Witch is How The Tables Turned

by Adele Abbott

  “I assume that you and your brother are equal partners?”

  “Yes. We would both have to agree for something like that to happen.”

  “How did Reed take it?”

  “Not well, apparently.”

  “Apparently? Don’t you know?”

  “Theo was the one who dealt with him most of the time. He told me that Reed was really annoyed at the rebuff, and promised to put us out of business.”

  “But you personally didn’t hear Reed make any specific threats?”

  “No, like I said, Theo mainly dealt with him.”

  “You said there were two people who you thought might be involved in the kidnapping? Who was the other one?”

  “Billy Hawksworth—he used to work for us until we discovered he was doing jobs on the side—effectively, he was stealing our customers.”

  “So you sacked him?”

  “I wanted to give Billy another chance because he and his wife had just had their first baby. He was only doing it to try to make ends meet. Theo wouldn’t have it, though. He said we had to set an example so none of our other guys did the same thing.”

  “How did Billy react?”

  “How do you think? He said some nasty things before he left.”

  “Any threats?”

  “Yeah. He said we’d get ours.”

  “What did you take that to mean?”

  “I didn’t know. Probably nothing. But Billy is a tough guy; not someone you’d want to mess with.”

  “Anyone else you can think of who might hold some kind of grudge against Theo. Or you?”

  “No. No one.”

  ***

  As I had a couple of hours before I was due to meet with the dayshift manager at Chambers Precision Plastics, I magicked myself down to London to see Mad’s partner, Simon Lister.

  The offices were located on a side street, just off Victoria Street. The receptionist phoned Simon, who appeared five minutes later, all smiles and bouffant hair.

  “Jill, I’m pleased to meet you. Shall we go through to one of the interview rooms?”

  “Sure, lead the way.”

  The anonymous room was blandness personified: magnolia walls and ceiling, a grey carpet and white table and chairs.

  “Aubrey told me you’d be popping in today. I’m sorry I wasn’t here last week; I was in Gran Canaria.”

  “I assume he told you why I wanted to see you?”

  “I understand you’re concerned about Mad.”

  “She seems to have disappeared.”

  “She can be quite impulsive. Isn’t it possible she’s jetted off on holiday somewhere?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve spoken to her flatmate; she said she and Mad had arranged a trip to Southend the weekend after she disappeared.”

  “Southend? Not very glamorous. Maybe she got a better offer?”

  “Mad wouldn’t let down a friend without at least letting her know. According to her flatmate, Mad didn’t come home one night, and she hasn’t seen or heard from her since. How was she just prior to her going on leave?”

  “She’d been feeling the strain a little. Since she moved down here, her feet have barely touched the ground.”

  “Did she tell you she was going to take some time off?”

  “No. The first I knew about it was when I got a call from head office in GT. They said she was taking some of the leave owed to her, and they weren’t sure when she’d be back.”

  “Did you speak to Mad after she went on leave?”

  “No, because I thought if I did that she’d think I was pressing her to come back to work. I figured it would be best to let her have a complete break.”

  “What was Mad working on at the time she went off work?”

  “All kinds of things. I’ve taken over all her urgent cases.”

  “Could I see her diary?”

  “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “Aubrey promised that I’d get full co-operation.”

  “I’m not sure that extends to viewing her schedule.”

  I took out my phone. “I can call him if you like?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Will you wait here while I go and get my laptop?”

  “Sure.”

  There was something about our Mr Lister that I’d taken a dislike to, and it wasn’t just his hair. He seemed way too relaxed about his partner’s disappearance for my liking.

  “Here we are.” He was back with the laptop, which he set down on the table. I’ll log into Mad’s schedule.”

  “You have her log-in details, then?”

  “I have hers and she has mine. We do that in case we’re forced to cover for one another. Like now for example.” He entered the username and password, and moments later a calendar was displayed. “Mad had her hands full, as you can see.”

  He wasn’t joking. There were several entries every day, from the date she disappeared until the current day and beyond. Including weekends.

  “Do you have something I can make notes on?”

  “Sure.” He walked over to the desk with a coffee machine on it, opened the drawer and took out a lined pad.

  “Thanks. I’d like you to give me a quick overview of each of these cases.”

  “All of them? That’s going to take some considerable time.”

  “The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish.”

  “Okay.” He sighed.

  In the event, it didn’t take all that long. And, to be fair to Simon, he seemed au fait with all the cases, probably because he’d been forced to take over many of them.

  “That’s about it,” he said.

  “You missed that one. Next Tuesday: Court – Dawson.”

  “Oh yeah, sorry. Mad is due to give evidence in court then.”

  “Who’s Dawson?”

  “That’s Crazy Rick Dawson. He’s been running a ghost-writing scam here in London for several years now. Mad busted him about a month ago.”

  “Dawson isn’t a ghost, though, is he?”

