3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers

by Wilkie Martin

  ‘Well done that man,’ said Sid with approval and some amusement.

  ‘And there’s one other thing. Mr Barker may be somewhat lacking in trouser material on his rump following an encounter with Dregs.’

  ‘I get the picture,’ said Sid. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘When you meet him, go as gently as you can,’ said Hobbes. ‘He’s suffered enough for one day.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t,’ I said, shocked. ‘Not nearly enough. He attacked my girlfriend today and he’s threatened her in the past and I reckon he killed her husband, but more to the point, he is a big, dangerous bastard.’

  ‘Language, Andy,’ said Hobbes, frowning.

  ‘Sorry, but he is,’ I continued. ‘You need to stay out of his way. I got lucky, but I doubt he’ll be careless again. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.’

  Sid beamed. ‘Thank you for your concern. I really appreciate it, but there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Yes, there is. I’ve met him – I know what he’s like.’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Hobbes, shaking his head. ‘You’ve only seen him when he’s working and, for all you know, he might be a friendly fellow in his spare time.’

  ‘No,’ I said, feeling, as I sometimes did with Hobbes, that I was in a madhouse. ‘He really is dangerous and he’s going to hurt Sid. He needs to be stopped.’

  ‘Don’t vex yourself about my safety, young fellow,’ said Sid. ‘I may have slowed down now I’m so advanced in years, but I am still a vampire.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Vampires,’ said Hobbes, ‘are extremely strong, extraordinarily fast and uncannily agile.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Sid, complacently.

  I shook my head, not understanding how they could be so cool.

  ‘I see you don’t believe me,’ said Sid. ‘I’ll show you something. Do you see that glass paperweight on the table in front of you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Good. Pick it up, if you would.’

  ‘Alright,’ I said, more confused than ever, but doing as I was told. It was a pretty thing, made of glittering crystal with a dandelion head entombed. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Throw it at me. As hard as you can.’

  ‘I can’t do that. It’s really heavy. I’d hurt you.’

  ‘Honestly, you won’t. Give it a go. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Well, alright, if you’re quite sure?’

  With a shrug, I pulled my arm back ready to throw and found my hand was empty.

  ‘What do you think of that, then?’ asked Sid, strolling back to his chair, bouncing the paperweight in his hand.

  ‘OK,’ I admitted, not having even seen him stand up, ‘that was fast.’ I’d always been impressed by Hobbes’s speed, but Sid was something else. I was trembling: not with fear, but awe.

  ‘You should have seen me in my heyday,’ he said, his eyes seeming to focus on the distant past.

  ‘I couldn’t even see you then,’ I said.

  The old vampire chuckled. ‘Aye, well, maybe I’m still not so slow.’

  There was a knock on the door and Siegfried entered, carrying the tea on a silver tray, setting it down and pouring us each a cupful, before departing with a bow. Although I’d never been great at recognising faces, a major handicap for a reporter, I couldn’t help thinking I knew him from somewhere. Then I realised how similar he was to Hobbes’s tailor. ‘He looks like Milord Schmidt.’

  Hobbes nodded. ‘He’s Milord’s younger brother.’

  ‘Indeed he is,’ said Sid. ‘He’s been with the bank since before the war and I couldn’t do without him.’

  Although I’d have guessed Siegfried was in his early forties, I’d come to accept that normal human lifespans didn’t apply to everyone in town and it was getting to the stage when I sometimes wondered whether actual humans might be in the minority. Not that it mattered because, somewhat to my surprise, I rather enjoyed living in a town with so many oddballs. As I sipped tea, I mused on my life, luxuriating in the comfort of the chair and recovering from the shock of Sid. At some point, I stopped paying attention to the conversation. I could scarcely believe I’d just described Daphne as my girlfriend and that it had felt perfectly natural, perfectly reasonable, to do so, though I barely knew her. Moreover, there was an even stranger fact. For some reason, I didn’t believe I was going to screw things up with her. Something made me feel as if she might put up with me, despite my shortcomings, which were legion.

