by Adele Abbott
“I believe you used to work at her bakery until recently?”
“That’s right. In dispatch.”
“Why were you dismissed?”
He shrugged. “You tell me.”
“They must have given you a reason.”
“Mrs Christy just said business was bad.”
“No other reason?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Weren’t you angry to get finished like that?”
“I was at first, but not now. It was just the boot up the backside I needed. I’m going to university to take a degree in English Lit. I start the month after next.”
“Quite a change of direction.”
“I should have gone to uni straight from school, but I was in a relationship and we’d planned on getting married. I needed to bring in a wage.”
“What happened?”
“It didn’t work out. She went off with the fish man.”
“Who?” Was the Fish Man another kind of sup I hadn’t encountered before?
“The man who delivered the fish door-to-door. Chloe had a thing for mackerel.”
Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face and resist all fish-related jokes. Well almost. “So you’re stuck in this plaice?” Come on. I’m allowed one.
“Until term begins.”
“Do you still see Gary or any of the others from the bakery?”
“No. I’ve been too busy preparing for my course. There’s a lot of reading to do.”
“Costly business going to university. What with the books and everything.”
He picked at a nail, and bit his bottom lip. “I guess.”
Something told me I’d struck a nerve, but even though I pressed, I didn’t get any more meaningful information out of him.
“Good luck with the degree,” I said, as I left.
I still couldn’t work out why Eddie Lingard had been dismissed. Beryl Christy had refused to elaborate, and he had been far from forthcoming. And how on earth was he funding his degree course?
***
“Your grandmother called in earlier,” Mrs V said, as I walked into the office.
“What did she want?”
“She left this.” Mrs V handed me a white envelope which had Kathy’s name scrawled on the front. “She wants you to give it to your sister because she doesn’t have her address. It’s confirmation about her new job.”
“Okay, thanks.” I tucked it into my pocket. Maybe if I lost it, accidentally on purpose, Kathy would forget about the job. She had been very drunk the previous night.
“That cat is at it again.” Mrs V gestured to my office.
“What’s he done this time?”
“He’s got one of the windows open.”
“He hasn’t got out again, has he?”
Some time back, Winky had made his escape through one of the windows when it had been left open by the man who’d come to repair my desk.
“No. He’s sitting on the window ledge. It’s freezing in there.”
Sure enough, Winky was sitting out on the ledge, but that wasn’t the whole story.
“What are you doing out there?” I said, as I made my way over to the window.
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re twiddling around with a phone.”
“I thought I was meant to be the one with poor eye sight.” He glared at me with his one good eye. “Does this look like a phone?”
He held it out towards me for closer inspection.
“I guess not. What is it?”
“It’s a remote control, and for your information, I was not twiddling around. This is a precision operation.”
“What is?”
Winky sighed a ‘humans are so stupid’ sigh, and then pointed with his paw. “There!”
I stared out of the window. “What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”
He sighed an even deeper sigh. I’d obviously surpassed his expectations of human stupidity. “The helicopter!”
“Huh?”
“You know. It’s like a plane but with—”
“I know what a helicopter is.” Then I spotted it. A small blue helicopter was winging its way towards the building opposite, where Bella, the feline supermodel lived. In the distance I could see her sitting next to an open window.
“You have a helicopter,” I said.
“Well spotted.”
“How?”
“I feel the physics of helicopter flight are a little beyond you.”
“I didn’t mean how does it fly. I mean—err—I don’t know what I mean.”
“When you took me over to Bella’s place, she and I decided that we should take our relationship to the next level.”
“Which is?”
“Communicating via helicopter.”
So, the Romeo and Juliet of the feline world had progressed from semaphore to remote control aircraft.
Across the way, Bella unclipped a small note, which had been attached to one of the helicopter’s skis. She then scribbled her reply and attached it. Once Winky had seen her give the ‘thumb’s up’, he manoeuvred the chopper back to our building, and landed it perfectly on the window ledge beside him. He tore off the paper, read it, and gave Bella a huge smile.
“What does it say?” I said, trying to get a look at the note.
“Never you mind. Just because you don’t have a love life doesn’t mean you can share mine.”
“I wasn’t. I was just—can I have a go with the helicopter?”
“Do you have a pilot’s licence?”
“It’s only a toy.”
He looked affronted. “Toy? I’ll have you know this is a precision piece of aerodynamic engineering.”
“So? Can I have a go?”
“Twenty pounds for fifteen minutes.”
***
I gave Kathy a call.
“Jill?” She sounded terrible.
“Where are you?” I said.
“On my way back home. I feel like death.”
“It’s your own fault.”
“I knew I could rely on you for sympathy. What did Pete say when you told him I wasn’t going home last night?”
