by steve higgs
Fatal Error
Arriving back in Biggleswade, Francis had promptly ditched the car in a side street and ambled away trying to look innocent. He couldn’t return to the café or its vicinity because the risk he would be recognised was too great. In fact, he considered the entire town and its surrounding area to be a hot spot he ought to be avoiding. The old man had seen him, as had Victor Harris. Eugene was dead and though Francis didn’t think they could easily trace his body, he was confident they would work out who Eugene was soon enough, and that might lead them to him.
He needed to get out of Biggleswade, but he couldn’t do that until the job was finished. It was a paradox. To limit the risk of being identified, he needed a change of clothes to help him alter his appearance. He had more clothes with him, but they were all derivations of his current outfit. Then, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, he remembered Eugene’s clothes. They were about the same size. If the police were looking for a man in combat fatigues, they wouldn’t look twice at him in a smart jacket and tie. Maybe Eugene wasn’t as dumb as Francis always assumed.
It was only an hour after ditching the car that he remembered he’d left the owner in the boot. He ran back, thinking he would just have to kill him and leave the body to be found but, of course, the car was long gone.
Francis cursed himself, gritting his teeth and swearing at the sky, small gods, and anyone who would listen. There was no one in ear shot, of course, he wasn’t that stupid, but now he truly felt like a man with a target on his back. He spent the night in the lockup he and Eugene had been using since they arrived in town. They’d found an empty place and broken in when they first arrived, using it to hide the van and all their equipment. It meant they had a very basic standard of living when they could be in a nice bed and breakfast, but the practice limited how many people they came into contact with and gave them somewhere secret from which to operate.
He wasn’t excited about getting started today. Truthfully, he was dreading what the day might bring, but with the promise of more money than he would ever earn by any other method, Francis closed the lockup door behind him, and set out to earn a million pounds.
Victor Harris hadn’t seen his face, that much he was sure of and for once letting Eugene do the talking had played to his advantage. The old man might have seen him, but he was just going to have to work with what he had. Best to get Victor first and he was fairly sure he knew where to find him.
As a wicked idea sparked into life, he allowed himself a small smile. Oh, yes. He could pull this off. He always knew he was the brains of the outfit, and now he got to prove it. Speed would be necessary; a vital factor, in fact, but if luck stayed with him, he would be out of Biggleswade by lunchtime with both men safely in his care. He needed to visit a hardware store for supplies and clothes. First things first though, he needed to steal a taxi.
Observation
Albert’s stomach had been rumbling since he left hospital. He could have eaten there but the option to escape with DS Craig proved too tempting. Plus, how good could hospital breakfast be? Albert considered that he had too few years left to waste days eating bad food.
Somehow, he’d ended up with an extra dog. When DS Craig left Hans with him, Albert almost protested; the dog wasn’t his responsibility, but before the words could form on his lips, he wondered if perhaps the little Dachshund might prove useful. Either way, he was back at the Clanger Café.
Being sensibly diversified, the Clanger café specialised in their namesake dish, but served other things, and that included breakfast.
‘Did they feed you?’ Albert asked Rex and Hans at the door to the café.
Both dogs looked up with excited faces. Albert knew he hadn’t given Rex dinner last night or breakfast this morning, and though he felt sure the animal services people would have ensured both dogs were given a nutritionally balanced meal at least once while they had them, he needed to be sure they were not going hungry.
The bell jingled above his head on the way in, making the staff behind the counter lift their heads in an automatic reaction they must repeat hundreds of times a day. Carrying Hans under his left arm – the dog became heavy after a while and had been swapped from arm to arm – Albert waved with his right. It would be wrong to say the staff knew him, but they would recognise his face from the showdown with April yesterday.
There were two women working the front counter, both looked up as he came in, but it was the one to his right behind the cash register who spoke. ‘Is that Hans?’ she asked, looking at the dog under his left arm.
Albert flipped his eyebrows. ‘Yes, I seem to be surrogate dog owner today. I take it you have heard from Victor,’ asked Albert, stepping up to the counter so they could talk without speaking rudely over the heads of the customers. Once there, he could read their name badges. The lady behind the cash register was Rita and the other lady’s name was Meredith.
His question brought a look of concern from both women. ‘Oh, yes,’ said the talkative one. ‘The police had questions for us last night. They tracked half of us to the pub on Grand Lane so we knew all about it not long after it happened.’
‘It’s just shocking,’ said her colleague. ‘Who would believe it? First Mr Clement and now Victor. Who’s going to be next?’
It was a good question, but to answer it, he would first have to work out why on Earth either man had been targeted, and that was his biggest challenge. Other customers were coming through the door after him, so he swiftly changed the subject to the one which he wanted to ask. ‘Is April here?’ he asked, a half humorous, half serious grimace on his face.
His question got a smirk from the two women working the counter and a baker bringing goods through from the kitchen.
‘No one’s seen or heard from her since yesterday,’ said the woman behind the cash register.
‘That’s not quite right,’ argued her female colleague. ‘Young Shannon heard from her all right.’
‘What do you mean?’ Albert wanted to know.