  I hated that she was under threat and kept going back to whatever it was that made her a target. It was obviously something important for Sir Gerald to go to such extraordinary lengths, but why should a wealthy landowner with a working goldmine feel threatened by a widow? There had to be something and I suspected it had to be something connected with the Blacker Mountains and, if Hobbes was to be believed, some ordinary rocks. My brain, not up to sorting out such complex problems, directed me to enjoy my tea.

  ‘Thank you for the chat,’ said Hobbes, standing. ‘Keep your chin up, because I believe I’m onto something and it’s exciting. The only trouble is that it means I’m neglecting poor Kathy. She’s come all the way from America to see me and I keep having to tell her I’m busy. I regret it, but it is necessary for the time being. On your feet, Andy.’

  I would have been happy to stay there all day, but Sid rose to see us out.

  ‘With any luck’ said Hobbes, as I got to my feet, ‘I will soon have good news.’

  ‘Excellent, old boy,’ said Sid, opening the door. ‘I’ll make sure to keep Colonel Squire in the dark, though. Goodbye.’

  When we left the bank, The Shambles was already showing early symptoms of dusk; the lights were coming on and passing people were even more huddled than earlier.

  ‘There’ll be a frost later,’ said Hobbes, sniffing and walking away.

  ‘I can believe that,’ I said, pulling up my collar and thrusting my hands into my jacket pocket. ‘Umm … can you explain why Sid wants to keep Colonel Squire in the dark? You can’t suspect him of stealing his own gold, surely?’

  ‘Stranger things have happened,’ said Hobbes, ‘but, no, I don’t. I took a look at his accounts and, with or without the stolen gold, he’s a very wealthy man.’

  ‘Did he show you them? I thought he was a very private individual.’

  ‘He didn’t actually show me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, for his expression suggested he’d been up to something. ‘You didn’t break into his house, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t break anything. I did, however, enter it.’

  ‘Doesn’t he have security? Alarms and things?’

  ‘He has, and dogs and CCTV. It was fun getting past that lot.’

  ‘Weren’t you scared of being caught?’

  ‘No.’ He strode on, turning right past the Bear with a Sore Head.

  ‘Why not?’

  He shrugged and I could see he wasn’t in the mood to say any more.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, struggling to keep up.

  ‘To make sure Kathy is alright.’

  As we approached the Feathers, a group of men had gathered around a figure lying supine on the pavement outside. Hobbes ran. I followed, a horrible, sick feeling filling my stomach. Although I didn’t care for Kathy, I didn’t wish her any harm and, besides, I should have been looking after her, even though she seemed quite capable of looking after herself.

  It wasn’t Kathy. She was inside, yelling. It was Constable Poll.

  ‘See that he’s alright,’ said Hobbes, pointing at the fallen constable and bursting through the door.

  ‘Umm … right.’ I said to the crowd, ‘let me through, I’m an … umm … interested party.’

  ‘Wotcha, Andy,’ said Billy, who was kneeling at Constable Poll’s pointy end. ‘You missed all the fun.’

  ‘How is he?’ I asked, squeezing between two fat men, who stank of stale beer, sweat, and cigarettes.

&nb
sp; ‘He’ll be alright,’ said Billy. ‘His breathing’s fine and he’s not bleeding much. I expect he’ll come round soon.’

  ‘Did Featherlight hit him?’

  ‘Sort of, but it wasn’t his fault and this guy started it.’

  ‘Really?’ Derek Poll was the most amiable, peace-loving policeman I’d ever met. ‘Why?’

  Billy grimaced. ‘It started when Featherlight decided to impress the lady with his rat in the trousers trick.’

  ‘He didn’t!’ I shuddered. ‘That’s disgusting. Was she impressed?’

  ‘It certainly made an impression on her, if that’s what you mean. To start with, she actually seemed to find it amusing, but it all went pear-shaped when the head came off. Unfortunately, when she screamed, the copper was passing. He rushed in, just as Featherlight was trying to wipe the blood off her face.’

  ‘Not with his vest?’

  Billy nodded.

  ‘Ugh! That’s horrible.’

