by Cathy Ace
‘And most will never take the top off the tube to let it come out to create anything at all,’ mused Christine.
Alexander laughed ruefully. ‘Quite. If oil paint is even something any of them would ever countenance using.’
Christine hovered, picking the sides of her fingernails, then she said, ‘My money’s on Mickey James and his father Jacko, an electrician, being the people who disarmed whatever excuse for an alarm system they have at Chellingworth Hall, and breaking in to scan the Waterloo Teeth, months ago. Alternatively, they just walked in with the public and simply unhooked a bit of velvet rope, and got to the collection that way. They’d need to know about it, and where it was kept, of course. I’ll give that some thought.’ She did, with Alexander not taking his eyes off her for a moment.
He smiled warmly when Christine’s face lit up and she exclaimed, ‘Got it! Anyway, I believe they took the now-dead dental technician Ajit Patwary with them to do the technical bits of the scanning, knowing he could also do the finishing work on the molds when they were eventually printed. Who knows, maybe he even printed them out on his hospital equipment after hours. I believe that Mickey found out from his footballer friend about the techniques being used in dentistry and, having seen the dentures in the hall when he was a boy, which, if you recall, Henry told us was something the kids in the village had done – which would include Mickey, possibly accompanied by his father – he came up with the idea.’
Alexander added, ‘Jacko’s wife, Delyth, said that the Saxbys have visited Huston, Texas, in the past. That’s where one of the big collectors of orthodontological rarities I know of lives. Maybe Saxby set up a purchase? He might still have the originals, or else he might have shipped them off with his wife and mother while he stays in London.’
Christine looked thoughtful and not totally satisfied. She threw up her hands as she said, ‘But none of that explains why Ajit Patwary ended up dead in the Dower House two weeks ago, if they scanned, then stole and replaced, the Waterloo Teeth at the hall months ago.’
The couple stared at each other for a frustrating moment then, in chorus, said, ‘The dowager’s netsuke collection!’
Christine sounded excited as she said, ‘Yes! She and Mavis talked about it at dinner. I bet the Jameses got greedy. They could have definitely used their electrical skills to break into the Dower House to scan the ivory collection. Jacko James was there earlier in the day for a meeting about the harvest supper with Stephanie and the cook, so he could have drugged the stew to give them a clear run at it.’
Christine paused and clapped her hands in glee, realizing as she did it that it must have made her look a bit of a twit. ‘Of course. The smell! Althea told Mavis she smelled something in her dining room – a hot smell, like ironing, but not ironing. Well, when we went to Henry’s dental display room and he turned on those grubby old overhead lights, I smelled the dust heating up and almost burning in the air. That might have been the smell that Althea got a whiff of: the lingering smell of dust on bright, very hot light bulbs, the sort they would have used to be able to scan the netsuke collection. If, as Luke Hall said, I will get hot under the lights they use for scanning, that might explain the smell. So, the Jameses, and Ajit, went to the Dower House, broke in, used their equipment to scan the collection – maybe Ajit was there as a sort of technical advisor – and then … then … I don’t know, something must have happened and the poor boy Ajit was killed. If he had a head wound, as Althea said, then maybe Mickey, Jacko, or whomever else they had working with them on that occasion, maybe even Tristan Thomas – who I bet was the dealer who was going to move the original netsuke when they had been replaced – lost their temper for some reason, so maybe he was hit, and he fell. Or maybe …’
‘I think that’s something for the police to sort out, don’t you?’ said Alexander, looking at his watch. ‘We – or should I say the women of the WISE Enquiries Agency – have a very credible, and creditable, set of circumstantial evidence, and you’ve all made some excellent connections between facts, the evidence that exists and the people involved. But I think now’s the time for you to get in touch with the team investigating the death of Ajit Patwary, and tell them what you know, and what you think that means. Then it’s up to them. Only the police should be involved when it comes to trying to apprehend this group of people. We know they are dangerous and they are possibly more desperate than we think.’
