Who Kidnapped Billy Bumble?

by P. F. Ford

  ‘I’ve seen your IQ scores so I know you’re a clever guy Steve, but a brain is like an engine – it doesn’t matter how big and powerful it is, if it’s not switched on you won’t get anywhere.’

  ‘I just meant… sorry, Sarge. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly my point.’

  We’d heard the car start up the drive ages ago. Or, at least, it seemed like it was ages ago. It obviously wasn’t, but after Nugent’s spectacular ascent earlier anything else was likely to seem just a bit jaded.

  When the car finally appeared, I could see there were two officers inside. If Slater was one, I guessed the other would be his sidekick, Steve Biddeford. That was good news. At least we’d only have one cynical, experienced officer to disbelieve us. I suspected Biddeford’s youth and inexperience would mean he was less likely to ask questions we couldn’t answer.

  The car creaked to a halt next to us. I could see Dave Slater quite clearly. He was staring at the two of us, incredulous disbelief etched on his face. And that was before we’d said anything.

  The door swung open and he climbed out without saying a word. His expression told us all we needed to know.

  He marched around to the front of the Nash’s car, taking in the shattered windscreen and Nash, slumped in defeat, handcuffed to the steering wheel. He looked around, taking in the churned up gravel of the drive where Nugent’s car had skidded to halt.

  Then he noticed the splintered front door and stomped across to inspect the damage. He looked at it from one side, and then moved across to look at it from the other side. This was all done slowly and deliberately, Biddeford following in his wake, blatantly trying to look as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

  Finally, Slater came back and stood in front of us.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s been going on?’ he began. ‘It looks like a war zone. What did you use to open the front door? A fuckin’ cannon?’

  ‘And good evening to you, officer,’ I said, smiling.

  I had thought maybe I could lighten the atmosphere, but his face told me I was wrong. Perhaps a different approach might be more appropriate.

  ‘This is how we found it,’ I began. ‘We figured out this was where Billy was being held, but when we got here this is what we found.’

  Slater slowly and deliberately tilted back his head and took a good, long look at the sky, then he turned to his partner.

  ‘Is it raining?’

  Biddeford looked totally confused, but he had the sense to answer the question. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I just wondered,’ said Slater, ‘because Mr Bowman seems to think we came down in the last shower!’ He turned back to me. ‘You knew we were on the way, didn’t you?’

  ‘We’ve just got here,’ I said, pointing in the direction we had come from. ‘We came up the hill there and through the hedge. First thing we saw was Nash handcuffed to his car. We were just wondering what to do next when we heard you coming up the hill.’

  ‘But you knew it was us coming didn’t you?’ persisted Slater.

  I didn’t know exactly what he meant by that so I played the stupid card. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Look at this place,’ said Slater, his patience running out. ‘There’s obviously been some maniac tearing around up here with some sort of four-wheel drive machine, blasting away with a bloody shotgun.

  ‘You claim to have just got here, and on hearing a vehicle approaching you decide to wait here out in the open. How did you know it wasn’t the bad guys coming back? I mean, let’s be honest, anyone with even half a brain would have taken cover just in case, wouldn’t they?’

  Now that was a good point. I was wondering how I was going to explain it away, but Slater couldn’t wait.

  ‘You’d take cover, wouldn’t you?’ he said turning to Biddeford. ‘Or am I the only one who thinks that would be the sensible thing to do?’

  ‘Oh, I’m with you,’ agreed Biddeford. ‘In fact, I’d even suggest anyone with any sense wouldn’t have ventured up here in the first place.’

  ‘Ah, well, there you go,’ I said sarcastically. ‘That explains it. We just don’t have any sense.’

  That should have been where I stopped talking, but something sort of snapped inside and all my frustrations about this whole situation just forced their way out.

  ‘We might be stupid,’ I began, ‘but at least we were prepared to try and help Billy Bumble, unlike you lot, who preferred to avoid the bloody issue altogether. I suppose Allison and Billy aren’t the sort of people you have time for.’

  Pete grabbed my arm and stopped me before I got too carried away, but I’d already gone too far for Dave Slater.

  ‘Now just a bloody minute,’ he began, menacingly.

  ‘Sarge,’ interrupted Biddeford, anxiously.

  ‘What?’ snapped Slater.

  ‘Billy Bumble. Shouldn’t we make sure he’s alright?’

  Just for a moment, Slater seemed to be about to ignore Biddeford, but fortunately his professionalism seemed to kick in.

  ‘Where is he?’ he asked.

  I pointed to the house. ‘In there somewhere, I guess. We haven’t got that far yet.’

  ‘Right,’ he instructed us, pointing at Nash. ‘You two stay where you are and keep an eye on him. I’ll be talking to you later.’

  Then he turned back to Steve Biddeford. ‘Steve, get some backup on the way out here and then come with me.’

  They marched off towards the house in search of the unfortunate Billy Bumble. I looked at Pete. He gave me a sad little smile. It looked as though it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘And you really expect me to believe all this?’ said Slater in disgust. With the crime scene now heaving with personnel, he had brought us back to the police station.

