Who Kidnapped Billy Bumble?

by

P.F. Ford

Cover Design by Angie Zambrano

Edited by KT Editing Services

© 2013 P.F. Ford

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

What with modern technology and having a small circle of friends who mostly live quite close by, I don’t get much in the way of post, so the arrival of a letter is something of an event. The thing is, when I do hear the clack of the letterbox snapping shut, it invariably heralds the arrival of a request for payment from one company or another, so I’m never in a great hurry to see what the postman’s deposited on my doormat.

The grubby off-white envelope that lay on the floor that particular morning was so battered and creased it looked as though it must have been up and down the country two or three times before it got to me. When I picked it up and turned it over, however, I realised that wherever it had been, I couldn’t blame anyone at the Post Office for its condition. The absence of a proper address or stamp meant this particular letter had been delivered by hand. It was addressed in neat, simple handwriting to ‘Mr. A. Bowman.’

To my great surprise, despite the tatty state of the envelope the letter inside was written on a pristine sheet of writing paper. The thought flitted through my mind that perhaps whoever wrote this liked to recycle their envelopes. I unfolded the single sheet of paper to find more of the same neat handwriting. This is what it said:

Dear Mr Bowman,

I hope you don’t mind me writing to you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. My name is Allison Beatty. You may recall we met a while ago when you were looking into the disappearance of Simon Younger. You came to my house – I hope you remember. (Thanks to you I’m now getting some help with my problems.)

Unfortunately, my husband Billy was in prison when you came to see me, but he was released not long after and he’s been doing well at keeping out of trouble. He’s even got a real, proper job. He’s been trying really hard, but then last week he was arrested again. I know he didn’t do what they’re saying he did. I’ve told the police he couldn’t have done it but they won’t listen to me.

I’m at my wits end. If my husband goes back inside I don’t know what will happen to him. He’s not the sharpest knife in the block and as a result he tends to get bullied. He’s done some stupid things in the past, but he’s trying really hard to go straight now, and I know he’s being fitted up. And I think it’s all my fault. They’re picking on him because of the evidence I gave. I know it.

Please can you help me and my husband?

Allison.

I remembered Allison well enough. As she said in her letter, we met when I was looking into the thirty-year-old case of Simon Younger, a little boy who had gone missing. Allison’s evidence had been instrumental in helping us to figure out what had happened. She had been abused herself back then and still bore the mental scars today, but at least now, as a result of coming forward, she was getting some much needed counselling.

I knew nothing about her husband but I did know something about being fitted up, having been on the receiving end of such treatment myself during the Simon Younger enquiry. No doubt the same person who had been responsible for that would feel he had reason to get back at Allison. Doing it through her husband would appeal to his vindictive nature. Detective Inspector Nash of the local police was known as ‘Nasty’ Nash for good reason.

If he was involved in this, Allison would need all the help she could get, but first I thought it might be a good idea to see what I could find out before I spoke to her. Maybe a call to one of the friendlier members of the local force, in the form of my friend Detective Sergeant Dave Slater, would shed some light on the situation.

‘What can you tell me about a guy called Billy Beatty?’ I asked Slater.

‘What makes you think I know anything about him?’

‘As I understand it, he’s something of a thorn in the side of the local police. You must know him.’

‘I presume you’re talking about Billy Bumble? Lives up on The Dump?’

The Dump was the local name for a small, rather uninviting housing estate called The Valleys. As its local name suggested, it wasn’t exactly the most inviting of places. The assorted rubbish strewn everywhere was a sad reflection of the fact that some of its residents just didn’t care.

‘If he’s the same guy as Billy Beatty then yeah, that’s him. Why do you call him Billy Bumble?’

‘Because he’s what you might call “a sandwich short of a picnic”. At his best, he’s a little on the slow side, but when he’s in trouble he becomes a bumbling idiot, hence Billy Bumble. He’s just a petty thief. Well no, actually he’s more than just a petty thief, he’s a persistent petty thief and for that reason he is, as you say, a pain in the arse. Anyway, what’s it to you?’

‘Remember Allison Beatty?’

This made Slater laugh out loud. ‘How could I ever forget Allison? She was my star witness, but she hated me at first. I’ve been called some names in my time…’

Allison Beatty had indeed been a key witness in the aforementioned murder enquiry that Dave Slater and I had been involved in, but she had a troubled past and an instinctive dislike of authorities, especially police officers. Getting her to accept, and then trust, Dave Slater had been a long process.

‘Allison sent me a letter. She says Billy’s been arrested for something he didn’t do. She reckons he’s being framed. I just thought I’d ask you what you know before I go up and see her.’

‘Well, if he has been nicked, it’s not by me, and I certainly haven’t heard his name mentioned around here recently. Any idea what he’s done?’

‘Sorry, Dave. All I know is what I’ve told you. In the letter, Allison says she thinks Billy’s being stitched up because of the evidence she gave. I haven’t even spoken to her yet.’

‘Give me a couple of hours. I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you.’

Chapter Two

My old friend Dry Biro had been in a coma for several weeks now. I came to his house every three or four days just to make sure everything was okay and to water his plants. At first, I’d had to come every day to keep collecting the post, but I’d managed to catch the postman and persuade him that it really wasn’t a good idea to keep delivering letters to the home of a man who was in hospital in a coma.

On this occasion, as soon as I let myself in I knew something was different. There was nothing obvious; I just felt it. I knew someone had been in there. Very slowly and quietly, I made my way from room to room, looking for some sign that I was right, but nothing seemed out of place and nothing seemed to be missing. There was no sign of a break-in either – all the windows seemed to be intact and locked.

I went back to the kitchen. I stood in the centre and slowly looked all around. Something in here wasn’t quite right, but what was it? It took me several minutes before I finally saw what was different.

The day I had found him stretched out on the floor, my old friend had been working at the table. The two folders on the kitchen table had been on there ever since, the pale blue one on the right and the pale green on the left. Now, they were the other way around.

I studied the two folders, my mind working furiously. Could I really be sure? What if I was mistaken? After all, there was no sign of forced entry and I had the only key. Or did I? I had always been convinced that someone had attacked DB and used a key to lock the door on the way out. That key had never been recovered.

What if the attacker still had the key and had come back looking for something in those folders? Those papers had been strewn across the table that day as if someone had been searching through them, so they must mean something. What if they hadn’t found what they were looking for and had come back to look again?

But what could I do? Although I was convinced the old guy had been attacked, I had been unable to offer any proof to the police. Yes, the missing key was a little suspicious but it proved nothing. Simply having a hunch that someone had been here again was going to be even less convincing.

The sound of my phone interrupted my train of thought and I glanced at the display to see it was Dave Slater.

‘I’ve found out Billy Bumble’s not been arrested by anyone here. He’s not even on our radar right now. We’re hoping he may just have learnt his lesson this time. He’s just done six months for persistent offending. Apparently, he had a hard time inside. Slow guys like him are an easy target for bullies on the inside. The word is Billy Bumble’s trying to go straight.’

‘That’s more or less what Allison told me in her letter. So can I tell her she’s wrong to think our friend DI Nash might be behind this?’

‘Ah! Well, it’s funny you should mention him. He can’t nick anyone at the moment because he’s on gardening leave. Apparently, stress has got the better of him. Between you, me, and the gatepost, I think the “powers that be” don’t know what to do with him, so he’s been put out to grass while they decide.’

‘That must be good news for you.’

‘It’s good news for everyone here.’ He laughed. ‘There was quite a party when it was announced. He was the only one not invited.’

‘So he’s not the one who’s nicked Billy, then?’

‘I hate to disappoint you, but on this occasion I’m afraid the Nasty One is not the villain.’

‘I wonder what Allison’s on about then,’ I said absently.

‘You’ll just have to go up there and find out, won’t you?’ he said. ‘Where are you anyway?’

‘I’m just checking DB’s place and watering his plants.’

I wondered if I should mention my suspicions to him. Dave Slater had become a friend but I didn’t want to take advantage of that, nor did I want to waste his time with something I couldn’t prove. As if he could read my mind, he spoke again.

‘So what’s on your mind?’

‘Do they train you to read minds?’

‘Ha! I wish they did – it would make my job a whole lot easier. It’s just that you went quiet, as if you were trying to decide if you should share something.’

‘Bloody hell. You really do read minds. I’m going to have to be careful what I’m thinking in future.’

‘So, what did you decide?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Are you going to share or not?’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to, but since you ask – I think someone’s been in here.’

‘What? A break-in? What’s missing?’ Slater sounded interested.

‘That’s the thing. It’s not a break-in and nothing seems to be missing. I can’t show you any proof other than two folders on a table that have changed places.’

‘You’re quite sure?’

‘I couldn’t put my hand on my heart and hope to die but yeah, I’m pretty sure. I could report it but I don’t want to waste your time. Then again, we never did find that missing key.’

‘If you want to hang on there for a bit, I can take an early lunch break and come over and have a look around. Unofficially, of course. So that means you’re buying, right?’

‘You’re such a smooth talker, how could I possibly refuse?’

Chapter Three

We’d been all over the little house, checking every room for even the tiniest sign that might be a clue, but we hadn’t found a thing. If someone really had been inside the house, they had been incredibly careful. I was even beginning to doubt my certainty about the two folders being moved. Dave was doing a good job of hiding his doubts, but I could feel them coming from him in waves. The longer he was there, the more sceptical he became.

We were back in the kitchen now, standing before the table and its offending folders, waiting for the kettle to boil.

Dave had decided to change the subject away from intruders and missing clues.

‘So how is the old guy? It seems like he’s been in hospital for a long time now. Is he getting any better?’

‘It’s like he’s stuck in whatever place he is. He never seems to get any better or any worse.’

‘I honestly don’t know what to say to that. I suppose it’s good that he doesn’t get any worse, but it’s got to be a worry that he doesn’t improve at all. Do you still visit him every day?’

‘At least one of us goes every day. It seems wrong not to.’

‘But what do you do? And what do you say?’

‘I met someone years ago who had been in a coma for a couple of weeks,’ I explained. ‘She said it was like being fully restrained and then locked in a dark room. She reckoned she could hear everything everyone said but she couldn’t respond in any way. It scared the shit out of her.

‘I often wonder if that’s what it’s like for him right now, and that’s why I feel we have to go, to let him know he’s not alone. I owe him that much at least – he’s always been good to me.’

