The Ho Ho Ho Mystery (7 page)

I
‘d like to say that that’s why I didn’t notice there was someone else in the room as any other reason would reflect badly on my detecting abilities, powers of observation and legendary senses that number above the fifth one. In truth, the room was dark, the curtains were closed, I was so relieved to be home I never thought to turn on the light and the intruder was exceptionally quiet. Until a dark voice said, ‘Mr Pigg, about time; I’ve been waiting quite a while for your return,’ I’d have probably gone straight to bed without any idea there was anyone other than me in the apartment.

With a kind of resigned how-much-worse-can-this-day-get groan, I turned in the direction of the voice. In the gloom I could dimly make out a shape sitting in my favourite chair. From what I could see, whoever it was was slightly taller than me and was either wearing the biggest turban I’d ever seen
or was sporting an afro the size of a hedge. He looked like a giant microphone. Then again, maybe I was just imagining it; I was certainly tired enough. ‘Who the hell are you, and why are you sitting in my comfy chair?’

He gave the typical stranger in the apartment reply, ‘My name is not important,’ and followed it, after a brief pause with, ‘and it looked like the most comfortable of your chairs.’ He shifted from side to side. ‘I suffer terribly from piles.’

‘Gee, you have my sympathy; now I’ll ask you again, what are you doing here?’ I’d had a rough few days, was tired, in need of a shower and looking forward to a good night’s sleep; compassion wasn’t high on my current priority list – not even for someone with haemorrhoids.

I didn’t even care if he had a gun, although I couldn’t actually see if he was armed or not. At this stage I just wanted to lie down. In fact, being shot might not be the worst thing that could happen to me just now – at least I wouldn’t have to worry about being flung out of vehicles in mid-air any more. I collapsed on to my sofa. I was too far gone to be concerned.

‘Close the door on your way out, will you, my good man? And if you intend to search my apartment, can you do it quietly although you won’t find anything; I keep all my files in my office.’

‘Relax, Mr Pigg. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I may be able to help you in your current case.’

‘Which one?’ I mumbled. ‘At the moment, they’re piling up like dirty plates in Stiltskin’s kitchen.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ said microphone man. ‘But I’m referring to the case of the missing Santa.’

Tiredness rolled off me. Suddenly I was interested. ‘What about Santa? What do you know?’

‘Patience, patience. All in good time.’

‘Look, if you don’t mind I could really dispense with the game playing. It’s late, I’m tired, you’re in my flat uninvited and I don’t have time for this nonsense. If you’ve got something to say, say it now and go.’

‘Very well, here’s what I have to say – and please forgive the nature of my statement. For reasons that I cannot disclose, it must inevitably be of a somewhat cryptic nature.’

I rolled my eyes, someone else speaking in riddles. Great. ‘Go on and then get out.’

‘If you need to find Santa then be aware that time is of the essence in this case,’ the intruder declaimed.

To be quite honest, I was expecting something a bit less obvious and a bit more helpful. ‘Is that it?’ I said. ‘You broke into my apartment to tell me I needed to get a move on? Tell me something I don’t know; something that might actually be of some help. I don’t need you to tell me that tomorrow’s Christmas Eve; I’m already painfully aware of that, thank you very much.’ I wasn’t tired any more – apart from tired of this idiot in my living room.

The intruder stood up. ‘No you misunderstand;
time
is of the essence here.’ This time he emphasised the word ‘time’. It didn’t really matter, it was still nonsense.

‘OK, that’s it. You’re out of here now. If I need idiotic, pointless statements of the obvious I’ll visit a psychic.’ I pointed at the door.

‘Please, Mr Pigg, I cannot say more. Think about this conversation after you have had some rest. It may make more sense then.’ The intruder headed to the door. ‘Remember, the future of Christmas is at stake here.’

Really? I hadn’t been aware of that either. It was good of him to continue to point these things out, otherwise I might have missed them. I was tired of this. ‘Just go.’

‘Very well, but consider carefully what I’ve said.’ He walked out and closed the door behind him. He had to turn sideways to fit through.