“He sounded fine,” I lied. “He said as long as you were having a good time, he didn’t mind.”
“Really?”
“No. He said you were a terrible mother and wife. And then he blamed me.”
“That’s good. If he thinks it’s your fault, he might take it easy on me.”
“It wasn’t my fault. You and the twins went crazy. Talking of which, where are they?”
“They left just before I did. They said to tell you sorry about the microwave.”
“Sorry? Microwave? What have they done to it?”
“Got to go. Pete’s standing in the doorway. He doesn’t look very happy.”
“I hope he divorces you!”
She’d already hung up.
What had the twins done this time? It had taken me ages to clear up after their last overnight stay. I prayed they hadn’t set the microwave on fire—I’d never get rid of the smell.
After she’d hung up, it occurred to me that Kathy had never mentioned the job. Maybe she’d forgotten or thought it was a dream. Maybe, just maybe, if I forgot to deliver Grandma’s letter, Kathy would never remember. Could I really do such a cruel thing to my sister? You bet your bottom dollar I could.
Chapter 16
I’d just stepped out of my office building onto the street when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.
“Mr Armitage.” I managed a half-hearted smile.
“You really must call me Gordon.”
“I’m in rather a hurry, Gordon.”
“I won’t keep you. I was wondering if you’d had the chance to give any further thought to my proposal.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“And the answer is still no. You’ll have to find alternative offices.”
“I could make it worth your while.”
“Look, Gordon. Like I told you before, my father started the business in these offices. I have a sentimental attachment—”
“There’s no room for sentiment in business, Jill.”
“The answer is still no.” I took a step to one side.
“What’s that?”
I followed his gaze up the side of the building.
“What?” I played dumb.
“That blue thing. It looks like—it looks like a small helicopter.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“There! It’s flying towards your office window. Look! You must see it now.”
Just then, Winky’s helicopter disappeared through the window.
“No, I didn’t see anything. You must be imagining things. Got to rush.”
***
Diamond Property Management was on the eighth floor. And the lift wasn’t working.
“Hi.” I managed while trying to catch my breath.
“How can I help you?” The receptionist, a vision in grey and pink, looked like she could take the seven flights of stairs without breaking sweat. I already hated her.
“I’m a private investigator.” I was still gasping for air.
Patricia Daily—her name was on her badge—looked suitably unimpressed.
“I’m investigating the murder at Tregar Court. I’d like to see the records for the occupants of that building.”
“Are you the police?”
“No, but I—”
“Then, I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. The going is much easier on the way down.”
“Is there someone else I could speak to? Your boss?”
“No. The exit is behind you.” She pointed a finger in the direction from which I’d just staggered.
Not friendly. Not friendly at all.
Back on the stairs, I looked through the small glass pane in the door. Patricia Daily had a huge grin on her face. Not for long though. I’d got much better at the ‘rain’ spell since I’d started using it to water my bedding plants. It was so much easier than having to unravel the hosepipe and trail it all around the garden.
I manoeuvred the rain cloud as it moved closer and closer to the desk where an unsuspecting Ms Daily sat. When I was sure it was directly over her, I made it rain. And boy, did it rain. Within the space of no more than a few seconds, the grin had been well and truly washed off Ms Daily’s face. Her cutesy bob now clung to her face. Her waterproof make-up had proved to be less than effective, and her clothes were saturated.
I dodged behind the door just before she came rushing out and flew down the stairs. After cancelling the spell, I walked past the reception desk and down a short corridor with doors on either side. I heard a handle turn, and immediately cast the ‘invisible’ spell. A middle-aged man, with a bad taste in ties, popped his head out of his office.
“Patricia? Are you alright?”
He’d obviously heard the receptionist’s screams.
“Patricia?”
His concern didn’t stretch as far as actually walking along the corridor to see if she was okay. Instead he just shook his head, and disappeared back into his office. It was good to know that the caring society was alive and well in Washbridge.
Fortunately for me, every door along the corridor had a small glass panel in it. Three of the rooms were occupied, but the last one I came to was empty. The name on the door was Samantha Brown. The computer on her desk was turned on, but as soon as I touched the mouse, a dialog box appeared asking for a password. I glanced around the desk just in case Samantha had conveniently left a Post-it note with the password on it. No such luck. Apart from the computer, the only thing on the desk was a photograph in a frame. The woman in the picture, who I assumed to be the absent Samantha Brown, was tall with unruly blonde hair. Next to her stood a much shorter man, and between them a pretty young girl about the same age as Lizzie. I tried a few obvious passwords, but none of them worked. I began to rifle through her drawers in search of any clues to the password when I heard footsteps in the corridor.