‘You must be some sort of saint. I’m not sure I could keep going every day.’

‘It’s not just me on my own, and I don’t go every day now. Sophia usually comes with me, and Pete and Daphne are regulars too.’

‘So how are things going with Sophia?’

‘Ah! Now that’s the million-dollar question.’

‘Why? Is there a problem?’

‘Not as such, no. I mean she’s gorgeous and she’s a lovely person and she’s great company-’

‘You’re surely not going to add a “but”!’ His face told me he thought I couldn’t possibly, but that didn’t stop me.

‘But,’ I carried on, ‘once she gets her confidence back I’m sure she’ll soon get tired of me and realise she could do a whole lot better.’

‘Are you serious? You are her confidence. I’ve seen you two together and I can tell you she doesn’t take her eyes off you.’

He left a little time for that to sink in before continuing. ‘And you don’t take your eyes off her. For what it’s worth, I think you two make a great couple. Whatever confidence issues you might think she has, I can promise you they disappear when she’s with you.’

He looked at me like I was the biggest idiot he’d ever met, then shook his head before continuing.

‘You want to do something about your attitude, mate. If you carry on thinking like that you’ll end up pushing her away, and if you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. If it was me making the choice between being with Sophia and being on my own, it would be a no-brainer.’

Leaving me to think about that, he opened the back door.

‘I’m just going to have a look around out here,’ he said, and walked out into the garden.

I’m not very good at being on the receiving end of a lecture, and this wasn’t the first one I’d been given about my relationship with Sophia. The gist seemed to be that my problem with Sophia was all in my head. Sophia’s niece Jelena was always telling me this, but hearing it now from Dave Slater, whom I hadn’t known that long, made me stop and think.

I wondered what Positive Pete would think. Of course, he would say that whatever you focus your thoughts on is what will happen. And then he’d point out that my thoughts seemed to be all about losing Sophia…

The thing is, they were right, weren’t they? If I wanted Sophia to stick around I was going to have to start believing that she wanted to be with me, and stop acting like I expected her to leave at any minute. After all, what did I have to lose?

My thoughts were interrupted by a call from outside.

‘Aha! Now this might be interesting!’

‘What? What have you found?’ I rushed out to see.

Slater had one foot on the paving and the other on the drain under the kitchen window. In between his feet was a narrow flowerbed that ran along the wall under the window. The leaves of a small shrub spread out to cover the soil, but where Dave held them back there was a clearly defined footprint.

‘I take it you haven’t stepped on here recently?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Why would I? Why would anyone, come to that?’

‘I’ll show you,’ he said, stepping back onto the paving. ‘Watch this. See what you think.’

He walked back a couple of steps, turned, and acted out a possible scenario.

‘Right. I’m a burglar. I’ve got a key to let myself in, but I want to make sure the house is empty.’

He walked towards the back door. ‘So I think it might be a good idea to take a peep through the kitchen window before I unlock the door.’

He went to step across to the kitchen window, on the left side of the door, stopping with his left foot just above the ground. Right where the offending footprint was.

I could see exactly what he meant.

‘So you think he stepped from the door into the flower bed to look through the window?’

‘Exactly,’ Slater said, crouching down to have a closer look at the footprint. ‘In fact, if you look closely you can see it’s deeper on the side furthest away from the door, which is exactly what you would expect if he had stepped across the way I said.’

‘Clever so and so, aren’t you? I wouldn’t even have thought to look there.’

‘It’s what they pay me for,’ he said, happily.

‘So that proves someone was here,’ I said.

‘It proves someone looked through the window,’ he agreed. ‘But, unfortunately, it doesn’t prove someone broke in.’

My disappointment was clear. ‘Does that mean we’re knackered then and can’t do anything about it?’

He gave me the benefit of a seriously self-satisfied grin. ‘In most cases we would be, as you so eloquently put it, “knackered”, but this isn’t most cases. Remember when we arrested Dave Burnham, he suggested he had been paid to come here and “do a job”?’

‘Yes,’ I said, not quite sure where this was going.

‘Well, he’s refused to discuss it since and we had no evidence to place him here, so, up until now, all we’ve had is our suspicions. This footprint might just be enough to prove he was here.’

‘But that was ages ago,’ I said. ‘This footprint is fresh. It can’t have been him.’

‘We both know you’re probably right, but we have to make sure. I’ll get someone in to take an impression.’

I must have looked unimpressed.

‘Look,’ Slater said, ‘there’s just not enough evidence here for me to start a new investigation, but I can get that footprint analysed on the back of the Dave Burnham case. It’s the best I can offer you, and it’s definitely better than nothing.’

He was right, of course, and I certainly had no grounds for complaint. After all, the poor guy had given up his lunch break for me.

Chapter Four

The first time I met Allison Beatty she had left an indelible impression on me. At first sight she was rough, uncouth, and aggressive, but then, to be fair, she had mistakenly thought I was the police. Once she realised I was on her side and not against her, she had been as nice as pie. Even so, she had some serious issues to resolve, but I understood she was getting help now so I was reasonably optimistic about a friendly greeting. Unfortunately, my optimism turned out to be a bit optimistic, if you see what I mean.

The familiar heap of rubbish still obscured her back door and most of the path leading up to it. So that was one thing that definitely hadn’t changed. As I stood at her front door waiting for an answer, I heard an upstairs window open. Being the observant fellow that I am, I realised from the frosted glass that it must be the bathroom window. Looking up, I saw a bin bag full of rubbish being suspended from a hand. Then the bag seemed to grow rapidly in size as it was released and hurtled downwards.

Holy crap! She was aiming at me!

I managed to step aside just in time. The bag made a wet smacking sound as it hit the ground and burst, spraying its contents in all directions. Something really unpleasant-looking had been sprayed all over my left trouser leg up to knee height. Terrific.

I looked up again to see Allison leaning out, looking down on me, her huge bosom threatening an imminent break-out from the flimsy prison of a severely overstretched vest. I just hoped she recognised me before she sent another bag down. When she spoke, I realised that particular hope was in vain.

‘Fuck off!’ she yelled. ‘I ain’t got no money. I told yer mate yesterday and I’m tellin’ you now.’

To add emphasis to the message, she lobbed what might have been a hairbrush in my direction. I quickly covered my head and the brush bounced off my elbow.

‘Allison, it’s me,’ I yelled. ‘It’s about Billy!’

Maybe it was because we were looking at each other upside down. Or maybe it was because I was trying to cover my head with my arms. Whatever, she obviously didn’t recognise me.

‘You buggers ‘ave already carted ‘im off,’ she screamed with renewed venom. ‘And he DIDN’T DO IT!’

The last three words were shouted so loudly I thought my eardrums were going to burst.

For a moment she withdrew her head. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived relief. She had only ducked inside to grab a hose and turn it on. Trapped against the front door, I was quickly drenched in cold water and in my efforts to escape, I managed to go arse over head and ended up in a heap on the ground. To say this woman had a siege mentality would be an understatement. She could easily have kept a small army at bay.

At last she retreated inside long enough to turn off the hose. A moment later she re-appeared.

‘Now will you bugger off and leave me alone?’ she said, a triumphant grin on her face.

‘Allison,’ I spluttered, ‘it’s me, Alfie Bowman. I’ve come about the letter you sent me.’

On another day, in another situation, the transformation of the expression on her face from triumphant grin to absolute horror might have been funny. Right now, covered in all the crap from the burst bin bag, soaked to the skin and half-frozen, the humour of the situation seemed to escape me. Her face disappeared from the window once again.

From inside, I could hear the growing sounds of someone large thundering down the stairs. Then the door burst open and she was looking down at me, in my own personal, smelly heap on the floor.

‘Why didn’t you say who you were, you silly bugger?’

‘You didn’t really give me much chance, did you?’

She bent down to help me up, and for moment I had visions of being smothered as her vest gave up the struggle, but fortunately her new bra was just about equal to the task. So that was one thing that definitely had changed for the better.

‘I was rather hoping you might have recognised me,’ I gasped. ‘Especially as you came to me for help.’

A small audience had gathered to enjoy the spectacle of Allison Beatty vanquishing yet another foe on her doorstep. Suddenly realising they were there, Allison gave them a menacing glare.

‘‘Choo all starin’ at?’ she demanded.

That was enough to disperse the crowd. None of her neighbours were brave enough to risk the bin bag treatment or the hose.

‘It was that bleedin’ inspector bloke,’ Allison explained. ‘The one that looks like Inspector Clouseau. He come and took my Billy away. An’ he ain’t done nuthin’, honest.’

‘You mean Detective Inspector Nash?’ I gave him his full title to make sure we were talking about the same person, but I knew from her description that there was only one person she could mean.

Nasty Nash was a dead ringer for the original Peter Sellers version of Inspector Clouseau. He had even managed to find the hat and coat. But Nash was not some comic creation. He had earned the nickname ‘Nasty’ and since we had proved his father was a murderer, he had become a whole lot nastier and increasingly irrational. I was getting a bad feeling about this whole situation.

‘Yeah, that’s the one. That’s ‘im. Nasty bleedin’ Nash.’

‘But surely he would have had other police officers with him if he was making an arrest.’

‘Yeah, there was another bloke with ‘im. ‘E didn’t look like a copper though,’ said Allison, her eyes wide from the memory. ‘‘E was a flamin’ giant. Billy wasn’t in any position to argue with someone that size.’

‘A giant? He had a giant with him? Can you describe him?’

‘‘E was just a big, ugly-looking fucker. He didn’t say much but ‘e spoke kinda funny. Foreign-like.’

I couldn’t keep the alarm from my voice as the bad feeling I had about the situation suddenly got a whole lot worse.

‘I really think you’re going to have to call the police about this, Allison. Much as I would like to help you, I’m not really sure I’m equipped to deal with this.’

‘But they’re the buggers who took Billy away. ‘Ow is calling them gonna be any use?’

The absurdity of the situation didn’t escape me, but I also had to consider Allison herself. She had a massive persecution complex. In her head, the police were the enemy and a vengeance-seeking Nasty Nash arriving on her doorstep had simply confirmed her worst suspicions. There was no way she was ever going to trust the police. This was something I was going to have to do myself.

Chapter Five

‘Perhaps I ought to fit you up with your own hotline,’ said Dave Slater.

‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that, but this is serious.’

‘Don’t tell me your folders have been rearranged again.’

