Witch is How The Tables Turned

by Adele Abbott

  Just then, one of the machines close to us powered down.

  “It’s happened again, Luke!” the operator shouted.

  Luke looked despondent as he hurried over to see what was wrong. He’d no sooner got the machine up and running again than another one, at the far side of the shop floor, did exactly the same thing.

  And that’s how it was for the next hour. Luke would no sooner get one machine going than another one would power down.

  There was nothing I could say or do that would help, so I decided it would be best to get out of his hair. That way, he could focus on keeping the nightshift going. In order to get a better view of proceedings, I climbed the metal stairs up to the mezzanine floor where Luke’s office was located. From that vantage point, I had a much clearer view of the turmoil below.

  It was then that I spotted it. Or should I say: him.

  It suddenly all made sense. At ground level, I hadn’t noticed the ghostly figure moving from one machine to another, but from up there, it was much easier to track his progress. That also explained the sudden drop in temperature. The heating wasn’t on the blink; the building was haunted. The question was, by whom, and why were they hellbent on causing a catastrophic reduction in production?

  I intended to find out.

  “Don’t do that!” I said.

  The elderly male ghost had been about to hit the power cut-off button on another machine. “You can see me?”

  “I can.”

  “How?”

  “Why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter where we can talk?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Maybe I should call my friend, Constance Bowler. She’s a detective with the police department in GT.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll come with you.”

  We managed to find a small storage room close to the emergency exit doors at the back of the building.

  “I see the resemblance now,” I said. “It’s the eyes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, or why you’ve brought me in here.”

  “Are you really going to pretend you’re not Luke’s father?”

  He slumped onto an oil drum. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “That the ghost of his father has been trying to get him fired? What good would that do? And what are the chances he’d believe me anyway?”

  “I did it for his own good. He’s wasting his life at this place. The boy has such potential.”

  “The thing is, it’s his life to do with what he wishes. Have you any idea how much he loves this job? At least, he did until you decided to wreak havoc.”

  “But the pay is abysmal, and he has such a wonderful mind.”

  “None of that matters. He’s doing what he wants and he’s happy. He has no desire to be a solicitor.”

  “I worry about his future.”

  “There’s no need to. Luke seems a perfectly well-adjusted adult who is quite capable of forging his own way in the world. That’s unless you wreck his chances.”

  He didn’t speak for several minutes; he just stared at the ground. “I didn’t mean any harm. I only want what’s best for him.”

  “I know, but the kindest thing you can do is let him make his own way.”

  “Do you think he’ll be alright? There’s so little security in this kind of work.”

  “He’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”

  “What happens now? Will you report me?”

  “Not if you give me your solemn promise not to tamper with the machines again. And not to interfere in Luke’s life.”

  “Can I still come to see him occasionally?”

  “Of course. There’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe one day, he’ll sense you’re here.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  At the end of the shift, I finally managed to catch up with Luke.

  “Sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you, Jill.” He managed a half-hearted smile. “The first couple of hours were a nightmare. And just when I’d started to think this might all be behind us.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “How can you say that after what happened earlier?”

  “I have a theory about what is causing this.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll need to do a little more investigation, but if I’m right, there’ll be no repeat of what happened tonight.”

  “Can’t you tell me what it is?”

  “Not yet. Not until I’m sure. It’ll all be in my report.”

  “I really do hope you’re right.”

  “I’m cautiously confident, and rest assured none of the blame for what has been happening will fall on you.”

  “That’s good to hear. Will you be coming back again?”

  “No, my work here is done.” I started for the door, but then hesitated. “Incidentally, Luke, do you happen to believe in ghosts?”

  “Ghosts? I’m not sure. Maybe. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  ***

  Although I was tired, I knew that if I went home to bed, I’d never sleep that night. Somehow, I’d just have to keep going all day. What better way to start than with a hearty breakfast? And I knew where I could get a delicious one at an excellent price.

  I made a call.

  “Good morning, Aunt Lucy.”

  “Morning, Jill. What are you doing up at this hour? There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”

  “No, everything’s fine. I’ve been working undercover all night, so I thought I’d call to say good morning before I go and buy breakfast.”

  “Why don’t you pop over here? I was about to make breakfast for myself.”

  “Really? Well, I suppose I could. If it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

  “Of course not. Lester has already left for work, so it would be nice to have company.”

  “Okay, then. If you insist. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  What? Who are you calling a conniving little madam?

  “That bacon smells great, Aunt Lucy.”

  “One sausage or two?”

  “Err, three will be fine.”

  “I’m glad you came over because Rhymes has been pestering me to read his competition entry to you.”

  “I’d forgotten all about that. Remind me, what’s the competition he’s entering?”

