‘The strange thing is that we received another call about the incident a few seconds after the first.’
‘Why was that strange?’
‘Well, the caller, who wouldn’t give his name, claimed to have witnessed Featherlight beating a man.’
‘So, why didn’t he stop him?’
‘He said he tried to, but Featherlight attacked him and he had to run.’
‘That sounds likely,’ I said. ‘I know I wouldn’t like to mess with him. I reckon he did do it and is lying to save his skin.’
‘That is possible,’ said Hobbes, ‘though he denies hitting anyone else.’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’
‘Maybe, yet I’ve always known him to tell the truth, or at least the truth as he understands it. Still, I can’t rule out the possibility that he is lying, especially with the charge being so serious. However, one of the lads who found him claims to have seen someone running away down the alley. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give a description, other than that he thought it was a man. None of the others saw anything.’
‘The guy was pissed, so how reliable is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hobbes, with a shrug, ‘though I don’t think he was as intoxicated as all that. Nevertheless, I might have agreed with your assessment, had it not been for that second phone call.’
‘Which said Featherlight did it,’ I said. ‘I don’t see how he’s going to get out of this one. He’s been close to going to jail for a long time and I can’t see him keeping out of it again.’
Hobbes poured himself another mug of tea. ‘He probably does deserve to go to prison, if only for his cooking, but I’m not convinced he’s lying and wouldn’t be surprised if the second phone call gets him off the hook. I think it would be very helpful if I could find whoever made it. There was one other thing, you know, that was extremely odd.’
‘What?’
‘Dregs. When we got there he refused to go down the alley. He stood at the entrance, trembling and bristling. The only time he’s been like that before was at the Wildlife Park. What’s more, I understood what was bothering him, because I sensed something wrong.’
‘You were scared?’ I couldn’t believe it.
‘No, not scared … stimulated more like …. I don’t know … I’m still thinking about it.’
‘But why?’
‘I can’t say for certain. There was something in the air, a scent, but it was strange, not exactly animal, and not exactly human.’
‘Like a werewolf?’
‘Not really. Besides, Dregs likes werewolves.’
He sat in thought for a few moments, the house silent, apart from Dregs snoring in the kitchen, until a car drove past, its occupants kindly sharing their music with the world.
‘Of course,’ said Hobbes, ‘this case would be simpler if we knew the victim’s identity. Unfortunately, he had no wallet, or keys, or anything that might identify him. That fact could be in Featherlight’s favour, as he had nothing like that on him when he was arrested.’
‘He could easily have hidden stuff.’
‘He could, but I searched the area and found nothing. We are assuming, of course, that the victim had some personal effects to take and it’s possible he didn’t, though his expensive suit and shoes suggested he was well-off; in my experience, prosperous people usually have some identification about their persons. In addition, there was a white mark on his wrist, indicative of a watchstrap, but no watch. Again, Featherlight hadn’t got it. Furthermore, he’s never before robbed anyone he’s thumped.’
‘But there’s got to be a first time for everything,’ I said, ‘and isn’t it most likely that he did bash the poor guy and left him for dead in the alley? What if somebody else found him first, a tramp maybe, robbed him and then called the police because he had a bit of conscience.’
‘It’s one of the scenarios the CID lads are considering. It probably wasn’t a tramp, though, since the second call was also made from a mobile.’
‘You know,’ I said, a thought occurring, ‘I wouldn’t be so sure that Featherlight has never robbed anyone. I saw him once thump a bloke called Lofty Peeke and take money from his pocket.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Hobbes, ‘I remember the Lofty Peeke incident and, you’re right, Featherlight did take money from him. In mitigation, he only took what he believed he was owed after Lofty had complained about his meal and refused to pay.’
‘That’s not much of an excuse.’
‘No,’ said Hobbes. ‘But, there is another factor that must be taken into consideration: Billy says the Feathers has had considerably more awkward customers during the last month or so than is usual, all of them large, burly men, all of them looking for trouble. He reckons someone’s trying to intimidate Featherlight.’
