The Bookcase of Sherman Holmes: A Holmes and Garden Anthology

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘How perceptive you are, Mr Garden.’

  ‘But the jewellery was actually stolen from the jeweller’s son’s family home.’

  ‘But it turned up on the tree. Chances are, then, that the thief put it there. Now,’ Inspector Streeter was now beginning to enjoy himself, as he could see a quick wrap-up on the horizon, ‘If I’m not mistaken, the tree and the jeweller’s shop should be in the range of a couple of our cameras. PORT!

  ‘Ho, yes, we’ve got good coverage in Farlington Market, but we’ve had nothing up till now in Hamsley Black Cross. There you are, Port,’ he said, as a slightly out of breath DS entered his office. ‘Holmes, you get back to your office and let me know which dates we’re looking at and, while you’re at it, any contact numbers or suspects you have in mind. Port, you’re going to be checking some CCTV footage searching until you finish for the day, whether that be before or after Santa Claus flies over in his sleigh.’

  ‘But, sir,’

  ‘You are not a goat, Port; don’t “but” me.’

  ‘But, my wife …’

  ‘Will probably take the children to her mother’s tomorrow as arranged, if my memory serves me aright about previous years,’ retorted Streeter, mercilessly.

  ‘Can we come back when you’ve got the dates and probable times?’ asked Holmes, as wistful as a child waiting for his stocking to be filled. Considering what had happened between the rivals recently, it would have been churlish of Streeter to refuse this heartfelt plea.

  Having phoned through the dates and probable time of the break-in at the shop, the two private investigators made haste to return to the police station in Farlington Market, still the only ones in possession of the telephone number – nay, the very existence – of the cleaning lady and the name of the hotel at which Mr Fredericks Sr was staying. They had to have a trump card, as it was they who had started this hare to run. Of course, these contacts might prove to be a mare’s nest, but they couldn’t take that for granted.

  They found DI Streeter and DS Port hunched over a screen with long sequences of nothing, then the odd scurrying figure. They were looking for the person who had broken into the jeweller’s shop, but had not taken anything. They would then try to trace when the extra parcels had been added to the Christmas tree, which they assumed would be during the hours of darkness, and outside business hours for the shops.

  With the date, the first was relatively easy to find, and Port was able to isolate a reasonable image of the perpetrator and blow it up. ‘Well, knock me down with a feather!’ exclaimed Streeter. ‘That’s our old friend Clive Addison: not long out of stir for breaking and entering. ‘I’ll get a car to pick him up. Well, there you are, gentlemen; all done and dusted.’

  ‘I don’t believe so,’ declared Holmes sternly. ‘I think you need to prove, without a shadow of a doubt that the parcelled jewel from the tree was put there by him, or find out who the perpetrator really was. If he denies it, you have no evidential proof whatsoever.’ Holmes thought this sounded rather good, and puffed out his chest with self-importance.

  In the interest of ‘good will towards all men’ and in light of their recent unprofessional contact, Streeter said that he was willing to lay off interviewing Clive Addison while Port sorted through the CCTV footage for the hours of darkness between when the break-in at the house had occurred, and the break-in at the jeweller’s. ‘Get searching, Port,’ he ordered, then offered his two visitors a cup of coffee and a bun in the canteen.

  Port must have struck lucky because, after only forty-five minutes, he came running into the cafeteria shouting, ‘I’ve got him, and it’s not Clive Addison.’

  ‘It’s not?’ queried Streeter, obviously startled by this news. ‘Well, who the hell is it, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘May we take a look?’ asked Holmes, hope soaring in his heart as he realised who it might be.

  ‘Come along then,’ Streeter conceded, and they took their place following the two legitimate police officers.

  ‘It’s got to be him, hasn’t it?’ Holmes whispered into Garden’s ear.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Why, Mott the greengrocer, of course. He evidently knew what was in the parcels or he wouldn’t have given you, or rather, Joanne, one.’

  ‘No, of course, it’s not him, Holmes, it’s …’

  But he never got the chance to finish his statement, for Holmes saw the image, enhanced and enlarged on the screen, and exclaimed, ‘Good Lord! It’s him.’

  The image of Roderick Fredericks was clearly discernible. ‘Why, the little liar! But he’s quite an actor, don’t you think, Holmes.’

  ‘And he never even told his father. Wouldn’t disturb his holiday,’ replied Holmes, still dumbfounded.

  ‘He what?’ asked Streeter.

  ‘He wouldn’t phone his father to tell him what had happened when the jewellery was stolen from the house, nor after the shop was broken into.’

  ‘Now, that’s very interesting indeed, in retrospect. If the little thief had taken the jewels himself from his own home, maybe someone breaking into of the shop was a real shock to him,’ suggested Garden, now definitely having a brainwave. May we phone Mr Fredericks senior from your telephone, Detective Inspector Streeter? I have an idea of what really happened, and I think one phone call would sort out the whole business. He’s in Miami.’

  ‘A call to Florida?’ asked Streeter, thinking of the bill. ‘I suppose so, but don’t be on there too long.’

  Garden dialled the number of international directory enquiries to obtain the number for the Viscount Hotel in Miami. When he’d made a note and ended the call, he made to dial again, and Streeter said peevishly, ‘That’s two calls.’

  ‘Can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs,’ Garden offered impishly, and began to dial the long number for the Viscount.

