The Case of the Dotty Dowager

by Cathy Ace

  The barman nodded his response to her question then handed her a glass of fizzing water. She paid for her drink and returned to Alexander.

  With her menu held between them, as though discussing its offerings, she said, ‘My money is on that lot being Jacko James, and his son Mickey, Tristan Thomas and Wayne Saxby. I have no idea what any of them look like, but the toothy one is most definitely Welsh, the two blokes without gray hair look to be a father and son, and the other chap seems to have money and an attitude. Do you know what Wayne Saxby looks like?’

  Alexander held up his phone. ‘Like this. Is it him? All I’ve seen is the back of his head.’

  Christine looked at the man in the dark suit and striped shirt who’d been photographed for his website standing in front of a gleaming skyscraper, looking masterful.

  ‘A bit older, and flabbier around the jawline, but, yes, it’s him,’ she replied. ‘Have they all been here since you arrived?’

  ‘Saxby got here about ten minutes before you. When you were at the bar, could you see if they’ve nearly finished eating? I can’t tell from here.’

  Christine shook her head. ‘They all seem to have full plates of fish, chips and mushy peas in front of them. I think they might be here for a while. I didn’t have any breakfast and I can’t face fish and chips, but I am hungry and I could murder a cottage pie.’

  Alexander grinned. ‘No murder necessary. I’ll sort it for you. Back in a mo.’ He darted to the bar.

  Retaking his seat Christine leaned in and said, ‘You told me you might have some news about Annie. I’m worried sick about her, but the only thing I can think to do is phone the police. Have you found out anything? I just spoke to Carol and she’s at the end of her tether, and that’s not good for her. She wants us to get the police involved and I can’t say I disagree. I didn’t push because of what you said, but now—’

  Alexander shifted in his seat, then he, too, leaned forward and took Christine’s hands in his. Christine was aware that his hands were warm and soft. He was very close and his voice very low. ‘I know we’ve only just met, and that you don’t know me very well. But I need you to trust me. Do you think you can do that?’ He was pleading.

  Christine looked into his light eyes, which seemed to her to be filled with hope and earnestness.

  ‘You’re right, I don’t know you at all, and I want to trust you, but I’m not sure I do. Why?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Just go with the flow for the next twelve hours or so, that’s all I ask.’

  Christine looked at Alexander with fresh eyes. Yes, he was very attractive, but there was something else about him. There was an air of danger, of a life lived on the edge. She wondered about his past, about which she knew nothing, and about how he had made the money which he so clearly possessed. She couldn’t quite imagine him being involved in anything like petty criminality, but she did begin to wonder if he might be some sort of Mr Big. The brains behind big heists, or something along those lines.

  Her imaginings were interrupted by the arrival of two plates bearing very appealing cottage pies. Christine dug into hers with gusto and was pleased to discover it was very tasty. She polished it off with a speed born of hunger, finished her glass of water, then looked around for the loo.

  ‘Won’t be a mo,’ she said as she left her seat and headed off following arrows into a corridor. On her way back to her seat Christine noticed that she’d raced past a double row of photographs of football teams. No longer distracted, she stopped and studied them. They went back several years and she managed to find the more recent ones. They were remarkable because the entire team was kitted out in black tracksuits and everyone was wearing a black and blue bobble hat. She gathered from some other photos, of play in action, that these were the team’s colors.

  A young man in scrubs approached as she was peering at one of the photos, where she’d spotted the young man she believed to be Mickey James. She caught his eye. ‘Are these photos of the pub football team?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied the young man casually.

  ‘Any good, are they?’

  He stopped at the photograph Christine was examining and pointed at the person standing next to Mickey James. ‘He is. Ajit. Ajit Patwary,’ he said. ‘The rest? Pretty average. But Ajit? Brilliant. Scored every goal for the team last season. Don’t know what they’ll do without him.’

  Christine peered at the dark face of the young man in question. ‘He’s left the team?’ she asked.

