then, wiseguy?’
‘He’s a private detective and she’s hired him to find out about her husband’s trips abroad. The envelope contained his latest report.’
‘That’s good, that’s very good, but wouldn’t she want to hear it from him rather than reading it later? I know I would.’
‘Maybe she’s just the messenger and the report is for someone else.’
‘That’s better, but if he’s in work as a detective what’s he doing drawing benefits and living in a council flat?’
‘Amateur detective.’
She screamed with laughter. ‘What – Lord Peter Wimsey? Miss Marple? You’ve got to be joking.’
‘Actually, I was – I think.’
‘Listen, my flower. Let’s sleep on this and meet up tomorrow and plan our next move. Have you spoken to Vicky yet?’
‘She said she’d call me back.’
‘She’s pleased you’re okay, I bet.’
‘She didn’t actually say. I caught her at a bad moment, I think.’
‘Poor lamb. It’s that husband. He’s a drag.’
‘Really? Have you met him?’
‘No, but I pick up on things she says. I think he’s out of work and he takes it out on her.’
‘Knocks her around, you mean?’
‘Hard to tell. She’s not going to boast about it, is she? Sometimes living with a deadbeat is punishment enough. You and I should count our blessings.’
‘Being single?’
‘Give me a world without men. No beer, no football, just fat, cheerful women.’
We ended the call. Tired as I was after traipsing round the streets, I didn’t like to go to sleep in case Vicky called. I spent the next hour writing this blog, getting up to date, which is where you are now. It’s almost midnight and she hasn’t called. I know if I go to bed I’ll lie awake thinking about this quest of ours and whether deep down I really want to go on with it.
Good thing I have a hands-free phone in my van because the others always seem to ring me when I’m on the road. This morning I was halfway to the shop when Vicky called.
‘So sorry about last night. I was waiting for a call from Tim. He’d be suspicious if I was talking to someone else. He was out until late. By the time he got through, it was too late to call you.’
Another piece of the jigsaw that is Vicky’s marriage.
‘But I’m dying to know how you got on.’ Her voice was more chirpy now.
Without enquiring any more into Tim’s night life, I gave her my story, adding Anita’s take on it all.
‘You did brilliantly,’ she went. ‘I’m sorry you were left to go it alone. We’re not very professional as investigators, are we?’
‘We couldn’t all three of us have gone trailing after him. You were right to spirit Anita away. He would have recognized her from the travel agency and we’d have had awkward questions to answer.’
‘He’ll recognize you now as the bird he met outside the store.’
‘The jumpy bird who nearly had a fit when he spoke.’
‘Who can blame you? I’d have died of shock.’
‘You realize what this means?’ I went. ‘He knows Anita and he knows me now. If there’s any more tailing to be done, it’s got to be you.’
‘I’m up for it,’ she went at once. ‘Tell you something, Ishy. This has really given me a fantastic boost. When I’m feeling down at work or at home I only have to think about the sleuthing sisters and I’m raring to go again.’
After that, how could I say I was having second thoughts about the whole shenanigans?
Mid-morning came a call from Anita. Yes, I was in the van again, on my way back from delivering a dozen red roses to a house in the Royal Crescent. The old lady who opened the door had got quite chirpy, clearly thinking they were from an admirer. Then she looked at the card and found her daughter was the sender. She’d forgotten it was her birthday. I’m glad the daughter wasn’t there to hear what she said, ungrateful old bat.
Back to Anita. ‘Guess where I am, poppet.’
‘Obviously not where you ought to be.’
‘Too true. London Airport.’
‘Heathrow? Are you off somewhere nice?’
‘No such luck. I’m on patrol.’
‘On what?’
‘Sleuthing – for us, the sisters.’
‘At the airport?’
‘The BA check-in. City break man should be here any minute for his flight to Amsterdam. After what you saw last night I put two and two together and here I am.’
‘I don’t understand why.’
‘Tell you later. I’ve made an arrangement with the check-in staff. Told them who I am and who I work for and said we made a boo-boo and forgot to include the hotel voucher in his travel-pack. When Mr. John Smith, bound for Amsterdam, turns up, they’ll give me a wave and I’ll go over.’
‘What will that achieve?’