‘Mavis is already due to have got in touch with Carol to ask her to bring the police up to date with things, but, you’re right, this could be the clincher.’ Christine hesitated. ‘Do you think they might be able to find Annie too? The more we learn, the more likely I think it is that Annie must have happened upon some information that brought her to the attention of at least one member of the gang, and they decided to take her out of the picture. We really should be telling them about her now, shouldn’t we?’ asked Christine.
‘Get hold of them on the phone, and let’s take it from there, OK?’ said Alexander.
‘Right,’ said Christine, ‘let’s do it. Do you want me to phone your contact in the art squad directly? Or do you somehow magic-ally have the direct line to the police commissioner for the Dyfed-Powys force in your phone?’
Alexander handed his phone to Christine. ‘Here’s my art guy’s number. Start with him. I think you should do it. This is your case, after all. You tell him what we’ve found out and he’ll tell us what to do. He’s good, and he’s pretty high ranking. Good man.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
A couple of hours later, Christine watched with satisfaction as the police led a whole troupe of men out of the Hoop and Stick pub to waiting cars. Wayne Saxby, Jacko James, Mickey James and Tristan Thomas all looked angry and simultan-eously deflated. The other pub patrons seemed delighted to be spectators of so much action on a Tuesday night.
Members of the Metropolitan Police had been asked to apprehend the men and take them into custody, while the police working the murder and art theft in Powys made their way to London to question the suspects.
A thorough search was made of the pub premises and a brick structure at the back of the pub was found to contain evidence that someone had been held for some time within its walls. Upon hearing this news, Christine ran to the police cars, which were still parked in the street, and started screaming for attention.
A senior officer tried to quiet her, but she pressed him about Annie, and he, in turn, did what he could.
Wayne Saxby wasn’t saying anything until his solicitor met him at the police station. Tristan Thomas broke down in uncontrollable tears and swore that he had nothing to do with the kidnapping. Scenting a lead, the helpful policeman – who bore more than a passing resemblance to a bulldog – pressed Mickey James to the point that his father told the policemen to stop harassing his son, because he knew nothing about Annie Parker.
Christine was beside herself and rushed to the car where Jacko James was now being pulled back out onto the street. There she heard him tell the policeman, ‘I thought the nosey cow had worked out what was going on, banging on about the photos of the football teams she’d seen up at Wayne’s house. I drugged her – nothing dangerous, mind you, just a few of me wife’s sleeping tablets – and cleared all her stuff out of my pub. Then I brought her here in the back of a lorry, with Tristan Thomas as my passenger. I knew Wayne would know what to do. All we did was lock her up. She had food. Drink. We … we weren’t going to do nothing to her. Honest.’
‘Where is she?’ said the policeman, with much more force, and patience, than Christine would have possessed.
‘I don’t know. Honest I don’t. She was there, where we’d left her, last night, then she weren’t there this morning. Someone had busted open the door and she was gone.’
Christine pressed the policemen. ‘He’s lying. They’ve got her hidden somewhere. She could be dying. You’ve got to make him tell you.’ She was crying, her nose was running, and she was all but begging him on her knees to take some sort of action.
The policeman looked at Christine with pity and handed her a tissue. ‘I can only do what I can do, miss. This isn’t a film, you know. I can’t beat it out of him. We do have rules about that sort of thing.’ He sounded irritatingly calm.
Alexander finally reached Christine’s side. ‘Where did you go? I couldn’t find you.’ He sounded anxious.
Christine sounded as terrified and frustrated as she felt as she shouted, ‘He says Annie’s gone, but he’s lying. I’m frightened, Alexander. Where is she?’