  ‘The copper saw her trying to fend him off, jumped to the wrong conclusion, charged at Featherlight, called him a dirty, rotten scoundrel and tried to punch him on the nose.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he liked that very much.’

  ‘No, and he looked as if he was going to flatten the copper, but the lady shook her head and he sidestepped instead.’

  Constable Poll groaned and twitched.

  ‘In that case,’ I asked, ‘how did he end up like this?’

  ‘Well,’ said Billy, ‘he turned to have another go, but stepped in some spilt beer, skidded and fell, head-butting Featherlight’s knee on the way down. The copper got to his feet, staggered into the street and passed out. It was a complete accident.’

  ‘Why is Kathy screaming and yelling?’

  ‘Featherlight stepped on her foot.’

  I pulled a face; there was an awful lot of him.

  ‘I don’t think he did much damage,’ said Billy, ‘but she can’t half make a fuss.’

  Constable Poll, groaning again, sat up and rubbed the side of his head. ‘What am I doing here? What happened?’

  ‘You had a strop and headbutted the boss’s knee,’ said Billy. A couple of eyewitnesses confirmed his story.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Poll, ‘it’s all coming back.’ His pale face took on an angry tinge and he moved as if to stand up. ‘What on earth was he doing to poor Kathy? I’ll kill him!’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Billy pushing him back. ‘Just calm down for a moment.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘There’s loads of reasons, mate. Firstly, he was only showing her his conjuring trick.’

  Poll blanched again. ‘Not the one with the rat in his trousers? He wouldn’t!’

  ‘He would,’ said Billy, ‘although I tried to warn him. The point is, he didn’t mean to cause offence and was actually trying to be friendly.’

  Poll shook his head. ‘Is there something wrong with him?’

  ‘I have often thought so,’ said Billy. ‘I think, though, he has just taken a bit of a shine to Kathy.’

  ‘I suppose I can’t blame him for that,’ said Poll, still looking extremely angry, ‘but you said there were lots of reasons. Tell me another, or I really will go inside and punch him.’

  ‘Another reason is that he’d flatten you.’

  Poll nodded. ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Besides, it doesn’t look good if a police officer starts a brawl in a pub over a girl.’

  ‘Yeah. Enough. I’m calm now,’ said Constable Poll, getting to his feet, swaying as if still groggy. ‘Hi, Andy,’ he said, noticing me for the first time, as I helped steady him.

  ‘I’m glad you’re OK, Derek,’ I said, ‘but that’s some bump on the head you’ve got.’

  ‘I’m alright,’ he said, ‘but you’re a fine one to talk about bumps on the head. What have you been doing?’

  I raised my hand for a tentative touch to the tender spot. ‘Someone threw a brick at me.’

  ‘And the other side?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’d nearly forgotten that one. Someone threw a beer tray at me.’

  Poll laughed, heartlessly. ‘And your knuckles?’

  ‘I was defending a lady against a brutal attacker and had to resort to my fists.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Poll, ‘pull the other one.’

  It went quiet inside the Feathers and Hobbes emerged, holding Kathy by the hand. She was crying and his face was flushed and scowling.

  ‘Is she alright?’ I asked. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m taking her home,’ said Hobbes. ‘We need some time alone.’

  They walked away, turning up Vermin Street, out of sight. Featherlight appeared, rubbing his knee and looking grim.

  ‘What’s up boss?’ asked Billy.

  Featherlight scowled. ‘Someone is going to be in big trouble.’

  That was all he would say.

  19

  The crowd dispersed and I was left outside with only Derek Poll, who was staring at the point where Kathy had left his vision. Inside, Featherlight roared and one of the fat men burst out and ran down the road. I knew him as a regular customer, a man who knew to keep out the way until Featherlight’s rage had run its course. It would not be too long.

  ‘Kathy will be alright, won’t she?’ asked Poll, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘she’ll be safe with Hobbes. He’ll take care of her but there’s something strange going on.’

  ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ said Poll, his face reddening.

