"That hole was dug before the men were buried. My guess is that the grave was dug the day before the van arrived, or at least the hole was there on the morning and the van probably didn't get there until the evening or in the night at some point." Stanley thought for a moment. "That sounds right. It was all planned in advance. We just need to know why the dead men had their fingerprints all over the van. I think the only explanation is they drove it there themselves, and for whatever reason the killers left it behind, not caring. So it comes down to that. Why?"
"Maybe the killers wanted them to be found?" said Spider.
"Or maybe the killers planted the dead men's fingerprints," said Kate.
"Yes, or maybe it's something else. Hmm. My guess is the dog whined about the men being buried, and the day before it barked because of the hole. Need to think about this one." Stanley fumbled in his pockets absentmindedly, only coming out of his reverie when he felt a yank at his mouth.
"Are you nuts?" said Kate in shock, holding his pipe.
"Oh, oops. Sorry, I did it without thinking. Okay, now, I think we need to go see the owner of the van next, see if they can help. Kate, can you find out who they are and where they live?"
"Wait a minute, I'll have to check Online to see if there was any mention of the owner." Kate reached back, miraculously found her phone in a matter of seconds, and began tapping away.
"It was someone called Mack, but it says he lives in Banrook," said Spider from the back seat.
"Blimey, that was quick. He'll be doing you out of a job, Kate." Stanley turned to see Spider focused on his screen—it certainly beat his obsession with You on a Tube or whatever it was called, and social media.
"I think it's great," said Kate, not looking like she thought it was great at all. She started the engine. The Mini belched out black smoke, the engine roared, and she left behind tire marks as she careened toward the first speed bump. Stanley braced himself, glad he had his cap on to cushion the blow he got a moment later as his head hit the roof once more.
"Well, do you want to know where this guy lives, or not?" asked Spider, craning forward between the seats after the speed bumps were flattened.
"We already know," said Kate.
"Unfortunately, Kate is right. Everyone knows Mack, and there is only one person it can be."
"Oh, okay." Spider leaned back, a little deflated.
"But great job, and get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For the experience that is Mack. Otherwise known as Mack the Knife." Stanley shuddered even though it was very warm.
"Sounds like fun."
"Trust us, it won't be," said Kate, reaching for a pack of Polos from her bag, steering with her knees.
"If we make it there." Stanley really wished he could smoke his pipe in the Mini at times like this.
Mack the Knife
Banrook was a small village, and that was what Stanley loved about it. The only thing he didn't love was that so many people that were born there could now no longer afford to buy—prices were sky-high and showed no sign of slowing down.
But he loved the quiet, the friendly faces, and the whole feel of the place was real old English country village—he would never leave.
That didn't mean all residents were quaint old characters that spent their time on the bowling green or going to church. There were plenty of unsavory types, and one character that everyone in the village knew, or knew of, was Mack the Knife. With a name like that it was easy to see why.
His infamy preceded him when he moved there over twenty years ago, a man that had been arrested or questioned by the police more times than many people had had hot dinners, but he had never been charged. The man was untouchable.
He was, when all was said and done, a gangster. Rumors abounded about the man and his old life, told and gossiped about behind closed doors, in pubs and Women's Institute meetings, never in his presence. The irony was that he had given speeches at the Women's Institute, was liked at the pub when he made a rare appearance and was always bought a few rounds, and was just exceedingly nice to all that met him.
That was part of the true aura that surrounded the man. He was always civil, never threatening or showing any signs of the things he had been accused of over the years. Never looking like the kind of man that once supposedly ran one of the most successful, and violent, gangs in the country. It made people nervous precisely because he was so nice and friendly. He had a way about him. Stanley thought it was like he oozed the threat of violence, but if he thought about it then there was never anything done to make him feel that way.
