She took it out and opened it. An old birth certificate. She read, silently.
Mother — Miriam Armitage, dressmaker. Father — Kenneth Armitage — mechanic.
And the child’s name: William Roger Armitage.
Bill Armitage.
“Check the back of this one, too,” said Clarissa, handing Sarah the 80s photo. Sarah turned it over and saw a handwritten note:
Me, Ken and our Bill on his fortieth.
Sarah put the photo back and turned to Clarissa.
“So — have you met Bill? Does he ever come here?”
“No,” said Clarissa. “Never seen him. Though I did hear from one of our guests that he used to pop in, years back when his mum was first admitted here.”
Hmm, thought Sarah. I wonder if this is what drew Bill to the Cotswolds?
“I’ll tell you one thing though,” said Clarissa. “He may not come and see her — but he’s been paying her bills for twenty years. Standing order, regular as clockwork.”
Sarah looked again at the photo and shook her head. She couldn’t understand what this all meant.
“It is odd, isn’t it?” said Clarissa. “Shall we see if we can get anything from Miriam before you go?”
“Sure,” said Sarah, standing up. “Why not?”
*
Sarah followed Clarissa into the main lounge.
She glanced around the room. A dozen old people sat in armchairs under brightly-coloured paper decorations. Some were sleeping. Some had party hats on their heads, all askew.
Others stared vacantly into space.
In the background, Sarah could hear an old Christmas hit playing.
Clarissa nodded towards one old lady who sat by the window, her head against a pillow. Sarah approached her.
“Miriam? Mrs. Armitage?”
The woman turned to her, eyes barely focussing.
Sarah crouched down, put her hand on the old woman’s hand, and squeezed gently.
Might as well try, thought Sarah. “Miriam. Can I ask you about Bill?”
The woman stared, not moving.
“You know. Bill — your son. Bill.”
A flicker of movement passed across Miriam’s face for a second. She leaned forward a fraction and whispered.
Sarah leaned close so she could hear.
“My Bill?” said Miriam, face instantly concerned, eyes narrowed. “Is he in trouble again?”
Then that thought, the question, seemed to pass.
Sarah watched the woman sink back into her pillow.
“No, Miriam” she said. “He’s not in trouble. I just wanted to ask you about him.”
She waited for Miriam to respond. But the old woman’s head turned away and her eyes closed. She seemed to have gone to sleep.
Sarah looked up at Clarissa, who shook her head.
“Didn’t think you’d get much from her,” she said. “But it was worth a try.”
Sarah got up.
“I don’t know if any of this will help you find Bill,” said Clarissa. “Bill Vokes — or Bill Armitage.”
“It might,” said Sarah. “So, thank you so much for getting in touch.”
Sarah followed her to the front door, then turned.
“Do they get many visitors?” she said. “It seems so sad, especially at this time of year.”
“Oh yes, don’t you worry,” said Clarissa. “Mornings there’s always people here. They’re not forgotten — any of them.”
“How about Miriam though? It seems so strange that Bill never visited his mum, although he lived just a few miles away.”
“He must have had his reasons,” said Clarissa, unlocking the front door. “For some it’s hard to do. I mean, emotionally. As their parents seem to fade away.”
Sarah turned to the light of the porch, and she could see snow falling again.
God …
She wasn’t looking forward to the drive back.
“Oh, there was one thing,” said Clarissa. “I nearly forgot to tell you.”
Sarah buttoned her coat tight and got her car keys ready for the dash to the car.
“A couple of weeks ago Miriam did have visitors.”
“Oh really?” said Sarah, suddenly alert.
“Yes, quite out of the blue. Two gentlemen — said they were nephews — came and sat with her, chatted. Or at least tried to.”
“Tried?”
“They were very patient. Took their time with her, had a couple of cups of tea. Asked her a few questions. She was a bit more talkative that day.”
“You didn’t hear what they said?”
“No, sorry. Anyway, after a while they said their goodbyes and left.”
“Did you get their names by any chance?” said Sarah.
“No, we don’t keep those kind of records, I’m afraid.”
“You don’t remember anything special about them?”
Sarah watched Clarissa thinking back.
“No, nothing really,” she said. “They both had suits on. Old suits, I remember, quite faded. Like peas in a pod they were. Bald. Oh — and here’s a funny thing. They both had tattoos.”
“Really,” said Sarah. “What kind of tattoos?”
“Pretty amateurish ones, to be honest,” said Clarissa. “Sort of thing kids do with a pen at school.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Well, I don’t know really. They were just … blue dots. Dots on their knuckles.”
Sarah’s heart jumped.
She knew exactly what tattooed dots on someone’s knuckles meant.
It meant they’d done time — in prison.
“Hmm,” said Sarah, trying not to show what she was thinking. “Very strange. Well, I’d better be off — and thanks again, Clarissa.”
She shook Clarissa’s hand, headed over to her car and climbed in.
The engine started first time, and while she waited for the car to warm up, and blessed heat to flow, Sarah thought about the two men and their tattoos.