The woman behind the cash register, Rita, a lady in her forties with short curly hair held in a net and not one jot of makeup, sighed. ‘She called in sick today. Shannon that is, not April. The rumour is that April banned her from coming to work until the situation with her managing the place is resolved. She’s always been a bully, that April.’
‘Why would Shannon obey her?’ Albert wanted to know.
‘April is her great aunt,’ replied Rita, then bit her lip. ‘Have I got that right? April is Shannon’s grandmother’s sister.’
Albert did the genealogy math in his head. ‘Yes, that’s right – great aunt. But she has a big enough hold over Shannon to stop her coming to work?’
Rita nodded. Meredith moved away to serve another customer, but Albert managed to hold Rita’s attention just a little longer because this line of enquiry was interesting. It was all about the dynamics of the workplace and there had to be something in the background to explain what was going on. ‘Why has April been tolerated for so long if she is such a bully?’
Rita glanced left and right as if worried she might be overheard, then leaned forward to tell him, ‘The rumour is that she had dirt on the previous owner. April has been working here since the seventies. Of course, when Mr Clement bought the place ten years ago, he didn’t know what she was like or he would have got shot of her straight away. Now it’s a little late to fire her unless someone could prove she was doing something worthy of being fired. She’ll argue that trying to take over was in the best interest of the business.’
Albert wasn’t sure what to make of that and he was beginning to hold up the queue of people wanting to place an order or pay for goods from the display cabinet. He asked for a breakfast plate and a pot of tea for himself, plus a clanger to share between the two dogs. Task complete, he retired to a table in the corner where he could rest and watch.
Using his time wisely, Albert placed a call to Victor. He would either be awake, and able to answer, or still asleep, in which cas
e Albert believed his phone would most likely be switched to silent and would therefore not disturb him.
It rang only once before Victor’s voice echoed in Albert’s ear. ‘Is that you, Albert?’
‘Good morning, Victor. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m told I have you to thank for being able to feel anything. You and Rex, I guess. Did you really fight off the two men who attacked me?’ Victor’s voice carried a sense of disbelief, as well it should if he thought Albert had given the two miscreants what for.
Albert snorted a small laugh through his nose. ‘Rex and Hans saw them off. I hid around the corner and called the police.’
‘And one of them was killed when he ran into traffic. Is that right?’ Victor asked.
Albert spent a minute regaling the baker with the story from his viewpoint. When he was done, he asked. ‘Did they give you any indication why they wanted you?’ This was the key question so far as Albert was concerned. Why on Earth would anyone want to kidnap a baker from Biggleswade? The answer had to be the key to the whole escapade and the reason why Joel Clement was dead. Was the owner mixed up in drugs? Did he borrow money from the mob to buy the café in the first place?
Victor’s reply told him nothing. ‘The one who spoke asked if I knew how to make a clanger. He made me promise that I could bake and had me list the ingredients and tell him how to make one. There were two of them, but I only ever saw that one. The other chap was positioned behind me the whole time and when they were satisfied that I could make a clanger, he hit me over the head from behind. I didn’t see it coming, but I have quite a dent in my skull now.
They wanted him because he could cook? It beggared belief. ‘Did they say anything else?’ Albert begged, wondering if the blow to his head might have scrambled Victor’s brain.
‘No, that was it. Can I make a clanger? It made me wonder if they were the same people who took Joel. He couldn’t cook at all.’
Of course, Victor wouldn’t yet know the police had found Joel’s fingerprints and DNA in the van. Albert’s thoughts were drifting though, what if they had taken Joel assuming he could bake. He was the owner after all. It could then follow that he proved of no use and they killed him before returning to get someone who could bake.
Proved of no use. The sentence echoed in his head and produced a new question: of no use for what?
‘Albert are you still there?’ asked Victor when the silence stretched out far enough.
‘Yes, Victor, sorry,’ he apologised. ‘Are you aware of anyone interested in starting a rival clanger company or of any reason why someone might want to know how to bake a perfect clanger?’
‘A rival clanger firm? I hardly think so. There isn’t enough demand for them. It’s been in decline for years. There used to be dozens of places making and selling them right across the county a few decades ago. Now there is just us. The original and best,’ he boasted proudly.
Across the café, Albert could see Meredith approaching with a tray. Steam rose from his breakfast and from the spout of the small pot of tea. It made his stomach gurgle with anticipation. He needed to wrap up the call now, but he wasn’t quite out of questions.
‘Have the police seen you yet?’
‘No. Will they come here? I’d really rather leave if I’m allowed.’
Albert didn’t know the answer to that particular question though he felt sure DS Craig had said something about it earlier. Worried, not for the first time, that his memory was getting spotty, Albert said, ‘I know they will want a statement and will have a list of questions to ask you. You could go to them instead of waiting. The sooner DS Craig can corroborate what he’s been told with your version of events, the sooner he can get on with tracking down the man who got away. I think this may be the key to getting your sister released.’
‘Well, that would be good,’ Victor agreed. ‘I’ll probably do that.’
His breakfast was six feet away and closing. ‘I must go, Victor. I am in your café about to enjoy some breakfast. Let me know when you are done with the police.’