Like others, they thought it was maybe their imagination. That because of the mystery surrounding him they were imagining things. Mack the Knife was a perfecter gent, lived in a rather extravagant home with his wife and chihuahua, had way too good a tan to reside in the UK—apparently he had a sunbed, even a swimming pool and a sauna—and hadn't appeared to work a day since he moved to the village on his fortieth birthday.
"Cool," said Spider. "Think he still runs his gang and gets a cut of the action?" Spider was eager to hear more after being told the history of Mack on their way back to Banrook.
"A cut of the action? Don't be daft. Or, well, maybe." Stanley had to admit, he'd often wondered the same thing. Did people just give up crime and start a new life like he apparently had?
Kate made it back to Banrook with all of them still alive, and as she actually slowed to overtake a cyclist said, "Do you think we should just turn up to his house? He gives me the creeps. Yuck."
"It'll be fine, don't worry. He's not going to whip out a blade and shiv us." Stanley hoped not, anyway.
"What are you talking like that for? Shiv? You've been watching those rubbish shows again, haven't you?" said Kate.
"Some of them are quite good, even if they are a little sweary." Stanley had secretly become almost addicted to a few crime shows, watched after Babs went to bed now he'd discovered the way to use all the buttons on the remote and found that he could access many shows whenever he felt like it. Apparently their new TV had this thing built into it so it was like having a massive collection of VHS tapes on hand whenever he wanted—not that anyone still used VHS apparently.
"He's not really dangerous, is he?" asked Spider, getting more excited by the minute.
"No."
"Yes."
"Kate, he isn't. It'll be fine. Whatever he did in the past, he's left it all behind. He won't mind us turning up, I'm sure." Stanley wasn't, but he wanted to get the interview over with, and besides, he didn't know what else to do now. They'd been to the crime scene, spoken to the man that found the van, so this was next. After that? He wasn't sure. Still, it was the first day of the case, so they were doing quite well, he thought.
Kate pulled up at a large gate. Behind the dark metal, immaculate grounds could be seen, the lawn with perfect stripes, the topiary trimmed to perfection. The house itself was large, but not too large. Nice looking if a little ostentatious for Stanley's taste. There were fake columns at the entrance, and the whole thing was simply trying too hard to be something it wasn't. Its age showed, built at a time when every construction company in the country seemed insistent on harking back to times past rather than coming up with something new and interesting.
Still, it was nicer than Stanley's semi-detached, that was for sure, and he would love a garden so large.
Kate jumped out and pressed the buzzer, spoke a few words quietly into the speaker that Stanley couldn't hear above the sound of the engine, and then she got back in.
"He's here, taking a swim. We can go around the back to the pool, his wife said."
"Great," said Stanley.
Kate looked less than impressed but drove once the gates opened silently.
"Reckon he's got some of his goons with him right now, planning their next job?" said Spider yanking himself forward like he had the whole way back to Banrook, shaking Stanley's seat.
"Don't be daft. I told you, he's harmless now. And will
you stop doing that. Get your hand off my seat, it's driving me mad."
"Sorry, Uncle Stan." Spider remained exactly where he was, peering forward like he was about to meet some kind of hero. Not a sixty-year-old having a swim.
Nice Speedos
The driveway was black perfection, asphalt so flat, crisp and perfect Stanley was seriously envious. But, as with the garden, it was too perfect. The grounds were sterile, surgical in their precision. Such order was obsessive and it made him nervous.
Who has the time for such things? Then it hit him, not Mack the Knife, or his wife. No, this would be paid staff maintaining everything, which meant money, and it all led back to the question of exactly who Mack the Knife was. He'd been in the village for twenty years, and nobody knew how he earned his money.
But then, had anybody actually asked? No, you don't ask a man called Mack the Knife how he earns his money. He might just stab you in the belly if you did.
"This place gives me the creeps," said Stanley as he stood staring at a peacock strutting past and Roobarb whined.
"I know what you mean. It's not even possible to have a garden this tidy, is it? It's cleaner than inside my house." Kate frowned at one of the borders as they wandered around to the back of the house. Stanley wondered how they managed to have a garden yet not a single fallen leaf, it wasn't normal.