  ‘I s’pose so. He’s left his job at the hospital, for sure. Well, he hasn’t shown up for a couple of weeks, so they’ve fired him. Good as, anyway. He was always talking about going off to the States. Maybe he went, I don’t know. But he left them in the lurch over the road in the hospital, and he’s left them in the lurch here at the pub. Golden right foot. Brilliant. Shame.’

  Before he had a chance to disappear into the gents, Christine asked, ‘And the chap next to him – isn’t he in the pub today? I thought I recognized him.’

  The helpful young man squinted. ‘Yeah, Mickey James, in with his dad he is. He’s good too, but not like Ajit.’

  Polite though he was, it was clear to Christine that he was happy to leave her and head for the loo.

  Alexander was looking impatient when Christine returned. ‘Saxby left,’ he snapped, ‘but I couldn’t follow him because you weren’t here. Where did you get to? You were gone for ages.’

  ‘I was making enquiries,’ said Christine with a winning smile. ‘And I have discovered that the young one over there is, indeed, Mickey James, and that, furthermore, there is a young man in the team by the name of Ajit Patwary. He’s the star player of this pub’s football team, and therefore the proud owner of a black and blue bobble hat, and he, apparently, walked away from his job at the Mile End hospital a couple of weeks ago and hasn’t surfaced since.’

  Alexander looked deeply concerned. ‘Do you think we’ve found a name for Althea’s disappearing corpse?’

  Christine nodded. ‘We might have done, but, if we have, where is his body? And why would someone who works in a hospital in Mile End be rummaging about at the Dower House on the Chellingworth Estate?’

  ‘And who might have killed him, and why?’ added Alexander.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, what’s next, Sherlock?’ quipped Alexander. ‘Try to find out more about this Ajit Patwary?’

  Christine nodded. ‘Yes, and I know just the girl for the job. I’m going back to my car and I’m going to phone Carol. She’s really good at this sort of stuff. What about you?’

  ‘I have some business that I must attend to back at my place. I have to do it there.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Listen, if you do some digging about the footballer, I’ll do some of my own into Saxby. How about I meet you at the Dickens Pub at St Katherine’s Dock at six p.m.? It’s easy for you to park at the Tower Hotel and stroll over and, being selfish about it, it’s very close for me. OK?’

  ‘So I’m on an extended pub crawl today?’ joked Christine with a smile. ‘More pub grub for dinner? You’re trying to fatten me up.’

  ‘No pub grub for dinner. I know a place that does wonderful sushi not far from the pub, and I promise to take you there, if you meet me. Date?’

  Christine nodded. ‘Date,’ she replied, a frisson of excitement shooting up her neck.

  ‘But you’ve got to promise me you’ll stay out of trouble and won’t do any sort of “enquiring” until then,’ added Alexander, ‘other than by talking to your Carol, or using the internet and so forth. No actual, physical snooping, OK? If there’s a killer in the mix, and I believe there is, we could be dealing with people who are ruthless enough to hurt you, or, God forbid, even kill you, if they know what we’re up to. These four have seen us now. They might look as though they haven’t noticed us, but either of us turning up where they are again might remind them that we were here today. They cannot have failed to notice you, for a start.’

  ‘What do yo
u mean?’ asked Christine, sounding hurt. ‘I was very careful to be unobtrusive when I was at the bar. I’m pretty good at undercover work.’

  Alexander smiled. ‘Well then, you must wear some very good disguises, because when you’re just like this, just yourself, trust me when I tell you that every man with a pulse notices you. You are a very attractive young woman, Christine Wilson-Smythe.’

  He stood and Christine followed suit, feeling a little giddy. They left together, parted company, and Christine allowed herself a few minutes when she got back to her vehicle to calm down. She phoned Carol, but all she got was voicemail, so she left a message about the missing footballer. She tried Annie’s phone one more time, feeling helpless even as she did so, then tearful when she heard her missing friend’s voice. Finally, she contemplated phoning Mavis, but knew that wasn’t fair. In fact, it was just plain selfish. She’d simply have to try to do for herself what she’d been about to ask Carol to do, but for that she needed the internet. Knowing how much time she had, and acknowledging the fact that she’d like the chance to change before she met Alexander again, she decided that the best thing she could do was head back to Battersea, and use her home computer.