  Luckily, Mr Fredericks was in his room – he had not yet got out of bed not surprising, with Florida five hours behind the UK and. In fact, he was doubly annoyed, because his hotel had proved to be just over the road from the perimeter fence of the airport, and he begrudged losing what little sleep he was able to get.

  When Garden explained to him that his shop had been broken into, he didn’t seem overly surprised. When he told him that his son had been arrested for the theft of the jewels, he became almost incoherent with disbelief. ‘But he can’t have done. It would have been Clive Addison,’ he stated, with absolute conviction.

  ‘And how exactly do you know it was this individual?’

  ‘Because he’s got a criminal record, and because he’s the son of my cleaning lady. He must have decided that, as I was away, it would be easier to get into the shop without detection. I bet my son forgot to set the alarm.’

  ‘The alarm was disabled with the code-number, Mr Fredericks.’

  ‘I don’t know how that happened, but he got away with all that jewellery, which was worth a fortune, I must tell you –’

  ‘No he didn’t, Mr Fredericks. The jewels were stolen from your home, and we have visual evidence that your son was responsible.’

  And now the whole house of cards came tumbling down. ‘But I paid Clive to break in! Why didn’t he get the jewellery?’ Mr Fredericks seemed to have no comprehension of what he had just admitted.

  ‘Because your son had already faked a robbery from your own home, where he said he had taken the jewellery to clean it whilst you were on holiday.’

  Garden looked round, but could see no sign of Streeter. ‘When will you be coming home?’

  ‘Not at all, by the sounds of it,’ replied the holidaying would-be criminal, who had evidently been planning an insurance fiddle of some considerable value. ‘Hang on a minute; there’s someone at my door.’

  There was the sound of voices, and then someone cut off the call. Garden pressed the end call button and looked round in some confusion. ‘He threatened not to come back, then just hung up on me,’ he said in dismay as Streeter came bounding through the door with a b
road grin on his face – maybe the first one either Holmes or Garden had seen him display: except for their encounter just a few weeks ago.

  ‘The cavalry has arrived, tra-la,’ he almost sang. ‘I’ve got a car on its way to Clive Addison’s address, and one on its way to pick up young Fredericks. I also got on to the Miami police. They had a patrol car in the area of North-West 36th Street, and they’ve dropped in to pick up our man, who is, at present, a fugitive from justice.’

  ‘You mean that father and son had both decided, unbeknownst to one another, to rob the business while the father was in the States?’ stated Holmes baldly.

  ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ replied Garden irreverently, but, fortunately, his partner was too pleased with the result that their joint efforts had achieved to notice.

  ‘Good show, Inspector,’ declared Holmes, in genuine admiration at the man’s quick thinking, as well as his quick talking.

  ‘We made a pretty formidable team, didn’t we – after you’d disclosed the fact that you had a case of which I wasn’t aware.’

  ‘We certainly seem to have closed it in double-quick time together,’ replied Holmes.

  ‘We could do better if we called a truce,’ suggested Streeter, with a feeling of amazement at his own precociousness.

  ‘We could even form an alliance.’ Holmes was just as much surprised at his own reaction.

  ‘Well, that’s a pact then,’ ended Streeter, holding out his hand.

  ‘We’ll co-operate in future,’ agreed Holmes, shaking hands, and then making way for Garden to do the same. ‘By the way, do you really have a DC named Moriarty?’

  ‘It’s not against the law, you know.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Back at the office to lock up for the Christmas break, Garden asked, ‘Did what I think just happened happen?’ for they had returned to their place of work in silence.

  ‘We seem to have an agreement with the police that they’ll scratch our backs if we scratch theirs,’ answered Holmes, still rather dazed.

  ‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but it’ll certainly be a different thing,’ sighed Holmes, only now comprehending what they had agreed to. ‘It can’t do us any harm. Perhaps now we will get the really interesting cases coming our way. What are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, Mother’s got her sister coming round, so, not much.’

  ‘Would you like to come to my apartment? I should be very glad of the company.’

  ‘Do you mind if I don’t?’ Holmes looked crestfallen ‘But Joanne would be delighted to attend,’ carried on Garden ‘I don’t think she’s ever been out to Christmas lunch before, and she does so want to wear her new jacket again, which has, incidentally, been instrumental in us solving this case.’

  Holmes stood, lost in thought for a moment. ‘I should be delighted to receive her,’ he replied, realising that it would still, underneath all the make-up and frills and furbelows, be Garden he would be talking to, and they got on rather well together.

  ‘Do you think Colin might like her?’

  ‘There’s no predicting who Colin will and won’t like. Just tell her not to wear her best tights, and we’ll tuck her jacket in the cloaks cupboard, out of the furry chap’s way.’

  ‘Holmes, is the war definitely over?’ asked Garden, with reference to their relationship with Streeter.

  ‘Has been since 1945,’ replied his partner, with a wink.

  ‘And you were right about this case from the very beginning. Do you remember, you said it was that young chap all along?’

  ‘Of course I did, old bean. I’m always right. You know that.’

  THE END

  More Titles

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  Andrea Frazer

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  For more information about Andrea Frazer

  and other Accent Press titles

  please visit

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2015

  ISBN 9781783758760

  Copyright © Andrea Frazer 2015

  The right of Andrea Frazer to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN