The Bath Conspiracy

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Any news, Rob?’ he asked. ‘Have— yes, but— yes. Right.’

  He punched off. ‘Sylvie, we might try some of that gâteau after all. Rob is very anxious that you not go home just now.’

  ‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘I don’t know. He was most insistent, and sounded … no, frantic isn’t quite the word, but certainly agitated.’

  ‘He’s all right?’ Her placid demeanour was gone; the protective wife was all to the fore.

  ‘I got no impression,’ said Alan carefully, ‘that he was in any danger himself.’

  I looked from one to the other. ‘Coffee, I think. Laced with a bit of whatever you fancy. Sylvie, why don’t you cut that lovely cake while I heat water? Just the barest sliver for me, please. And then you can help us put that puzzle together. We haven’t made much progress, I’m afraid.’

  Sylvie had been a policeman’s wife for a long time. She didn’t waste her mental energy fretting, or asking pointless questions to which none of us knew the answers. She sat on the bed, on a couple of pillows to get her to the right height for the table, which we shoved over to her. With every appearance of enjoyment, she set to work on the puzzle.

  It was one of those trying ones with both water and sky, so a blue bit could belong almost anywhere. There were trees, too, which were reflected in the water, alongside the grass; the greens were even worse. The central image was a castle, great expanses of grey stone and black shadows. It was a challenging puzzle, requiring concentration. I had none to spare for the task. The coffee didn’t help. I’d made the fully leaded variety, thinking that none of us would get much sleep that night anyway and it would help clear our brains. It didn’t clear mine.

  I wasn’t a policeman’s wife in my early adulthood. I was the wife of a college professor in Indiana. The only time he was ever late to dinner was when some annoying meeting ran late, and he always called me. He was a good driver and had no health problems, so I never worried about him. That horrible day when he suddenly had a heart attack no one had predicted was the first time I ever had reason to be afraid on his account. That was bad enough, but it wasn’t the day in, day out knowledge Sylvie had to cope with, the knowledge that any morning when she kissed Rob heading out the door might be the last time she would ever see him.

  And she could sit there calmly placing a piece of blue into a nicely forming sky, while I fretted about what Rob was doing and why he was so worried for Sylvie. There’s no doubt about it. It’s a good thing I married Alan when his police career was nearly over and he was as far up the administrative ladder as one could go, no longer actively dealing with crooks. I’d have been a nervous wreck if I’d known him in his days as a working cop.

  ‘Helen must have been a remarkable woman,’ I said. No one had spoken for several minutes, and Sylvie looked up in surprise. Alan knew exactly what was on my mind. He always does.

  ‘She was that. And so are you, love. You just haven’t had the practice. Is that brown bit you’re clutching this missing piece of drawbridge, by any chance?’

  I could have used a nice cuddly cat at that point, but a nice calm husband is a reasonably good substitute. I started organizing the green pieces into light and dark, sharply focussed and wavery.

  When Alan’s phone rang I jumped, sending quite a few pieces to the floor. All he said before he pocketed the phone was, ‘Right. I’ll be down.’ He stood. ‘Rob is downstairs. We’ll be right back.’

  Sylvie stayed where she was, and only her gaze, fixed on the door, told me how severely she was holding herself in.

  Rob looked ready to drop. I stood up, and drop he did, on the bed, with a long sigh. Alan handed him a glass of amber fluid, which he downed like a man dying of thirst. ‘Right,’ said Alan. ‘Have you eaten anything?’

  When he shook his head, I moved into action. We hadn’t gotten around to refrigerating the eclectic leftovers. I picked up the bag and headed downstairs to the microwave. ‘And don’t you dare,’ I said as I left the room, ‘even think about telling the story until I’m back.’

  It doesn’t take long to heat a plate full of food that’s already at room temperature. I’d given Rob a little of everything, hoping he wasn’t a food purist. It was a strange sort of meal, but a lot better than he’d have gotten at the headquarters canteen.

  I held up the bottle of wine, nearly empty now, but Rob pointed to his whisky and shook his head.

