A Fatal Deception

by P. F. Ford

  Norman sighed. She was right, and he knew it.

  'Well, if you think so. But I'm not what you might call boss material.'

  'You're going to have to do something about that if you want to run your own business,' she advised. 'How were you planning to work with Dave... Oh, I get it. He was the boss, right?'

  'Well, yeah, I guess. Nominally,' agreed Norman. 'We just work better that way. I've never been much good with paperwork and stuff like that.'

  'I seem to recall he hates paperwork, too,' she said.

  'Well, yeah, but he's still good at it.'

  'So let me get this straight,' she said. 'If your partnership with Dave had worked out, he was going to be the boss.'

  'Nominal boss,' corrected Norman.

  'Okay, nominal boss if you insist, but that would have meant he ran the show and did all the organising, right?'

  Norman nodded.

  'And then, when it was all over,' she continued, 'lucky old Dave would also get to do all the paperwork. What exactly were you going to be doing?'

  'We made a great team,' argued Norman. 'We solved a lot of cases.'

  'Yes, I know, I was there for some of it, remember?' said Darling, testily. 'But what about sharing the workload? Didn't it ever occur to you that he might feel he was doing all the shit jobs, while you just went along for the ride?'

  'I always did my share of the crime solving,' he said, indignantly.

  'But it was supposed to be a team. That means you share the good stuff, and you share the crappy stuff.'

  Norman was momentarily struck dumb.

  'But he never complained,' he said eventually.

  'Well, he wouldn't, would he?' she replied. 'You're his best friend. In fact, as far as I know, you're his only friend. He wouldn't want to fall out with you, would he?'

  There was an uncomfortable silence which Darling finally felt compelled to break.

  'Anyway, where are we going to start?' she asked.

  'What? Oh, right, yeah. When I called the Principal earlier this morning, he said they would make us security passes when we arrive. They'll be waiting for us at the reception desk. We'd better go and pick them up first; then I'll go and check in with him. You could start by having a snoop around the accommodation block. I'll come and find you there.'

  'You see, that wasn't so hard, was it?' said Darling.

  'Yeah, I suppose.'

  As he climbed from the car, Norman was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He had never considered himself to be selfish.

  An hour later they had collected the passes, Norman had called in to see the Principal, and then taken a quick wander around to get the lie of the land. Now he was looking for Darling. After being on the receiving end of her earlier lecture about his contribution to teamwork he wasn't in the best of moods, and being unable to find her now, wasn't doing anything to improve his disposition. Darling, meanwhile, was absorbed in conversation with one of the students.

  Megan Reed was one of the girls who had made a report about things being stolen from her room. On a whim, Darling had knocked on her door, and much to her surprise Megan had answered. Once she had explained who she was and why she was there, Megan had been only too keen to invite her into her room so they could talk. But Darling soon found she was learning about something that was far more serious than petty pilfering.

  'So you were the first one to notice anything had gone missing?' asked Darling.

  'That's right,' said Megan. 'I didn't want to make a big deal of it because I thought we could sort it out between ourselves, but it soon became apparent no-one was going to admit they were responsible, and then a couple of the other girls had stuff go missing.'

  'Is that when you reported it to the college?'

  'Yes, not that they wanted to listen. Apparently, there are more important things for the college to worry about than a bit of petty pilfering.'

  'That's because of all the sponsors turning up, right?' asked Darling.

  'I can understand what they mean,' said Megan, 'and they're right, we are supposed to be old enough to behave like adults, but then last weekend things took a turn for the worse.'

  'What d'you mean by that?' asked Darling.

  'Well, I could understand why the College didn't want to make a big deal out of us having stuff stolen, but now it seems we have a Peeping Tom around the place, and still they won't do anything.'

  'Peeping Tom?' echoed Darling. 'No-one mentioned anything to us about a Peeping Tom.'

  'That's because, according to the college, there is no Peeping Tom,' said Megan. 'But, if that's the case, why is my friend Sophie so convinced she saw someone watching us over the weekend?'