Time is of the essence, hah! I fell back on the sofa as tiredness made a sneak attack on my recent burst of energy and forced it into an inglorious retreat. Just as I was dropping off, I had the nagging sense that there was something familiar about the intruder’s voice – or maybe it was just my imagination. I didn’t care any more, I just wanted my bed. Struggling to my feet, I stumbled into the bedroom. At first I was so tired I didn’t even notice the low rumbling noise that greeted me when I entered. The aroma in the room, however, jolted me to my senses like a dose of smelling salts had been wafted under my nose.

Had something died in here while I was away, I wondered – and where was that rumbling noise coming from? It sounded like an avalanche was cascading towards me from somewhere. I shook my head to wake myself up and told myself to get a grip. Whatever it was, it was no avalanche.

Through the dim light from the window I could make out a large shape lying on my bed. Further investigation determined that the rumbling noise was emanating from whatever it was. Cautiously I crept towards the bed. As I neared it, the vile smell grew more intense and, accompanying the rumbling noise, I could hear a rhythmic frrppp, frrppp.

All trace of fear evaporated and annoyance took its place. The mysterious noise was the sound of the ex-genie snoring loudly and the other noise was … well, I think you can work it out for yourself.

Some thirty minutes later I’d learned something else about my temporary lodger: it was impossible to wake him up when he went to sleep. I’d pulled at him, kicked him, shouted at him, poured cold water on his head, threatened him, pulled all the covers off him and the best I could get from him was a mumbled ‘G’way, I’m tired.’

Eventually, frustrated, angry and still very, very tired I went back to my living room and fell into a dreamless slumber on the sofa. Ah bliss; sleep at last – or at least it was until I was awakened almost immediately by a loud banging at my door. This was really turning out to be one of those
days – and nights. Now I wasn’t even being let have a decent night’s sleep.

‘Go away,’ I muttered, pulling a cushion over my head. It was no use; I could still hear the banging – which seemed to have gotten louder. Whoever it was, they really wanted to see me.

‘Call at my office,’ I shouted. ‘I should be there by nine.’ Or probably much later, if I didn’t get any sleep.

Strangely, I was too tired to be scared – or maybe it was just that I was all scared out by events over the past twenty-four hours. Either way, the knocking at the door didn’t bother me unduly. It could have been an abominable snowman outside and I wouldn’t have been too concerned; I just needed my sleep and no one (or nothing) was going to stop me. But the banging continued:
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Resigned to being awake at least for the foreseeable future, I rolled off the sofa, on to the floor and, eventually, got myself upright.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ I shouted, trying to be heard over the noise of the knocking. Reaching the door, I went to unlock it and then paused as I decided a bit of caution wouldn’t go amiss. ‘Who’s there? What do you want?’ I shouted, hoping I’d be heard over the battering noise that was now threatening to wake up not only everyone in the building but very probably everyone in the neighbourhood too. Although the neighbours were, by now, used to strange things happening in or around my apartment, they still
tended to frown upon being woken up in the middle of the night.

‘Open up, Harry, it’s me.’ Over the thumping I could just make out Mrs C’s voice.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ I roared. ‘I’d really like to get some sleep.’

‘But I’ve something important to tell you. I’ve found out who sold that jet-powered sleigh.’

Unlocking the door, I dragged Mrs C inside and pointed her at the sofa. As she sat down she sniffed the air. ‘What’s that awful smell? And where is that noise coming from?’

‘Trust me, you don’t want to know,’ I said as I sat facing her in my comfortable chair. ‘Now, tell me all about the sleigh.’

‘Right. I spoke to the guy who makes all our sleighs, Wenceslaus King. He’s been supplying us with high-quality vehicles for hundreds of years now. If anyone knows about these things, it’s him. I asked him about the jet-powered sleigh and after some huffing and puffing about new-fangled devices and how he wouldn’t have anything to do with them (he’s a bit of a traditionalist you know), he finally admitted that he knew of one company that manufactures them. Apparently they’re new on the market.’

‘You don’t say. Who would this high-tech sleigh company be?’

‘Well, apparently it’s called Sleigh Belles and is run by two very successful business women – hence the name.’

‘And do we have names for these queens of industry?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they’re called Holly and Ivy, and I’ve even got an address for them.’ She reached into her bag and extracted a folded piece of paper. ‘They have a hangar out at Grimmtown Airport and their offices are attached to it.’

