*
I knew where I was going. It was going to take a long time, but my teeth were into the bait and I was not going to let go. It was a hunch but something told me that there might be, just might be some truth somewhere, waiting to be found. This is what I should have done a while ago before I got distracted.
James was eating at Maeve’s Cafe even though she was near to closing. Mavis was feeding him up with a huge plate of cod and chips. He had decorated it with half a pint of tomato sauce.
“It’s as well that they’ve decided tomato sauce is good for you,” I said, sitting down at his table. I helped myself to a chip.
“Who decided?”
“Some Public Health Authority.”
“Never heard of it.”
I took another chip. James frowned at me.
“You know the photograph that I found of Dick Mann and his pals, circa 1990?” Had I told him about it? Somewhere along the line, I must have told him.
“If you say so…” He was concentrating on the fish now. The flakes were creamy-white and succulent. He didn’t offer me any.
“Well, I know you won’t tell me who Dick Mann once was. before he became Dick Mann, that is, but I think I know his previous identity,” I said slowly.
“So?”
“I think I also know what happened in the bell lower of St Luke the Divine that evening.”
“More guesses?”
“Calculated guesses.”
He went over to the counter and took a clean fork and paper napkin. He pushed them towards me. “I can see you’re starving. Help yourself. Mavis always gives me too much.”
“Thanks,” I said, savoring the prospect. “James, I think I’ve worked it out. But I’m not sure if I’m right. I need your expertise. You don’t have to tell me anything. But I need a nod now and then.”
“I might manage a nod. Shoot.”
“It took a long time,” I said, spearing a large chip. “Running through microfilm of a decade of newspapers is time-consuming, and I’ve just spent several hours in the library, going cross-eyed.”
He nodded, eyes like lasers. “Thought there was something different about you.”
“I found front-page stories about the Gaskon Street safety box raid. Ring a bell, does it? Heck, I shouldn’t say ring a bell… not a good choice of words, but you know what I mean. National headlines for weeks. There were three thieves, working this pretty neat scam in the vaults of a jeweler’s, but two of them got shopped by the third. And that third thief, who happened to be a security guard at the jeweler’s, mysteriously disappeared while the other two got jail sentences. Odd isn’t it?” I took advantage of a pause to fork up some fish. Mavis knew how to cook fish.
“If you say so.”
“Do you think this third man might have possibly been uprooted and replanted in Latching? In a small cottage out in the wilds, down a country lane? Somewhere obscure?”
James said nothing. Not even a nod.
“And the loot has never been found, has it? So I guess those other two thieves are still incredibly annoyed and will be looking for it soon. Am I right?”
“Want any more tomato sauce?”
“No, thank you. I prefer runny tomatoes to be in a soup. And the older of those two robbers has recently been released from prison on parole. I checked that too. Robber Number Two is out. I should imagine his first concern would be to find the geezer who shopped him, and maybe the jewelery that was stolen and never found. It’s stashed away somewhere.”
James stood up and fetched two coffees from the counter. Mavis was looking curiously at me. She was probably wondering why I had been talking non-stop. I don’t usually say so much.
“You know I can’t say anything, Jordan. So don’t ask me. Would you like some coffee? You must be getting dry.”
“Thanks. Do you want this last chip?”
“No, you can have it.”
I stirred my coffee. I don’t know why, as I don’t put sugar in it. One of those childhood habits.
“So do you want to hear that the robber who has been released from prison is swanning around here now, in Latching?”
“You can tell me if you like.” His expression never changed. It was one of cool appraisal. I would never be able to cope with his distance.
“He’s been spotted, twice. His name is Johnson. And he has a passion for comics, especially old comics.”
“Beano Johnson,” said James, with a nod.
“I’ve seen him. He’s been in my shop.”
A glimmer of interest crossed his face. “Did he buy anything?”
“Vintage comics.”
But I didn’t tell him the other interesting facts that I had uncovered from the newspapers. Only a few safety boxes had been opened and one had belonged to Lady Annabel Shrewsbury. Among her jewelery stolen had been a small gold brooch with the initial “A” and set in the center of the “A” was a flawless diamond. Not a fragment of glass as I had supposed but a genuine diamond.
Some of the boxes had contained money and other bits of jewelery. But the last box had belonged to a South African gem dealer. In it was his last delivery of uncut diamonds, blue, white and pink diamonds… a haul of immense value. Where were they now? They had never been found.
No wonder Dick Mann went to ground.
“Do you want to speak to this Beano Johnson?” I went on. “You might have some questions you want to ask.”
“I think I probably do,” said James laconically. “What do you suggest?”
“We could set a trap. He’s mad about collecting old comics and I have goods that he wants. Some old annuals. Now, I know they are valuable and I’m not letting them go for peanuts. But I could put them in the window with some enticing price offer. He’ll come in and you could nab him.”
“And where will I be? Hiding under your counter?”
“No, but you could be my assistant, serving in the shop. I could pretend I’ve had an accident or something, put my serving arm in a sling, and you could be helping me out in the shop. Everything above board.”
My dream come true. James and me running a little shop. I couldn’t help starting to laugh. James couldn’t understand why I was laughing. We were worlds apart.