‘Really, Dave, this is serious.’

‘Go on then, tell me the worst.’ I heard him sigh down the phone.

‘Well, remember you told me to go and talk to Allison and find out about Billy Bumble being arrested?’

‘Don’t tell me,’ he interrupted, ‘Billy hasn’t been arrested, he’s run away. And let’s be honest, who can blame him?’

‘It’s not funny, Dave. He’s been kidnapped.’

‘Kidnapped? Billy Bumble? Who would want to kidnap Billy Bumble? And why?’

‘How about Nasty Nash, to get revenge on Allison giving evidence against his dad?’

It was unusual for Dave Slater not to have an answer, but silence was the best he could do right now.

‘Dave? Did you hear me?’

‘I must have heard wrong,’ he said, ‘because I could have sworn you said Nash had kidnapped Billy Bumble.’

‘Nash and a giant, according to Allison.’

‘But he’s supposed to be in a nursing home getting psychiatric treatment,’ said Slater desperately. ‘And if it’s true, why hasn’t the stupid woman reported it to us?’

‘How many reasons do you want?’ I said. ‘You know damned well she doesn’t trust any sort of authority organisation because she’s been failed by them so many times. And, as she understands it, it’s the police who’ve carted Billy away, so she’s hardly going to believe you’ll help her get him back, is she?’

‘But he’s off sick. He’s not an official representative of the police at the moment.’

‘How are Allison or Billy supposed to know that? I mean Nash doesn’t wear a uniform, does he? So when he rolls up at their door accompanied by a giant and tells Billy he’s under arrest, he doesn’t try to run away or put up a fight, he goes with them.’

‘So Nash has finally flipped then,’ said Slater. ‘But this doesn’t make sense. He’s supposed to be under supervision. And what’s this stuff about a giant?’

‘He had an accomplice. A huge, ugly bugger with a foreign accent.’

‘That’s not much of a description, is it? Are you sure this is for real?’

‘It seemed real enough to me, but that’s for you to decide. Just ask yourself if you really want to be the latest in a long line of people who’ve let Allison down. Most of the others were coppers so you’ll be in good company if that’s what you decide to do.’

It probably wasn’t fair to adopt that attitude where Dave was concerned, but I was getting a bit fed up with his reluctance to take it seriously.

‘Ouch!’ he said. ‘That hurts. I do have rules to follow you know.’

‘I know, Dave. I’m sorry, but I think it’s for real and if you lot don’t want to help I’ll just have to do it myself.’

‘Okay. Point taken. I’ll look into it, but I’ve got a lot on right now so I don’t know exactly when I can get around to it.’

There was a brief silence, then his voice took a downturn as realisation sank in.

‘And I suppose I’m going to have to start by talking to Allison.’

‘Ha! You sure are.’ I laughed. ‘Good luck with that. She probably won’t even let you in. Watch out for the bin bag bombs, and the hose.’

‘It sounds like a war zone.’

‘Be warned by those who have gone before,’ I said. ‘All I will tell you for sure is that she’s in serious persecution mode right now. I’ll let you find out for yourself exactly what that means.’

Chapter Six

I was in a fight to the death. I was flat on my back. Someone was sitting on my chest, pinning me down. I could feel a face very close to mine.

‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘What do you want?’

There was no answer, just a steady, heavy breathing. And then a hand was placed over my mouth. I tried wriggling as best I could – maybe I could shake him off. But it was no good. All I managed to do was provoke him into poking some sharp things into my chin. Was it some kind of multi-pointed weapon? Was he going to rip my face open?

I suddenly realised my hands were free. Why the hell wasn’t I using them to fight back? Slowly, stealthily, I eased my arms up from under the sheets…

Wait a minute. This is a dream, isn’t it?

I opened my eyes. Of course. It was still dark. Lifting my head, I could barely make out the face staring at me from my chest.

Face? There’s a face staring at me? I froze. What the hell’s going on? In that awkward transition from being asleep to being awake, I was totally confused.

The large, overweight cat, which had been stretched luxuriously on my chest with an outstretched paw on my lips, was equally confused. His confusion turned to alarm as I began to sit up, and then transformed into indignity as he unceremoniously slid into a heap in my lap.

Somewhere, a mobile phone began to ring. Correction. My mobile phone began to ring but, disoriented as I was, I had no idea where the ringing was coming from. And where had that bloody cat come from? I didn’t even have a cat.

I switched on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed. The ringing was beginning to get on my nerves, but it seemed to have no such effect on the cat. Having regained his composure, he was quick to recognise an opportunity when he saw one and began to ease himself into the warm space I had just vacated.

I turned to turf him out but decided the ringing was the bigger nuisance right at that moment. The cat wasn’t going anywhere. I could sort him out later.

I don’t know how the hell my phone had got under my bed, but that’s where I eventually found it. I gave the cat a look to let him know I knew he was responsible and we’d be having words about it just as soon as I had dealt with this call. Finally, I turned my attention to the phone.

‘Uuurrgghh!’ I grunted.

‘Do you know how many times that rang before you answered it?’

It was a ridiculously cheerful-sounding Dave Slater. I didn’t feel his cheerfulness or his question deserved an intelligent response at this time of the morning so I gave him another grunt.

‘Aren’t you a happy boy this morning?’ he said. ‘What’s up? Cat got your tongue?’

I couldn’t help smiling at that. I looked at the cat to see if he had anything to say, but he was in a state of bliss, eyes tightly closed as he paddled my pillow for all it was worth.

‘You’re not far off the mark there,’ I said. ‘He’s not actually got my tongue, but he has taken over my bed.’

‘What?’ said a puzzled Slater.

‘Don’t worry about it, Dave. Never mind the damned cat. Do you know what time it is?’

‘Of course I do, there’s a bloody great clock in front of me.’

‘It’s ten to bloody seven!’

‘Actually it’s eight minutes to. You must be running a bit slow,’ said Slater, chortling.

‘How can you be so cheerful this early? Don’t you need sleep?’

‘I obviously don’t need as much as you, you miserable bugger. Anyway, some of us have been working while you’ve been festering in your pit.’

As a rule, I’m not usually a morning person, especially when I’ve been so rudely awakened. Today was no exception to that rule.

‘Dave, please tell me this is important and that you haven’t just called to annoy me.’

‘Of course it’s important. I know it’s early but I’ve got a busy day ahead and I don’t know when I’ll get time later. Besides, this is something you need to know.’

There was a brief silence.

‘Well come on then. What’s so important you had to wake me this early?’

‘It’s about your friend and mine, DI Nasty Nash. He’s gone missing.’

I might not be a morning person, but I was wide awake now.

‘What do you mean he’s gone missing?’

‘He’s walked out of the nursing home and no one knows where he’s gone.’

‘When?’

‘Four days ago.’

‘So why didn’t they report him earlier?’

‘He was a voluntary patient. He could leave any time he wanted. And he did.’

‘Oh crap! So Allison was right. It was Nash who took Billy. At least you can get onto it now.’

There was an awkward silence from the other end.

‘Dave? You are going to do something now, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to, mate. But Allison hasn’t reported Billy missing. And no one has reported Nash missing either. Until someone does, I can’t do anything.’

‘So that’s it then.’ I sighed in exasperation. ‘It’s down to me or no one. I can’t just ignore it. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I’m trying to get some action here but we’re swamped as it is, and without any evidence or anything…’ His voice tailed off.

‘But if I find anything out, you’ll back me up?’ I asked.

‘Of course I will. Keep me in the loop, right? Find out where he is and I’ll bring the cavalry straight over.’

It wasn’t much, but I supposed it was better than nothing. All I had to do now was find Nash, but how was I going to do that? Who might know where to find him? If only DB was here now instead of being in a coma in hospital. He’d know what to do. But maybe there was someone who could help. It was a long shot, but I had to start somewhere.

In the meantime, where was that damned cat, where had he come from, and who said he could share my bed? I turned back to deal with the offending cat just in time to see him disappearing through my bedroom window. Well, at least I knew how he’d got in...

Chapter Seven

I often wondered if I should really associate with Nugent. I mean he’s not exactly the sort of guy you’d want to take home to meet your mother. In his own mind, he saw himself as some sort of benevolent Godfather-type figure, but the truth is he’s just a violent thug who happens to be more of thug than the thugs who ‘work’ for him. If you see what I mean.

Just to prove my point, we actually first met after three of his thugs had worked me over with baseball bats. For something I hadn’t done. So yeah, he’s not exactly Mr Nice Guy, and his methods and mine will never be a match.

He seemed to have modelled himself on the comic creation Boycie from the UK TV series Only Fools and Horses, but Nugent was no comedy series character and he was no fool either. He just sounded as though he was. Maybe that was his plan.

Having said all that, he did know his way around the murkier side of life, and he did tend to know what was happening, when it was happening, who it was happening to, and who was responsible.

And for some reason he seemed to like me – I think that’s probably because I’m not scared of him like most people are. He may even have a little respect for me. But I’m not kidding myself; he was given the nickname ‘Nutter’ for a very good reason. He is one.

His old snooker club had been falling apart and on the two or three occasions I had been there, I used to wonder why he didn’t do something about it. Now I knew why. Nugent’s club had gone up in the world. Now he had a nice new building. He’d gone upmarket. The only thing that spoiled it was the location. Having a nightclub on the outskirts of an industrial estate wasn’t everybody’s idea of chic, but hey, what do I know?

You have to wonder which planning rules had been applied when permission had been granted, but then this was Nugent we were talking about. It’s not so much a case of which rules applied, as much as which rules could be manipulated, and which palms needed to be greased. It was what Nugent liked to refer to as ‘sound business practice.’ Yeah. Right.

‘But this is the perfect place for a nightclub,’ he explained. ‘You put it in the middle of town and you get all the piss-head riff-raff trying to get in after the pubs have shut. Plus, of course, you can’t get a late night licence in town because you might wake the neighbours when people leave. You see, out here you have more control over who tries to get in and there are no neighbours to annoy if things get a bit noisy.’

He beamed with satisfaction at his own master plan. It was obvious that if I had any more objections, he wasn’t going to be listening.

‘I’ll take you inside and show you around in a minute. But first, come and have a look at my new toy.’

He had met me outside the main entrance. My car actually looked like a toy all on its own outside this huge building. It really was massive. I swear if you gutted the place you could have used it as an aircraft hangar.