  'Is that why you have the blinds drawn now?'

  Megan nodded.

  'Where did Sophie see this person?' asked Darling.

  Megan walked across to the window and opened the blinds.

  'Up on the bank, over there,' she said, pointing to a tree-covered, grassy bank, about fifty yards away. 'Whoever it is hides among the trees up there. They're the same level as us. They must be able to see right inside.'

  Darling stared across at the trees. She thought it was more or less the perfect place to spy on the girls. It would be easy for someone to hide unnoticed up there, and as Megan had suggested, they would be able to see right into these rooms.

  'The thing is,' said Megan, 'we've all been blaming each other for the thefts, but what if it's this guy? Maybe he's been spying on us all the time, and stealing our stuff means he's getting bolder? That means he'll probably do it again, and again, won't he? Only next time he might get bolder still. Don't you people call that escalating?'

  Darling knew there was no arguing with Megan's reasoning.

  'Okay Megan, I understand your concern, but let's not get carried away,' she said, soothingly. 'I'll get my partner, Norm, and we'll speak to Sophie, then we'll go up and take a look around among those trees up on the bank. If there's any evidence up there, we'll find it. In the meantime try not to worry.'

  ***

  'So what do you think?' Darling asked Norman, after she had relayed Megan's story to him. 'D'you think it's all connected? Is it a Peeping Tom getting bolder?'

  'It looks a distinct possibility,' agreed Norman. 'It's one hell of a coincidence otherwise.'

  'I'd like to know why the College hasn't reported any of this to the police,' said Darling.

  'I think you'll find it's because the Principal feels they can't afford a scandal right now.'

  'I think the girls' welfare is a bit more important than funding,' said Darling, indignantly.

  'I'm with you on that one,' said Norman, 'but let's just see if we can sort this out ourselves before we press the panic button. Do we know where we can find Megan's friend?'

  'Her name's Sophie Dawson,' said Darling. 'I'm told she'll be rehearsing for the show.'

  Chapter Four

  'It's very quiet,' said Darling. 'Where is everyone?'

  'Remember term finished a couple of weeks ago so they can prepare for the big show,' said Norman. 'That's how important it is. But it means any students who aren't involved in the performance will be on holiday now.'

  'So what, they get about six weeks off at Christmas?' asked Darling. 'Jeez, that's nice work if you can get it.'

  'I'll let you have Christmas Day if you're lucky,' smiled Norman. 'What more could you ask for?'

  'Why thank you, Ebenezer,' said Darling, 'you're so generous.'

  'All heart, that's me,' agreed Norman, happily.

  The helpful lady receptionist who had greeted them earlier was no longer behind the counter. Now a nondescript man in dark trousers and a sweater had taken her place. He looked up as they entered and Norman noticed his expression darken momentarily.

  'Oh great, a jobsworth,' said Darling quietly.

  Norman agreed with her assessment but had no time to comment.

  'Good morning,' he said, brightly, as they approached the counter.

  'Morning,' said the man.


  'I'm Norman Norman, and this is my colleague, Naomi Darling. We're private detectives, working for the Principal. Right now we're looking for one of your students, Sophie Dawson. We were told she's rehearsing. Can you point us in the right direction?'

  'Why do you want to talk to her? Has she done something wrong?' asked the man.

  'Why do you ask? Do you know her?' asked Norman.

  'Not personally, no,' he replied.

  'So why do you think she must be in trouble?' asked Norman.

  'When detectives turn up looking for someone it's not usually to give them a pat on the back, is it?' said the man, defensively.

  'We just want to ask her a few questions?'

  'What about?'

  'I don't think that's any of your business,' said Norman, his irritation becoming clear.

  'We like to know if any of our students are going to drag the college's name through the mud. We have a good reputation, and we want to keep it that way.'

  'I don't think you need to worry on that score,' said Darling. 'As far as we know she's done nothing wrong. Like my partner just said, we'd like to ask her a few questions that might help with our inquiries.'

  'What questions--' began the security guard.

