3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers

by Wilkie Martin

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Sid as we drove away. ‘You could stay at my place tonight, Ms Pinkerton. It will save you having to search for a hotel. There’s plenty of room.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly,’ said Pinky, in a tone that meant yes, please.

  ‘Excellent. That’s settled then. I can make you quite comfortable and I’ll be glad of your company. Do you like soup?’

  ‘I love it,’ said Pinky, who was obviously a pushover.

  The two of them chatted happily all the way back, leaving me confused and completely puzzled by my feelings. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut, because otherwise I might have said something stupid. I knew I was being silly, but, for some reason, I was getting worked up about her moral welfare and, apparently, my concerns were much greater than hers. The thing was, I really didn’t think a young, well, youngish, woman should stay overnight with Sid, a known vampire, and, although I had almost no fear he’d bite her neck and drain her dry, I’d seen far too many films in which vampires exerted an unhealthy fascination on vulnerable women to be entirely at ease. I was worried that, to judge from her smile and conversation, she was relishing the idea.

  It wasn’t that I was jealous, or perhaps it was, but I shouldn’t have been, because I had Daphne, or at least so I hoped. As my thoughts turned to her I began to feel better, for she had a certain something that made me a better man. Pinky had something about her, too, but given the choice, I’d have definitely picked Daphne. At least I thought I would have.

  Once back in Sorenchester, Sid parked his monumental vehicle half up on the pavement outside his house.

  ‘I shouldn’t really stop here,’ he said, ‘but Ms Pinkerton …’

  ‘Pinky, please!’ she said.

  ‘… Pinky needs a hot bath as quickly as possible. So, I’ll see you soon, Andy. It has been a most interesting afternoon.’

  ‘Alright then,’ I said as we got out and my confusing feelings flooded back. ‘Bye.’

  Turning away, I tried not to mind her delighted giggle as Sid, with a deep bow and a toothy smile, opened the front door and showed her inside.

  I headed towards the museum to check on Daphne, to ensure she was coping with Dregs, who could be a handful. It turned out that I had no cause to worry, for I met her outside with Dregs, who was walking to heel like the hero in a Disney film about a very good, heroic dog.

  ‘Hi, Andy,’ said Daphne, smiling and stroking his shaggy black head, ‘we’re just going for a comfort break in the park.’

  ‘Hi,’ I said, suffering an unreasonable stab of jealousy. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. How’s the inspector’s daughter?’

  ‘She’s safe. He had a plan to rescue her and I nearly screwed it up, but it all ended well. Sir Gerald’s under arrest, but he was taken to hospital because Sid trod on him. Rupert was taken away, too.’

  ‘I’d love to hear all about it,’ she said, ‘but later. I’m still at work, but the dog wanted some air. I finish at five-thirty, so I’ll see you here in,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘about forty minutes.’

  ‘Great.’ I said. ‘I’ll take him for his walk.’

  Handing me the lead, kissing me on the cheek, she headed back. His tail drooped as she went inside and it was only when we reached Ride Park and he’d chased a rabbit that his spirits revived. As the minutes passed until I could go and meet her, my mind kept churning over the facts and one in particular kept bubbling to the surface. I had come within millimetres of being shot and, although I’d learned that new sensations and new experiences helped prevent one getting stuck in a rut, there was something about bullets that made ruts seem attractive. I might have been wounded, or killed. It would, I reflected, have been just my luck to get killed in action when things were beginning to look promising with Daphne.

  Yet the bullets hadn’t touched me and the truth was that it had been just my luck to have survived unscathed when things were beginning to look promising with Daphne. I clung to this far more comforting point of view, hoping it was a sign my luck was changing, because, in my opinion, good luck was long overdue. A wave of euphoria broke over me, engulfed me, and deposited me gently back in Ride Park. The case had been solved, the bad men had been thwarted, if my luck held I was going to find gold, and, to top it all, I was meeting Daphne very soon.

  I asked an old chap throwing a ball for a yappy miniature poodle, whether he had the time.

  ‘Five twenty-five.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, fearing I’d be late.

  I called Dregs, who was making a point of ignoring the poodle, and attached his lead.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s go and find Daphne.’