I hadn’t even got out of my car yet; I was leaning out of the window to talk to him. Now he swung open the passenger door and climbed in.

‘You drive,’ he instructed.

My face told him what I thought of being instructed like one of his minions. He looked at me in surprise and then let out a huge sigh of exasperation. He clearly wasn’t used to people objecting to being instructed.

‘Alright.’ He sighed. ‘Would you please drive us around to the back of the building?’

‘Sure,’ I said, grinning happily. I knew I had to make a point with Nugent or he’d walk all over me.

We drove along the front of the building and around the corner. The building wasn’t as deep front to back as it was wide, but it was still damned big. I stopped the car and turned to him.

‘Are you sure it’s big enough?’ I asked. ‘It must have cost a bloody fortune.’

His braying laugh filled the car and echoed off the building.

‘That’s the good bit,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have to pay to have it built. It was meant to be a new computer place, but the company that was going to take it over went bust when they had all those hardware problems earlier this year.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I remembered. ‘I read about that somewhere. They had some sort of software that went haywire and messed up the operating system, just after they had a massive consignment of faulty hardware. It was suggested they’d been sabotaged.’

‘Yeeeess,’ he said slowly. ‘I read that. It was a bit coincidental how it all seemed to happen at once. Not many businesses would have been able to survive that sort of thing. Funny that.’

Was he suggesting what I think he was suggesting? Jeez! If what he was implying was true, then he was into much bigger things than I had given him credit for. I had definitely underestimated him. I looked across at him but he refused to make eye contact. He did look pretty smug though.

‘It worked out very well for me though,’ he continued. ‘No one else was looking for, or could afford, somewhere quite this big.’ He winked at me and tapped his nose. ‘Understand what I’m saying?’

‘No,’ I said, looking suitably blank.

‘Well, think about it,’ he explained patiently. ‘Who’s got money to spend on these huge units right now? And the thing is, it’s not finished inside so that’s gonna cost a fortune.’

‘Yes. And?’ I still wasn’t sure what he was on about.

‘You’ve not got a handle on the world of business, have you?’

‘Well, no,’ I agreed. ‘Why would I have?’

‘Let me make it simple for you, then.’ His patience was obviously waning. ‘This is the local council’s big project, right? They’ve spent a small fortune building these units on this estate, and they’ve built for, and targeted, specific businesses. They’re looking for a big, long-term return. Everything seems to be going to plan. The smaller units get taken quickly enough, so they think they’re onto a winner. So they move on with their plan and build this bloody huge unit specifically for their biggest target.

‘Then, suddenly, that big target company goes tits up. The pot of gold at the end of their rainbow has suddenly become a huge pile of shit and there isn’t another business in the country that wants to spend money to help them out.’

He sat back happily, reliving the events as he was telling me.

‘And then, just when resignation letters are about to be drafted among the relevant officials, along comes rich Uncle Nugent with an offer they just can’t refuse. I take this great big white elephant of a building off their hands and offer to bring jobs and prestige to the town. How could they refuse?’

Once again he began his ‘donkey impression’, laughing so hard I thought he was going to choke.

‘And you planned all this?’

That provoked another burst of laughter.

‘Well did you?’

‘That’s for me to know and for you to wonder about,’ he said happily before tapping his nose again and winking. ‘Understand what I’m saying?’

He had another good laugh; this time because I really couldn’t tell if he was for real or not. Finally, he managed to get a grip long enough to point in the direction he wanted to go.

‘Pull up just around the next corner and I’ll show you my new toy.’

Chapter Eight

At the back of the building there was a car park that would have accommodated several football pitches. Nugent’s new toy was parked slightly apart from a dozen other assorted vehicles. He told me to park alongside and jumped out. His chest puffed up with pride.

‘Well. What do you think?’

‘I should remind you,’ I said, rather wearily, ‘if this is supposed to impress me, you’re wasting your time. I’ve never been into all that ‘mine’s bigger than yours’ macho bollocks. I’ve always been more interested in who people are, not what they’ve got.’

‘If I was trying to impress you I’d have shown you the car first, then the bloody great building,’ said Nugent in an offended tone. ‘Just remember I didn’t ask you to come here, you came to see me. Anyway, I don’t need to go out of my way to impress people.’

He didn’t add to that comment, and I wasn’t exactly sure what he was trying to tell me. Perhaps he thought he was so impressive he didn’t need to try. Whatever, I wasn’t looking for an argument so I decided the best response would be no response. Sometimes it pays to know when to keep quiet.

Actually the car was quite impressive. Not in a ‘I must have one’ way, but simply in the finish and the fact that it was a car you can see every day, everywhere, but someone had obviously taken a great deal of time and trouble to make this one something special.

It was a brand new customised Range Rover, complete with a sun roof that seemed to run all the way from front to back, and a dazzling array of lights along the front and up on the roof. The paint job was absolutely stunning. It was a mural of galloping white horses on a black background, which covered the entire length of the car.

He gave me a quick rundown of all the special, custom-built features. He seemed to be particularly impressed with the highly-tuned V8 engine, which he started and revved especially for me. Left to idle, it burbled away to itself, hinting at the raw power potential it possessed.

I had to admit to him that it was certainly something special. And sat behind the wheel, Nugent certainly looked as though he belonged there.

‘I’ve got it for a couple of days on approval.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘If I approve of their debt repayment, they can have it back. If they don’t repay me, I get to keep it.’

He gave the accelerator one last twitch, making the engine roar once more, then switched it off. Then he gave the steering wheel one last pat before climbing down to join me. He looked immensely pleased with himself.

‘See,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘You do like it!’

Despite what he had said, Nugent does like to impress people. So, I conceded that yes, I did like, it because I knew that once he was happy he’d made an impression, he would be prepared to listen to what I had to say. The fact is, if you want to get on with Nugent it’s actually very simple. Don’t show him you’re scared, know when to keep quiet, and allow him to think he’s impressed you. Simples!

Convinced he had now shown his total superiority, he was happy to get down to business.

‘Well, I’m sure you didn’t come here just to let me show off,’ he said, leaning back against his car, ‘so what can I do for you?’

‘Do you know a guy called Billy Bumble?’

‘Why d’you want to know that?’

‘He’s gone missing.’

‘You can’t just assume it must be something to do with me whenever someone goes missing. What sort of person do you think I am?’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything. I just wondered if you’ve heard anything, that’s all.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Billy’s not one of my guys. He’s too bloody useless to work for me. He’s a free agent. Works for himself. Does petty stuff. What are you doing worrying about a pillock like him?’

‘His wife, Allison, asked me for help. She says Billy’s been arrested but he hasn’t. He’s been kidnapped.’

‘Kidnapped?’ Nugent laughed long and hard. ‘You’re kidding me. What’s the ransom demand? You wouldn’t pay fifty pence to get him back.’

‘But he’s been kidnapped by Nasty Nash.’

That stopped him laughing. ‘Ah! Really? You’re not winding me up?’

‘I wish I was,’ I said. ‘Apparently, he turned up at Billy’s place with another guy and ”arrested” him. Only it wasn’t an arrest because Nash is on gardening leave. Now both Nash and Billy are missing.’

‘But why would Nash want Billy Bumble?’

‘To get back at Allison. Her evidence was key to getting Nash’s father charged with murder.’

‘Oh, yeah! Of course. Shit!’ said Nugent. ‘So Nash has gone right off his head then.’

This was the second time this morning I’d been told that Nash had gone off his head. It gave me a distinct sinking feeling.

‘Have you any idea where he might have taken him?’ I asked, hopefully.

‘Not a clue,’ said Nugent, gloomily. ‘But I can put out some feelers for you. Maybe someone knows something. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.’

With that, he made a great show of looking at an enormous Rolex watch strapped to his wrist.

‘Oh dear. Is that the time? It’s been lovely talking to you but I must go. I’m late for a meeting.’

When Nugent displayed the watch, it meant he’d had enough. It was time for me to go.

I said goodbye and climbed into my car. As I drove away I could see him in the rear-view mirror. He was polishing a minute speck of dust off the bonnet of his Range Rover. Late for a meeting, my arse.

Chapter Nine

We didn’t often go to the pub these days, so I was quite looking forward to getting together with Pete and Daphne. They seemed to have become an established item these days and I have to say they both looked happy and relaxed as a result. And why not? After all, they did make a great couple.

As Sophia and I took the short walk to the pub, I wondered if we’d ever get to that stage. Right now, with her on my arm, cosying up to me, I think anyone seeing us would probably think we looked like a great couple. And for sure we got on just great, but we each had our hang-ups and they did tend to get in the way. But then again, I guess if we both wanted it to work we’d find a way past those hang-ups.

‘So what makes you think we can find something that Dave Slater couldn’t?’ asked Pete. We were sitting on two-seater sofas, Pete and Daphne one side of the table, Sophia and me on the other. It was fair question, and I didn’t really have an answer.

‘I really don’t know, Pete. I suppose I’m hoping that if we put our heads together, we might come up with something. I know it sounds a bit random, but maybe there’s a link between Nash being in DB’s house and Billy’s disappearance.’

‘I thought there wasn’t actually any real proof that Nash had been in there. I mean, Slater wasn’t convinced, was he?’

‘That’s true, but then Slater has rules to follow. We don’t. So forget all that stuff and indulge me for a few minutes.’

‘This sounds to me like you have a theory,’ said Pete with a grin. ‘Go on then. I’ve got no opinion either way so my mind is open. Let’s hear it.’

‘Right. This will probably sound crazy, but this is what I’ve got. You remember when Dave Burnham was arrested, he claimed he had been paid to attack DB. Now, I don’t know for sure if that was true or not, but let’s suppose it was true. We know Nash was angry about DB getting us to investigate his father, so it could be that he’s the one who paid Dave Burnham. Are you with me so far?’

Pete nodded in encouragement. ‘Yes, go on.’

‘When I found DB, the papers he was working on were all over the place as if someone had been searching through them. What if Dave Burnham hadn’t been able to find what he was looking for? We never found the missing key. Maybe he kept the key and passed it on to Nash so he could search again when all the fuss had died down.’

‘So Nash waits a few weeks and then goes back to the scene of the crime, lets himself in, and has all the time he wants to carry out a neat search and we’re all none the wiser, right?’ asked Pete.

‘Except he replaced the folders the wrong way around, and I noticed,’ I said smugly.