Alexander shook his head. ‘I’ve just been discussing the same matter with this officer’s boss, over there, and I’ve sort of told him what I’m about to tell you,’ he said, nodding toward the pub. ‘Now, don’t be angry when I explain all this to you, Christine. I know where Annie was around midnight last night – in a building around the back of this pub. And I know where she’s been since about one this morning, and all day – fast asleep in a bedroom of a house I’m having remodeled in Brixton. In fact, I know that’s where she was until about half an hour ago. But as for where she is now? Well, not even I know that. The two men I trusted to look after her, and to be there with clean clothes, a telephone, food, drink and an explanation, when she awoke from her enforced sleep, have let me down rather badly. She’s gone. Run off into the night. And they have no idea exactly when within the last hour she left, or where she went.’
Christine was dumfounded. ‘What do you mean she’s been in a house you’re remodeling? How did she get there? What on earth is going on?’ She smacked him on the arm out of pure frustration.
‘I told you not to get angry,’ said Alexander, looking concerned.
Christine was aghast. ‘You also told me to trust you, but look where that got me. How did Annie Parker get from the Hoop and Stick pub in Mile End, to a house in Brixton, Alexander? Tell me. Now!’
Alexander noted Christine’s clenched fists, scratched his head, and looked at his shoes. ‘I made some phone calls while I was driving back to London yesterday and found out all about this place, and its connections to Saxby. I came here around midnight last night, and broke into the place they were holding her, bound and gagged her, drugged her – because she was thrashing about so much she might easily have hurt herself, or me – then delivered her to the safest place I could think of. One of the many houses I own in south London that I am in the process of having remodeled. She should have come out of it around nine o’clock this evening, but she didn’t. The two blokes who were there to help her when she woke up, looked in on her an hour or so ago, and she was still out cold. They looked again when I phoned them to tell them that the police had arrested the people who were likely to harm her, the people from whose clutches I had rescued her, but she’d gone. I wish I knew more. The local police have been informed.’
Christine shoved Alexander as hard as she could, then ran from him, and burst into tears again. ‘What have you done?’ she wailed. ‘Poor Annie!’
THIRTY-NINE
When Annie Parker woke, she was conscious of a figure standing above her. She didn’t open her eyes, but lay very still.
A man’s voice, just beside her, said, ‘Still out of it. Let’s check her in another hour. The boss said she’d be up and about by now. Dunno what’s going on.’ London Irish accent.
He left the room, creaking across ancient floorboards, and shut the door. Annie remained quite still, but listened as hard as she could. She heard footsteps on a wooden staircase, then the faint sound of recorded laughter on a television. There’s at least two of them.
Listening to herself breathe allowed Annie to be grateful she was at least alive. Her head was on a pillow, she was on a bed, and she was covered with a sleeping bag. She wasn’t blindfolded, bound, or gagged. To all intents and purposes I’ve been having a nice kip in a comfy bed.
Unsure about where she was, Annie allowed her head to swivel, then she hoisted herself onto her elbows and gradually straightened herself into a sitting position. Her head was still spinning and she was thirsty, but she reckoned everything was working. Oh, Gordon Bennett, me back!
Pushing herself to a standing position, she took a moment to allow the room to stop moving. Her initial plan was to make her way to the window, to try to see where she was. Torn curtains were allowing some light to peep into the room, and she thought she could hear the odd car in the distance. Aware that she still had no shoes to put on, Annie was careful as she walked, in case there were splinters in the floorboards. She moved slowly, having heard how creaky the floor was. It seemed to take her forever to get there, but finally she was able to pull up the bottom of a curtain and look out. Thank heavens. Life.
Behind the house she was in, because that was certainly where she was, was another row of houses, each with its back facing her and, beyond that, she knew in her soul, was London. She had to get out. She wondered who ‘the boss’ was, and reckoned she knew. Though she hated to admit it, she’d worked out that, somehow, Jacko James and her old friend Wayne Saxby were up to something, though she didn’t really know what. Whatever it was, though, Saxby would be the one in charge. She’d sensed a change in Wayne when she’d been looking at the photos of the football teams in his fancy house, and was certain that Jacko had drugged her. I’ll kill him when I get hold of him. Both of them. I’ll kill them both. The nerve! But why did they move me out of that other place to this one?