‘I can’t imagine him being intimidated by anyone – he’s not even frightened of you.’
Hobbes held me in a disconcerting frown for a few seconds before laughing. ‘You’re right, he’s not even frightened of me and, evidently, he wasn’t intimidated by the victim, who was a large, burly man. Featherlight claims he’d attempted to be friendly, but that the man had, I quote, been a complete tosser.’
I shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine him being friendly with anyone, unless his idea of it is to knock someone’s teeth down his throat.’
‘True,’ said Hobbes. ‘He is not the most genial of hosts. By the way, I made a sketch of what the dead man might have looked like without two black eyes, a broken nose and a cracked skull.’ Digging into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper.
Staggered, as always, at the dexterity of his massive fingers, I saw the image of a thickset young man with hard eyes and square jaw, an image that reminded me of someone.
‘I think I know him,’ I said.
‘Really? Who is he?’
‘Umm … I don’t know.’
‘So, in what sense do you mean you know him?’
‘I’ve seen him around. His name’s Mike.’
‘So Featherlight said,’ said Hobbes.
‘Yes, but the thing is I think I saw this guy on Friday evening. He looks like the driver who picked up Felix after the picnic.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, if your drawing is accurate.’
‘It’s only a quick sketch, but, I flatter myself, it’s a reasonable impression.’
I nodded, hot with excitement. ‘What’s more, I’d seen him before; I’m nearly sure he’s the guy Featherlight knocked out when they were playing tennis and, come to think of it, his kit bag had a King Enterprises logo. It didn’t mean anything at the time.’
Hobbes sat up from his habitual slouch. ‘That’s very interesting. How sure are you that it’s the same man?’
‘Quite sure … umm … I think. I wouldn’t swear to it but I’d bet a tenner that it was, if I was a betting man and had a tenner.’
‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘though I’ll need positive identification. How would you like to see the body?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, shuddering at the horrible thought, as an even worse one came to mind. ‘You’re not going to bring it back here are you?’
‘Of course not. We’ll go and take a look tonight, after supper, and make sure no one sees us.’
Something aroused my suspicions. ‘We will go by way of the front door, won’t we? That is, it will be an … umm … official visit, won’t it?’ Goosebumps were springing up all over.
‘I wasn’t thinking so much of going through official channels as going through the tunnels.’
‘Why? Wouldn’t it be best if I made an official ID?’ I asked, not fancying going back underground, even with Hobbes.
‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘For the moment, I think it would be better to keep what you said between ourselves.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, I don’t want Felix King to know we’ve discovered the dead man’s identity. I’m sorry he’s a friend of yours but I suspect him of …
not being entirely straight and don’t wish to get his guard up.’
‘He’s not exactly a friend,’ I said, ‘not really. Not at all, in fact. He sort of … umm … threatened me if I continued to see Violet.’
‘Go on,’ he said, slouching back onto the cushions.
I told him the entire story, including why I’d felt the need to ask about the wine. When I’d finished, he patted me on the shoulder quite gently. In fact, he barely left a mark.
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I thought there might be a problem between you and that young lady. I now understand why you haven’t seen her since the picnic.’
‘It’s not because I’m scared of Felix,’ I said, ‘although I am a bit, it’s because I didn’t get her telephone number or address. I can’t believe how stupid I was.’
Smiling, he raised his eyebrows.
‘Anyway, I got Felix’s number off the card he gave me and called to check how she was getting on, but when his secretary realised who I was, she passed on his message that … umm … steps would be taken if I kept on importuning Violet. She did though, let on that Violet was alright but taking a few days off work.
‘I wasn’t importuning her. At least I don’t think so; I’m not sure what it means. I just hoped the two of us had got, I don’t know, something.’
‘I would suggest,’ said Hobbes, ‘that you speak to her as soon as possible. I have observed that time can drive a wedge between friends who stop talking.’
‘I’d love to, but don’t know how to get hold of her. I was thinking of hanging around her office to see if I can talk to her when she gets back.’
