Threats and Menaces

by Alan Scholefield

  She sensed that her mother did not really care whether or not she ate bran fibre, she was just making the correct noises.

  Adrienne leaned against the wall and nibbled at a slimming biscuit. ‘What do you want to do these holidays?’

  ‘Can’t we go to the beach?’

  ‘Good Lord, in England?’ Her voice was shocked. ‘Listen, darling, I’ve got to finish this book. I’m sorry it cuts across the holidays but it can’t be helped.’

  ‘Will it make a lot of money?’

  ‘It had better. So you’re going to have to keep really quiet. And I mean really. And then maybe when I finish the book and all goes well, we’ll go for a holiday. What about Euro Disney and Paris?’ ‘Disney bores me,’ Dory said. The bran had almost become liquid.

  ‘Everything bores you. Anyway… I’ve got to go to work. Finish your breakfast and —’

  But her daughter’s immediate future defeated her. She stopped at the door. ‘If you see the gardener — what’s his name, Ralph — tell him I want some new colour in the window-boxes. Ours are over the top. He can ring me and arrange a time.’

  ‘Why can’t we go skiing this winter?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Can Max come?’

  ‘No, he can’t. And stop calling him Max.’

  ‘He doesn’t mind.’

  ‘But I do.’

  After her mother left, Dory waited a few minutes then poured the liquefied cereal down the sink. She went to her room, got out Miss Gardenia, and called to her mother, ‘I’m going up to the garden to play.’

  ‘It’s hot. Put on a hat.’

  She put on a white cap her father had brought back from America for her. Its legend read, I hate New York. She gathered up her things, slung her binoculars round her neck and took the elevator to the root Ralph was watering a raised bed half the size of an average room.

  ‘Mr Pargeter says you should put proper soil in there,’ Dory said. ‘He says you’ve got too much compost. That’s why it dries out so quickly.’

  ‘Oh, he does, does he?’

  ‘Yes. And my mother says we need more plants for our window-boxes.’

  Ralph was looking hairier and rougher than ever.

  ‘Oh, she does, does she?’

  Dory was amused at this repetition. Ralph thought he was being very clever. She ignored it. ‘She says ours are looking awful.’

  ‘People haven’t a bloody clue how to look after plants.’

  ‘But you’re to ring so she can tell you when.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Dory knew he was being sarcastic so she decided to take it literally. ‘Nothing else, thank you.’

  He glared at her. ‘You’d better get off your high horse. You’re only a child.’

  ‘And you’re only a gardener.’

  ‘Christ, I — Oh, what the hell. Who cares what you say.’

  He moved off, locked the shed and pressed the key into the soil of a geranium pot.

  ‘If old Pargeter opens the shed I’ll know it was you who told him where the key was and then you’re in deep shit.’

  As he went down the steps to the elevator she put out her tongue at him which made her feel better. Then she went to the parapet and looked down at the house. With her naked eye she could see that the piece of paper was still sticking out of the letter flap.

  She shifted her view to the square below her. Ralph came out of Selbourne followed by Trevor. They spoke for a few moments then Ralph went towards Rosemount and Trevor came back up the stairs and disappeared.

  She felt her heart beating loudly in her rib-cage. She couldn’t postpone things any longer.

  The night before she had planned what to do if the paper was still in the door.

  It was.

  She left Miss Gardenia in a shady place with coffee and the picnic hamper near her so she could help herself.

  Time to go.

  But still she lingered.

  She had never been in a strange street by herself, much less the park.

  Pavement People. Park People. Everyone different. Everyone dangerous, according to her mother.

  Once at a swimming pool she had stood on the low diving board trying to pluck up courage to jump into the water. Everyone else was doing it, but she had never done it. Four times she ran to the end of the board, four times she stopped.

  ‘Don’t be such a coward,’ someone had shouted.

  She had closed her eyes. She had closed her nose. She had closed her mind — and stepped into space. After that she had never hesitated again even from the high board.

  Now she stepped into space again.

  Behind the elevators was a bleak concrete stairway that acted as a fire escape and gave access to the rubbish bins.

  She went down it and found herself in a cobbled mews. This gave on to a short leafy street which ended in the Bayswater Road.

  The traffic was heavy. But Dory had learned all about traffic at school. She found a pedestrian crossing and stepped boldly on to the road. In a moment she was in the park.

  Her heart was beating even faster now. This had been her goal all along, but the Park People frightened her. There were men without shirts, men with tattoos, men with dogs the size of sheep. And everyone was walking every which way.

  But which way was she to go? She had seen the coloured scarf near the fountains. But where were the fountains? She’d got off track somehow.

  She kept to a path and gradually quickened her pace until she was almost running.

  ‘Where are you going, little girl?’ a voice said.

  She stopped. A man in a blue suit looked down at her.

  ‘Are you lost?’

  There were railings on one side of the path, water on the other. She could not pass him. And just at that moment all the other people she had seen in the park, seemed to have vanished.

  He was older than Max, with a soft face and moist eyes.

  ‘Are you lost?’ he said again.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think you are.’ He put out his hand. ‘Come along. I’ll help you.’

