3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers

by Wilkie Martin

  The mugger charged in a blur of swinging arms and foul language.

  ‘Stop it,’ said Hobbes, ducking and swaying, avoiding or deflecting all the punches.

  The mugger’s momentum carried him forward until, falling over Hobbes’s outstretched leg, he landed full on his face and lay groaning, bleeding from the mouth and the nose.

  ‘I told you to be careful,’ said Hobbes, ‘and now you really have gone and hurt yourself. That’s enough nonsense. I’m going to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to have a little chat.’

  ‘Ain’t you gonna cuff the creep, take him down the station and book him?’ asked Kathy, who’d been watching the encounter with shining eyes.

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Hobbes. ‘He’s going to behave now. Aren’t you?’

  The mugger grunted, and Hobbes, taking this as assent, hauled him back to his feet and handed him a handkerchief.

  ‘Hold this to your nose,’ he said and turned to me. ‘Would you mind taking the bin back? I borrowed it from the side of the Firefly.’

  For a moment, I was inclined to sulk, thinking that he was exploiting my good nature on such a night. I then reflected that Kathy might consider I’d been exploiting his good nature ever since I’d taken up residence, and, since I was still determined to prove I was an asset, I agreed.

  As I pushed the bin back towards the Firefly restaurant, I hoped Mr Yau, the owner, wouldn’t spot me. The trouble was that the old man, watching me using chopsticks for the first time, had started to laugh, becoming so helpless that he’d fallen from his stool. Even the pain of a broken wrist had not been sufficient to curb his amusement and, although the incident had occurred five years ago, the mere sight of me still reduced him to giggles; although the Firefly had a great reputation, I went out of my way to avoid it if I could. Just a glimpse of Mr Yau’s bald head and wispy beard would set me galloping to safety. I was mighty pleased to complete my mission without being spotted.

  I hurried back towards Blackdog Street, my head awash with thoughts and, although Sunday tea drifted there, as did speculation about the mugger’s fate, the image of Daphne Duckworth floated highest. It had been a bizarre twist of fate to bring her to Sorenchester and to park just where I would throw a tin of beans through her back windscreen. I really had a way of impressing a woman and I’d sometimes wondered whether I’d been cursed always to be unlucky in love. Had I only been able to throw accurately, I might have been basking in her admiration. It was a fine line between being a hero and someone fit only to return a wheelie bin, and I was always on the wrong side.

  When I got home, Kathy was on the sofa, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. She nodded.

  ‘Where’s the mugger?’ I asked, hanging up my coat, pleased to see a pot of tea awaiting my pleasure.

  ‘In the bathroom.’

  ‘Fair enough. He needed a good wash.’ I poured myself a drink and sat on the hard chair.

  ‘Does Daddy often bring home freaks off the streets?’

  ‘No, not often.’

  ‘Is that where he found you?’

  ‘No, I came here to interview him when I was a reporter. Umm … do you think I’m a freak?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe. He sure seems to attract them. There’s you and the old woman and that dratted dog.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair,’ I said, for although I had noticed how oddballs and weirdoes were drawn to Hobbes, I’d never considered myself as one of them. ‘Anyway, you’re here, too.’

  She nodded and thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’

  As she spoke she looked lost and vulnerable, almost like a little girl, despite her size, and I felt sorry for her; a lonely woman in a strange land, among strange people, trying to build a relationship with a father she’d never met, a father who was as strange as could be.

  A shriek from upstairs nearly stopped my heart.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Kathy, leaping from the sofa with a grace and fluidity quite at odds with her figure.

  ‘A shriek.’

  ‘But whose? Why?’

  Her coffee had spilled down her white blouse and she was pale and big-eyed with fear.

  ‘I’ll … umm … go and find out. By the way, where is Hobbes?’

  ‘He went out for some sodas.’

  ‘So, Mrs Goodfellow’s alone with that thug?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kathy, clapping a hand to her mouth.

  ‘Oh, the poor guy,’ I said, running upstairs.