‘You could do that, or I could find her address for you. Besides, I think I’d enjoy a little chat with Mr King – concerning wine, you know? I might also try to find out about his driver, Mike.’
‘When?’
‘Right away. Would you like to come?’
‘Me? Is that alright?’
‘Of course, you can introduce us. Get dressed like a man of means, and quickly.’
Dashing upstairs, I put on a light-grey suit, a white silk shirt and, a rarity in Mr G’s collection, a sober tie. It was only when I was adjusting the tie that I remembered Milord. He’d vanished, leaving behind a neat pile of perfectly repaired clothes.
‘Very respectable,’ said Hobbes, with an approving nod as I came downstairs, ‘though I’m not quite sure about the slippers.’
Turning back, I put on a pair of glossy black brogues.
He was waiting by the door with two bottles of wine in his hand. ‘Let’s get going,’ he said.
‘Where to?’
‘Mr King’s offices, of course.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Didn’t you look at his card?’
‘Only at the phone number.’
‘Go and get it.’
I ran upstairs, a bead of sweat trickling down my face. On reaching the top step, I remembered leaving the card next to the phone and, turning too fast, slipping, I bounced downwards with a series of undignified yelps.
‘No need to rush, I’ve found it,’ said Hobbes, handing me the bottles. ‘Take these and let’s go.’
Picking myself up, I hobbled after him and, since Dregs was still sleeping like a dog, I enjoyed the rare privilege of the front passenger seat and the feelings of terror and despair that came with it. I tried not to panic as he hurtled down The Shambles. The placard outside the Bugle’s offices read, Murdered Man Dies in Hospital. Police Suspect Homicide.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘Mr King’s offices are in that new building off the Amor Lane Estate,’ he said above the wailing of the brakes. ‘Why is that Muppet slowing down?’
‘Because he’s approaching a busy roundabout,’ I explained.
‘Ah, a responsible driver.’
As we sped past the car, its driver, green-faced, goggle-eyed, stared, making me wonder why he was dressed as Kermit the Frog. I didn’t wonder for long since Hobbes, taking the short, anti-clockwise route around the roundabout, despite the coach bearing down on us, drove everything else from my mind. Of course, we made it unscathed, leaving no casualties.
Within a few minutes, a sign for King Enterprises directed us towards a glistening, new steel and glass edifice, in a row with four similar buildings, adrift in a sea of car parks, grass and ornamental shrubs.
‘I can’t see any free spaces,’ I said, looking around.
‘This will do,’ he said, driving onto a patch of lawn and stopping, ‘but try not to trample the daisies. Follow me.’
He sprang from the car, slamming the door, marching towards the front of the building. As I scrambled after him, I dropped one of the bottles. Fortunately, my reactions were fast enough to catch it on my big toe. Picking up the bottle, I limped after him.
The door, one of those electronic ones that should open only after the correct code has been entered, gave way after one tug from Hobbes. Holding it open, he ushered me inside and up two flights of stairs; he didn’t approve of lifts and I was just glad there were so few high-rise buildings in the area. At the top, we found ourselves in a shiny reception, smelling of newness, with potted plants, hard seats and a young woman with poodle hair and big glasses. She looked up, huge-eyed.
‘Good afternoon, miss,’ Hobbes boomed, ‘we’re here to see Mr King.’
‘How did you get in?’ she asked, her voice high and squeaky.
It wasn’t Carol; I hoped her little kindness to me had not cost her.
‘Through the door and up the stairs,’ said Hobbes, advancing with what I assumed he meant as a friendly smile.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I never bother with nonsense like that. Could you tell him Hobbes is here? It’s about the wine.’
I held up the bottles.
‘I’ll see if he’s available. Are you a wine merchant?’
‘Just a friend,’ said Hobbes, with a chuckle that turned her face white, despite the crust of make-up.
‘And the other gentleman?’ she asked, sticking to her guns.
‘Is another friend.’