  'It looks like you have a problem with us,' said Norman, impatiently, 'and you certainly don't seem to understand how this works, so let me give you some help. We're the detectives, and we're working for your boss. That means we get to ask the questions, not you. If you have issues with that arrangement, you'd better take it up with him.'

  The guard was looking guilty now.

  'I don't have a problem with you,' he said. 'I'm just trying to do my job.'

  'Yeah, so are we,' said Darling, 'so, why don't you do yours, and tell us where we can find Sophie Dawson, and then we can do ours and ask her some questions.'

  'The sooner you tell us where she is, the sooner we'll be out of your hair,' added Norman.

  The man scowled as he consulted a clipboard on the counter in front of him.

  'She'll be in the theatre,' he said grudgingly, pointing down the corridor that led off to his right. 'Just follow that all the way to the end. It'll bring you out where you want to be.'

  'There that wasn't so hard was it?' said Darling, with a humourless smile.

  The man glared back at her but said nothing.

  'Just doing his job, my arse,' Darling muttered quietly to Norman as they made their way along the corridor.

  'Yeah,' said Norman. 'Anyone would think he doesn't want us to talk to Sophie Dawson.'

  'It feels that way, doesn't it?' she agreed.

  They followed the corridor as it took a turn to the right and then another to the left, and finally, they found themselves in the theatre foyer. Another entrance led in from the left, which Norman guessed must come straight in from the car park. It was the public entrance to the theatre.

  They pushed their way through the doors and into the theatre itself. They had a great view from here and stood to watch a group of actors on stage crucifying a song. Norman thought it could be 'Jesus Christ Superstar,' or possibly someone was strangling a cat nearby; it was hard to tell for sure.

  'Jesus Christ, is right,' said Darling with a grimace. 'I'm not sure there's a superstar anywhere near though. Is the pianist the only one in tune, or are the singers all out of tune?'

  'It's not exactly Broadway, is it?' agreed Norman. 'Perhaps we ought to report them for cruelty to music.'

  The tops of several heads in the front row indicated people were sitting there, and suddenly one of them shot to his feet and started waving his arms at the lone pianist who stopped playing. Norman assumed this man must be the director of the show, an assumption that gained weight when two clipboard carrying assistants jumped to their feet and rushed to join in with the arm waving.

  'No, no, no!' the director began to berate the actors, in an alarmingly affected voice. 'Darlings, darlings, my cat was more tuneful when I stood on his tail.'

  'Oh, look out,' said Darling, quietly. 'Gilbert alert.'

  Norman turned to look at Darling.

  'What?' she said, innocently.

  'What the hell's a "Gilbert"?' he asked.

  Darling nodded towards the director. 'He is. Just watch,' she said, smiling confidently. 'I'll bet you a fiver.'

  'Oh, I don't disagree with your assessment. I'm sure you're right,' said Norman. 'I just haven't heard it called that before. Do you always size everyone up that quickly?'

  'Usually, yeah,' she said.

  'What about keeping an open mind as you were trained to do?'

  'I just said he was a Gilbert,' said Darling. 'That doesn't mean I can't keep an open mind.'

  Norman looked sceptical.

  'What? Like you did with the guy on the reception desk?'

  'But I wasn't wrong about him being a jobsworth, was I?' she said. 'Don't tell me you didn't feel the same.'

  'Right,' said Norman, doubtfully.

  'And your point is?' asked Darling.

  Norman could see he was going to be wasting his time arguing about this.

  'So, basically, you have a pretty low opinion of just about everyone,' said Norman.

  'Most men, yeah,' she said. 'To varying degrees. I reckon this one's probably an eight, or maybe a nine.'

  'You have a ranking system?' asked Norman. 'I don't think I'm familiar with that. Is it new?'

  'It happened while I was away,' she explained. 'There was an inordinately high number of idiot men where I was staying, the worst one being a guy called Gilbert. I just sort of developed this ranking system for them.'

  'So what's the worst score a man can get?' asked Norman, wondering if she'd given him a score.

  'A ten, and I know what you’re thinking, but don't worry; you don't get a score on account of you being my surrogate dad.'