‘So what’s missing then?’ asked Pete. ‘You have checked, I take it.’

‘That’s where we have a little problem,’ I conceded. ‘The thing is, I don’t know what was in the folders to start with. When I cleared up the mess I just stuffed it all back in the files. I didn’t read anything because I didn’t think it was any of my business.’

‘So that means you don’t even know if the right paperwork is in the right folder.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And if we don’t know what was in there, we don’t know what he’s taken.’

Pete’s summary left me feeling pretty useless. I thought it was a promising theory, and it certainly explained how Nash could have got into the house without breaking in, but it didn’t help us get any further forward with why he had done it. It wasn’t helping me to find Billy Bumble either.

We lapsed into a gloomy silence, each of us trying to figure out where we should go from here.

All this time, Daphne and Sophia had been quietly listening to us without saying a word. It was Sophia who broke the silence.

‘You’re assuming he took something from the folders,’ she said, leaning forward.

‘Well, yeah,’ I said, turning to face her. ‘Why else would he have been searching through them?’

‘Maybe it’s me,’ she said, ‘but it seems you’re making a big assumption.’

Pete and I looked baffled.

‘Your theory is all based on assumptions,’ she said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it all makes sense, but I think maybe one of your assumptions is wrong.’

Daphne’s face suddenly lit up and she began to nod furiously in agreement, but it must have been a woman thing because when I looked across at Pete, he still looked as bemused as I felt.

Sophia smiled patiently and turned to Daphne. ‘You see what I’m getting at?’

‘Oh yes,’ agreed Daphne. ‘Information isn’t always a physical thing.’

There’s nothing more irritating than having two smug women who could see something so clearly when we seemed to be so completely blind to it. It was like they had just walked out of the fog and we’d gone in where it was even thicker.

‘Alright,’ Pete said, ‘so we admit women are the smarter sex. You can have maximum points for being clever, but they all get deducted for you both being so smug about it.’

‘Oh, that’s not fair,’ said Sophia, pouting sulkily. ‘If we don’t get the points reinstated, we keep the secret and you’ll have to work it out for yourselves.’

I couldn’t help but laugh at her face.

‘Okay, okay,’ I said. ‘You win. You can have the points back. Now tell us.’

‘As you’re such a gracious loser, I’ll explain,’ she began. ‘You’re suggesting that Nash went back to the house to search for something which was on a piece of paper, yes?’

‘Right,’ I agreed.

‘And you’re assuming he found what he was looking for and took that piece of paper with him.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’m with you so far.’

‘But what if that assumption is wrong? As Daphne said, information isn’t always a physical thing. What if he found the information he was looking for, and wrote it down on a piece of paper he brought with him.’

‘But why would he do that?’ asked Pete. ‘Why not just take what he wanted? We wouldn’t know what he’d taken.’

‘But what if he thinks you do know what’s in those folders?’ She paused for a moment to let this sink into our thick heads. ‘It would make sense for him to believe you know what’s in them. Don’t forget –  you were working with DB so, as far as Nash is concerned, it’s possible, even probable, that you know exactly what’s in them. So, rather than risk taking something you might notice has gone, he just copies what he wants. That way he doesn’t show you what he was looking for.’

She sat back looking pleased with herself.

‘But if we knew what was in them,’ persisted Pete, ‘what would he gain?’

‘Because you might know what’s in them,’ explained Daphne, ‘without necessarily recognising their significance.’

Of course! I was making all these assumptions without ever challenging them. It had taken Sophia just a few minutes to see the hole in my theory and lead us through to the other side. She just kept getting better and better as far as I was concerned.

I leaned towards her.

‘You’re brilliant, do you know that?’ I said, quietly.

‘Flattery,’ she said, leaning to within inches of me. ‘I like that.’

Then the gap between us disappeared as she rewarded me with a quick kiss on my lips. She seemed to taste even better than ever.

So my first job tomorrow was going to be going through those folders to see what I could find. But right now the night was still young.

‘Right, whose round is it?’

Chapter Ten

Positive Pete hadn’t worn pyjamas in a long while, preferring to sleep in the buff when he was at home on his own. He didn’t think it would be fair on Daphne, though, if she stumbled upon him in the altogether heading for the bathroom or whatever. The pyjamas she had found for him did fit quite well, he just wasn’t used to them.

He had to admit, he felt a little guilty about this whole situation. He had been about to drive home when Daphne had pointed out to him that he had consumed several pints and he must be way over the drink-drive limit. He hadn’t done it on purpose; he had been enjoying himself so much he just hadn’t realised how much he’d had to drink.

He hoped she didn’t think he had done it just so he could stay the night. Then he had another thought – she could have driven him home from the pub. It had been her idea to come straight back to her house. And why had she then refused to take him home from here? Maybe she had been trying to get him drunk.

‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered to himself, ‘Of course. You’re such a catch. How could she possibly resist?’

He should be so lucky. And anyway, if that was it, why had she put him in the guest room?

He lay in the bed and considered the situation in a bit more depth. He knew he liked her a lot, and he was immensely fond of her, but did he fancy her? He decided, rather guiltily, that yes, actually, he did. It’s true she might not be a candidate for Miss World, but she wasn’t bad looking at all. And what if she didn’t have the perfect figure? After all, he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt, was he?

Anyway, there was a lot more to it than looks. She had a wonderful warmth about her, and when they’d had a cuddle the other day he had felt they seemed to sort of fit together rather well. He figured he’d be a very lucky man if she was prepared to even consider him as any sort of partner.

But suppose she was like his ex-wife Marie and just wanted a good seeing-to? He thought it was unlikely, but if that was indeed the case, she was going to be very disappointed. He wasn’t the unbridled lust, I’ll shag anything type. He considered himself more of a romantic, take-your-time sort of lover, not some wanton shagnasty.

There was also the fact that he hadn’t had sex in years to be taken into consideration. Would he be able to remember what to do? Surely it was like riding a bike, wasn’t it? He hoped it was. Then he remembered he couldn’t actually ride a bike.

This was ridiculous. If he carried on like this he’d never get to sleep. Let’s get real, he told himself. Nothing’s going to happen. You’ve just been offered a bed for the night from a generous friend who doesn’t want you to risk losing your driving licence. End of story. Now turn the light off and go to sleep.

He reached for the bedside lamp. Now, where was the switch? There didn’t seem to be one on the base, so it must be up under the bulb. His hand brushed the base and the lamp seemed to get brighter. Was that a power surge? Or his imagination? Maybe he’d had more to drink than he realised.

He reached across and slid his hand up under the shade, feeling up towards the bulb, expecting to find the familiar push switch under his fingers. It must be up here somewhere.

‘Ow, shit!’ he yelped as he touched the hot bulb. Daphne hadn’t changed over to eco-bulbs yet, and the old incandescent bulb in this lamp was seriously hot to the touch. As he snatched his hand out, he cracked his elbow against the bedside cabinet.

‘Bloody hell!’ He rubbed frantically at his elbow, wondering why some moron had decided years ago to call it the ‘funny bone’. He couldn’t see anything funny about the pain shooting up his arm. He realised he was making a lot of noise. Daphne’s room was just the other side of the wall. He had to be be careful not to disturb her.

Perhaps it was one of those lamps with a switch built into the cable. The cable ran down behind the cabinet but that shouldn’t be a problem. It should be easy enough to find. All he had to do was run his hand along the cable until he came to it. Except there wasn’t quite enough room to get his hand down the back of the cabinet. Bugger! He was going to have to move the cabinet forward an inch or two.

Pushing the quilt back, he slipped out of bed and eased the cabinet forward a couple of inches. He figured it would be easy to pull the cable up to find the switch, but it wouldn’t budge, so he leaned forward to peer down the gap between the cabinet and the wall. Only he completely misjudged the distance. There was a loud thud as his head smacked into the wall.

In the bedroom on the other side of the wall, Daphne was reading. Or at least she was trying to. The muffled voice and odd bangs from beyond the wall had been distracting, but the loud thud of something crashing into the wall was alarming. She wondered what on earth was going on. Perhaps she ought to go and see.

Pete clutched his head and stepped back. For some reason, he had left his shoes at the side of the bed. As he stepped on them, his ankle twisted awkwardly and he fell back towards the ornate kneehole dressing table in the corner of the room. With a loud crash, he landed on his back, head neatly placed dead centre, just missing the drawers on either side.

Daphne, clad in an elegant pink dressing gown, burst into the room, switching on the overhead light as she came in.

‘What on earth is going on?’ she cried. Then, realising Pete was lying on his back under the dressing table, she added, ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine’ he assured her. Desperately trying to regain his composure, he sat up quickly.

Daphne’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Mind your he-’

The loud crash of Pete’s head against the underside of the dressing table drowned out the end of her sentence.

‘Ooofff!’ Pete collapsed back onto the floor, his head swimming. ‘Jesus. My bloody head.’

Daphne rushed over and sank to her knees by his side, a look of concern on her face. She placed a hand on his chest.

‘Lie still a minute,’ she instructed. ‘Let your head clear.’

Pete clutched his throbbing head. ‘I’m ok, honestly.’

Slowly, he climbed to his feet, Daphne fussing around him. She led him, hobbling on his twisted ankle, back to his bed where she sat him down and then sat next to him.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Damaged pride more than anything,’ he said, gingerly rubbing the tender lump that was swelling nicely on his forehead.

‘What on earth were you trying to do?’ she asked, trying hard not to laugh now she realised he was ok.

‘You’ll laugh at me.’

‘Don’t be silly, of course I won’t.’

‘You already are,’ he accused her.

She tried to wipe the smirk off her face and look serious. ‘Look, I’m not. Honestly, I’m not.’

But he knew, if the roles had been reversed, he would probably be laughing at her. Having first made sure she wasn’t hurt, of course.

‘I was trying to turn the lamp off,’ he mumbled, looking accusingly at the table lamp which had caused all the trouble.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The bedside lamp.’ He nodded at the lamp. ‘I was looking for the switch.’

‘Oh,’ said Daphne, fighting the compulsion to grin like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. ‘I see.’

Silently, she leaned forward, reached across to the lamp and, with one finger, tapped the base. The light went out.

Pete’s mouth dropped open. He looked at the lamp and then at Daphne.

‘What?’