At the rear, they could see someone doing lengths of a large pool through the glass of a massive conservatory. At least, that's what Stanley thought of it, but in reality it was a self-contained extension that included a gym, sauna, sunbed room, and the pool itself. It screamed money. A lot of it.
Why did he own a white van? Was Mack involved in the death of the two men? Stanley began to feel nervous. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"You can't tell me this dude isn't dodgy when he's got his own swimming pool and no job. Look at this place, the pool's bigger than most people's houses," said Spider, awed by the massive glass and steel construction.
"Ssh, he might hear you," warned Kate.
"What, when he's swimming? And look at the garden, I thought that was it at the front."
They looked down the rear garden, taking in the true extent of the property's size. Stanley had thought the same, that the massive front area was the garden, but that was just a tiny introduction to the acre or more of perfectly striped grass. It was like a cricket pitch or a golf course. Yes, that was it, it was like the local golf course, only better maintained.
"Well, we can certainly say he has some money," said Stanley. "This lot would cost a fortune to keep in this condition."
"And the pool," said Kate. "That would be expensive to heat. He must be loaded." Kate put a hand to the large glass doors that led inside.
"Wait," warned Stanley. "Can we just go in?"
"Yes. His wife said just go in and say hello. She sounded nice."
"Oh, okay."
Rather reluctantly, they entered the lair of Mack the Knife.
The first thing Stanley noted was the heat. It was like a sauna, totally tropical. Humidity was high, ridiculously so. Why on earth would someone keep it so hot? And how much would that cost? This was extravagance. This was how seriously wealthy people lived, when the bills weren't a consideration, just having things how they wanted them.
They stood on the edge of the pool in a line, staring at the figure doing laps. Mack swam like a professional, taking long reaches as he occasionally turned his head to the side and took a breath. Stanley knew he'd probably get about half a length and need a lifeguard.
Nobody said a word. How were they supposed to get his attention when he had his head in the water?
Mack turned at the end of the pool and as he came close to them Stanley waved as Mack took a breath. The man smiled, then put his face back in the water and continued—he didn't miss a stroke. He was one very unflappable individual.
Kate raised an eyebrow to Stanley, but he just shrugged—they'd have to wait, he guessed.
"Bet you would have drowned by now, Uncle Stan," said Spider, looking a little less full of bravado now they were inside the man's home and waiting like servants to be acknowledged.
"Cheeky bugger. I bet if I practiced I'd be good. Although it's been a while. Um, maybe a few years."
"Dad, you haven't been swimming since I was a kid."
"Well, maybe." Stanley had no idea when he last went swimming, but Kate was right, it had probably been over thirty years. Where did the time go? One minute he was jumping about with his little daughter at the local swimming center, his child a crazed girl with a mass of frizzy hair and never wanting to get out, and now here he was, her all grown up and helping her dad solve murders. It was like the intervening years had never happened.
He could remember her childhood like it was yesterday. Recall perfectly all the cute things she did, the funny words she had for things, the names of her teddy bears.
He pictured her running down the hallway, shouting Daddy at the top of her lungs, smiling and jumping at him when he got home from work. Him lifting her up, and her wanting nothing in the world so much as a cuddle and a kiss, him the same.
And all those years since, how had they gone by so quickly? How had he got old, using a walking stick now and then when his hip flared up a little? Now his face was wrinkled, hair thin, and belly a little too fat. Where had all that time gone? Did it even happen? What had he done? Living life, that was what. Working and earning money to survive. Being happy with Babs and their daughter. Having pets that gave them so much love and pleasure but passed all too soon.
And he still had that little girl, his beautiful daughter, right by his side. A bond that was so close it made his heart ache thinking of her. He was so grateful she liked spending time with her old dad. What if she had decided to live far away, not a part of his life every day? How lucky was he that she stayed close? Wanted to? What more could a man wish for from his life?