Allowing herself to take stock for a moment, she noted her bare feet, realized she hadn’t eaten properly for possibly days, was painfully aware she was dehydrated, but it was the hope, and belief, that she was in her beloved London, and no longer locked in a brick box, that encouraged her to make an immediate plan to escape.
Moving as slowly as she could manage it, Annie made her way to the door, and began to pull it open. It creaked fit to wake the dead. Her only hope was that the television was turned up loudly enough in the room where it was being watched to cover any noise she might make. She tiptoed across the split-level landing and dared to step onto the topmost stair. Uncarpeted, with nails protruding on each side, she was grateful for the light from a streetlamp that filtered through the half-moon of glass above the front door. That’s my goal.
Annie tried to breathe through her nose, so she’d make less noise. If anyone came out of the room at the bottom of the stairs, she was done for. The bannister became slick beneath her palm and she cursed her hot flashes. Surely there can’t be enough moisture left in me to make sweat?
She counted the stairs, and each time she transferred her weight from one foot to the next, on the next step down, she cheered a little inside. With only two more stairs between her and the tiled hallway, she heard the television program end.
‘Fancy a brew?’ London Irish again. Please say no.
‘Nah, can’t be bothered.’ Thank you.
‘I’ll do it, you stay there.’ Brace yourself, girl, he’s coming out.
Silence.
‘Yeah, there’s enough water in the kettle, I’ll flick it on, and you can do the teabags when it boils.’ YAY!
Fearing her time might be cut short, Annie finally padded across the cool tiles to the front porch. The door to the room with the television had been ajar, but no one had seen her. Now what?
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
The lock mechanism staring her in the face was of the type with which Annie was familiar; a little oval knob set within a Yale box. She touched the cold metal and turned it. It didn’t make a sound. Don’t let this old door stick!
Feeling the cool night air on her face, Annie was overwhelmed with relief, and panic, in equal measure. What if they feel this breeze coming in the house?
With a jolt of adrenaline rushing through her system she pulled open the door and bolted. For some reason she automatically turned right at the bottom of the short garden path, and ran along the pavement. She couldn’t feel her feet at all as they hit the rough pavers. As she ran, she tried to work out where she was. Residential street. Old houses. Not bad cars. Probably n
ot too bad an area. Then she saw it. Across her entire line of sight was a plain stone wall, about thirty feet high. At the corner of the street she stopped, looking right, then left. The wall extended for at least a hundred yards. And she knew exactly where she was – behind the back wall of Brixton Prison. What am I doing in Brixton?
Annie had been in almost exactly the same spot not two months earlier, when she and an old friend had gone for dinner to the restaurant run by the trustees at the prison. The Clink. It had been a brilliant evening. Weird to eat inside a prison, but special. The walls look bigger now.
Immediately she knew where she was, she knew she’d come the wrong way! The quickest way to civilization was to get to Kings Avenue, but that was at the other end of the road she’d just run along. Did she dare run back in front of the house she’d just escaped from? Annie’s brain was on more than full power. The girls in the office said she knew London well enough to do the Knowledge, the exams that black cab drivers had to pass to get their license. Which was quite ironic, given her feelings about driving. She knew it would take her more than twice as long to either get to Kings Avenue another way, or out onto Brixton Hill, so she took a few deep breaths and went for it. Good job for big feet and long legs now, Annie Parker.
When she got to the main road, she stopped. She could see people in cars, buses driving the night routes. Now all she needed was a cab and she’d be fine. But a cab, here, at night? There was a standing joke in London that it was tough to get a black cab to take you south of the river as the evening wore on, because all the cab drivers lived north. Annie decided to start to walk toward the South Circular Road, because it was the biggest thoroughfare in the area. Where’s a copper when you need one? And why did they take all the phone boxes away?