Daphne tapped the lamp again and it came on as a dim light. Another tap and it got brighter. A third tap and it reached its full brightness. Then she gave it a final tap to put it out.

‘Magic,’ she said, wiggling her fingers at it in best sorcerer fashion.

Pete watched her giggling in delight at his discomfort, and for a moment he had a glimpse of the beautiful young woman she must once have been. He began to laugh at his own discomfort too, and he found himself marvelling at how lucky he was to share this moment with her.

Finally, she stopped laughing and took his hand.

‘That’s made my mind up,’ she said decisively, staring at his hand.

He looked quizzically at her. ‘What? That I’m an idiot?’

‘Well, yes,’ she agreed, ‘there is that. But that’s not what I was talking about.’

She gave out an enormous sigh and squeezed his hand. The time had come to tell him.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘about me, and about you, and about life. We’ve both been unhappy for years one way or another, and we’re neither of us getting any younger.’

Pete sat perfectly still. There was nothing he could argue with so far.

‘We only live once,’ Daphne began. She stopped and turned to look into Pete’s eyes. For that brief moment it was as if she could see right into his soul. He knew what she was saying, but what if…?

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure either. But I do know I’m having a lot of fun being with you, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been, do you?’

‘But I don’t know if I can-’ he began.

‘Well there’s only one way to find out isn’t there? Just remember you’re supposed to be Positive Pete. Don’t go all negative on me now.’

He couldn’t argue with that either. But then he didn’t want to.

Silently, she stood, still holding his hand, and led him towards the door. She turned the overhead light off as she passed the switch and then they were heading into her room.

‘Anyway,’ she said, closing the door behind them, ‘I’m not sure I can leave you on your own all night. I don’t want some idiot smashing my house up every time he wants to switch a lamp off...’

Chapter Eleven

It was midday. As I had suspected, I seemed to have mixed up the contents of the folders when I had cleared the mess all those weeks ago. So the first thing I had done was go through every piece of paper in the two folders and sort them. It was easy enough – some of it related to Dry Biro personally and the rest appeared to be something he was researching about local planning matters. Or at least, that’s how I read it.

Now all I had to do was go through the two folders in greater depth and hopefully, if Sophia’s theory was right, I would find something that might be a clue. Quite how I would recognise it as such, I wasn’t sure, but I’d heard nothing from Dave Slater or from Nugent so it seemed my best hope right now. I felt uncomfortable prying into my old friend’s personal stuff, so I chose to go through the other folder first. You never know, maybe I wouldn’t have to pry.

My stomach grumbled to remind me I’d had no breakfast. As there was no one living here, there was no food in the place, but at least the electricity was on so I could have a cup of tea. Or at least, I could have had a cup of tea if only I had remembered to pick up some milk on the way here. I’d had to make do with black coffee so far – not my favourite choice. If only I’d brought some sandwiches or something. And some milk…

Just then, there was a gentle tap on the back door and it swung open. It was Sophia in jeans and a chunky sweater, with a scarf wound around her neck. Her nose glowed pink from the cold outside.

‘Can I come in?’ She lifted her hand to reveal a neat wicker picnic basket. ‘I thought you might need some lunch.’

This woman could read my mind. I jumped to my feet, taking the basket from her and closing the door as she passed through.

‘Oh boy, am I pleased to see you,’ I said, placing the basket on the side. ‘You didn’t tell me you could read my mind. Is there no end to your talents?’

‘More flattery.’ She smiled, walking over to stand in front of me. ‘For someone who claims to be useless with women, you certainly seem to know what to say to make me happy.’

‘Beginners luck,’ I said, with what I hoped was a winning smile. ‘I’m hoping I might get rewarded again.’

‘Oh. Are you now? Well, I suppose I’ve set a precedent now. And I do like compliments.’

Last night in the pub I’d been rewarded with a peck. Today, with no one else in the room, I was rewarded with a long, lingering kiss.

‘Your nose is cold,’ I said.

‘That’s because I’m cold,’ she said.

I held her tight against me and she didn’t resist. It had been a long time coming. Our relationship had grown very slowly in a sort of three steps forward, two steps back kind of way, but I felt that at last we were both beginning to relax into it. Maybe it was all going to work out just fine. How lucky was I?

Sophia eventually broke free and started bustling around finding plates and mugs and in no time, we were sat next to each other sharing a plate of sandwiches. And, best of all, we had a decent mug of tea each.

‘So, what have you found so far?’ she asked.

‘It’s taken me all this time to sort the two folders out. One’s personal stuff and the other one seems to be some sort of research into local planning. Perhaps he was preparing to reveal that the local planning department’s rife with corruption or something. I was just going to start reading through them, although I’m not too keen on poking around in his personal stuff.’

‘Would you like some help?’

‘I’d love you to help,’ I said, ‘but do you have time? What about Jelena and the shop?’

Sophia’s tea shop in town had become incredibly popular since her niece Jelena had arrived and begun to inject her ideas and personality into it. Business was booming and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.

‘It was Jelena’s idea that I come here. She can manage fine without me, and anyway she has help. I think she likes to show she can cope without me, so I can certainly stay for a couple of hours,’ she said, then added, ‘If you want me to.’

‘Of course I want you to stay. I’d love your help. You know how much I like being with you.’

‘Almost as much as I like being with you,’ she said, resting her head on my shoulder. ‘When I’m with you, everything is different. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, quietly. ‘Yes. I think I know exactly what you mean.’

I took her hand and we sat like that for a couple of minutes until finally she spoke.

‘You are so patient. I’m so sorry-’

‘Now stop that,’ I said, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. If anything it’s you who’s the patient one.’

‘What a pair we are.’ She sighed. ‘Both frightened because of the past.’

I sat up, put my hand gently on her chin, and carefully turned her head to face me. Looking into her eyes, I made her a promise.

‘We’ll get through it if we stick together and keep supporting each other, you’ll see.’

I gave her a quick peck on the lips, then jumped up to clear the table.

‘Right,’ I said, all business-like. ‘How are we going to do this?’

‘Why don’t I take the personal folder if you feel uncomfortable about it?’ she said. ‘It has to be done and it’ll be quicker if we do one folder each.’

She reached across for the folder and pulled it towards her.

‘Right,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘Let’s see what I can see.’

We’d hardly spoken for a couple of hours. Sophia had finished her folder before me and by the time I had caught up, there was another mug of tea in front of me.

‘Anything?’ she asked.

‘Not really,’ I said, gloomily. ‘To be honest I’m feeling pretty disappointed. I’m not sure what exactly I was hoping to find. I guess I thought something would jump out at me. There’s some interesting stuff about the planning department, and I know from talking to Nugent that these people can be manipulated, but I can’t see anything that would relate to Nash. What about you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she began. ‘What are we looking for? Is it some facts that might be relevant or is it somewhere he might be holding this Billy Bumble?’

‘Why? What have you got?’

‘It might be nothing, but did you know DB owns an old house a few miles out of town? Judging by the correspondence, it needs a lot of work and it’s almost derelict.’

‘He never mentioned that,’ I said, surprised. I’d known him for a few years and I’d never heard him talk of another house out in the country. How strange was that?

‘As I understand it, he bought it years ago when he was a shining star, then when he fell from grace he couldn’t afford to do the work that needed to be done. It’s all here.’ She indicated a few sheets that she had separated from the rest.

‘The thing is,’ she finished, ‘it would be a great place to keep a hostage. Out in the middle of nowhere, off the beaten track.’

She handed me a photograph and some old estate agent details. It was obviously from years ago, but even back then the house was a bit of a state. That’s why he’d bought it. In that state, it was cheap for what it was. But the potential was clear.

I could also see what she meant about it being a good place to hold a hostage.

‘This might be just what we’re looking for,’ I said. ‘You’ve done it again. You’re rather good at this aren’t you? Fancy a job?’

She laughed out loud at that. ‘I already have a job.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And I must be getting back.’

I helped her put everything back in the basket and walked to the door with her.

‘You’re a little marvel, you know? I don’t know what I’d do without you?’

‘Well, you’re going to have to do without me for now. I have to go.’

A quick kiss and cuddle and she was on her way. I watched her go, wishing she didn’t have to, then went back inside to tidy up. I was going to take the house details home with me and see if I could find out exactly where it was.

Chapter Twelve

According to my online research, the mystery house was only about five miles out of town, but despite being so close, it still managed to be so isolated that it could have been in the middle of nowhere. The aerial photo I had found showed it to be surrounded by a large area of common land to one side and farmland on the other.

The dual carriageway of the Tinton bypass wound its way from east to west a mile or so to the south of the house, but the only access was from a narrow lane that ran from the bypass up to the north. Even that lane was at least a mile from the house.

A drive climbed from the lane up to the old house which sat atop a small hill, giving commanding views over the surrounding area. If you wanted a fortress with views in all directions, it looked as if this would be the ideal place. However, the photo also appeared to show that the house was surrounded by trees and shrubs, suggesting it would be pretty well hidden from prying eyes. That would explain why I had managed to drive along that bypass so often yet never noticed this big old house on the hill. I wasn’t really sure I could gain anything by driving out there to take a look, but then what was I going to lose?

About a mile before the lane that turned off past the house, there was a lay-by. I pulled in and switched off the engine. Looking at the map, I figured I was more or less as close to the house as I could get without actually driving up the drive. I grabbed my binoculars and climbed out of my car. There were trees all along the side of the lay-by with just an occasional gap. I pushed through one of these gaps and looked up to where I thought the house should be. Unsurprisingly, using binoculars clearly showed the grounds were a jumble of overgrown trees and shrubs.

It looked as though, many years ago, someone had planted a conifer hedge along the top of the hill to hide the house from the road. It had been a great success. It was impossible to see beyond it. I spent half an hour wandering about, trying to find a better viewpoint, but that dense green hedge was very effective. I decided to drive on and go up the lane that led past the drive to the house. Maybe I could find a better view up there somewhere.

I sat at the end of the lay-by waiting for a gap in the traffic. I could see a nice big one coming up after the next vehicle – plenty of room for me to ease into the slow lane. I watched as it approached. It was one of those old Suzuki jeep things. Normally, I wouldn’t have focused on the driver, but there was something odd about the way the little jeep was sitting. It had a heavy lean towards the driver’s side, as though the suspension had broken.

I took a closer look. For a moment, I thought maybe there were three seats in the front and the driver and his passenger were getting up close and personal. Then I realised there was only one head. They wouldn’t be doing that so publicly, would they? And while he’s driving?