  On hearing her name, he took off like a greyhound and I only just managed to keep up by taking unfeasibly long strides. Still, the burst of speed worked, for we arrived at the museum just as she emerged. Seeing her, Dregs put on an extra spurt and self-preservation forced me to drop his lead.

  Looking up, she smiled. Dregs accelerated, running faster than I’d ever seen him, running straight towards her, despite my calling him back. I was convinced she was going to get flattened.

  Instead, avoiding her by a whisker, he leapt at the hooded figure who had just stepped from the shadows behind her. The man screamed as Dregs’s sharp white teeth closed on his wrist and the momentum sent him spinning to the ground. A knife skidded into the gutter as the man’s hood fell back. It was Rupert Payne.

  ‘Get it off,’ he cried, blood spurting from his wrist as Dregs, growling savagely, kept him pinned down. I could have called him off, he might for once have obeyed, but I didn’t.

  ‘Drop,’ said Daphne in a quiet voice.

  Dregs dropped and gazed at her, wagging his tail.

  ‘Good dog.’

  ‘I’m hurt,’ said Rupert, in the moments when he wasn’t rolling around on the pavement, clutching his arm. ‘He bit me. I’m bleeding.’

  ‘Good,’ I said with feeling as I ran to Daphne’s side. She looked far less shocked than I felt.

  ‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ Rupert whined. ‘I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.’

  ‘You had a knife,’ I said, ‘and you threatened me with one on Sunday.’

  ‘But, I didn’t use it, did I? I only pulled it out because I was scared.’

  ‘Were you scared of me?’ asked Daphne.

  ‘No, Mrs Duckworth. I only wanted to talk, but, when I saw the horrible dog coming for me, I panicked and pulled the knife to protect myself. I didn’t use it, though, because I didn’t want to hurt the inspector’s dog after he’d been so kind.’

  He groaned. ‘My wrist is ever so painful and I’m bleeding. Please, help me.’

  He sounded sincere and I nearly believed him, nearly distrusted the evidence of my own eyes. Yet I knew what I’d seen. The knife had been in his hand long before he could possibly have seen Dregs. Daphne stooped, reaching for his arm.

  ‘We’ll take care of you,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a look at it.’

  As fast as a weasel, he seized her scarf, pulling her down with him, and lunged for the knife. She gasped, trying to break free, but his grip was firm.

  Sid had shown me what to do next and I was already in position as Rupert’s hand closed around the hilt. I stamped down hard and his wrist snapped with a stomach turning crack. With a scream, he slumped face forward into the road.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Daphne, pushing herself up. ‘Are you?’

  I shook my head. The pavement seemed to be rolling, my vision was blurred and her voice reverberated through my skull. I had a vague awareness of people and a voice shouting: ‘look at that guy’s wrist!’ The feel and sound of it overwhelmed me.

  ‘Come on Andy, wake up,’ said Constable Poll.

  A soft, warm hand stroked my brow.

  A hot, wet, stinky tongue licked my face as I opened my eyes. A crowd had gathered to stare.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, sitting up, feeling sick.


  ‘You fainted …’ said Constable Poll.

  I would have hung my head in shame had it not already been lolling. Fainting was not manly.

  ‘… and I’m not surprised, because the sight of the lad’s wrist made me a bit queasy. It’s not pretty, but you did well to disarm him.’

  ‘It was Dregs that stopped him,’ I said.

  ‘At first, but I’m sure he was going to stab me,’ said Daphne. She turned to Poll. ‘Andy was brilliant – again.’

  I couldn’t hold back a self-satisfied grin as she hugged me, because, although I wished I hadn’t hurt Rupert quite so badly, I had been brilliant. Still, I thought I should show some concern. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Apart from a very nasty compound fracture of his right wrist,’ said Poll, ‘dog bites, and serious psychological issues, he’s doing fine. Mrs Goodfellow is looking after him until the ambulance arrives.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘I saw him put into an ambulance about an hour ago. Why isn’t he already in hospital?’

  ‘He ran off as soon as they took his father into surgery,’ said Poll. ‘Superintendent Cooper ordered us to keep a look out for him, because he was believed to be armed and dangerous.’

