The Bath Conspiracy

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Ah, yes, the notorious modus operandi.’

  ‘Oh, of course, you would know about that from your extensive research.’

  ‘Don’t scoff! I’ve learned a lot from the thousands of mysteries I’ve read over the years. Oh, sure, the authors fudged occasionally, made up procedures to suit themselves, but especially nowadays, they do pretty careful research to make sure that what they have their characters do is logical and possible and conforms to established police practice. Of course, I know criminals stick to their habits – as do we all. But this guy – person – is a loose cannon.’

  ‘And round the twist as well, it would appear. The more important to find him. So. Our car is vandalized. What next?’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ I wrote down our not-very-useful conclusions about that incident. ‘Now. What did we do next?’

  Alan’s memory is much better regulated than mine. ‘We had a pleasant day at Lacock.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Where we learned absolutely nothing relevant to the problem.’

  ‘Except perhaps that postcard of the famous photo.’

  I waved that away.

  ‘No. Put it in the list. It doesn’t fit any pattern we’ve discovered yet, but it’s often the things that don’t belong that turn out to be the most important.’

  ‘Page four-hundred-and-twenty-three of the Policeman’s Guide to Catching Crooks. All right, all right. It’s in. Probably our villain swiped it out of habit. Not nailed down, in the pocket it goes.’

  ‘Perhaps. Then the next day the abbey in the morning, and in the afternoon the Baths.’

  ‘Yes. Where nothing happened until we left, and someone burgled the gift shop.’

  ‘Robbed, not burgled. Burglary involves forced entry.’

  ‘Hey, I’m supposed to be the grammar maven in this partnership. All right, robbed, if you will. Thinking back about that, it must have happened just after we left, while all those kids were still milling around. The burglar – okay, robber – could easily have used that crowd as cover for what he was doing.’

  ‘Write down everything you remember about your visit to the gift shop – that day, and the next when you were playing detective.’

  ‘Our first visit wasn’t memorable, really, except for that crowd of schoolchildren. But then the next day there were two disturbing incidents.’

  ‘Yes. Your encounter with Simon Caine.’

  ‘Up close and personal. With all the stuff he was carrying.’

  ‘I suppose you saw a receipt, so you know he bought and paid for everything.’ Alan sounded like a policeman.

  ‘No, I did not! But good grief, do you think I’m mentally deficient? Of course, I can’t swear on a Bible that he’d bought the stuff, but if his behaviour and general demeanour are any guide, he was not an escaping thief! I’ve learned a thing or two about people in the course of a long life, some of it spent tracking down bad guys!’

  I glared at him, and he looked at me for a moment with his stern policeman face. Then he held up his hands in surrender. ‘You’re right. Apologies. Of course you had a sense of the situation, and I accept your judgement. Still, I do think it’s interesting that he bought such a lot.’

  ‘We know he was interested in the Baths. And knew quite a lot about their history.’

  ‘Yes, but we met him the day before your “close encounter”. Would he have come back a second day to buy souvenirs?’

  I thought about that one. ‘Maybe he remembered a lot of people who needed gifts,’ I said tentatively.

  ‘Weak.’

  ‘I know. But really, there could be a lot of reasons why he came back. Maybe he’s a shopaholic.’

  ‘Usually a female disease. And no, I’m not being sexist. There are reliable statistics. I think you should make a new list, titled “Persons of Interest”.’

  I did that and then, hesitantly, said, ‘I think maybe there’s another name we ought to note.’

  Alan sighed and nodded. ‘Sammy.’

  ‘Sammy. We know nothing damaging about him, but he just keeps turning up. He’s such a nice person! I don’t want to think he could do anything bad, but …’

  ‘Exactly. But. And of course he was the principal character in the other incident you were about to mention at the Baths gift shop. He caused a fall, when the jewellery cabinet was open. Could have been an intentional diversion.’

  I nodded reluctantly. ‘It could have been. Even at the time I didn’t think it was and, mulling it over, I’m even less inclined to think so. Sammy is clumsy. Many people with his disability are. It was probably just an accident, and nothing was in fact stolen.’