Then the car was close enough for me to see clearly inside, and I could see there was no one else inside that car. It was simply the case that the guy driving it was seriously big, and I’m not talking fat. And then I realised I knew who he was because we’d met before. His name was Gregov. The last time we had met, I had almost provoked him into showing me a close-up of his fists. I was in no hurry to do that again.

The problem with being as big as Gregov was that it mad it really difficult to fit in anywhere. He must have stood around six foot six inches tall and his shoulders were so wide he would have needed two seats on an aircraft. You get the picture, right? He’s one big guy. So you can imagine how he filled the front of the small jeep, and why its suspension was struggling to cope with the load.

Just at the moment one part of my brain was asking what he was doing out here, another part was reminding me that Allison Beatty had said Nash had been accompanied by a giant. This particular giant was obviously focused on listening to the radio and singing his head off, so he didn’t notice me as he passed. I slowly pulled out behind him but took my time picking up speed, making sure I wasn’t too close. I guessed that if he was busy singing, he probably wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on behind him, but there was no point in taking chances.

If this was Allison Beatty’s giant, he would surely take the next turning left and head off towards the house. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before his left indicator began to wink. As if to confirm he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing, he took the turning a little too fast.

I watched in fascination as the little jeep, which was already listing to starboard before he turned the steering wheel, suddenly leaned so far over as he swung the wheel to the left I felt sure it was going to tip over. But the driver was obviously used to this occurrence, and by leaning his enormous bulk across to the passenger side he immediately corrected the situation. The jeep gave a jaunty little bounce as it regained equilibrium and completed the turn.

I cautiously approached the turning, easing slowly around just in case he had
noticed I was following him. He had gained a little ground now as he accelerated up the lane, which began a long, gradual, uphill climb. I was close enough to be able to see if he turned onto the drive up to the house, but far enough back that I hoped I wouldn’t arouse his suspicions. Surely he would turn onto the drive. This just couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

A little further on, he confirmed all my suspicions by turning left off the lane and on to the drive up to the house. I carried on past and stopped. I waited a few seconds and then slowly allowed my car to roll back until I could see up the drive. There was no sign of the little jeep so I guessed I was in the clear. The drive rose a short way and then turned to the left so I couldn’t see much, but I could see how overgrown it was and it seemed to be pretty clear the whole place was going to be like it.

I carried on up the lane, hoping I could get a better view of the house, but it turned out I had already seen as much as I was going to from the road. If I wanted to get any closer I was going to have to go cross-country, and if I was going to do that I might just as well be prepared. If Billy Bumble was up there and there was a chance to rescue him, I needed to be ready.

Chapter Thirteen

It was time to call Nugent and find out what the grapevine had told him.

‘I haven’t been able to find out where he is yet. Everyone seems to know he’s escaped from the asylum but no one seems to know where he’s hiding out.’

‘He wasn’t in an asylum-’

‘More’s the pity,’ Nugent said. ‘I’m telling you, an asylum is where he should be. The man’s totally unhinged.’

‘Anyway,’ I said smugly, ‘I’m pretty sure I know where he is. I was just hoping you
might confirm it for me.’

‘Where? Where is he?’ demanded Nugent.

I explained to him about the old house and where it was located.

‘How come you found him and all my guys know nothing? Useless bunch of idiots. I’m going to be kicking some backsides over this.’

‘Calm down, calm down. I just got lucky, that’s all. I had an idea where he was, and then when I got near I saw his accomplice. It can’t be a coincidence.’

‘Accomplice? I thought his accomplice was behind bars.’

‘Apparently he has another one. Big bugger from Serbia or somewhere like that. And I mean big. Allison Beatty described him as a “big, ugly-looking giant”, and I promise you she’s right. The guy stands about six foot six and must weigh eighteen stone at least. And he ain’t fat.’

‘You’re right, he is a big boy,’ agreed Nugent thoughtfully, before adding, ‘So you’ve got a head-case and a giant on one side and you on the other side. I have to say, I don’t fancy your chances.’

‘Yes. Thank you for that vote of confidence, but I have got my backup.’

‘What? Your granddad? I’m sorry, I know he’s your mate, but he’s really not up to this sort of stuff, is he.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘You’re right, I bloody well would be.’

Nugent’s braying laugh boomed out and I had to hold the phone away from my ear for a moment.

‘If you’re so sure we can’t cope, why don’t you come along and show us how it’s done?’

‘Not my fight mate,’ he said, happily. ‘Besides, I don’t do that sort of thing these days. I’m legit now I’ve got my nightclub.’

‘Ha! Yeah. Right.’ I laughed. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it’

‘There’s one more thing you should know about our friend Mr Nash.’

‘Yeah. Go on’

‘It’s possible he’s carrying.’

‘Carrying what?’

‘A bloody handbag, of course!’ said Nugent, sounding exasperated. ‘What do you think he’s carrying, you idiot? The word is he may have got himself a shooter from somewhere.’

‘Oh!’ I said, my stomach lurching. ‘Great!’

‘Yes I know,’ agreed Nugent. ‘That’s just what we need around here, some nutcase with a bloody gun.’

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Let’s say it’s a strong rumour, but not a one-hundred-percent-confirmed fact.’

‘Do you think I should worry about it?’

‘Really?’ His astonishment was palpable. ‘Do I think you should worry about the fact that some lunatic might try to shoot you? Will you stop being so bloody naive and listen to what I’m telling you.’

‘Is this one of your bad jokes?’ I asked, hopefully

‘Can you hear me laughing, Alfie?’

Nugent rarely called anyone by their first name, so I knew he was for real. Crap! This was not good news. I was planning on asking Positive Pete to come along with me, but now? I mean, how would I phrase that exactly?

‘Oh by the way, Pete, you might get your head blown off?’ I would have to think about this. Very carefully.

I became lost on my thoughts for a moment until Nugent’s voice boomed in my ear again.

‘So, what are you going to do, then? If you’ve got any sense, you’ll just keep well out of it. That Billy Bumble’s a waste of space anyway.’

‘No can do,’ I said, very definitely. ‘I promised Allison, you see.’

‘You didn’t promise her you wanted to die, did you?’

‘The thing is, she’s been let down so many times by so many people. I just can’t do that to her. She didn’t hesitate to help me when I asked her to give evidence against Nash’s old man, and I’m not going to turn my back on her now. Whether you think Billy Bumble’s a waste of space or not, Allison thinks the world of him. They actually seem to care about each other.’

‘He’s a bumbling idiot and she’s just some fat slag. They’re not worth it.’

‘You think you’re persuading me why I should turn away, but all you’re really
doing is highlighting the differences between you and me. You say she’s a “fat slag”, but have you ever spoken to her?’

I didn’t give him time to answer before I continued.

‘Of course you haven’t. But I have, you see. She might look as rough as a badger’s arse on the outside, but I’ve seen what’s hiding on the inside. I’m not going to try and explain it to you now. Maybe when I’ve got a spare week or two.’

To my great surprise he still offered no response, so I carried on.

‘Anyway, you said he “might have a gun”. That’s not a definite “has got a gun”, is it?’

‘It would be bloody definite enough for me if I didn’t have to go.’

‘But that’s what I’m saying. I do have to go.’

‘I give up with you,’ Nugent said, defeat loud and clear in his voice. ‘You think you’re some sort of hero, but you’re not, you know. You’re just a big bloody idiot who’s likely to get his head blown off.’

With that final thought echoing in my ear, the line went dead. But I think he’d managed to make it quite clear what he thought of my chances of rescuing Billy Bumble.

I wondered, was he right? Was I really just being reckless, playing the hero? Or was I just doing the right thing? I certainly didn’t think of myself as a hero. Quite the opposite in fact.

Chapter Fourteen

I pulled the car into the lay-by, killed the lights, and switched off the engine. We both sat quite still for a few moments.

‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Pete.

‘Honestly?’ I answered. ‘No. I don’t know for sure if Nash is up there, and even if he is, I don’t know that he’s definitely holding Billy Bumble as a hostage. I just know I feel I’m obliged to find out. I think I owe Allison that much at least. As for what happens after that, I’ll just have to wait and see.’

‘So this could all be a complete waste of time.’

‘Pete, if you want to pull out I don’t mind. I mean, this is my problem not yours.’

‘Piss off!’ he said, with some feeling. ‘I didn’t get dressed up in all this ninja gear just so I could go back home.’

The ‘ninja gear’ he was referring to was simply a black tracksuit. We were both wearing them along with black gloves and black boots. It was hardly ‘ninja’, but if anyone was looking from the house it should make us harder to spot.

‘Anyway’ he continued, ‘Daphne’s out tonight so I’ve got nothing else to do. You never know, this might be fun.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed, doubtfully. ‘You never know.’

Well, I had to hand it to him, he was living up to his name. He was definitely looking for the positive side of this particular situation I’d drawn him into.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Before we start, just run the plan past me again.’

To call it a plan was something of an exaggeration. It was, to put it mildly, pretty basic. I was taking a gamble on there being just Nash, Gregov, and their reluctant captive up at the house. I also thought it unlikely they would be expecting visitors, especially if those visitors were coming cross-country.

So the plan was simply that – we would go cross-country and use the huge conifer hedge as cover. Once we got there, we could have a look at the house and figure it out from there. Like I said, it was hardly a plan at all; we were more or less flying by the seat of our pants.

But then we weren’t exactly supposed to be the SAS, were we?

We had waited until it was dark before we got here, but a full moon had conveniently come out to offer some help. I was very grateful for this as we had nothing sophisticated like night vision glasses, and torches would have been easy to spot if anyone was watching from the house.

‘Okay,’ I said quietly, as we made our way through a gap in the trees. ‘Let’s try to stick together and only talk when we really have to. Keep touching so we know where we both are if the moon goes in.’

‘Got it,’ said Pete.

It was patchy scrub and gorse beyond the trees, but a path seemed to lead towards the house so I started to follow it. After a few minutes, I noticed the gorse was thinning out and soon it was gone altogether.

The ground seemed to be soft, almost like a carpet, interspersed with tufts of what seemed to be long grass. So far, we were making good progress. The land was more or less flat down here but I knew it would get a fair bit steeper before we reached the big hedge.