  I was on top of the world by the time the ambulance arrived and the moaning figure of Rupert was carried on board. Constable Poll got in beside the paramedic, although I doubted Rupert was likely to be troublesome for some time. With the ambulance’s departure, the crowd dispersed and Mrs Goodfellow approached.

  ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ she said.

  ‘Yes please,’ I said. ‘Can Daphne come?’

  ‘Of course, dear, and she can stay for supper if she likes.’

  Daphne agreed and we walked back to Blackdog Street.

  ‘Look what Mr White, the dentist, gave me.’ said Mrs Goodfellow, pulling a brown paper bag from somewhere in her cardigan and opening it with a worrying rattle.

  ‘Lovely,’ I said, wondering how Daphne would react to a bag full of human teeth.

  All she did was nod gravely and smile politely.

  Ten minutes later, we were drinking tea in the kitchen, with Dregs curled up at Daphne’s feet. Although an array of warm, enticing, delicious smells arising from the oven made me hungry, I concentrated on not drooling and related the afternoon’s events. When I showed the bullet hole beneath my armpit, Daphne paled and squeezed my hand so hard I feared I’d be following Sir Gerald and son to hospital, where the hand and wrist surgeons must have been very busy. Fortunately, she slackened the pressure when I yelped and so the hospital was spared another casualty. Best of all, the way she was looking at me made me feel important and heroic.

  We helped Mrs Goodfellow set the table for supper and waited for Hobbes and Kathy to return. A little before six-thirty the front door opened. Dregs’s tail wagged once and then he stood up, bristling, growling, standing protectively in front of us and staring at the kitchen door as it opened. In walked Denny.

  My heart began to pound and a sick feeling gripped my stomach. Daphne gasped and sat down, as if her legs had given way. Mrs Goodfellow, a steaming wooden spoon in one hand, grabbed Dregs’s collar with the other and stepped forward.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’

  Denny, tidier and cleaner than I’d yet seen him, touching his forelock and bowing with an old-fashioned gesture, smiled. ‘Good evening, ma’am,’ he said and turned towards Daphne and me, repeating the bow. ‘Good evening, Mrs Duckworth. Good evening, sir. I’m Denzil Barker. I’m here to apolo … apolo … to say sorry for what I done. Mr Hobbes had a long talk with me and taught me that what I been doing was wrong. I am sorry, ma’am, Mrs Duckworth, sir. I didn’t want to hurt nobody, but I thought I had to do what the master said. Mr Hobbes says I don’t have to do that no more.’

  ‘I am very pleased to hear it,’ said Mrs Goodfellow. ‘Where is Mr Hobbes? I expect he let you in.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. He’s taking Miss Kathy upstairs, ’cause she’s feeling a bit poorly and wants to lie down.’

  ‘Oh, the poor girl,’ said Mrs Goodfellow, whose innate kindness overwhelmed her suspicions, ‘I’d better go and make sure she’s alright.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Hobbes, entering the kitchen and patting Denny on the shoulder. ‘She just needs a little time on her own. What’s for supper?’

  ‘Sorenchester hotpot,’ said Mrs Goodfellow. ‘Is Mr Barker going to eat with us?’

  Denny nodded. ‘I would like that very much, ma’am. I am very starving hungry and I like the smell of what you got cooking. Thank you, muchly.’

  ‘You are welcome, dear’ said Mrs Goodfellow. ‘There’s plenty to go round.’

  Still shaking, still very much surprised, still utterly bewildered, I took my seat next to Daphne, whose face showed a weird mixture of fear, suspicion and relief. Denny sat on my other side and Hobbes, at the head as always, said grace. It was a bizarre occasion and, to start with, my nerves were stretched so tightly I was sure they’d snap, until the old girl served us and it was clear she’d excelled herself as usual, when I allowed myself to relax by small degrees. Sometimes I suspected her of witchcraft, for it was clearly impossible for every meal to be better than the previous one, but if I was under a spell, I was in no rush to break it.

  Denny, polite and calm, ate in awed silence and when seconds were offered accepted them with alacrity. The same went for thirds and fourths. By the end of supper, I had accepted his presence. He no longer felt like a threat, reminding me instead of an overgrown, over-aged, none too intelligent child. Hobbes had achieved many remarkable feats, but the taming of Denny struck me as one of his most amazing.