  But her mother had warned her about this, so had her father, so had the policeman who came to school to talk to them.

  She turned and ran…

  She ran all the way back along the path until she came to another path and another.

  She was lost.

  And then she saw the fountains. She knew where the fountains were in relation to the park gate. She heard the traffic on the Bayswater Road. She ran down to the concourse, making for the Marlborough Gate. She had forgotten why she had come in her need to return to her landscape.

  A splash of colour. Yellow and orange. She stopped. The Princess in the coloured headscarf was lying on a bench, asleep.

  Dory stopped and looked down at the sleeping figure.

  Her princess.

  But she didn’t seem to be filled with Eastern promise — whatever that might mean. Her young face was badly marked. Her lips were swollen and the skin round one of her eyes was nearly closed.

  Dory sat down at the end of the bench. The small feet were tucked up; the shoes were worn and broken. The skin of her ankles was smooth and the colour of very milky coffee.

  She felt a fierce protectiveness. She wasn’t surprised that the princess was injured: she had seen the arms raised; the blows falling. The whole experience was like one of her computer games: the Dark Destroyer captures the Princess and takes her to his secret lair which is guarded by cliffs and rivers and lakes and seas and guns and rockets and fire-breathing dragons.

  How to reach her? How to rescue her? It was one thing on the computer, quite another here in the park.

  Gently Dory reached out and touched her ankle. The reaction was immediate. The leg was drawn up, the eyes snapped open. If Dory had been a psychologist she would have been registering a perfect fight-or-flight response with the adrenalin shooting through the body.

  ‘My name’s Dory.’

  ‘Wha’?’

&n
bsp; ‘Dory. That’s my name.’

  ‘Dory?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘For me? Why?’

  ‘I know what happened.’

  ‘Wha’ you know?’

  ‘I saw.’

  ‘Wha’ you see?’ The young woman was frowning.

  ‘Everything. I live opposite. I can look down.’

  ‘You look down at me? From the top?’

  ‘Right into your house.’

  Alice sat up straight. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Somewhere.’

  ‘I want to help.’

  ‘How can you help?’

  ‘I know a place he can never find you.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘The man.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘With me.’

  She stood up. ‘I must go now.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Dory said. ‘I looked for you. I found you.’

  ‘If a child can look an’ find, so can they.’ She glanced about her like an animal.

  A voice said: ‘I thought I’d see you here.’ It was the man in the blue suit. ‘I’d like to buy you both ice creams. Would you like that?’ He put his hand out and tried to take Dory’s. He said to Alice, ‘You wait here, we’ll bring one back.’

  Dory said loudly, ‘You filthy old man!’

  Alice cringed. People turned. The man hurried off.

  ‘Come!’ Dory said. She took Alice’s hand and together they made for the gate. On the far side of the Bayswater Road Dory stopped and looked back. The man was not in sight.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Dory said.

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘I’ll call you Alisha.’ Dory said. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  *

  ‘Look at them,’ Macrae said, pointing to the parked Jaguars and Mercedes. ‘There’s a fortune in this street alone. And look at that sod.’

  He indicated a large silver Mercedes with two of its wheels on the pavement.

  ‘I’ve got a good mind to whistle up a truck and have it towed away.’

  Macrae had been bitching ever since they left Cannon Row.

  Leo had let it wash over him but the heat made it less bearable than usual. He decided to say nothing.

  ‘Over there,’ Macrae said.

  They were in Selbourne Square and Leo was just thinking he’d go all the way round it to see if he could find a shady spot.

  He parked where Macrae indicated and they walked towards Selbourne Place.

  ‘They’re both on the same floor,’ Leo said.

  ‘We’re not doing both. I’ve got the kids at home.’

  ‘There’s a man called Pargeter. Elderly party, and a woman writer called Adrienne Marvell.’

  ‘Oh, Christ, that’s all I’m short of. Adrienne Marvell. What names they think up. What does she write?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, guv’nor, I don’t read stuff like that.’ Macrae stopped and turned to face him. ‘Well you should’ve bloody well found out. What’s the bloody point of coming to see someone if you haven’t done your homework?’

  The vehemence startled Leo. He was getting used to Macrae’s recent change in behaviour — not that he had changed all that much — but it didn’t mean he liked it.

  ‘Sorry. I should have made certain.’

  Macrae did not reply. They entered the foyer and Trevor looked up from his paper.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  Macrae towered above him. ‘Yes what?’ Trevor hurriedly rose to his feet. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘That’s better. Get on your blower and tell Mr Pargeter that Detective Superintendent Macrae is here to see him.’

  ‘Is he expecting you, sir?’

  Macrae’s brow became thunderous.

  ‘That’s none of your business, laddie, just do it. Oh, and I want a list of all the regulars who come in and out.’

  ‘I don’t keep a check. Not that sort of check.’

  ‘I want a list; postmen, milkmen, TV repairmen, window cleaners, handymen, plumbers, electricians, painters and decorators, chauffeurs, everyone you can think of who has been in an out in the past couple of months… you follow me?’

  Trevor opened and closed his mouth. ‘Yes, sir.’