  “No, but he’s been using ghosts in his dodgy business—that’s how Mad came across him. As well as cheating the ghosts out of their payments, he’s been hiding earnings from HMRC for years. Mad has gathered enough evidence to see him sent down for a long stretch.”

  “What will happen if she’s not in court to give her evidence?”

  He shrugged. “He’ll probably walk.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In prison. He’s being held on remand until his court appearance.”

  “Right. I think I have everything I need. Thanks for your time.”

  “No problem. I’m sure Mad will be okay. She’s one tough lady, but you already know that. I’ll see you out.”

  “No need. I can find my own way. Thanks again.”

  Before he had the chance to object, I hurried out of the room, deliberately leaving the door open behind me. From there, I headed for the toilets, which were two doors down from the interview room. Luckily, they were deserted, so I was able to make myself invisible. Simon was still packing up the laptop when I slipped unseen back into the room. I was expecting to have to follow him back to his office, but instead he closed the door and took out his phone.

  “Johnny, it’s me. I thought I’d better let you know that I’ve had someone nosing around here, looking for Madeline. Some witch; a friend of hers. No, there’s nothing to worry about. She doesn’t have a clue. Yeah, okay. Right. Bye.”

  Chapter 19

  I’d found Luke Wells, the nightshift manager, to be friendly, accommodating and an all-round nice guy. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the dayshift manager, Graham Tyson. The man was rude, full of his own self-importance, and had bad breath. And those were just his good points. Whereas Luke had managed to make the tour of the factory at least marginally interesting, Graham could have bored for England.

  “Tell me, Graham, have you encountered any problems on the dayshift recently?”

  “None whatsoever. Under my expert superv
ision, everything runs like a well-oiled machine.” He made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a laugh, at his own pun.

  “Quite. I assume you’ve heard that there have been a number of problems on the nightshift?”

  “Of course. It’s common knowledge.”

  “Don’t you find it strange that the problems should occur only on that shift?”

  “Not really. The reason’s fairly obvious, to me at least. I don’t need a highly-paid consultant to work it out. No offence.”

  “None taken.” Idiot. “What’s your take on it, then?”

  “It’s all down to Luke Wells of course. The man simply isn’t up to the job, as recent events have clearly demonstrated. For some reason, Oswald seems to think the sun shines out of Luke’s backside. They need to bring in someone with much more experience.”

  “Someone like yourself for example?”

  “Exactly. Maybe you could have a word with Oswald. He might listen to a pretty young thing like yourself.”

  Could this creep get any worse?

  “Why would you want to swap days for nights?”

  “The money of course. There’s a premium for working the nightshift.”

  “Wouldn’t it affect your family life, though?”

  “I’m a single man. I only have myself to worry about.” He grinned. “Quite the eligible bachelor, you might say.”

  I might have said any number of things, but definitely not that.

  By the time I left the factory, I felt as though I needed a shower. Not because of all the grease and grime on the shop floor, but to wash away Tyson and his halitosis. Was it possible that he was somehow deliberately sabotaging the nightshift so that he could replace Luke Wells? It was something to consider.

  ***

  A little magic was all that was required to change Jill Maxwell into Corinne Cathway, high-flying CEO. And, although I do say so myself, I looked every bit the part. I could probably be a leader of industry if I put my mind to it.

  Don’t think I can’t hear you back there with your Walter Mitty references.

  “Corinne?” Martin Macabre turned up at two on the dot.

  “Mr Macabre?”

  “Do call me Martin.” He smiled (at least, I think it was supposed to be a smile) and offered his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Martin. I’m afraid I only have about forty minutes because I have a train to catch.”

  “No problem. Shall we crack on then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As he led the way inside the building, Mrs V was on her way down the stairs, still hobbling a little from her parkour experience.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello, young lady.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked Martin, after Mrs V had disappeared out of the building.

  “Her? She’s no one. One of the cleaners, I think.”

  “I thought she seemed nice.”

  “Err—yes, I suppose so.” When we reached the top of the stairs, Macabre deliberately blocked my view of my office door, and directed me down the corridor. “These are the offices down here.”

  “Escape? What is that?”

  “I’m not exactly sure what they did, but they’ve vacated the premises now, so you’d be able to move in whenever you like.”

  He spent the next thirty minutes showing me around, and extolling the virtues of the office space.

  “What do you think, Corinne?”

  “I like it. I like it very much indeed. The location is ideal, and the space is just about perfect.”

  His face lit up and I could virtually see the pound signs in his eyes.

  “Excellent. How would you like to proceed, then?”

  “As I said, I have a limited amount of time today, but if you could draw up a lease on the basis we discussed, I’ll be in touch to arrange a time for the signing.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Now, I really must be going.”

  “Of course.” He led the way back along the corridor, once again doing his best to obscure my view of my office door.

  “What’s that room?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The door behind you?”

  His face fell. “Err, that’s another tenant. A bit of a timewaster, but don’t worry, she’ll have vacated that office before you move in.”