Why did two old cons come and visit Bill’s mum — just a couple of weeks before Bill disappeared?
And why had Bill Armitage changed his name?
Curiouser, and curiouser, she thought as she checked her watch.
As long as Grace had gone down to help Jack, there would just be time for her to drop by the office, get online and do some searching. Now that she had old Bill’s real name.
She put the car into gear and set off into the snowy night.
13. Stakeout
Jack sat in the passenger seat of Grace’s little yellow Mini listening to hip-hop on Grace’s headphones.
“What do you think?” said Grace.
“What’s not to like?” said Jack, handing her back the headphones. “Though to be honest — I’m more old-school, you know? Tupac? Kanye? Lil Wayne?”
Grace laughed at that, probably guessing — Jack thought — that absolutely all Jack knew of such music were the performer’s names.
He reached across to the cup holder for the flask of hot coffee that Grace had brought him.
He took a sip. Still piping hot.
Another moment that took him back.
Stakeouts. Streets of New York. And the ever-present thermos of coffee.
At the same time, he checked the lit-up sitting room just across the road for any sign that Emily Vokes was going somewhere.
But no, apart from making a phone call, she hadn’t moved.
Like she was waiting.
“You’re full of surprises, Jack,” said Grace, putting her player away. “I thought you’d be all lounge music and opera.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with opera.”
“God, I hate it. All those fat men and the screechy women.”
“You’ve clearly never heard the right opera,” said Jack. “Tell you what, next time there’s something really good on at the Royal Opera House I’ll get two tickets, maybe three, one for Sarah as well — my treat — and we’ll see if you really don’t like opera.”
“All right,” said Grace. “That’s a deal.”
Jack saw her suddenly sit lower in her seat.
“Uh-oh — Jack — look …”
He saw her gesture to the mirror and adjusted his own so it showed the road behind them.
About thirty yards behind the Mini, he saw a car pull up without lights.
“Well spotted,” he said. “Stay low …”
He waited — occasionally catching Grace’s eye. He knew Sarah liked to keep Grace out of their little detective sideline — but sometimes she did get involved. And — just like now — she always proved herself invaluable. And she clearly got a kick out of doing it.
“Someone getting out,” said Grace.
Jack could see the interior light of the other car flicker on for a few seconds, then off.
Then he saw someone on the other side of the road.
A man, in a coat.
The man trudged through the snow until he reached the gate to Emily’s house.
Then he stopped and scanned the street.
“Stay low,” said Jack. “He won’t see us, not in this light.”
The man seemed to stare straight at them, then he went to Emily’s door and pressed the button.
“Oh my God,” said Grace. “Shouldn’t we go over there — help her?”
Jack watched as the front door opened and Emily exchanged a word with the man. Then she stepped back and let the man into the house.
For a second, Emily scanned the road, then she closed the door.
“Don’t think she needs us,” said Jack. “Yet.”
He saw the man enter the sitting room, stand, say a few more words.
Then Emily went over to the curtains, and pulled them tight.
“Well, waddya know,” said Jack.
“Wow,” said Grace.
Clearly Emily was expecting the stranger.
The money. The stranger.
And Jack thought: they have to be connected.
*
Sarah sipped her tea and waited for her computer to boot up.
“Come on, come on …”
She hadn’t even bothered to take her coat off — and as she sat now in the deserted office, she wondered how Jack and Grace were getting on.
Just ten minutes online, that’s all she wanted.
Ten minutes — to find out just who the hell was Bill Armitage.
*
The door to Emily Vokes’ house opened.
And the man walked out, valise in hand.
While Emily followed him, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Well, well,” Jack said.
“What is it?”
He turned to Grace as the man took a moment to look up and down the street before crossing to his car.
“See that valise the man is carrying?”
“Yes?”
“Loaded with cash that Emily Vokes just took out of the bank.”
“And you think it has something to do with Bill Vokes disappearing?”
Jack grinned. “You must be picking up tips from Sarah. I bet it does.”
Then, both slumped down in the Mini, Jack watched the man cross to his car, open the door, toss the valise in.
He slid into the driver’s side while Emily got into the passenger seat.
They going away together? Jack wondered.
Did that add up at all?
“What are we going to do?”
Jack turned to her. He had only moments for this.
“Grace, need you to pop out, let me use your car to follow that man. Thing like this — got to follow the money.”
“Straight to Bill?”
A smoky puff erupted from the tailpipe of the moneyman’s old Ford Fiesta. He’d be pulling away in seconds.
“Okay, Jack. But this is my car, okay? I know how to handle it in the snow and ice, besides …”
Jack nodded. “You don’t want to miss any of this?”
She grinned at that.
Jack laughed. No time for a big debate here.
“Okay. Don’t stick too close. Watch the curves with the ice. Take it nice and gentle—”
“Jack — I know these roads in winter, right? A Cherringham girl?”