  We let him eat and drink and recover while we pretended to occupy ourselves with the puzzle, but the moment he put down his fork, I said, ‘Okay. Now.’

  He wasn’t quite too tired to grin, though it was rather a weak effort. ‘Yes. In the abridged form, we had him and we lost him.’

  ‘Who? Or do I mean whom?’

  ‘Our old friend Caine, or Smith, or whatever name you like. He went up to the door, rang the bell, and started to ask about the box of lollies, when something tipped him off. We were watching, of course, with a telescope, but it was dark and raining hard, and he was carrying an umbrella, so we couldn’t see well. But we were using a directional mike; we could hear him quite clearly. He couldn’t have seen us, so God knows how he knew we were there, but he suddenly went flying down the steps and was at his car and gone before we could stop him.’

  We heaved a collective sigh of frustration, but Sylvie said, after a moment, ‘I don’t understand, darling, why you were alarmed about me.’

  ‘The man was screaming threats as he drove away. Our mike picked them up. I won’t repeat them, but they suggested that we’d best watch out for ourselves and those we cared about. The man has demonstrated that he doesn’t stick at attacking anyone who gets in his way, including women. We didn’t know where he had gone, and I wanted you out of harm’s way, that’s all.’

  She and I exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised. This, at least, was familiar ground for me as well. The chivalrous English male. Oh, well, it was sweet, if a bit stifling at times.

  ‘But I thought,’ I said, bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand, ‘you said the person who high-tailed it out of here earlier was a woman. I’m confused.’

  ‘So are we,’ said Rob, polishing off his whisky.

  ‘And anyway, how can you be sure it was Caine, if you couldn’t see him?’

  ‘One of our men knows him, or at least has met him. We watched him climbing the stairs up to the door of the house. I’m sure you know that the way a person moves can be very distinctive, and a back view is almost always revealing. He’s sure. In any case, we had a good view of his car as he drove away. And of the licence plate.’

  ‘You had time to run it?’

  ‘It’s quick now, Alan, quicker than even a year or two ago. There was no trouble. It came up almost at once with the many-named Mr Caine.’

  Alan shook his head. ‘Dorothy and I have said all along that he was an amateur at crime. A crook who knew what he was doing would never have used his own car.’

  ‘Well, he did,’ I said with satisfaction, ‘and with all that – licence number, fingerprints, and all – surely they won’t have too much trouble finding him.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he’s managed to slip through a lot of fingers up to now. The Met people I know say he’s a chameleon, can assume a new appearance and even a new personality in minutes when necessary.’

  ‘He can’t change his fingerprints!’ I retorted.

  ‘No, love. But they have to catch him before they can print him.’

  I was discouraged again. ‘So what do we do now?’ It seemed I’d been saying that a lot lately, and every new idea we came up with fizzled out.

  ‘We go home to bed and leave you two to do the same. Who knows? By morning they may have caught him. The word is out, you may be sure of that. And even if not, we’ll be a lot brighter when we’ve had some sleep.’ Rob yawned so widely I feared he might crack his jaw. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t help …’ Another yawn.

  ‘Sylvie, take him home. We’ll talk in the morning.’

&nb
sp; TWENTY-SIX

  I slept like I’d been hit on the head, and woke to lots of light.

  ‘Good grief, did I sleep till noon?’ I said, sitting up.

  ‘No, love, only half-seven. That bright light is because the sun decided to show itself. Remember the sun?’

  ‘Vaguely. I’m sure I must have seen it before.’ I yawned. ‘Maybe it’s a good omen. Maybe something nice will happen today. What day is it?’

  ‘Friday, the thirtieth October.’ He held up a newspaper. ‘I’d rather lost track myself, but here’s proof.’

  I yawned again. ‘Anything interesting in the paper? Besides the correct date?’

  ‘Nothing much. The planet is on the brink of destruction.’

  ‘Oh, that. For how many decades now?’ I stretched and pried myself out of bed. ‘What do you say we go out for breakfast? The coffee here is very good, but I’ve got a hankering for a Starbucks latte. With whipped cream. And something like a cheese Danish.’