  “3T: Turtle, Tortoise and Terrapin.”

  “Of course.”

  When Aunt Lucy had served breakfast, she took a sheet of paper from her apron pocket. “Are you ready for this?”

  “As ready as I ever will be.”

  “It’s entitled Tortoises Are Great.”

  “Tortoises have a shell which they keep on their back,

  They’re very quiet; they don’t bark, and they don’t quack,

  Low maintenance; no need to walk every day,

  The perfect pet, some might say.”

  “Hmm?” Was the best I could manage. “Not one of his better efforts.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s really hoping to win.”

  “The other entrants will have to be pretty pants for him to win.”

  “Jill! That’s not very nice.”

  “Sorry. Who am I to judge, anyway? For all I know, Rhymes could be the last word in Testudines poetry.”

  ***

  After polishing off Aunt Lucy’s delicious breakfast, I felt ready to face the day ahead. My first port of call was to pay a visit to Billy Hawksworth, the man who had been sacked by Cranes Drains.

  “I was wondering how long it would be before someone turned up on my doorstep.” The man was huge, and I could see why the other workers might have found him intimidating. “Are you the Old Bill?”

  “No. I’m a private investigator.”

  “You?” He laughed. “How does that work, then?”

  “It works really well. Thanks for asking. Could we talk inside?”

  “I suppose so.” He led the way into the l
ounge, which looked out over the rear garden.

  To say I was gobsmacked would have been the understatement of the decade. Looking at Hawksworth, I’d expected to find some squalid hovel, full of empty beer cans and pizza boxes. Instead, I found a pristine room, furnished with a floral pattern sofa and chairs, and with matching wallpaper.

  “Are your wife and daughter out?”

  “Yes. They’re at her mother’s this morning. I just got back from a nightshift.”

  “Sorry. I don’t want to keep you from your bed.”

  “It’s okay. I always take an hour to wind down before I go up.”

  “You obviously know why I’m here.”

  “About Theo, I assume?”

  “That’s right. I’m trying to find out who kidnapped him.”

  “And someone put my name forward? Let me guess: Andy Moreland?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Why? Do you think I’m going to go around there and beat him up?”

  “Client confidentiality.”

  “Whatever. You’re here now, so you might as well ask your questions.”

  “I understand that you were let go by Cranes Drains?”

  “Let go?” He laughed. “You mean fired, don’t you?”

  “For doing work on the side for their clients?”

  “Guilty as charged. I admit it. I did a handful of jobs on the side, but only to cover the extra expense of having a baby.”

  “How old is he or she now?”

  “Kirsty’s four months.” His face lit up, and his whole demeanour changed. “I’d do the same again, you know.”

  “I believe Jude tried to get you a second chance?”

  “He did, yeah. He’s a good guy.”

  “And Theo?”

  “Let’s just say, if he was on fire, I wouldn’t—”

  “I get the picture. Do you often work nights?”

  “When I’m not working away, yeah.”

  “You work away from home?”

  “I don’t like it any more than I like working nights, but after I got the push from Cranes, I had to take whatever I could get. I only got back from my last stint on Friday, and then it was straight onto the nightshift on Monday.”

  “How long had you been working away this last time?”

  “Two weeks. It’s normally only one week at a stretch, but I drew the short straw this time.”

  “Where were you working?”

  “Glasgow.”

  We talked a while longer, but if what he’d told me was true, Hawksworth had been at the other end of the country while Theo Crane was being held captive, so he probably wasn’t going to be much help.

  “I hope you get Jude out,” Hawksworth said, as he showed me to the door. “There’s no way he was behind this.”

  “I’ll do my best, but so far I haven’t turned up anything that’s likely to help him.”

  “Have you spoken to Ruby?”

  “Theo’s ex-wife? No, I understood she’d moved away.”

  “You should definitely speak to her.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something, Mr Hawksworth?”

  “Sorry, I have to go to bed. I have another nightshift tonight.”

  He’d closed the door before I was able to ask him any more questions.

  Chapter 24

  I picked up a sandwich on my way back into the office.

  “It’s all very strange,” Mrs V said.

  “That’s true.”

  “I haven’t said what is very strange yet.”

  “Sorry, I was miles away.” The truth was that her comment could have applied to practically every aspect of my life. “What’s strange?”

  “There’s no trace of anyone called William Inky anywhere in Washbridge or anywhere else in the country for that matter.”

  “Whoever it was must have been using a false name.”

  “It’s beginning to look that way. I don’t suppose I’ll ever find out who’s behind those awful cat clocks now.”

  “Never mind. It’s probably for the best.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea to go with your sandwich, Jill?”

  “That would be lovely, thanks.”

  “I’ll bring it through in a minute.”

  Oh no!