‘We can go there first thing in the morning. But for now I’m going to try to get some sleep.’ I slumped down into my chair and rested my head on a cushion.

‘Why don’t you go to bed?’ Mrs C asked the obvious question, but it would take too long to explain.

‘Trust me, this is the best option just now,’ I said and closed my eyes once more.

It seemed like only minutes later that a strident ringing woke me up. Was I destined not to get any sleep tonight? To my surprise, when I opened my eyes it was daylight and, instead of Basili’s flatulence, I could smell freshly brewed coffee. What was going on? As I tried to wake up and get a grip on the situation a steaming mug was put on the table in front of me and a ringing telephone thrust into my trotter.

Blearily, I put the phone to my ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Pigg, it’s Crane. I have that analysis you were looking for.’ I looked at my watch, seven a.m.; wow, he was on the ball early.

‘And?’ I was still half asleep so my powers of speech were going to be a tad limited for a few more minutes.

‘We’ve done a preliminary investigation and it’s definitely not human.’ I wondered whether he was taking his glasses off and on while he spoke, but I refrained from asking. ‘I’d say it’s animal, probably horse but I’ll need to do a more detailed analysis to confirm.’

‘OK, so we have what could be horsehair, I’m with you so far. Any idea what the white powder is yet?’

‘That’s more interesting indeed. According to the analysis, the powder is some sort of resin.’

‘Resin? As in the stuff gymnasts and weightlifters use for better grip?’

‘The very same. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get this report to the investigating team.’ Before I could thank him, he’d hung up. Polite as ever.

I considered what Dr Crane had told me. What did all that mean? The thought of a horse on the parallel bars – even one as graceful as Black Beauty – or doing a clean and jerk with two hundred pounds of weights was so improbable that I dismissed it as highly unlikely in this particular case, although I have to confess I would have paid good money to see it. Resin, horsehair – that combination suggested something but I just couldn’t place what exactly it was. It hovered there in my subconscious just out of reach, taunting me. Well, it could wait, another more immediate mystery demanded investigation: who’d handed me the phone and, more importantly, where was the glorious coffee smell coming from?

Master detective that I was, I had the mystery solved in no time, helped in no small way by the fact that Mrs C was in my kitchenette, washing up what I suspected was a week’s worth of dirty dishes (I’m very busy, you know, and don’t always have enough time for the domestic duties. I’m usually very good around the house).

‘Have you been here all night?’ I asked her.

‘Well, there wasn’t much point in going home and then coming back in the morning was there?’ Mrs C said. ‘Anyway, this place needed a good cleaning. I don’t know how you manage to live in squalor like this.’

It wasn’t that bad. Sure, there were unwashed dishes in the sink and some underwear drying on the radiators, but I wouldn’t have described it as squalor – that was a bit harsh. On the other hand, my apartment was now gleaming. All exposed surfaces had been polished, the floor had been swept and there wasn’t any sign of my underwear anywhere. I hoped she’d put it away as opposed to thrown it away.

In fact, the apartment was now cleaner than when I first moved in.

‘Um, thanks, but you didn’t really have to.’

‘Yes, I did; besides it gave me something to do while you and your sidekick snored in stereo. I certainly wasn’t going to get much sleep with that racket.’

‘I don’t snore,’ I said indignantly.

‘Yes you do, just not as loudly as he does.’ She jerked her thumb at the bedroom. ‘Honestly, you were like a pair
of reindeer. Now get up and drink that coffee, we’ve work to do.’

I took a sip of my drink – even that was fabulous. It seemed almost a shame to drink it; I wanted to keep it forever and worship it first thing every morning.

‘Damn fine coffee.’ I raised the mug in tribute.

‘It should be: I’ve had over two hundred years of practice.’

I didn’t doubt it.

I tried to drink it slowly, savouring the moment but Mrs C was having none of it. ‘Come on, come on, we’re wasting time here. We need to get a move on or we’ll be late.’

I wanted to say, ‘Serves you right for making such good coffee’, but it came out as ‘Yes, ma’am, just one more sip.’ Don’t know how that happened!

Minutes later we were in my car and heading for the airport.