‘Please, take a seat,’ she said, leaving us at a brisk walk that became a rather undignified scurry as she exited the room.
Ignoring the seats, Hobbes followed her, so of course I followed him. The girl, hastening down a corridor, noticing we were on her tail, squeaked like a frightened mouse and plunged into a side room. When we got there, two burly security guards in black trousers and short-sleeved white shirts were waiting at the door. The girl was behind a table strewn with dirty mugs and even dirtier magazines.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the first guard, a tall man with a shaven head and a deep scar beneath one eye, ‘I don’t believe you have authorisation to be on these premises.’ Stepping forward he placed his hand on Hobbes’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
The other guard, shorter but broader, the possessor of an eternal stare, reached for Hobbes’s other shoulder. I felt a weird mixture of relief that they weren’t going to manhandle me, combined with indignation that they hadn’t even appeared to notice my presence.
‘Ask me then,’ said Hobbes, smiling.
‘Would you mind leaving the premises, sir?’ asked the tall one, trying to push him back.
‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ said Hobbes, ‘after we’ve had our chat with Mr King.’
The guards, exchanging glances, pushed in unison. They had as much chance of moving him as the church tower. Adopting a different approach, they seized his arms, trying to drag him out, finding an old tree could not have rooted more firmly than he had.
‘Please, leave the premises, sir,’ said the tall one, red in the face and puffing, ‘we wouldn’t want to resort to force.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to either,’ said Hobbes, pleasantly, ‘because it wouldn’t be worth it. As I believe I mentioned, we’re not leaving until we’ve seen Mr King.’
In response, the sho
rter guard punched him in the stomach before spinning away, cradling his fist and groaning.
‘Can we see him now?’ asked Hobbes.
The taller one, adopting a karate stance, launched into a jumping kick, which might have looked quite impressive had the strip light hanging from the ceiling only been a couple of inches higher. As it wasn’t, his leap being cut short by his forehead striking the fitting, his legs continuing forward with the momentum, he pivoted in mid-air, plunging down amidst a kaleidoscopic shower of splintered glass and would have landed flat on his back had Hobbes not caught him. Brushing the glass from the table, Hobbes laid the man, who was swearing, yet semi-conscious, on it.
Hobbes turned to the girl. ‘Really, miss, wouldn’t it be much easier if you just showed us into Mr King’s office?’
She gulped, nodded and scuttled out like a nervous rabbit, while Hobbes busied himself with picking up the shattered glass and placing it in a bin.
‘Did you have to do that?’ I asked, feeling a certain sympathy for the security men, who’d only been trying to carry out their duties.
‘Do what?’
‘Umm … whatever you just did.’
‘I didn’t do anything, did I?’
‘No … I know but … umm … couldn’t you have not done it differently?’
‘If I hadn’t wanted to not do it in my own way.’
The conversation becoming tangled, I shook my head, giving up, sitting on the edge of the table, listening to the tall guard’s incoherent cursing as a trickle of blood meandered down the side of his face into the shaven hair of his temple. The other guard paced up and down, rubbing and shaking his hand, avoiding eye contact.
Felix appeared at the door in a cloud of aftershave, the poodle-haired girl bobbing nervously behind him. I felt a little sorry for her, though not a lot, being unable to waste too much sympathy on anyone who would choose such a hairstyle.
‘Andy, what a pleasant surprise,’ said Felix, stepping forward, shaking my hand like a friend. Though his mouth smiled, there was no smile in his eyes, especially when they lighted on his two stricken guards. ‘And this must be Inspector Hobbes.’
Hobbes nodded.
Felix, stepping forward, shook his hand without flinching. ‘I’m delighted Andy has brought you to see me and I’m dreadfully sorry about the mix up. Had I known you were here I would, of course, have invited you straight in. It’s not often I receive such a distinguished guest, but it’s my secretary Linda’s first day and she wasn’t to know. She knows now of course and I trust she will prove more reliable than Carol, who let me down rather badly.’ He glanced at me.
Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) Page 25