  ‘And to hell with healthy, eh? I’m on. I’ve showered; it’s all yours.’

  We set out on foot. Neither of us could quite remember where we’d seen a Starbucks, but there was bound to be one not far away. ‘And it’s the kind of morning I feel I could walk for miles.’

  ‘Amazing what a change fair weather makes.’ Alan was stepping along briskly himself.

  ‘I can believe in anything in this kind of weather, even that we’ll solve our problem. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Rob?’

  ‘You’ll be the first to know, my love.’

  When we’d devoured our delicious empty calories – without a single pang of conscience – I saw that we were quite near the abbey. ‘Let’s go in, just for a moment,’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, it certainly is the sort of day for a little thanksgiving, isn’t it?’

  Alan almost always knows what I’m thinking.

  The abbey was crowded with tourists on this beautiful day, perhaps the last one before November descended. It was peaceful, all the same. Sound in these great Gothic temples tends to go upward, and though there are reverberations everywhere, somehow the essential stillness is not disturbed. We said our prayers and then wandered idly, appreciating details we hadn’t noticed before.

  For once I didn’t want to visit the gift shop. With Sammy in trouble, it didn’t feel right. We were exploring some of the lovely carvings in the choir when Alan’s phone rang.

  ‘Blast! I forgot to mute it! Sorry,’ he added, presumably apologizing to the abbey. He silenced the ring and looked at the display. ‘It’s Rob. I’d better take it.’

  We left by the nearest door, and Alan called back, listened for a moment, and then turned a smiling face to me. ‘They’ve got him!’

  ‘See! I knew something good would happen today. Tell me everything.’

  ‘I don’t know much, Rob said only that the Bristol police spotted his car and stopped him.’ He shook his head. ‘They always think they’re safer in big cities. They forget that the police there are highly trained and can act fast.’

  ‘The Met had a hard time finding him,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Yes, well, London is a special case. Far higher population than Bristol, for one thing, and far more tourists. Caine would have done better to try to hide there, where he has boltholes. But Bristol is so much closer, and I suppose he thought he could then head north a few miles and slip into Wales. A mistake, again. He couldn’t hide there; he’s too obviously a Londoner.’

  ‘Unless that’s part of the act he knows how to put on.’

  ‘Perhaps. The great thing is that they’ve got him in custody.’

  ‘Where? Here or in Bristol?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. I’d imagine Bristol for now. Look, I’m getting hungry. That sweet binge we indulged in for breakfast was all very well, but it doesn’t have much staying power. Let’s find some lunch.’

  ‘Nearby. I’m just about walked out.’

  There was a pleasant-looking pub just across the square, or plaza, or whatever they called it, and we were settled with our beer, waiting for our ploughman’s lunches, when Alan’s phone buzzed. If the pub had been just a little noisier he’d have missed it.

  ‘Drat! Now I forgot to un-mute it. I’m getting old, Dorothy.’ He looked at the screen. ‘Rob again.’ He listened, spoke, punched off. ‘He’s going to join us here in a few minutes.’

  ‘Good! I’m dying to hear all about it.’

  Alan ordered another ploughman’s for Rob, and they all arrived the same time he did.

  Alan and I were both hungry, but Rob was ravenous. He devoured half his lunch before taking a deep breath and finally really looking at us.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘No manners at all.’

  ‘Rob, when did you last eat? Or sleep?’

  ‘Can’t remember. Or no, I had supper last night, with you. Then Sylvie and I left for home, but my people called before we got there. So I dropped her off and went back to work. And I was busy all night.’ He took a hearty swig of his beer and another bite of bread and cheese. ‘Reports kept coming in. Our crook had been spotted all over England and Wales. London, of course. Swansea, Cardiff, Lincoln, York, Durham. No sightings in Scotland, but it would have been just a matter of time. And every one of them had to be followed up, even those that seemed impossible. I was just about to call it a night – or morning – and leave the mess to the rest of the crew when the call came in from Bristol, the real thing this time. That woke me up. We drove over and found our boy sitting in jail, very unhappy.’