“You need to know why you want to question Beano Johnson,” I prodded helpfully. “It is possible that he had something to do with Dick Mann’s death, isn’t it?”
“It’s more than possible,” said James, thawing at the last minute. He was scenting a breakthrough. “Forensics have found traces of skin and blood under Dick Mann’s fingernails. And they don’t belong to him.”
“That’s it then. Beano followed Dick to the bell tower and tried to get out of him where the haul is hidden. Maybe he tied him up to force the information out of him, threatens him and then Dick Mann slips with his foot caught in the noose and it’s too late. He’s down there, dangling. Beano isn’t strong enough to pull him up. Or he taunts Dick Mann for the whereabouts of the loot. I don’t know. You tell me.”
“It is possible. Okay, we’ll go for it. Do I need training for this shop assistant business?”
“Oh yes. Training. Definitely.”
“How long for?”
I thought of the delicious possibilities. “It could take quite a long time,” I said, thinking weeks.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, getting up to pay the bill.
*
Next day, I cleared the front window and arranged the precious annuals in a picturesque group. I added a few other extremely ancient, dog-eared paperbacks. My notice was to the point:
COLLECTORS’ ITEMS NO REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED
There was an ancient pillowcase out back, on its last legs but too pretty to throw away. I tore it up and fashioned a sling. James fixed it round my neck with admirable efficiency.
“I took a first-aid course,” he said, noticing my amusement.
Doris came in bearing a packet of jam doughnuts. She stopped when she saw the sling.
“My God, Jordan. What have yo
u done now?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Don’t look so horrified. It’s work, not real. It’s a set-up.”
“I never know when to believe you.” She inspected the knot and looked at me closely for bruising. “It looks for real,” she said.
“Well, that shows how life-like it appears. If it fools you, then it’ll fool anyone.”
“I’ve brought these doughnuts,” she said. “I want to barter them for the Penguin copy of Jane Eyre in the window. The notice says no reasonable offer refused.”
“Done,” said James.
“Don’t be silly, Doris,” I said. “You can have Jane Eyre. I wouldn’t charge you.”
“But I could really murder a doughnut,” James muttered.
“It might be a first edition,” said Doris, leaving the doughnuts on the counter. “Then I’ll be laughing.”
James took off his jacket and, with total commitment, began wrapping the book in a second-hand white paper bag.
“No charge.” he said, handing Doris the packet. “In all seriousness, Doris, may I suggest that you don’t come back in here, or anywhere near this shop, today.”
Doris looked at him sharply. “I don’t like what I’m hearing and I don’t like what you are saying. First sign of trouble and I’ll call the police.”
“Thank you, Doris,” I said, ushering her out of the shop. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing dangerous really.”
“Next time I see you, you’ll probably have both arms in a sling.”
The annuals would have sold twice over. I had to turn down several good offers, but at least James made a note of interested names and phone numbers for me.
“You aren’t very business-like,” he said.
“This shop is a cover, not a business,” I said.
“So how are you getting on with your other cases?” he asked.
“I found one of the puppies, the long-haired female, but not the other two puppies. Mrs Gregson was overjoyed. But I didn’t find out who stole them.”
“Why not?”
“My remit was to get the puppies back. That’s all.”
“And…?”
“The stolen fishing rods case has come to a natural end. They stopped disappearing about the time that Dick Mann died. Apparently the anglers knew that it was Dick Mann taking them, but they wanted me to find out and warn him off. They didn’t want to do it themselves because he was a drinking mate.”
“Heaven help the angling fraternity. So you are currently unemployed?”
“Underemployed,” I said. “I still have a shop to run. Would you like to make some coffee please, James?”
“Yes, Miss Lacey. Anything you say, miss.”
There was a kind of milky stillness to the atmosphere in the shop. James was here and I was here and we were working together, if you can call turning away genuine customers working. James sold a pop-eyed glass frog and looked immensely pleased with himself as he put the money in the cash box.
“This shopkeeping is a piece of cake, Jordan. Nothing to it.”
Then the door opened and Beano Johnson walked in. James was not out front. He had gone into the back store to find some replacement items for the side window. He had become quite enthusiastic about shopkeeping.
“Hello,” I said politely.
“So, I see you’ve decided to sell those annuals after all,” said Beano. His days of freedom had put some color back into his face but he still looked shifty. I wondered why Dick Mann had ever taken up with such a creep. “Come to your senses, have you?”
“Yes, I’m open to offers,” I said, raising my voice, hoping James would hear out back. “I remember you buying the old comics. You were very keen then.”
“Always liked old comics and old annuals. They take me back to my youth. Fifty pounds the lot.” Beano Johnson was inching towards me. If he could rob the safety boxes of a top London jeweler’s, then ripping off a junk shop in Latching would be nothing.
“That’s a pretty good offer,” I said hurriedly. “But not quite good enough. Annuals, after all, fetch a very high price these days and they are in immaculate condition. Condition counts, you know…” I rabbited on, wondering where on earth James had got to. I was on my own in the shop.