  He was in the bath. Mrs Goodfellow, holding the scruff of his neck, was scrubbing vigorously with a sponge and, although he was trying to protect his dignity, it was hopeless. He cast a despairing look in my direction as the sponge went to work below the waterline. Although I shrugged and shook my head, grimacing, trying to show that I, too, had suffered, his humiliation was temporary and fully deserved, and cleanliness was better than stinking like the Firefly’s bin.

  I returned to the sitting room to reassure Kathy. ‘It’s OK, he’s fine, but Mrs Goodfellow is sponging him down.’

  ‘Eeuw!’

  A few minutes later, the front door swung open and Hobbes returned, a couple of giant plastic cola bottles in his left hand. He took them to the kitchen and returned with Dregs, who was looking a little nervous. Bath time, anybody’s bath time, always took him like that, for he was another of the old girl’s victims, and had soon learned that resistance was useless. I could understand his concerns, for big black dogs should not smell of lavender and rose water.

  However, lavender and rose water was a definite improvement for the mugger, who lurched into the sitting room, wrapped in the flamboyant silk dressing gown that had once belonged to Mr Goodfellow.

  ‘This is Rupert,’ said Mrs Goodfellow, following him. ‘He would like to say something. Come on Rupert.’ Taking his arm, she pulled him into the centre of the room.

  There was a stunned, lost expression in his eyes, as if he believed he’d fallen into a surreal nightmare from which he could not wake. He shuffled his feet and stared at the carpet. ‘I’m sorry I was bad,’ he said, his voice, low and hesitant, sounding well-educated.

  ‘Well done,’ said Mrs Goodfellow. ‘Now, take a seat next to Kathy and I’ll get tea ready. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  ‘Good lad.’

  She left us, followed by Dregs, who was not impressed by Rupert’s scent and who was hoping for scraps before supper, although the old girl was always very strict with his mealtimes. Still, he remained an optimistic dog.

  When Rupert apologetically shuffled next to Kathy, her expression could not have been more disgusted had Dregs left a deposit there. Rupert sat hunched up, with downcast eyes and trembling hands, with Hobbes looming over him like a potential avalanche.

  ‘Well, Rupert,’ he said, quite gently for him, ‘I want you to tell me why you assaulted the poor lady and stole her handbag and why you threatened Andy with a knife?’

  ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ said Rupert, ‘I hope I didn’t hurt her, and I would never have used the knife.’

  ‘You were lucky,’ said Hobbes, ‘that she was shaken up and upset, but uninjured. If she had been, you might have made me angry and you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.’

  ‘He’s right,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Thank you, Andy,’ said Hobbes, keeping his gaze on the squirming Rupert. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘I was desperate. My wallet got stolen and I haven’t eaten all day. I just wanted to go home.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Hobbes. ‘Did you report the stolen wallet to the police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Where do you live?’

  ‘A long way from here, in the Blacker Mountains. The nearest town is Blackcastle, but you’ve probably never heard of it.’

  ‘We …’ I said and stopped, aware of Hobbes’s frown.

  ‘We have heard of the place,’ he said. ‘What brings you to Sorenchester?�
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  ‘I had a job to do … for my father.’

  ‘I see. Aren’t you a bit young to be working?’

  Rupert blushed. ‘I’m eighteen.’

  ‘Old enough, then, but why didn’t you ask him for help if you’d lost your money?’

  ‘I couldn’t … because … I had no money at all.’

  ‘But,’ said Hobbes, ‘the lass gave me this.’ He held out a very swish-looking smartphone. ‘It was in your pocket and it works and it’s charged.’

  Rupert’s voice dropped to a mumble. ‘I forgot.’

  Hobbes laughed. ‘You forgot? I’m afraid I don’t believe you.’ His voice rose just a little in volume, but several notches in threatening, as he examined the device. ‘It appears that you made several calls today. Didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, looking absolutely miserable.

  ‘So, you didn’t forget, did you?’

  ‘No,’ said Rupert, staring at the carpet as if he hoped a big hole would open up and swallow him. He sighed.