When the man pulled away and passed them slowly, as if being very cautious now with all that money in hand, Grace reached down, started the mini, and put it into first gear.
The chase was on.
And Jack had to admit — it felt weird being a passenger as Sarah’s young assistant started a tail of the car rolling away with Bill Vokes’s fortune.
A fortune that Jack still didn’t know how Bill came to have.
For that information, he waited on Sarah.
14. The Truth about Bill
Sarah leaned forward, looking at the grainy image of digitised newspaper columns, the old news ink making the letters look blurry.
And suddenly Bill Armitage was there.
A few stories from his childhood; a birth announcement; she saw Miriam’s name, proud mum, with a dad, Ken.
Some school football games, and a “best attendance award”, mentioned on a long list from his school.
But then the mundane story changed when he became an adult.
A police report on petty theft: shoplifting. Then again: a fight broken up in a bar. All minor infractions, but the trajectory was clear, and not good.
But then nothing much for years.
Until … something big. An armed robbery at a safe deposit store in London. A “significant” sum of cash, jewels, stolen. Two men sentenced for 25 years each, Bill involved, a car, a conspiracy charge, but he gets off light.
No proof he was at the scene of the crime. So just five years.
And he’s out.
Then — as if foreshadowing what had happened now — all mention of Bill Armitage vanished.
As if at some point he fell off the face of the Earth.
Which he clearly hadn’t; he’d come to the Cotswolds with a lot of cash.
And now she had a pretty good idea where that cash really came from.
Even before she reached for her phone to call Jack — coat on, ready to meet him wherever he was — Sarah was putting the dots together.
Bill. The robbery. The money.
And two men, now out of jail, looking for Bill Armitage.
Looking for their money.
And finding him playing Santa in a small Cotswold village.
*
“Whoa, Grace. This is snow and ice you are driving on.”
“Jack — the Mini Cooper has amazing traction, low to the ground, she can handle—”
As if to disprove Grace’s point, she took a curve, and Jack felt the rear of the tiny car slide to the right, brushing a bunch of hedges encrusted with snow and icicles.
“Um — okay. I’ll take it a bit slower. Don’t want to lose ’em now, do we?”
“Right. Or our lives.”
Whenever the road straightened, Jack spotted the car ahead. He guessed that he and Grace were far enough behind to not cause suspicion.
The road was a commuter’s shortcut past the old airfield, well frequented especially during the evening rush.
One car, a sturdy Range Rover barrelled past them as if it was a summer’s day, full speed ahead.
But then, as the road came to an intersection where it would lead to a highway, the car slowed.
“Okay, Grace … easy …”
“Yep. I’m slowing.”
The car with Emily Vokes and her money turned right, towards the old airfield now dotted with small warehouses, buildings probably rented for whatever.
The home — he guessed — of Bill Vokes’s workshop.
They’d look more suspicious in the Cooper when they took that turn.
So, when they reached the intersection, Jack reached out and touched Grace’s forearm.
“When you get to the intersection wait a bit. We know where they’re going; let them get ahead a bit more, and—”
His phone trilled. He s
lid it out of his coat pocket.
“Sarah?”
“Jack — where are you? Found Bill’s story. Think I know what’s happening … and what’s happened to Bill.”
Jack told her where they were, just pausing before heading into the sprawling grounds of what had once been a massive airfield that sent pilots up to fight the Battle of Britain.
“You go on,” she said. “I’ll find you there. Grace with you?”
“Afraid it was non–negotiable,” he said.
Sarah laughed at that. But then stopped.
“Jack, just take care. There are some dodgy people involved in this.”
Jack had already guessed as much.
He had trailed shifty men picking up big pots of cash before.
They tended not to be boy scouts.
“Will do.”
He nodded to Grace, and that nod signalled that she could make the turn and head into the grounds.
“See you soon,” he said, and clicked his phone off.
One way or the other, he felt that all was about to be revealed.
*
They passed a small gatehouse, where the crackerjack guard could be seen slumped asleep over a desk.
So much for security.
Grace instinctively slowed.
“Grace — kill the lights …” said Jack.
And when she looked over at him, he could see that her eyes were wide.
Exciting, yes. But maybe — now — just a bit scary.
She hit the lights, and the bumpy service road — the concrete long since massively cracked and pock-marked from decades of neglect — joined the icy snow mounds to make this slow crawl through the grounds feel as if they were traversing the moon, craters and all. The scene made complete by the snowy-white covering everywhere.
Now Grace drove even more slowly on the barely-visible access road. Until …
“Hang on,” Jack said.
Up ahead, the car: parked next to a small warehouse, two small windows glowing yellow.
People inside.
“There we are,” Jack said. “Don’t get too close.”
He could just make out two figures, now out of the car, Emily and the mystery man with the valise of cash.
Grace stopped.
“Is here okay?”
Jack nodded, eyes locked on the scene ahead.
Then: a flash of light; a door to the warehouse opening; the two dark figures disappearing.
Cherringham--Secret Santa Page 8