  I’d heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, but couldn’t help thinking an ophthalmologist would have his work cut out curing any eye that beheld Kathy as beautiful. He seemed to be expecting a positive answer. ‘Umm … I suppose so.’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Derek, ‘she’s some looker and she seems really nice, too.’

  Unsure how to react, I nodded, though it was true that sometimes she could be quite pleasant, particularly when she wasn’t throwing things at me. Still, she could not compare to Daphne, who I just couldn’t imagine throwing anything in anger and, since Hobbes was so busy with Kathy, it seemed Daphne’s well-being was going to be down to me again. This thought didn’t make me feel heroic at all, but scared, and not scared for myself.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked.

  Poll looked at his watch. ‘Quarter past five. It’s getting dark early.’

  ‘I have to go now,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

  ‘I’m great,’ he said, grinning the soppy grin of a police officer newly in love.

  I might have returned a similar grin had I not thought of Denny lurking out there in the gathering dusk. Leaving Poll to his thoughts, I hurried to the museum, strange, conflicting thoughts and emotions struggling for superiority. As I jogged up Vermin Street, I caught myself scanning every shopper, every passer-by, just in case they might be Denny in disguise, but, with no sight of him, the dull ache in my stomach began to recede.

  As I reached the end of Vermin Street, a young man, very much like Rupert, alighted from the Pigton bus at the stop outside the church. He was wearing a smart coat and carrying an expensive-looking briefcase and, although I was almost sure it was him, I had doubts because he now looked so prosperous. A big blue van blocked my view and, by the time it had passed, he’d vanished. I dismissed him from my thoughts. Daphne’s well-being was my primary concern and, although he was probably still some sort of threat, he was not Sir Gerald or Denny.

  Turning left down Rampart Street, passing the Bar Nun, I reached Goat Street and approached the museum, just as the church clock struck five-thirty: closing time. Taking up a strategic position by the door, I waited for her.

  It was growing darker and I wondered whether it might be cold enough for snow. So, pulling up my collar, I tucked my hands into my pockets and stamped my feet, watching the last visitors make their way out. Shortly afterwards, some of the museum staff left. She was not among them. Still I waited until, just as the clock struck s
ix, a young man in a duffel coat came out and started to lock the doors.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I asked, ‘has Daphne Duckworth left?’

  ‘Yeah, she went early.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, my worry level rising.

  ‘I think there was some sort of problem. It might have been to do with her flat.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’ I asked, with a rising fear.

  He turned to face me, suspicion in his eyes. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I do. I’m a friend.’

  ‘If you are her friend, why don’t you know where she lives?’

  ‘Because she hasn’t told me. Not yet, that is.’

  ‘Good friends are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sure you are. I heard she had some trouble today.’

  ‘She did, but I was the one who looked after her. I’m the good guy here and I’m worried.’

  ‘I think I’d better call the police,’ said the young man, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a mobile.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ I said, turning away. ‘You’ll just be wasting their time.’

  As I left him, I booted a Coca-Cola can furiously into the gutter, yet I could see his point of view. With all the bumps and bruises on my face, I probably looked a real desperado and he, no doubt, assumed he was doing her a favour.

  His assumptions were irrelevant. The point was that I didn’t know where to start looking for her and, since she hadn’t mentioned any problems with her flat, my fear was growing into stomach-gripping panic. I had a desperate urge to do something, but, since nothing occurred, I ended up walking into Blackdog Street and pacing up and down outside the house, biting my nails and fretting. I considered getting in touch with Hobbes, but, since I had nothing definite to say, it seemed pointless worrying him about what was probably nothing, especially when he had Kathy to deal with and a gold robbery to solve.

  Since I could think of nothing sensible to do, other than to wander around town in the hope of spotting her car or stumbling over some other clue, I cursed myself for not asking where she lived. The trouble was that I couldn’t shut up a nasty, nagging, negative part of my brain that kept pointing out that, as she hadn’t offered to tell me, she might not want me to know. Perhaps I was already expecting far too much of our relationship, if it was a relationship yet. I had past form in that respect. Despite this, and whatever her feelings were for me, if she was in trouble, I was going to help … if I could.