  ‘Good,’ said Hobbes, his bright smile displaying a worrying jawful of teeth, ‘now, tell me the truth.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘Why doncha kick the punk’s bony ass?’ said Kathy. ‘Then he’ll spill the beans.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be no need for that,’ said Hobbes smiling. ‘Rupert will cooperate, sooner or later.’

  ‘It’s a goddam funny way of policing. Back home, the cops would have busted his ass and thrown him in the slammer.’

  ‘Language, Kathy,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘You’re a cop?’ asked Rupert, looking up, seeing Hobbes’s nod and cringing.

  ‘Yes, didn’t I say?’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘Not yet and maybe not at all, if you answer my questions truthfully and fully.’

  ‘But I can’t.’

  ‘Of course you can. What have you got to hide?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing.’

  Hobbes shrugged. ‘Can you at least tell me how you lost your wallet?’

  Rupert nodded. ‘I went into a pub for a pint and a bite to eat. After I’d paid, I put my wallet back in my pocket. It wasn’t there when I left, so someone must have nicked it.’

  ‘Which pub were you in?’

  ‘One called the Feathers. The landlord’s a real big ba … I mean a real big bloke, like you, but I spoke to the little guy behind the bar.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘I went straight back when I noticed it had gone,’ said Rupert, ‘and had a look around, but couldn’t see it. The little guy kept grinning at me, so I figured he’d got it, but he denied it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Hobbes, ‘and what did you do?’

  ‘I asked him to turn out his pockets. I did get a bit angry.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘The big ba … man charged across the room, picked me up by my neck and trousers and threw me into the street.’

  ‘You got off lightly, my lad,’ said Hobbes.

  I nodded. Featherlight’s temperament might be compared to that of a wild bull and the slightest incident could set him off, which would frequently lead to blood being spilled, though it was a comforting part of his character that he didn’t stay angry for long. It was usually, however, long enough for his victim to need a visit to casualty. How he wasn’t in prison was a mystery, though he did receive some protection by being a tourist attraction. Some people just seemed to find him fascinating, and a few thought it might be amusing to provoke him, usually not realising their folly until they came round. Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no good and Mrs Goodfellow’s tooth collection had acquired many of its finest specimens from the Feathers, as well as a few that made me despair for British dentistry.

  ‘Now, tell me,’ said Hobbes, ‘what did you do last night?’

  ‘I went into the church, hoping for shelter, but a fierce woman with blue hair made me leave when she started locking up. After that, I tried sleeping under a bush in the park, but it was far too cold. That wind!’ He shuddered. ‘In the end, I just wandered the streets until morning.’

  ‘That can’t have been much fun,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘It was horrible.’

  Rupert looked so miserable that I would have felt sorry for him, had he not pulled a knife on me an hour ago. Thinking about what might have happened, I began shaking and, despite a noble struggle to keep myself together I could easily have gone to pieces, had Mrs Goodfellow not announced that tea was ready.

  Hobbes, putting his great paw on Rupert’s shoulder, pulled him up and propelled him to the kitchen. Kathy followed, looking utterly perplexed and shaking her head. Making an effort, I shrugged and smiled, trying to indicate that I was completely cool with the situation and that, if she intended staying, she would have to get used to a lot. From experience, this wasn’t always easy and there had been occasions early on when I’d come close to running into Blackdog Street, screaming. Since then, I’d learned to cope: mostly. It was worth hanging in there because I’d seen so many things I wouldn’t have otherwise. It was true some of them gave me nightmares, but it was great to have a life and to be building up a store of memories.

  Another thing that made life worth living was Mrs Goodfellow’s Sunday tea. It was only sandwiches and cake, but such sandwiches and such cake! At first Kathy looked a little disappointed, but after Hobbes had embarrassed Rupert by saying grace, she took a bite from a sandwich. A smile spread across her face, for, although it was a simple cheese and chutney sandwich, the cheese was the tangy, nutty, sweet Sorenchester cheese and the bread, like the spicy, mouth-watering, chutney, was home-made and utterly delicious. Rupert kept quiet and stuffed himself. He’d probably told the truth about not having eaten all day.