  Denny volunteered to wash the pots. Hobbes, letting him get on with it, answered Daphne’s questions about Nutcase Nugent, a notorious former resident of Blackcastle, who’d featured in Hugh Duckworth’s notes. I went upstairs to relieve myself, and had just finished washing my hands when I overheard Kathy talking on her mobile. She was angry and sounded even more American than usual.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I won’t do it. Not now, not ever. This game of yours stops here … How could you tell me such a pack of lies? … Baloney, Mom! When have you ever done anything for my good? … Yes, I am going to tell him … Tonight. He deserves to know … He’s been really kind … no, he’s nothing like you described him … Well, sure, he is one big, ugly dude, but he’s a good man … I wish he really was my daddy.’

  As I headed back downstairs, I wondered how Hobbes would react to suddenly not having a daughter again.

  Daphne was helping Denny put things away, while Hobbes, a mug of tea in his hand, was telling them the legend of the Blacker Mountain crocodile that had finally put an end to Nutcase Nugent.

  Kathy entered the kitchen, her eyes rimmed with red, breathing heavily, but in control.

  ‘Excuse me for butting in,’ she said, ‘but I have something important to say. I just wish I didn’t have to. I wish everything was different.’ Facing Hobbes, she gulped and took a deep breath. ‘I’m not your daughter.’

  ‘I know,’ said Hobbes with a sad smile. ‘I always did. We saved you some supper.’

  24

  Kathy stood and faced us, tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes puffy with crying. I could see no nastiness or arrogance in her, just unhappiness and, strangely, dignity. She wiped her face. ‘I’d like to explain myself before anything else.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘We’d better leave you to it,’ I said, getting up, embarrassed.

  ‘No, Andy, please stay,’ she said. ‘Mrs Goodfellow, too. All of you stay, if you don’t mind. I’m fed up with secrets. I’m sorry Dad … Inspector, but I’ve only just found out that some of what I told you, some of what I believed, was completely wrong.’

  I sat back down.

  Denny shrugged his massive shoulders and stood in the corner by the sink, as immobile as a sculpture. Mrs Goodfellow pulled up a chair and jo
ined us at the table.

  Kathy stood quite still, except for the rise and fall of her chest as she fought to stay in control, her fists clenched, her face as white as skimmed milk.

  ‘I want to apologise,’ she said.

  ‘That’s the word I wanted to say,’ Denny murmured and resumed his silence.

  ‘I didn’t intend to deceive you,’ said Kathy. ‘I didn’t intend to deceive anyone. I really thought I was your daughter. I hope you believe me?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Mrs G, trying to look stern.

  ‘I’ll start at the very beginning,’ said Kathy.

  ‘A very good place to start,’ I responded, before a frown from Hobbes quelled my attempt at lightening the mood.

  ‘I’ve lived with my mom most of my life and for most of the time it was just the two of us. She told me my daddy hailed from England and that she’d met him when he was on vacation, but he’d gone home before I was born. She said he was a cop and his name was Hobbes.’

  Mrs G snorted and shook her head. Hobbes held up his hand to quiet her. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘I never thought I’d ever meet him, because Mom had no idea where he lived. Anyway, we got by somehow or other, even though we moved about all over the States when I was little. Mostly this was because she kept getting into trouble and running away. For a long time she used drugs and sometimes she was put in jail. At those times, nice folk looked after me and I had a bit of schooling. After I graduated high school, we kind of settled down. I found a job waitressing and Mom got herself clean of drugs.’

  ‘That is good,’ said Hobbes. ‘I warned her of the risks back in’67, but she was young and foolish then.’

  ‘She’s still foolish,’ said Kathy, a snap of anger in her voice.

  ‘So,’ I asked, ‘why did you take drugs yesterday?’

  ‘I didn’t knowingly. That punk, Rupert, put something in my soda.’

  ‘Is that why you threw him in the lake?’

  ‘Pardon me, sir,’ said Denny. ‘Miss Kathy di’n’t throw him in. It was me. Master Gerald wanted the young master to feel what failure was like.’