“Samantha?” It was the man who’d shown only fleeting concern for his receptionist. “I thought you were on holiday?”
The invisibility had worn off, but fortunately I managed to cast the ‘doppelganger’ spell just before he set foot in the door. From his point of view, I now looked and sounded like his colleague.
“We’re leaving later today,” I said. “There were a few things I needed to finish.”
“Really?” The puzzled look on his face told me that Samantha Brown was not normally the kind of person who’d show up to work during her vacation.
“I had to call in town to buy a new case anyway,” I said.
“I thought you were going hiking?”
Whoops. She didn’t look like the hiking type. I’d had her down as a sun worshipper who preferred to laze beside the pool.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” I stuttered. “A rucksack. The strap on the old one broke last night.”
“Oh, okay. Well enjoy your holiday.”
I waited until I heard his door close, and then resumed my search of the desk. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer was an old diary. On the inside back cover was an eight digit sequence of characters and letters. It was worth a try.
Bingo!
Once I’d logged on, I soon found the menu for the property management system. From there, it was remarkably easy to bring up all of the records for Tregar Court—everything from the resident’s personal details through to their payment record. As I’d suspected, Jason Allan wasn’t paying the rent on his apartment. But I now knew who was.
I managed to get out of the office and back to the stairs without anyone seeing me. I bumped into Patricia Daily on the sixth floor.
“Is it raining out?” I said, and almost managed to keep a straight face.
She mumbled something about the sprinkler system as she pushed past me.
***
I rushed straight over to Tregar Court.
“Can I come in?” I said.
“I’m busy.” Jason Allan had the door on a chain again.
“Please. This won’t take a minute.”
He sighed, but undid the chain and pulled open the door.
“I’ve told you everything I know,” he said, once we were in the kitchen.
“How do you manage to pay the rent on this place, Jason?”
He shrugged, and then took a drink from a milk carton. The white moustache was a little off-putting, but I persevered.
“You don’t pay it, do you?”
He shrugged again, finished the milk, and dumped the carton into an already overflowing bin. “What’s it got to do with you?”
“I’m trying to find out who murdered the man in the lift.”
“What’s that got to do with my rent?”
“The man on the third floor; the man who was murdered in the lift—he was the one paying your rent. Now would you like to explain to me why he would do that?”
Jason grabbed a hold of the breakfast bar, and for a moment I thought his legs were going to give way.
“What are you talking about?” All the blood had drained from his face.
“The man who was murdered, Alan Dennis, had been paying your rent ever since you moved in. Are you going to deny that?”
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t speak at all. Instead he struggled onto one of the stools next to the breakfast bar. He was as white as a sheet.
“Why would he do that?” His voice was barely audible.
“I think you already know.”
“I have no idea!” He shouted, having found his voice again. “I don’t understand.”
“You might as well tell me. The police will find out soon enough and they—”
“I’ve already told you. I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t even a tiny bit curious who was paying it?”
“Of course I was, but the lawyer who contacted me about moving to Tregar said that it was a condition of the tenancy tha
t I could never know who made the payments.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“You seriously expect me to believe that you didn’t know it was your father who was paying your rent?”
He stared at me for the longest moment. “Who?”
“Your father.”
“But you said it was the man on the third floor. The man who was murdered.”
“Alan Dennis was your father. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
He didn’t have to. He didn’t have to say a word. No one could have put on that kind of performance. Jason Allan could barely speak, and he looked ill.
I hung around in the hope that he might recover enough for me to ask him some more questions, but it soon became obvious that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He was in an almost catatonic state. After twenty minutes, I let myself out.
***
I asked for Jack Maxwell at the front desk of the police station. Ten minutes later, Sushi and her curly blonde hair appeared.
“I want to speak to Jack.”
“Come with me.” She led me to the familiar interview room.
“I need a word with Jack,” I said again once we were alone.
“I’ve told you. I’m now your contact. Anything you have to say or report must come through me.”
“It’s about the Tregar case.”
“What about it?”
“I’d prefer to speak to—”
“Jill.” Jack Maxwell walked into the room. “Someone said you were here.”
“I did ask for you.”
He glanced at Sushi who shrugged. “I’ve told Ms Gooder that I’m her point of contact now, but she can’t seem to get that through her thick head.”
For the briefest of moments, I thought I saw a look of anger on Maxwell’s face, but then it was gone.
“Susan is now on my team,” he said. “She should be able to help you with anything you need.”
“Really?” I took two steps closer to him. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s just stonewalling me. I thought we’d agreed—”
Sushi stepped in between me and Maxwell, like a she-cat claiming her mate. “I’ve already told Ms Gooder that we don’t need her trampling all over police business.”