  A few moments later they were entering Mr Pargeter’s apartment.

  The door was open and he called, impatiently, ‘Come in!’

  They found him in his dressing-gown and pyjamas sitting in front of his TV set. He was staring at it with a pair of opera glasses. On his knee was a pad and pencil.

  Macrae and Silver came up behind him. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ He did not look at them. His attention was fixed firmly on the screen.

  The sound was turned down but the pictures were showing golfers on a wind-swept course where the rough was mainly gorse and grassed dunes. Macrae recognized the Open Golf Championship being played on one of the Scottish seaside links.

  ‘Who’s winning, sir?’ he said.

  ‘Who’s what?’

  ‘The golf, sir?’

  ‘How should I know? Aah… aha… there you are!’

  He was close enough to touch the screen with his finger. And what he touched had nothing to do with golf. He was indicating a small bird that had hopped on to a gorse bush.

  ‘Stonechat,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen one for years.’

  He wrote the name, date, and place, in his notebook.

  ‘You think I’m round the bend?’ he said.

  ‘We thought you were watching the golf, sir.’

  ‘Don’t know a damn thing about golf. But I watch all the tournaments. It’s the only way I get to see different birds. Can’t get out and about now as I used to. Some people think it unfair to claim a sighting this way. I say to hell with them. Anyway what can I do for you? I told everything to the other detectives.’

  ‘Aye, we know that, sir. We’ve got your statement. We’d just like to go through it again.’

  Mr Pargeter with his unshaven cheeks and wrinkled neck was not a pretty sight, Leo thought.

  The room was expensively furnished but very masculine: severe chintzes, rectangular furniture, dark claret-coloured curtains, and dull sporting prints on the walls.

  ‘Could we just go over some background?’ Leo said.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘How long have you lived in Selbourne Place?’

  ‘Since my wife died in seventy-eight.’

  ‘You were a tea planter, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s what it says there, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I told your colleagues. Assam. I was there for twenty years. Retired when I was fifty-five. It’s all there and — ’

  ‘Tell us what was stolen,’ Macrae said, cutting across him sharply. ‘It was old silver, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Eighteenth-century silver. Some of it came from the Cape of Good Hope. Very rare. It had been in my wife’s family for generations. Even though we hadn’t got on for a long time I was glad — yes, I know it sounds a harsh thing to say — but I was glad she wasn’t alive on the day it was pinched. It would have broken her heart.’

  ‘We have the value down as a hundred and fifteen thousand pounds.’

  ‘Insurance valuation,’ Mr Pargeter said.

  ‘But the real value’s less than that,’ Macrae said.

  ‘Of course. But not much less.’

  ‘Tell us how you discovered the loss.’

  ‘I’d been on the roof looking at birds. It’s my hobby. I’m what’s called a ‘twitcher’. Can’t get about much with — well, arthritis mostly, but just generally falling to bits. And it’s surprising what you can see in a London square. The usual common species, of course, but there are lots of collared doves now. They’re great colonizers. And so are — ’

  ‘The burglary.’

  ‘I know. I’m telling you. I was on the roof with the glasses. And I’d spied a pair of kestrels build
ing a nest over at Rosemount. You can’t see the flats from here but you can from the front.’

  ‘We know it, sir.’

  ‘Oh. All right, then. Well, anyway, I came down for lunch. I had a silver partridge. Used to stand on that small table over there. And often when I came into the room I’d say — I know this might sound a bit barmy but you do things like that when you live on your own — I’d say, “Hello, Mrs Partridge,” and give her a stroke with my hand.

  ‘But she wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe it. She was always there. And I thought: My God, someone’s pinched her and if they’ve pinched her then they might have pinched the other silver. And I checked. And they had.’

  ‘And no one found any marks or evidence of entry.’

  ‘Absolutely none.’

  ‘But you didn’t lose your key or anything like that?’ Leo said. ‘I mean you said in your original statement that you have two sets. One you had with you, one you keep in a locked drawer and it was undisturbed.’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve always suspected…’ His voice dropped. ‘Well, the doorman, Tulley. He’s not a man if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do, sir,’ Macrae said.

  ‘They’re called gay now, I’m not sure why.’

  ‘We don’t suspect Mr Tulley,’ Macrae said. ‘We have his statement. He’s been checked thoroughly.’

  ‘Well, if it’s not him, then who is it? I mean I’m not the only one.’

  ‘That’s what we aim to find out.’

  Half an hour later, after discussing keys and timings and habits and what he was certain of and what he wasn’t certain of, they left. He saw them to the door.

  In the passage outside, waiting for the elevator, was a small girl holding a picnic basket.

  ‘Hello, Dory,’ Mr Pargeter said. ‘Your dolls will be getting fat if you go on feeding them like this.’

  Dory didn’t like being patronized.

  She decided she would take him literally. ‘Dolls can’t eat, Mr Pargeter,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I thought they could.’ He winked at the detectives.

  Dory got into the elevator and Macrae and Silver waited for it to return.

  ‘Her dolls eat cheese,’ Leo said, as they descended. The smell of ripe cheese pervaded the elevator.

  Macrae grunted.