  THIRTY-SIX

  By the time Christine had reached her flat, showered – for the second time that day – and changed her clothes, Carol was on the phone with information about Ajit Patwary. Carol explained hurriedly to Christine that she had discovered that the young man had gained qualifications which allowed him to become a dental technician at the Mile End hospital, where he’d worked for three years. He’d often appeared in the local newspaper, hailed as a hero of the Hoop and Stick pub football team. He was a relatively local lad, having lived his whole life in Tower Hamlets, but there wasn’t much else to tell.

  With the matter of the star footballer out of the way, Carol keenly returned to the issue of Annie’s whereabouts. Christine tried her best to calm her colleague, but Carol was insistent that they got in touch with the police.

  Christine finally tried to close down their conversation with: ‘Look, Carol, I know you haven’t met him, and I cannot honestly tell you why I feel this way, but I am inclined to give Alexander Bright the benefit of the doubt. So I say we wait until the morning to report Annie as officially missing.’

  Carol countered with: ‘For the record, I think you’re dead wrong, and I also believe we might be putting Annie’s life at risk. If you’d read the newspaper stories about that Wayne Saxby that I have, you wouldn’t be so ready to wait.’

  Christine, all but ready to hang up on Carol, faltered. ‘What stories? What do you mean?’

  ‘Remember in her last report, on Saturday night, Annie asked me to look into the death of an old school teacher of hers?’

  Christine wracked her Mensan brain. ‘Vaguely,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘Well I’ve been doing my usual stuff and I’ve found out quite a lot. In fact, I’ve had a pretty good couple of days of rooting through all sorts of old newspaper stories and so forth, and it looks to me as though quite a few convenient fires have allowed Wayne Saxby to buy up properties over the years at extremely favorable rates.’

  Christine was horrified. ‘Are you saying that this chap Saxby has killed to be able to get his hands on sites he wants to develop?’ Her mind was racing. Alexander had said he was in property development too. Were these normal tactics in that type of business? She was angry that she’d allowed herself to be taken in by his charms.

  ‘I’m not saying he did and I know the police have investigated but don’t have anything to nab him on,’ replied Carol.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I’ve been having another chat with Bill Edmunds, the one who’s after Annie’s number.’

  Christine guessed where the conversation was going. ‘Have you said anything to him about us not knowing where Annie’s got to?’ Christine was cross with Carol, not something she often felt. Carol was the agency’s rock, its static, reliable center, around which the others swirled.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ replied Carol huffily. ‘I specifically didn’t. Though I wanted to. But I did manage to winkle some nuggets out of him about Wayne Saxby. I told him we were looking into a case I couldn’t speak about, but I might have hinted that Saxby’s second wife was considering engaging us to keep an eye on him. Just in case he’s been playing away from home, you know? Bill seemed pleased at the idea that a woman might be about to hurt him in a way the police can’t.’

  Christine’s anger dissolved. ‘I should have known better. You’re very clever, Carol, good job. So what did Bill Edmunds tell you, exactly?’

  ‘To be honest, not much of any substance, just that a pattern had been officially spotted, and unofficially looked into, but that Wayne Saxby’s pretty quick on his feet and, although they are keeping an eye on what he buys, and how he comes by it, most of the questionable transactions were some years ago, back in his early days of operating, before he became as big as he has been this past ten years or so. So there’s nothing doing there, though they, like I, have suspicions.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Christine.

  ‘My point exactly,’ replied Carol. ‘If there’s some sort of link between Annie’s disappearance and this Wayne Saxby, she could be in great danger.’

  ‘I saw him this afternoon,’ said Christine glumly.

  ‘You didn’t tell me that in your message,’ snapped Carol. ‘Where? When? Doing what?’