  “I really have no use for this additional office. The space I’ve just seen is more than adequate for my needs. I sincerely hope that you wouldn’t put any undue pressure on a sitting tenant. I wouldn’t want to do business with any landlord who would use those kinds of tactics.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that. The existing tenant can be a little trying, but she’s under no obligation to leave while she has a valid lease.”

  “Excellent. That’s good to hear. Now, if you’ll let me have your business card, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Any idea when?”

  “Difficult to say because my diary is very full. Probably at the end of the week.”

  “That’s great. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Don’t hold your breath, sucker.

  Once outside, I said my goodbyes to Macabre, and then found a quiet alleyway where I transformed back into Jill Maxwell, P.I.

  Mrs V was back behind her desk.

  “Everything okay, Mrs V? How are the aches and pains?”

  “I nipped out to buy some muscle rub. That seems to have helped a little.”

  “Good.”

  “While you were out, Jill, I saw that horrible landlord. He was showing a young woman around. I thought you should know.”

  “Right, thanks. Any idea who she was?”

  “No. She looked a bit tarty if you ask me. Far too much make-up.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You have the right idea. Keep it plain and simple.”

  “Right. Thanks.” I think.

  “I may have big news soon.” Winky was bursting with excitement about something.

  “And what’s that?”

  “I can’t say yet because it’s not official, but when it breaks, it’s going to be massive. I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Thanks. I’ll wait with bated breath.”

  Meanwhile, while my breath was still bated, I made a call to Kathy.

  “It’s me. I wanted to talk to you about your new shop.”

  “I’ve just about given up on that.”

  “Don’t. Here’s what you need to do. Give it a couple of hours and then call Macabre.”

  “And say what?”

  “Give him an ultimatum. Tell him that unless he comes up with a lease for you to sign by close of business tomorrow, you’re going to withdraw your interest.”

  “That’s crazy. He’s more or less said I’m not going to get it anyway.”

  “Trust me. What do you have to lose? You’ve already written it off.”

  “I guess so.”

  “And don’t mess around. Let him know you’re deadly serious. You sign the lease tomorrow, or you walk away.”

  ***

  It was now obvious that Mad’s partner, Simon, knew more about her disappearance than he was letting on, and may even have had something to do with it. When he’d gone through her diary with me, he’d been very meticulous except for the one entry he’d missed: Dawson, or Crazy Rick Dawson, as he’d referred to him. And then there’d been the phone call that Simon had made as soon as I’d left, to someone called Johnny.

  It was time to apply my supersonic research skills, by which I mean I put ‘Rick Dawson’ and ‘Johnny’ into Google. There was nothing relevant in the main results, but when I selected News, one headline sprung off the screen:

  Brothers arrested on charges of affray.

  The item was from two years earlier, but described how the brothers, Rick and Johnny Dawson, had been arrested after a disturbance outside a nightclub. The brothers, who worked in publishing, had both been bailed to appear before magistrates two days later.

  Acc
ording to Simon, Rick Dawson was likely to walk away a free man if Mad wasn’t in court to testify against him. Perhaps Rick’s brother intended to ensure that she was unable to be there. It wasn’t much to go on, and I could be barking up entirely the wrong tree, but I figured I had little to lose by paying Johnny Dawson a visit.

  Publishing obviously paid very well because Johnny Dawson had an apartment on the South Bank, which must have been costing him at least four thousand a month. Entrance was intercom controlled, so I pressed the button next to his name.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Simon.” I said in my deepest voice.

  “What are you doing here? Never mind. Come on up.”

  He buzzed me in, and I took the lift to the second floor.

  “Mr Dawson? Johnny Dawson?”

  “Who are you?”

  “You should know. You let me in.”

  “I thought you were a tradesman.”

  “So you weren’t expecting Simon, then?”

  “I don’t know a Simon.”

  “That’s very strange because I heard him phone you earlier.”

  “You’ve got the wrong person.” He started to close the door, but I cast the ‘power’ spell, and forced it open, and him onto his backside.

  “You’ll regret this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flick knife.

  “You’re boring me now. Why don’t you have a little nap?”

  The ‘sleep’ spell soon had him dozing like a baby.

  The apartment was incredible. It was at times like this that I wondered if I was in the wrong job. I would never be able to afford a place like this, even if I worked for another hundred years.

  I spent the next ten minutes searching the apartment for any sign that Mad might have been held there, but there was nothing. There was no point in waking sleeping beauty because he was unlikely to tell me anything, but I wasn’t defeated yet. His phone was in his jacket pocket, so I quickly skimmed through his contacts.

  Drat! There was no one by the name of Simon, so I tried his call log instead, searching for calls from earlier that day. One of them came from an unknown number at precisely the time I’d been with Simon.

  I’d only heard Johnny Dawson speak a few words, so I wasn’t too confident that I’d be able to imitate his voice, even with the help of magic, but hopefully, the fact that the call came from Johnny’s phone, would be enough to convince Simon.