  The floor of my office was covered in a thousand different clock parts: cogs, springs, clock faces, and most incriminating of all, hundreds of tiny cat figurines. Sitting in the middle of all that was Winky, busy at work assembling an almost completed clock.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Brain surgery. What does it look like?”

  “You were supposed to confine your operations to that corner of the room, behind the screen and out of sight.”

  “I told you I’d had an influx of orders. There simply isn’t room behind that screen.”

  I glanced back at the door. Any moment now, Mrs V would walk in, and the game would be up. Obviously, she’d never believe Winky was making the clocks, so she’d be sure to blame me. There was only one thing for it.

  “Hey!” miniature Winky shouted. “What have you done?”

  “Shush! It’s only for a few minutes.”

  I’d shrunk everything on the floor, including Winky. After carefully scooping up miniature Winky and the miniature clock parts, I hurried behind the screen and deposited them all there.

  “Here’s your tea, Jill. Jill?”

  “I’m here, Mrs V.” I came out from behind the screen. “Thanks very much. That’s just what I needed.”

  Once she’d returned to the outer office, I went back around the screen and reversed the ‘shrink’ spell.

  “Look what you’ve done!” Winky was half buried in clock parts. He had a spring in one ear and a cat figurine in the other.

  “Sorry, but it was the only way. Mrs V would have realised what was going on.”

  “I had everything arranged in such a way as to provide the optimum assembly environment. Now, look at it. There are parts everywhere. It’ll take me ages to get this lot sorted again. I’ll never meet my delivery schedule now.”

  “Best get cracking then.”

  Twenty minutes later, Winky was still trying to sort through the mountain of clock parts while hurling abuse at me. It was water off a duck’s back because I had more important things on my mind. Namely, the Crane kidnapping. Something about that case was bugging me, but I couldn’t work out what it was. The only way to make sense of it was to start at the very beginning when Crane was snatched.

  Theo Crane had been on his way to his regular Friday golf game when he stopped at the mini-market. The CCTV inside the shop confirmed he’d gone inside to buy cigarettes, but that was the last sighting of him. There was no way of knowing what happened afterwards in the car park because there were no cameras out there, and no witnesses, apparently. The first his brother knew something might be wrong was when Theo didn’t turn up for Sunday lunch, and even then, he wasn’t particularly worried. It was only on the Monday when Jude and Nancy checked Theo’s house, that the alarm was raised.

  What about the people he was supposed to be golfing with? If, as Theo had said, it was a regular event, wouldn’t they have wondered where he was and tried to contact him? In the absence of any other meaningful leads, I decided to take a trip to Washbridge Golf Club.

  The journey took me past the mini-market where Theo’s car had been found, so I decided to drop in there first. The manager was a young man not long since out of nappies.

  “I wonder if I could ask you about the car that was found in your car park some weeks ago? The one belonging to the man who was kidnapped.”

  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “Although it was left here on a Friday, I understand that it wasn’t actually reported until the following Thursday. Is that correct?”

  “I’m not sure of the exact days, but that sounds about right.”

  “Wasn’t it unusual for a car to be left there for so long?”

  “Not really. The
store is never that busy, so there are always plenty of spaces. The locals often leave their cars there when they’re catching the bus into town. No one takes much notice. If I remember correctly, the only reason anyone realised it had been there for so long is because one of the tyres was flat. That’s when I reported it to the police. I assumed it must have been stolen and dumped there.”

  “Okay, thanks for your time.”

  I’d never understood the attraction of golf. It seems like an awful lot of work just to get a ball into a hole.

  The woman on reception asked to see my membership card.

  “I’m not a member.”

  “Sorry, it’s members only. Unless another member can sign you in?”

  “Actually, I’m not here to play. I’m a private investigator.”

  “Really? How very exciting.”

  “It can be. Sometimes.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Did you hear about the recent kidnapping of—”

  “Theo Crane? I did indeed. Is that what you’re working on? I heard it was his brother who did it. Is that true?”

  “I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know Theo?”

  “Yes. He’s been a member here for several years.”

  “I believe he plays most Fridays. I wonder if you might give me the names of the people he usually plays with?”

  “I would do, gladly, but he hasn’t been here for—let me think—it must be over six months. I’d been meaning to give him a call when I heard about the kidnapping.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. We keep records of when members visit the club, either to play or to avail themselves of the other facilities.” She smiled. “We have a lot of members who spend more time in the bar than on the course. Let me see.” She checked her computer. “Theo Crane? Yes, it’s as I thought. His last visit here was actually over seven months ago now.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  “How is Theo by the way?”

  “He seems remarkably well, considering.”

  “Tell him Margaret was asking after him, would you? And that I hope we’ll see him back here soon.”