  ‘What’s not to believe?’ I said. ‘That was how we found it.’

  He looked at me in dismay ‘It’s all a big crock of shit! I know it, Biddeford knows it, and you both know it. Even bloody Nash knows it, but for some stupid reason that I can’t figure out, he’s prepared to go along with it.’

  He was seething and I really couldn’t blame him. Our story was full of holes, but as long as Nash kept his mouth shut and we stuck to our guns he was going to have to accept it, like it or not.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ I reminded him, ‘You didn’t want to know when I first approached you. If it wasn’t for me and Pete, poor old Billy would still be locked away and Nash would still be free.’

  He gave me a sideways look. ‘Yeah, that might be true enough,’ he reluctantly agreed, ‘but that wasn’t my fault, and you know it. Be honest, this story’s a load of bollocks, isn’t it? I mean, who blew the front door in? And who took Nash’s windscreen out? That looks like a shotgun blast too. And where’s the accomplice? Nash obviously wasn’t working alone. We can see that from the evidence inside the house.’

  ‘How would I know? Maybe it was the accomplice who turned on Nash and cuffed him to his car.’

  Slater sighed in exasperation. ‘You’re making this up, aren’t you?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t see what your problem is. You’ve saved the victim and he seems to be in good shape. You’ve apprehended the villain. No one’s been hurt...’

  He looked at me again, disbelief in his eyes.

  ‘But I’ve got to write a report about this,’ he said in exasperation. ‘It’ll look more like it was written by a bloody novelist than by a highly trained member of the police force.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that’s all you’re going to get, Dave.’

  I really didn’t like lying like this, but at the end of the day I felt it was unavoidable. If we told them Nugent had been up there, we’d be opening an enormous can of worms and who knows where that might lead. Apart from the problems it would cause for Nugent, I’m sure Pete and I would also end up on some sort of conspiracy charge, or even worse. No, it was better this way.

  It was well after midnight. I was exhausted and I knew Pete
was too.

  ‘Can we go home now?’

  Slater sighed a big, heavy sigh. ‘Yeah, why not?’ he said. ‘But I’ll want to talk to you again. Just to check your stories. In case you can remember anything more.’

  A wry smile threatened to break out on his face.

  ‘You could be just a tad more grateful,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. I suppose I could. Tell you what,’ he finished. ‘I’ll get someone to drive you both home. Okay?’

  That sounded like the best idea I had heard all day.

  The police car dropped me in the High Street, just a short walk from my flat. It wasn’t until I’d watched it pull away that I realised just how tired I was and how much I ached. I was going to regret this in the morning for sure.

  I began to wander wearily towards the alleyway which led to my flat, patting my pockets trying to find my keys, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. I stopped for a moment, trying to remember where I’d left them. I knew I had them when I left home.

  Ah! That was it, I’d put them in my jacket pocket. But wait a minute – I’m not wearing a jacket. What had I done with that? Then I remembered. I’d left my jacket in my car. And where was my car?

  In all the excitement I’d completely forgotten all about my poor old car – it was still out at the lay-by. Oh crap! What an idiot I was.

  Oh well, I supposed the car could wait until the morning, but how was I going to get back into my flat?

  Momentarily, the disappointment of having no keys and the tiredness that was sweeping over me combined to make me feel completely helpless, and I just stood uselessly gazing out across the street at nothing in particular while I tried to focus my senses on this latest setback.

  In a small town like Tinton, nothing happens after the pub closes, so by midnight everything is usually still and quiet. It was close on one in the morning now, so the sight of a Rolls Royce quietly gliding down the street was completely unexpected.

  The car was crawling slowly down the street, almost as if the people inside thought going so slowly would make it less conspicuous. Perhaps if it hadn’t been a Rolls, that theory might have proved to be correct, but I’m as curious as the next person and I found my eyes drawn to the windows.

  In the light of the street lamps, I could clearly see a face staring back at me. The man looking back at me had one of those faces that made me feel as though I should know who he was, but no name came to mind.

  To be honest, this didn’t really surprise me as I’m terrible at remembering names. It was like one of those handsome faces you see in countless films, time and time again, but you never actually remember the guy’s name. Absently, I wondered what a film star would be doing in a place like Tinton, in the middle of the night, when the whole town was closed...

  I probably would have thought no more of it, but then he did the weirdest thing – as the car drew level with me he leaned closer to the window, made a pistol with his hand, fired an imaginary bullet at me, and then raised his pretend pistol to his lips to blow the smoke away.

  And then the car was gone, gliding around a bend in the road and out of sight. I stared after it. How weird was that? Did it really happen? Or was my mind playing tricks on me? I was certainly tired enough...

  I don’t know how long I stood staring down the street, but I suddenly seemed to wake up, as if I had been asleep. So that was it. I was so tired I was dreaming.

  Then I remembered my problem. I had no keys to get into my flat. But there was a spare key at Sophia’s, next door to me. I just hoped she was still awake...

  ***