‘You’re at the café?’ Victor expressed his surprise. ‘Is everything okay there? I mean, they are a few hands short now without Kate or me or … did April come in today do you know?’
The breakfast tray was set on his table so that Meredith could set out his plates and arrange his pot of tea. He ignored his phone so he could thank her and politely pay attention while she served. Only when she turned away did he answer Victor’s question, ‘No, she is absent, as is her grandniece, Shannon.’
‘Shannon’s not there?’ questioned Victor. ‘That is surprising.’
‘Is it?’ asked Albert. ‘I got the impression April rules her life.’
Victor couldn’t argue with that. ‘I guess she does, but even so, poor Shannon has a baby and is flat broke more often than not. I’m not sure how she gets by on what she get’s paid working part-time hours so taking time off makes no sense.’
The statement startled Albert. Or rather, the realisation that followed it did. He ended the call quickly thereafter, excusing himself so his long-awaited breakfast wouldn’t go cold, but as he tucked into a juicy piece of sausage, he wondered if he’d just been given the answer to another small part of the mess.
Nonsensical
His breakfast was sumptuous, just as expected, and a heaping plateful it was too. Beneath the table, Rex and Hans licked their lips and rejoiced in getting a second breakfast; a rare event if ever there was one. The animal services people had been kind to them, fussing them and making sure they were clean and dry. They tended to Hans’ injured paw but the kibble they served left a lot to be desired. Not that it was inedible, it just wasn’t very tasty. They ate it because it was food, but to get a tasty treat split sixty: forty in Rex’s favour by his human was something neither dog had expected.
Hans saw that he got the smaller piece, but he didn’t make a snarky comment which he would have to any other dog. His piece was more than big enough to fill his belly. ‘That was good,’ he mumbled around a satisfied burp.
Rex licked the carpet to get the last few crumbs. ‘It sure was. Yet, I cannot help thinking that we ought to be out trying to catch the man from last night.’
Hans frowned. ‘I thought your human said he would be miles away by now.’
Rex thought about that. ‘He did, but you and I both smelled him on the man at the police station. If I understood him correctly, the man is still here.’
Above the table, Albert was thinking the same thing, but his thoughts were a little more complicated than the dogs’. His breakfast plate was empty, pushed aside so he could bring his teacup to rest between his hands. None of it made sense. That was what bothered him more than anything. If they were truly trying to kidnap Victor because he could bake a clanger, then it was the strangest motive for a crime he had ever heard of. What was worse though was that the man who escaped, seemed to have found a way to evade the police and leave Biggleswade, only to return here almost immediately. Then, in a sloppy way if he didn’t want to get caught, he let Eric Simpson live. What could possibly motivate him to come back to the very place where the police were looking for him?
Albert sipped his tea and pondered that question.
Clanger Lover
‘The police sent a taxi for you, Mr Harris,’ said the nurse.
Victor had been allowed just enough painkillers to make his headache recede into the background but not enough to make it go away. The doctor seemed unreasonably concerned that Victor might develop a painkiller addiction. Personally, he doubted that would happen and couldn’t work out where he would be able to obtain such strong painkillers anyway. Nevertheless, he was dressed, discharged and ready to go. A Detective Sergeant called Craig had left a message with the nurses’ station to call him when Victor was awake, but before they had the chance to call, a taxi driver arrived to collect him.
‘I guess they arranged for someone else to take my statement,’ he commented to the nurse.
‘Do yo
u have everything you came in with?’ she asked, checking about his bed to make sure the outgoing patient didn’t need to make a return trip.
Victor chuckled. ‘I was unconscious when I arrived. I’m not sure what I came in with.’ Switching to serious when she gave him a puzzled look, he said, ‘I’m sure I haven’t left anything behind. I have my wallet, phone, and house keys.’
She escorted him back to the nurses’ station where the taxi driver stood reading a poster and looking bored.
‘This is Mr Harris?’ the man sought to confirm.
Though the man hadn’t addressed him, Victor extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ There was something familiar about the man, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He saw so many people coming in and out of the café that he was probably just another customer.
The taxi driver, a large man wearing a casual but smart jacket – one too smart for the average taxi driver - shook his hand lightly and began meandering back toward the entrance. ‘I got a spot right out front,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Did they say who I need to speak to when I get there?’ Victor asked.
The man shrugged, his over-developed trapezius muscles hunching up and then down again. ‘The woman at the cab firm tells me where to go and who to collect.’ He clearly thought that was explanation enough because he said nothing further.
At the car, the man looked to see if Victor had any luggage. ‘No bags?’
‘Just me,’ said Victor, now wracking his brains to work out why the man looked familiar. ‘I work in the Clanger Café. Do you go in there very often?’
The taxi driver held the rear door open for Victor to get in and hit him with a broad smile. ‘Cor, yeah. I love a clanger. I think my favourite is the curry one with the mango dessert at the other end. Ooh, you’re making me hungry now.’
A smile split Victor’s face as he got into the back of the cab. The man had given him a satisfactory answer as to why he looked so familiar, but something in his head wanted to insist there was another reason his face stood out.