Well, a posh swimming pool would be nice, and a big garden, but he'd settle for love any day of the week. Love, and his cramped kitchen, and his wife in her slippers, and her crosswords, and walking Roobarb. He had a new lease of life now, a role that made him feel it was worth getting up in the morning, which made him realize how silly he'd been to be depressed after his retirement. He still had his family, and that was all that mattered when you got right down to it.
"Dad. Dad. Hello?" Kate shook him and stared with soft, loving eyes as he came out of his reverie. She tilted her head and smiled that special smile she had, just for him, the one that questioned what he was daydreaming about, knowing her dad did it, was a part of who he was.
"Oh, sorry. Just thinking."
"Uncle Stan, you were miles away." Spider nodded at Mack the Knife who was walking toward them, rubbing his hair with a towel.
How come he still had such thick and dark hair? It wasn't fair. Once again, money was the answer, Stanley supposed.
Stanley relaxed as a man with a very orange tan and a very average looking body—with way too much gray hair on his chest—wearing a pair of Speedos, smiled as he approached.
You can't really feel threatened by anyone in a pair of Speedos, it just doesn't work.
"Nice budgie smugglers," said Spider, smiling.
Mack the Knife looked down at his swimming trunks and then at Spider in confusion. "Who are you?"
"Sorry, Mack, allow me to introduce my very rude nephew. This is Spider."
"Hello, Stanley. Hello, Kate my dear. And, er, hello, Spider. Hey Roobarb, you been on a diet?" Mack bent and rubbed Roobarb's ear. "Now, what can I do for you? I have another ten laps to go, so please don't think me rude for not inviting you in for a cup of tea."
"It's about your stolen van," said Stanley. "Mind if we ask you a few questions?"
"What on earth for? Ah, of course. I heard you'd turned detective, Stanley. On the case are you?"
"Yes, it's our first day looking into it, so we thought we'd pop in and have a chat if that's okay?"
"Of course,
of course. Let's go outside, it's a nice day."
"Um, okay."
Stanley tried not to look, but was mesmerized by the sight of Mack the Knife walking out the door of the pool house in a pair of swimming trunks. Very tight, and very small swimming trunks.
"Why are they called budgie smugglers?" he whispered to Spider.
"Obvious, isn't it? Cause you look like you're smuggling a budgie in them."
They followed Mack the Knife outside into the sunshine.
A Polite Conversation
Mack the Knife lifted his face to the sun and sighed with contentment. Stanley, Kate, and Spider stood around him, bemused, confused, and trying not to snigger. Kate had to repeatedly nudge Spider in the ribs as he giggled silently until Mack opened his eyes and studied them.
"Would you mind being quick? I don't want to get stiff before I finish my swim."
"Not in those swimming trunks you don't," said Spider, deadpan.
"Spider!" Kate frowned.
"It's all right, Kate, the vitality of youth. Now, Stanley, what can I do you for?"
"We're trying to uncover what happened, and your van is a part of it. Can you give us the details?"
"Of course. It was taken, from the driveway. We'd had an issue with the gates and it was stolen. All fixed now, the gates, but I assume that whoever took it merely walked in and stole it."
"So you don't think it was the men found killed that took the van?" asked Stanley, picking up on what Mack said.
"I do not. I have met Charlie and Robert on many occasions and they would not steal my van."
There was a definite undertone to the words. As if the men knew better than to take his property. As if there would be consequences, and they had known that.
"Was anything else taken? Oh, sorry. Roobarb, you stop that." Stanley pulled the leash a little shorter. Roobarb had decided he liked the taste of chlorine so was currently licking Mack's knee.
"That's okay, I'm used to dogs. No, the other cars were not taken. The van is old, no alarm, and you can hot wire them easily. Um, so I have been told."
Old Age Private Oh My! (Old Age Pensioner Investigations (OAPI) Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 8