‘At the very least, I’ll know he really is making these trips to Europe.’
‘Is there any doubt?’
‘In my suspicious mind, yes.’
‘Isn’t there a flaw here? If he’s travelling light he doesn’t need to check in. He can get his boarding pass from one of those self-ticketing machines and go straight to the departure gate.’
‘That’s where I’m smart. I asked the BA girls to put a stop on his ticket so he has to report to the desk and I don’t miss him.’
‘Did you really forget the hotel voucher?’
‘No, he’s got it, but you know what people are like when they’re travelling, all luggage and loose bowels. He’ll have no difficulty believing something is missing. I’ve got a duplicate voucher I can hand over.’
‘I must be dense, Anita. I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.’
‘All will shortly become clear, darling, as the parachute instructor said when he pushed the first-timer out of the plane.’ And with that she rang off.
She sounded hyper, I was thinking as I continued my journey. Is she really a good person to link up with? Up to now our little game hasn’t inconvenienced anyone else. From now on it’s less of a game. She’s fun to be with while it stays like that, but do I want her involving me in the serious stuff?
I felt like the first-time parachutist.
We met later for a cheap pizza. Food has to come first – for two of us, anyway. Anita had returned from Heathrow and was practically hopping up and down, so eager to tell her tale. We didn’t exactly gag her, but Vicky insisted we ordered before chatting and I agreed.
It was nice to see Vicky smiling, blissfully unaware of the lads at the next table giving her the eye.
We placed our order and hand over to Anita.
By now she was bursting to tell us. ‘After last night, when Ishy saw city break man meet in the pub with the smart bird and hand her something in an envelope, I got to thinking was it drugs, blackmail, or what? Ish had a thought he might be a detective handing over his report on the lady’s cheating husband.’
‘Nice one,’ Vicky went, with a nod to me.
Anita raised her finger. ‘But listen to this. When I thought about it later in bed I came up with an even better theory. What if the envelope contained the ticket to Amsterdam he’d bought from my agency?’
I was like, ‘Why would he give the ticket away?’
‘It was never meant for him. Someone else was going to fly out in John Smith’s place.’
‘The woman?’
‘No. She was only the go-between, his p.a. or something. She couldn’t pose as John Smith, but a guy with a forged passport might.’
‘Why?’ Vicky asked.
‘Because he’s up to something.’
Vicky gasped ‘Terrorism?’
Anita shrugged. ‘Could be. Definitely something illegal.’
I exchanged a look with Vicky. Both of us were shocked. The game is turning far too serious.
Anita steamed on, ‘So I’m keyed up, ready for anything. Time goes by and most of the Amsterdam passengers have checked in. Finally one of the BA girls gives me a wave. I can see the back of the man at her desk and sure enough he’s got a carry-on case and nothing to check, so he must have tried to use the self-ticketing. But get this, girls. He isn’t the guy we know as city break man.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Of course.’
‘What did you do?’
‘You’re going to be so proud of me. I took a couple of photos of him with my mobile while he was busy demanding his boarding pass. He had no idea I was doing it. Is that cool?’
‘Polar cool.’
‘Then I went up to the desk and spoke to him. I had a choice, didn’t I? Challenge him and say he wasn’t the geezer I knew from the travel agency or play along as if I didn’t know, like someone had sent me. That’s what I did. I asked if he was John Smith and he nodded, bloody liar.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Better looking for a start. About the same age and build, but definitely a cut above our guy. Brown, intelligent eyes, whitened teeth, dark hair smoothed back. He was wearing casual clothes anyone could tell were expensive. Well, you can see the pictures I took.’
She showed us her mobile. The image was tiny, of course, but sharp considering how it had been taken. Her summing-up of his appearance was spot on. I gave it a close look.
And Vicky was like, ‘Did he speak?’
‘Sure. He glanced at the voucher and thanked me, smooth as you like.’
‘Any accent?’
‘Plummy, like the voice-overs for Famous Grouse. It was all over very fast. He pocketed the voucher, took his boarding pass from the BA girl and was away. I gave him a few seconds and then followed him up to the departure gate. I watched him go through. He’ll be in Amsterdam by now.’
‘If he didn’t hi-jack the plane,’ Vicky went.
‘We’d have heard.’