  ‘Perhaps because you were there?’

  I shook my head, not in disagreement, but in bafflement. ‘You’ve got me. Alan, I can’t think any more. Pour me some bourbon and then let’s go for a walk or something. My head is full of cotton, hay and rags.’

  ‘Thank you, ’Enry ’Iggins. Here you are, love.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Confusion to our enemies!’

  FIFTEEN

  The next day we were ready to tackle our problem again. I restricted myself, at breakfast, to toast, a boiled egg, and coffee, on the theory that too much rich food puts the brain to sleep.

  ‘Now,’ I said briskly, when Alan had completed his more interesting repast, ‘let’s take a look at what we have.’ I pulled out the notebook we had been too dispirited to study the evening before.

  ‘It still makes no sense,’ Alan said with a sigh after frowning at our efforts for a few minutes. ‘There’s no pattern. Full stop.’

  I nodded. ‘And we never even got to the fire at the Jane Austen Centre and the fake leaf.’

  ‘Which only confuses the issue, in any case. Dorothy, it’s time to put the DBI into operation.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Dorothy Bureau of Investigation. We’ve identified two individuals who just might have something to do with this mess, the Caine man and Sammy.’

  I made a little gesture of protest, which Alan ignored.

  ‘We know very little about Sammy, and virtually nothing about Caine. That must be remedied.’

  ‘The police—’ I began.

  ‘You’re waffling, love. You know quite well the police can’t strain their resources by investigating two people who have been accused of nothing, against whom we have no evidence whatever.’

  ‘You think we should go out and find out more about these two people.’ I spoke with no enthusiasm.

  ‘I do. I think you should deploy your strongest weapon, your ability to talk to people and get them to talk to you. And I think you’re the one to find out about Sammy. Your strong sympathy for him will help you to get people to open up.’

  ‘And I’ll find nothing to his detriment, I’m sure. That boy is not a crook.’

  Alan, to his everlasting credit, did not remind me of the famous president who once spoke similar words.

  After some consultation, we agreed that I would start at the abbey gift shop. ‘It’s the smallest, but it may not be too crowded on an ordinary Tuesday in late October,’ I reasoned. ‘And I’ll bet anybody working there will know Sammy well. Then … well, I’ll follow whatever leads I might pick up there. And what are you going to be doing, meanwhile?’

  ‘I’d like to know a good deal more about Simon Caine. I don’t know where he lives, or what he does for a living, or anything about him, really, except that he hails from London. We have only his word for that, but I believe him. Accent, attitude – it all rings true.’

  ‘London’s a big place,’ I said mildly.

  ‘It is. And a place where most people are anonymous, as in any huge city. But I happen to know several people at the Met, including a few who owe me favours. I intend to call them in. It may get me nowhere, but if Caine is “known to the police” in any capacity, it should be relatively easy to find out a lot more about him.’

  ‘And do you think he might be on their books?’

  Alan ran a hand down the back of his head. ‘I don’t know. But there’
s something about him that rings alarm bells. Let’s say I wouldn’t be surprised to find him on the police blotter, probably for something very minor. He strikes me as a lad who would be very careful to stay on the right side of the law or, if temptation became too strong, to cover his tracks.’

  ‘I agree. He seemed to me to be just a little too … I can’t put my finger on it. But not quite genuine, somehow. Anyway, I’m off, if you’ll give me a lift. Shall we meet for lunch somewhere?’

  ‘How about that pub we liked, near the abbey? That’s if I can park anywhere nearby. I’ll call you about a time.’

  He ran me into the heart of town, as close as he could get to the abbey. ‘The sky’s looking a bit unreliable. Did you bring your brolly?’

  I nodded, patting the pocket of my sturdy jacket.

  ‘Well, then, the best of British luck to you.’

  ‘And back atcha, as the kids are saying these days. See you later.’

  The abbey was an oasis of peace and quiet, a benison in the midst of the turmoil that seemed to surround me these days. I knelt for a moment, praying for wisdom to meet the task before me, and then made my way resolutely to the gift shop.