  ‘What did he say? Did he admit anything?’

  ‘He said exactly one word, when he was first arrested. He was read the usual caution and told that he had a right to free legal advice. He said, and I quote, “Yes.” That was at about six this morning. From then until I left an hour or so ago, he has said nothing at all.’

  ‘Has he been questioned?’ I asked.

  Both men shook their heads. ‘Once he’s asked for legal representation, we can ask nothing without a solicitor present,’ Rob said. ‘No one from the DSCC was immediately available, and no one had got there before I left.’

  ‘DSCC: Defence Solicitor Call Centre,’ Alan explained, and I nodded. ‘He doesn’t have his own solicitor, then?’

  Rob shrugged. ‘Don’t know. He won’t even acknowledge his name. Not surprising, that, since he has so many. We don’t know his current address, his real name, or anything except what’s in his record, and that’s sparse enough.’

  ‘His passport?’ I suggested.

  A wry laugh. ‘Which one? He was carrying three, different names, different addresses, different birth dates. Same picture for all. That does tell us one thing; he has at least one good contact in the criminal fraternity. First-class forged passports can’t be bought at Harrod’s.’

  ‘And I don’t suppose they come cheap, do they?’

  ‘No. This little lot would have cost him several thousand pounds.’

  I whistled. ‘Good grief, crime must be paying well these days.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing, you see. If he’d sold every one of the trinkets he lost when they turned up in your boot, and sold them at the highest possible rate, it wouldn’t pay for even one of those passports. So he must have some other source of income, legal or otherwise, that we don’t know about.’

  ‘But if he won’t talk …’

  ‘Exactly.’

  I sighed. ‘We’d all decided he was a pretty stupid and inept crook, but he’s acting smart now.’

  ‘In some ways. It was stupid to keep his car, when he knew we’d identified it. It was stupid to carry all those passports with him. One would have confused us about his real identity. Three just affirms our confidence that he’s a criminal. The only smart thing he’s actually done is to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘Smart for him. Frustrating for us!’ Alan put his beer glass down with a thump. ‘I assume the usual enquiries are going forward?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Questioning everyone he is known to have known, s
earching every known residence – and there have been a lot of them. Talking to every known employer – very few of them! He’s not the sort to enjoy working for a living.’

  ‘Women?’

  ‘The Met has tracked down a few. They are apparently not his chief interest in life. His lusts, so far as we know anything about them, are for filthy lucre and excitement. And not necessarily in that order. He seems to enjoy the thrill of the chase, the delight in outsmarting us bone-headed coppers, almost as much as the money his dubious activities bring in.’ He put down his beer glass and shook his head at Alan’s gesture. ‘If I have any more, I’ll fall asleep right here and someone will have to carry me out.’

  He stood. ‘I’m going home. If the abbey is carried off, stone by stone, while I’m asleep, leave me a note.’

  We sat and watched him out the door, drooping with weariness. ‘He surely isn’t driving, is he?’

  ‘No, he’ll have a driver. I almost always did, as you’ll recall. One of the perks of higher rank. Do you want me to find a cab to take us home?’

  ‘Yes, when the time comes. Right now I want some coffee and something sweet. I don’t care what.’

  He came back with two coffees and a piece of apple-walnut cake. ‘Nothing for you?’ I said as I took the first luscious bite.

  ‘I’ll finish yours.’

  ‘Don’t you wish!’

  He did, though. I’d had enough to eat, though that seldom stops me in the middle of something delicious. But I suddenly had a vision of Sammy lying in a hospital bed, confused and afraid, and perhaps suffering in his muddled conscience over sins he wasn’t responsible for. I saw his grandmother, torn with worry about her beloved boy, mind and body. I saw Andrew, trying to help her with only one arm, trying not to worry about his lost job and his ambitions put on hold.

  I put down my fork. ‘Alan, we have to know what happened. If he won’t talk, and they don’t have enough evidence to charge him, they’ll have to let him go, won’t they?’