“I think perhaps I’ll have them and you’ll accept my fifty pounds,” said Beano, producing some filthy notes. “I’ll just help myself to them out of the window. I could break the window, by accident, of course, smash it to smithereens, if that will help you make up your mind. And then I’ll be on my way.”
I started to chill out, gripping the counter. Beano Johnson was a nasty piece of work.
“I don’t think you are going anywhere,” said James, standing in the doorway. He had nipped out the back and come round to the front of the shop. He was holding out his badge. I was so glad to see him.
“Beano Johnson, I’m arresting you for the murder of Dick Mann. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Beano looked at James and then at me. His eyes were narrowed. I tasted the ash of fear.
Twenty
Two flashy-colored patrol cars were round in minutes and uniformed officers were leaping out to surround the shop. It was very Eastenders. A crowd gathered like flies to sticky paper. Beano Johnson wasn’t going anywhere. He looked stunned by the speed at which the situation had changed.
“Leave me alone. What’s going on? I don’t know any Dick Mann,” he kept saying, over and over again. He was handcuffed by now. “Who is this geezer?”
“Move along please,” said an officer to the crowds. “There’s nothing to see.”
“I know my rights.” Beano spluttered.
“I bet you do,” said James.
They bundled Johnson into a car, head down, and then it was all over bar the clapping and the patrol cars drove away. James had gone, leaving only his essence. People wailed on the street, wondering if something else was going to happen. They were hoping, maybe, to see me carried out on a stretcher.
Doris came round with an opened packet of tea bags. She bustled in and made a mug of tea. It was hot and strong. She did not know about my preference for weak tea and honey. She handed it to me, checking for bruises, broken limbs. “You’re all right then,” she said briskly.
“Yup. Ready for another day.”
“You want a proper holiday, that’s what you want. Nothing but trouble this year.”
“Can you recommend some pleasant town by the seaside, preferably with Georgian architecture? Four-mile beach, plenty of walks, pier, not far from the South Downs?”
“Come off it, Jordan. You live there already.”
“Then why do I need to take a holiday?”
I took the sling off and rubbed my arm. It felt odd to have two arms again. Useful, though. I put up the CLOSED sign and shut the door. James had left a list of telephone numbers and I guessed I ought to sell the annuals to one of those people. It was only fair. No point in keeping the annuals. They had served their purpose long after publication.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off at least?” Doris suggested. “It’s a lovely day. The sun’s out for once. Spring is on its way. Go check on the sea.”
It was indeed a lovely day. I hadn’t noticed. Perfect for walking the beach.
“Maybe I will. Thanks for the tea, Doris.”
“It was your milk.”
Half the dogs in Latching were already on the stretch of sand, chasing seagulls, prancing through the waves, catching balls and sticks, shaking wet drops all over their owners. The new passion for big kite flying was in full glory, some controlled by people walking the sand, others out to sea dragging their owners on surfboards. I watched how the kitesurfers, clad in wetsuits, lay on their backs in the water and pulled themselves up on to their boards as soon as there was enough drag. A real skill.
I pulled off my trainers and rolled up my jeans.
It took courage. Somewhere I have a pair of denim shorts cut down from old jeans. Time to dig them out. It was glorious to think of summer coming.
The sea touched my toes, cold as ice. It trickled through my toes, shocking my skin, washed over my feet, a lace of bubbles fringing the foam. I missed barefoot walking in the winter. It was always wellies. This was marvelous, my face to the sky, breathing the clean air, swinging my trainers. Only one life thread was missing from the web. Don’t ask me who.
This is where dogs and children should be with acres of sand and miles of sea, somewhere to race around and let off steam. These were the lucky ones. A dad was pushing a big double-wheeled buggy through the waves, the toddler inside shrieking with excitement. I hoped the child was well fastened with a harness.
“You’re mad!” I called out.
“He loves it,” said the dad.
Fortresses of the less durable kind were already being built. Small streams of water were being dammed. Brothers were being hurriedly buried, sisters splashed, toddlers dabbling podgy fingers and tasting strange stuff called seaweed. A youth was lying in the water, while his giggling girlfriend improved his assets with piles of wet sand. He was tough.
And I was walking with a purpose. My thinking time. It was tricky avoiding the sharp rocks and stones which the tide moved to different areas every day. There was little more for me to do for Mrs Gregson unless I got lucky. The anglers should be reminded to pay my invoice. Any minute now, my insurance company would get a hefty claim for a written-off Vauxhall. I wondered how much the Brooks were claiming for their various injuries and traumatized, but non-existent, daughter in the back seat.
“It’s not my case,” I told a seagull feasting on a dead fish head. The head looked revolting, glassy-eyed, but the seagull obviously thought it was a gourmet take-away and took no notice. “It’s up to the police to sort that one out.”
But Jack’s car, also crashed into by Derek Brook, had all this highly sophisticated recording equipment. They might not find it so easy to stake a claim against him. He was armed with damning information that proved otherwise. And what about Nina Deodar? Whatever she was doing must be criminal. I hoped James hadn’t forgotten my little gem of observation at Miguel’s restaurant.
Ring and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 6) Page 19