  It, too, was quiet. There was one other customer when I came in, but when she left I was alone with the pleasant-faced woman at the till. ‘Let me know if I can help you find something,’ she said. Her voice was just as warm and friendly as her face.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I was hoping you could tell me a little about Sammy, the boy who works here sometimes.’

  ‘Oh?’ Not quite so friendly this time; a note of suspicion.

  I had my story ready. ‘Yes, you see, I was a teacher back in Indiana. That’s where I’m from originally, though I’ve lived in England for quite a while now. Anyway, over the years I met quite a few children with Down syndrome, and grew to understand them a little. And to like them very much, I might add. That is Sammy’s handicap, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think so, though I’m not an expert in these things. What I do know is that Sammy is a sweet boy – well, man, but he’s so childlike I think of him as a boy.’

  ‘Me, too. And I agree that he’s sweet, even when people aren’t very nice to him. Really, I could wring some necks sometimes! Oh, not really, but when I see someone making fun of him, or calling him names, or even just turning away in disgust … well, it’s like kicking a puppy, isn’t it?’

  By now she had melted completely. I was about to ask some of my questions when she asked me one.

  ‘But how do you know Sammy?’

  ‘I don’t really know him, not well, but I have to admit I’m an addict when it comes to museum gift shops, especially on this side of the pond. We don’t have anything back home that’s more than about three hundred years old, so your amazing churches and monuments and so on just blow my mind, and I have to buy books and souvenirs to send to my friends in the States. And Sammy seems to work in many of the shops here in Bath, so I keep running into him. I’ve been wondering. Does he volunteer at all these places, or is he paid? He seems to be quite useful.’

  ‘Oh, he’s very useful indeed, and very hard-working! Limited in what he can do, of course. He can’t read anything very complicated, nor do any but the very simplest sums. But he has a photographic memory. Show him a picture of what you want him to bring in from the storeroom, and he never gets it wrong. Yes, really, we couldn’t do without him, and certainly we pay him. He only works here one day a week. As you say, he works at many of the shops, but we’d gladly hire him for more hours.’

  ‘I hope he’s getting paid at the other places as well. I don’t imagine he has much in the way of resources, unless his family is well-to-do?’

  My inflection made it a question, and I hoped I wasn’t trespassing on one of those unwritten English rules of behaviour. In America it was impolite to ask someone about his or her financial standing, but usually okay to ask on behalf of someone who might be presumed to need some help.

  The clerk hesitated, and then said (with reserve), ‘I’m sure I don’t know. I believe he lives with a grandmother.’

  ‘Oh, then he has some support – emotionally, I mean. Back in Indiana he would be receiving Disability – that is, government aid to the disabled, those who can’t work for one reason or another. Those who receive that aid, though, are not allowed to work at all – I think. I’m not really up on the laws; I haven’t lived in America for years. Do you have any similar programs over here?’

  But that was too specific. I saw her face shut down even before a family came into the shop. The two toddlers were under insufficient control, to put it mildly; the parents looked stretched to the limit. The clerk gave me a smile that tried to cover her relieved look, and turned to deal with the two little destroyers.

  But I had learned two things. Sammy got paid for his work, and he lived with a grandmother.

  That little chat had certainly not used up the morning. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. I decided I could do with a cup of tea and a biscuit, and there must surely be a tea shop nearby. The rain had begun, barely a mizzle, but enough to make me pull out my umbrella as I walked across the square. It was much less crowded than it had been last week. The year was beginning to draw in; tourists were seeking warmer climes, and the weather wasn’t conducive to wandering. I found my tea shop and sat down gratefully to a steaming cup and a scone. (Well, I’d had a skimpy breakfast, I snarled at my conscience.)

  The tall man who walked in just after me looked familiar. I was sure I knew him from somewhere, but I couldn’t place him for a moment. Then my ragbag of a mind came up with the connection, and I waved.

  ‘Andrew! How nice to see you!’