  'Oh, right, I suppose that's fine, then,' he said. 'Just as long as I know you can be objective.'

  As Norman considered this idea, he slowly became aware that everything had gone quiet. He turned to look around and realised everyone was staring at them.

  'Can I help you?' called the director, impatiently. 'This area is out of bounds to the public. We're rehearsing for our big Christmas show.'

  'We're not the public,' Darling called back. 'We're detectives, working for the Principal. We'd like to talk to one of your cast.'

  A look of distaste filled the director's eyes as Darling uttered the word detective, and he flapped his hands as though someone had just farted in his face.

  'Damien,' he cried.

  The skinnier of the two clipboard carriers rushed to his side.

  'Yes, Finlay. What can I do?' he gushed.

  'Go and deal with these people.'

  'Yes, Finlay.'

  'There you go,' muttered Darling. 'Didn't I tell you? I mean, come on, Finlay? What sort of a name is that?'

  Norman tried to stifle a smirk.

  'Are we infectious, d'you think?' she mumbled as Damien loped towards them.

  'I think they would have preferred it if we hadn't turned up,' said Norman, quietly. ‘Perhaps we might ask questions they don't want to have to answer.'

  ‘You mean, like, where are the singers?’ suggested Darling.

  By the time Damien reached them, Norman had his security pass in his hand.

  'Norman and Darling,' he said. 'We're looking for Sophie Dawson, and before you ask, its none of your business why we want to talk to her.'

  Damien was probably no more than eighteen years old, and the look in Norman's eye told him he shouldn't argue.

  'She's not in this scene,' he told them. 'So she's probably out the back having coffee or getting something to eat.' He pointed to door at the far corner of the theatre. 'Go through that door, and it'll take you backstage. She'll be out there somewhere.'

  'Thanks, Damien,' said Norman, but he wasn't prepared to share a smile with him.

  'Where's he on your scale?' asked Norman, as the lackey scampered back to Finlay to relay what
they wanted.

  'He’s off the scale,' she said. 'He's way too feeble to be worth classifying.’

  'I need her for the next scene,' called Finlay, the director, as they headed for the door. 'So don't keep her long.'

  Darling smiled sweetly and raised her hand in acknowledgement.

  'Okay, Gilbert, we'll keep her for as long as we can,' she said, not quite loud enough for anyone but Norman to hear.

  'Shouldn't that boy be wearing blue dungarees, and be painted yellow?' she asked, as they walked towards the door.

  'Sorry?' he said, looking vacant.

  'Well, he's a minion, right?' she explained.

  Norman looked across at the boy and then back at her.

  'And?'

  'Minions,' she said. 'Little yellow guys in blue dungarees?'

  She studied Norman's blank face.

  'Do you live in a cave, or what?' she asked.

  He sighed.

  'Yeah. I think, compared to you, I probably do.'

  Chapter Five

  'Are you here about the Peeping Tom?' asked Sophie.

  'I've got to be honest, Sophie,' said Norman. 'We didn't know anything about that until Megan told Naomi a few minutes ago. The College called us in to find out who's been stealing stuff; they didn't mention anything about a Peeping Tom.'

  'That's because they don't believe me,' said Sophie. 'I suppose you don't either, but why would I make up something like that?'

  'Now hang on a minute,' said Darling. 'If we didn't believe you, we wouldn't be here. If we can find the slightest little bit of evidence to prove there is a Peeping Tom, we'll bring the police straight in, but in the meantime, we don't want to cause a panic. We just need you to tell us what you saw. D'you think you can do that?'

  Sophie licked her lips and nodded, all the while twiddling a strand of her long hair between her fingers.

  'It was Saturday afternoon the first time I saw him,' she began. "He was up on the bank behind our rooms in amongst the trees.'

  'You're sure it was a man?' asked Norman. ‘Those trees are quite a long way off, and whoever was up there would have been in the shade.'

  'Well, I assumed it was a man,' said Sophie. 'I mean, he was spying on half naked girls for goodness sake!'