  Mrs Goodfellow opened a bottle of red wine and offered it round. Hobbes, smiling and friendly, kept Rupert’s glass topped up. I wondered what he was up to because, while it wasn’t unusual for him to treat criminals in an unorthodox manner, he was usually rough, if not brutal, with anyone who’d attacked a woman. Yet, since tipping him out of the bin, he’d shown kindness and understanding towards Rupert. If it was an attempt to impress Kathy it was failing for, whenever her mouth wasn’t full, she would glower at Rupert, as if planning a lynching. All I could do was wait and see how things turned out.

  After the meal, Hobbes took us back to the sitting room, while Mrs Goodfellow washed up and Dregs hung around, waiting for his supper.

  ‘Did you enjoy your tea?’ Hobbes asked, guiding Rupert to the sofa and making sure he didn’t spill his wine.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sprawling, making himself comfortable, grinning and emitting a hiccup, ‘I was starving, but that was great. I feel fine now.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hobbes, topping up his glass. ‘It’s not at all pleasant to be penniless, without food and shelter, especially now the nights are getting so cool. That’s why I’m so surprised you didn’t ask for help.’

  ‘I couldn’t. My father …’

  ‘Who is your father?’

  Rupert sat up straight. ‘Sir Gerald Payne. He’s a very important man.’

  ‘That must be the Sir Gerald Payne,’ said Hobbes. ‘I’ve heard he owns a little land around Blackcastle.’

  ‘A lot of land, actually. Well over a thousand acres and we … he owns all sorts of property around there.’

  ‘That does sound a lot,’ said Hobbes, ‘but I don’t suppose it gives him a huge income. I mean, the Blacker Mountains are barren and can hardly bring in much cash at the best of times, and they say times are hard there. I don’t suppose the rents are very high.’

  Rupert grinned. ‘That’s all true. It is hardly worth our while to rent out the properties.’

  ‘I don’t know how he makes ends meet,’ said Hobbes, shaking his head sympathetically. ‘Unless, of course, he has other income streams? I’ll bet he’s a shrewd investor.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Rupert, his voice dropping to a confidential whisp
er. ‘And the best thing is that we’ve just reopened the family gold mine.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Hobbes, his eyes wide. ‘A gold mine? It’s lucky to have one of those to fall back on, just as the price of gold is rising.’

  ‘Luck doesn’t come into it,’ said Rupert, his smile broad and smug, his words slurred. ‘My ancestor Sir Greville Payne discovered the gold and scrimped and saved for years until he could buy the land and open the mine. That’s where the family fortune came from.’

  ‘Good for Sir Greville.’

  Kathy and I exchanged glances. Hobbes seemed excessively friendly with this young crook.

  ‘But,’ he continued, ‘if your family has a fortune and a gold mine, and your mobile was working, I don’t understand why you couldn’t phone for help.’

  ‘He said he’d kill me if I fu … messed up again.’

  ‘He can hardly blame you for being robbed, can he? More wine?’ He refilled Rupert’s glass.

  ‘Thanks. You don’t know him. My father can be a right bastard.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t really kill you, would he?’

  ‘He bloody would … Well, not literally kill me, but he gets really angry. I say, this is awfully strong wine.’

  Hobbes nodded. ‘I expect that, when you’ve done the job, he’ll be pleased with you?’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Rupert, ‘that I haven’t done it. I’m going to be in deep sh … trouble.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Hobbes. ‘Perhaps I can help. After all police officers are here to help the public.’

  ‘What?’ said Kathy, looking furious.

  Hobbes raised his hand.

  ‘Could you?’ asked Rupert, his words increasingly slurred. ‘That’s very decent of you.’

  Hobbes smiled. ‘I’m just doing my job. What do you have to do?’

  Rupert hiccupped, scratched his head and shifted awkwardly. ‘I’ve got to find where someone lives.’

  ‘Can’t you look in the phone book?’

  ‘No, she’s just moved here and is ex-directory. My father says she’s trouble.’

  ‘Who, exactly, are you looking for?’

  ‘I don’t think I should tell anyone.’

  ‘Quite right, you shouldn’t tell anyone, but you can tell me.’