  ‘And you, Mrs Martin. Mr Nesbitt is not with you?’

  ‘No, he’s off on his own today. Won’t you join me?’

  He brought his tray over and sat down at my little table with no sign of discomfiture. ‘I hope,’ he said, pouring his tea, ‘that your car was repaired to your satisfaction? I must say I was not impressed with the owner of the garage.’

  ‘Nor was I, but they did do a good job. You can’t tell it was ever damaged.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it, and, I admit, a bit surprised. I’ve suggested to the hotel management that they might consider contracting with another valet service. Yours is the first car I know about that was damaged, but one or two have, to my certain knowledge, been taken out without their owners’ knowledge.’

  ‘Good grief! Stolen, you mean?’

  ‘Not precisely. Used for taxi service. Most of the drivers, the valets, are honest, but some are not, and they can make rather a nice thing out of providing rides when they know a car won’t be wanted by the owner for some time. Hotel guests can be very trusting. They turn over expensive cars to people they don’t know, for an extended period of time, and hardly ever check the mileage when they reclaim the cars.’

  I finished my scone and wished I had another. I was, as Hercule Poirot used to say, given furiously to think.

  ‘Andrew – I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname.’

  ‘Williams. But Andrew is fine.’

  I thought for a moment about asking him to call me Dorothy, but realized he wouldn’t care for that. There was a line I was not to cross. ‘Well then, Andrew, do you know about what happened to our car before it was damaged?’

  ‘The stolen goods that were placed in the boot? Yes, Mrs Martin.’

  ‘Do you think it’s possible that someone took it for one of these taxi runs you describe, and that’s when it happened?’

  ‘No. That’s highly unlikely. For one thing, your car was brought to the garage relatively late in the day, and though it was unlikely you would want it before morning, the garage is locked at night. The window of opportunity was small.’

  I studied his bland face, finding it difficult to read. But from his carefully non-committal expression I was quite sure of what Andrew was not saying, and I burst into laughter. ‘And for the other thing, our car is far too nondescrip
t to make a desirable target for the game. The crooks would want luxury cars. Oh, Andrew, you’re so tactful!’

  He gave in and smiled. ‘Got it in one. Your car would be useful to criminals in another way, though. It’s utterly reliable, and its “nondescript” nature, to use your word, makes it fade into the background. It would make a perfect getaway car.’

  ‘You take my breath away! Were you a criminal in another life?’

  This time it was a broad grin. ‘No. I’m training for the police. One must acquire a certain knowledge of the habits of criminals.’

  ‘I think you’ll do well. If in time you aspire to the Met, talk to Alan. He still has some contacts there.’ I took it for granted that he knew all about Alan’s background. Nothing much slipped by Andrew. ‘But tell me. Where are you from? There’s something about your accent …’

  ‘Yes, it’s still there, even after twenty years in this country. As is yours. My parents moved here from Jamaica when I was a child.’

  ‘Oh, I should have guessed! You’re far too young to remember Harry Belafonte, but his accent was just like yours. Jamaica overlain by American in his case, English in yours – but the lovely lilt is the same.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He stood. ‘Excuse me, I have a class in a few minutes. Mrs Martin …’ He hesitated. ‘If I can be of service to you, in any way, I hope you’ll call on me. Here’s my phone number.’ He handed it to me, picked up his tray, and was off.

  Now what on earth was that about?

  SIXTEEN

  I was still wondering about it when I left the little café and debated my next move. The two other places where I knew for sure Sammy worked were the Jane Austen Centre and the Baths. I preferred not to visit the Baths gift shop just now. I thought I’d rather do that with Alan, after lunch. I wasn’t sure why the place gave me the creeps, but there it was. It was a pleasant spot with a delightful selection of merchandise, but somehow I wanted Alan with me the next time I entered that shop.

  And the Austen Centre was too far away to walk, I thought. I wasn’t sure, since Alan had the map, but even if it was fairly close, I wasn’t eager to walk in the rain, which was now much more determined. What a pity Andrew had left! He wouldn’t have had the limo at his disposal anyway, though.