  Christine sighed. She inwardly admitted she hadn’t been very forthcoming in her communication with Carol, and determined to put that right. ‘He was in the Hoop and Stick pub, where they wear the black and blue bobble hats, having fish and chips with Jacko and Mickey James and Tristan Thomas.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ was all Carol could manage. Then: ‘This isn’t looking good, is it? Then there’s the missing dental technician who plays football at the same pub, too. Can this really be just a series of coincidences?’

  Christine was standing in front of the mirror in her hallway as she listened to the alarm mount in Carol’s voice on the telephone. She’d done a good job of making herself look attractive. She’d been excited about meeting Alexander Bright for a ‘date’, but now? Now she saw herself as a cheap, easy touch, who was allowing a man she didn’t know at all well to talk her out of alerting the proper authorities to the possible abduction of a good friend and colleague. What was she thinking?

  ‘I tell you what though,’ said Carol finally, ‘at least Saxby’s a lot more dodgy than that Alexander Bright. He, at least, does a lot of good with his property holdings.’

  ‘What have you found out about Alexander?’ snapped Christine, her pulse quickening.

  ‘He’s rich, clever, rents out property to those in need, at lower than average rates, and has an excellent reputation as a landlord sought out by those who try hard, but have little. All his business dealings seem completely above board.’

  Christine felt a tingle of delight.

  ‘But,’ added Carol – Christine held her breath – ‘he just sort of appears, fully formed, from nowhere. I cannot find a reliable background for him. Well, I’ve found one for someone of the same age and name, but I’m having a hard time believing it’s the same person.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Christine, trying not to let her voice tremble and telling herself off for being such an idiot at the same time.

  ‘Very bleak background. Came from almost less than nothing, via the streets of Brixton, it seems. Then that one disappears and this one emerges with a bundle of money and mountain of good deeds. I’m going to do some more digging on him, but I got a bit caught up with the Saxby stuff.’

  Christine didn’t know what to think, but a quick glance at her watch told her that, if she didn’t get a move on, any chance to grill Alexander Bright about his possibly murky youth would be lost, because she’d be late for their date and then she’d be on the defensive.

  ‘Leave it with me, the Annie thing, please Carol? Just unti
l the morning. Look, I must go, I’ve got to meet Alexander and I’m already late, so I’ll hang up the landline and you can phone me on my mobile if you need me again, OK? Bye for now.’ Christine spoke with a tone that signaled finality and all she heard was Carol shouting, ‘Why are you meeting—’ before she hung up the handset and sprinted for her car.

  As she cursed the early evening traffic on Waterloo Bridge, and inched her way beyond the Thames, she answered an incoming call, dreading it would be Carol again.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Mavis’s disembodied voice abruptly as Christine connected the hands-free system.

  ‘Hello Mavis, how are you? I’m in the car,’ replied Christine, surprised to hear from her grieving friend.

  ‘Yes, I can tell that,’ snapped Mavis impatiently. ‘I mean whereabouts are you and where are you going?’

  ‘Heading to St Katherine’s Dock to meet Alexander for a drink,’ said Christine, not wanting to worry Mavis at such a terrible time. She wasn’t lying, she told herself, she was merely being economical with the truth.

  ‘And where’s Annie? Has anyone heard from her yet?’ was Mavis’s next and much more challenging question.

  Christine sighed as she negotiated her way around the Aldwych. ‘I’m not quite sure,’ was all she was prepared to say.

  ‘Ach, you have no idea where she is, do you? You’re worried to death about her but you don’t want to get me into a state too. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Christine, ‘but we do have some leads. I’m … I’m sure she’s safe,’ she added enigmatically.

  ‘I don’t know how you can say that,’ snapped Mavis. ‘And, by the way, I cannae reach Carol either, her line is constantly engaged, and I keep leaving messages, but she’s no come back to me yet, so I’ll tell you too. I have some very important information, so listen up.’

  ‘I have very little else to do but listen. It’ll stop me swearing at the traffic in any case,’ replied Christine with great honesty.