It was a fairly cold night, not quite cold enough to freeze but enough for it to start
to get a bit misty. There was an odd sort of smell and the air seemed to be rather damp. I felt it should mean something to me but whatever it was remained tantalisingly out of reach, buried away in the depths of my memory.

The path eventually seemed to run out, but we could still see that huge green hedge up on top of the hill, so we knew where we were headed. My right boot seemed to be working loose so I stopped and knelt to tie my shoelace. Pete put his hand on my shoulder as he passed me and went on ahead.

The tufts of grass were becoming more common now and we were having to weave in and out of them and step over them more and more. I caught up with Pete and touched his arm just to let him know I was there. He stopped for a moment. This time there was no way we could weave in and out of the tufty grass. We were just going to have to take some big steps over the top. So he did.

There was a loud splash.

‘Oh bollocks,’ hissed Pete. ‘There’s a bloody great puddle here.’

He was straddling a large tuft of grass, left foot on solid ground behind him and right foot under water in front of him.

‘Give me your hand,’ I said, frantically grabbing for a hold.

But it was no good. He was losing his balance as his right foot continued to sink into the thick, gloopy mud beneath the water.

‘Urrgghhh! It’s like bloody quicksand,’ he cried, as the mud sucked at his foot threatening to draw his whole leg down into the water.

At last, I managed to get hold of his hand and pulled him back. Now I understood what the smell was and why it was bit misty out here. We had walked into the middle of a bog.

‘Don’t panic,’ I hissed at him. ‘And keep your voice down. It’s not quicksand. We’re in the middle of a bog.’

‘Oh what fantastic news that is,’ said Pete at the top of his voice. ‘We’re in the middle of a bog. Fan-bloody-tastic.’

Even in the dim light from the moon, I could see the thick, slimy mud was almost up to his knee.

‘Is your foot wet?’ I asked stupidly, without thinking.

‘Of course my friggin’ foot’s wet. It’s just been immersed in a bog. So yes, not surprisingly, it’s wet. And, as an added bonus, it’s also covered in bloody slime.’

He began grasping handfuls of grass to try and wipe off the mud. That’s when the smell, which had been more of a suggestion up until now, began to really make its presence felt.

‘Geez, I stink now, too,’ he complained.

I decided, after my last stupid comment, that it would be best to keep my mouth firmly shut until he calmed down a bit. He wasn’t a great one for using swear words, so their arrival was a good indication of his mood. The increasing use of them was a particularly good indicator of a coming storm. The more he used, the crappier his mood. Right now, it could go either way.

Sometimes Pete was his own worst enemy. Having fallen in once, you’d think he would have realised it’s better to be the follower and not the leader,when you’re going across a bog. But now he insisted on continuing to lead, and sure enough it wasn’t long before he covered his other leg in thick mud too. After that, he insisted that I should lead.

‘You can get covered in this slimy shit,’ he snapped.

But, much to his annoyance, I managed to get us across the rest of the bog with only one mishap, which did result in a wet foot, but no mud.

Now we were across the bog, the next obstacle was the climb up the hill to the hedge. It was quite steep in places, but I figured if we skirted around a bit we could avoid the steepest bits and have a relatively smooth climb. At least we knew this bit wouldn’t be wet and muddy. It seemed to be mostly grass, some of which came about halfway up our calves. With any luck, it would take some more of the mud from Pete’s legs as we walked.

‘I’ll lead,’ said Pete, sounding thoroughly fed up.

At this stage, it occurred to me that it might have been appropriate to change his nickname from Positive Pete to Pissed-off Pete, but I decided it would probably be best to keep that to myself. Taking the piss at this time might just be the equivalent of lighting the blue touchpaper, if you see what I mean.

Not wanting to argue, I stepped out of his way.

It turned out his chosen path was not the one I was intending to use. He chose route one – a straight line up the hill to the hedge. I didn’t think it was the best idea, but that was simply because it was quite steep.

Pete thought the best way to get up the hill was to get up a bit of speed and then just keep going up and up. This was fine in theory. But it worked on the assumption the ground was solid and firm underfoot. What it didn’t allow for was the fact that cows grazed the grass on this particular piece of land.

It’s a well-known fact that cows eat large amounts of grass. To their credit, they miraculously turn those large amounts of grass into large amounts of milk. Equally miraculous is their ability to produce even larger amounts of by-product, commonly known as cow shit, which they happily deposit wherever they happen to be standing.

Here in England these deposits are known as cow pats. Dark green and slimy when fresh, these cow pats quickly form a crust on top which disguises their slippery, slidey contents. I expect you can guess what happened next.

Pete began to stomp his way up the hill. I was quite impressed with his progress until he stepped on a recently crusted cow pat. His right foot mashed down, broke the crust and skidded away, leaving him flat on his face, sliding back down the hill. He scrabbled frantically for a handhold to stop himself but only succeeded in grasping a handful of the remnants of the dark green, slimy cow pat he’d just stepped in.

Uh, oh, here we go.’

Sure enough, I could hear the swearing before he reached our starting position back at the bottom of the hill. By amazing good fortune, he had managed to miss one or two cow pats on the way up before he found the offending one. But he made up for that now by collecting them on the way back down.

When he finally reached the bottom of the slope and rolled over, I could see he was extensively smeared from head to toe in cow shit, but on the positive side (and I know Pete likes to find the positives in every situation) most of the original cow pat had been wiped from his hand by the time he reached me.

Often, in stressful situations, I blurt out things that are, shall we say, unhelpful, and momentarily I was possessed with the desire to point out this particular ‘positive’ aspect of the current situation. Fortunately, I managed to suppress the impulse to say it out loud. I must have been on my best behaviour that night because I also managed to keep a straight face.

Pete lay on his back with his eyes closed. To my great surprise, the expected vocal explosion didn’t happen. In fact, for a couple of minutes he didn’t say a thing, this time preferring to try and maintain some sort of dignity.

At last, he stood up and glared at me.

‘Right. It’s your mission, you fuckin’ lead,’ was all he said.

I chose silence as the best option and simply pointed out what I thought would be the best route to follow.

‘Whatever,’ was the curt response.

And so we set off, following my more circuitous route, accompanied by a continuous, muttered monologue of swear words from the unfortunate Pete, who now carried the arresting, mixed aroma of stinking bog and cow pat.

I just hoped they didn’t have a guard dog up at the house because, unless there was something seriously wrong with his sense of smell, he would know we were coming a long time before we got there.

Twenty minutes later, without further mishap, we reached the top of the slope just ten yards from the huge conifer hedge, which looked even bigger from here. Quietly, we made our way to the hedge and crawled underneath. So far so good.

Well, okay, Pete had fallen into a bog twice, been thoroughly smeared with cow shit, and he stank like a skunk, but otherwise it had been pretty uneventful.

I just hoped it would stay that way.

Chapter Fifteen

We were within twenty yards of the house now, hiding underneath the huge hedge. It was dirty and dusty and itchy and, thanks to Pete, it was smelly too. I could sense the irritation coming from him in waves. It was testament to him and our friendship that he was still alongside me, but I figured his patience must be more or less exhausted by now and I guessed he was about ready to blow. And I was right.

It came in the form of a short dialogue, delivered with heavy sarcasm, that I thought it best not to interrupt.

‘I’ve just walked, no, change that, I’ve just stumbled, squelched, and crawled more than a mile across mixed terrain including a bog, a cow-pat minefield, and thick undergrowth. I should mention this has been done in the dark.

‘My feet are soaking wet and like two blocks of ice. The rest of me is only slightly warmer. I’m covered in all sorts of assorted crap, lots of it from the arse end of a bloody cow, and now I’m hiding under a dirty, dusty, itchy hedge.

‘Oh, and I nearly forgot, I stink like a skunk. So, please, remind me again. Why am I here?’

I would have preferred not to get into an argument right at that time, but I was obviously expected to say something, so I did.

‘We’re here because I believe Allison Beatty’s husband, Billy Bumble, is here somewhere and he needs rescuing.’

‘No, you’re bloody wrong about that,’ he hissed. ‘That’s why you’re here. What I want to know is why am I here?’

‘You’re here because you’re my mate and mates support each other.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He sighed. ‘I’m having so much fun I’d completely forgotten we’re supposed to be mates. Do me a favour can you? Next time you want some friggin’ help, ask someone else.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, right? I didn’t know it was a bloody bog, did I? According to the map, the farm and all that cow shit should be on the north side of the house. And, just for the record, you’re not the only one who’s cold and wet.’

‘But you’re not covered in cow shit, are you?’ he moaned. ‘And don’t forget dirty, dusty, and itchy.’

‘Look, I know I owe you big-time but when have I ever failed to repay a favour?’

‘You’re going to have to dig awful deep to repay this one.’

‘Anything. All you have to do is name it and I’ll do it. Just stop complaining, will you?’

‘Anything?’ he said. ‘You’ll really do anything?’

‘Yes. I’ll really, really, do anything if you’ll just stop complaining.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You can be my best man. Now let’s get out from under this bloody hedge.’

With that, he began crawling through the assorted debris under the hedge towards the house. It took a few seconds for what he had said to register. He wanted me to be his best man. But that means he must be getting married…

I started to scramble after him. ‘Pete,’ I hissed. ‘Wait. Come back here.’

He stopped as he reached the outer fringes of the hedge. Any further and we’d be out in the open. I scrambled up alongside him.

‘What did you say?’ I asked, when I finally caught up with him.

‘I said you can be my best man.’

‘But you don’t need a best man unless you’re getting married.’

In the half-light under the hedge he turned to face me. I could see he was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

‘No shit, Sherlock!’ he said. ‘Now I can see why you’re so good at solving these cases. Nothing gets past you, does it?’

‘But who? You mean you and Daphne?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised. Who else would I be thinking about asking to marry me?’

‘So you haven’t actually asked her yet?’

‘Not yet, no. But I’m going to – I just wanted to make sure you’re going to play your part when she says yes.’

‘Mate, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’d better make sure we get out of here in one piece then. And the sooner you do that, the sooner I can ask her.’

Well. Who would have thought? We were going to have a wedding.

For a moment I completely forgot where we were. Then I moved my head just a little too far and a dead twig poked me in the ear and snapped with a loud crack, bringing me sharply back to reality. We both froze for what seemed like an age, but nothing happened.

Right. That’s enough messing around. Time to concentrate.

The hedge ran alongside the house and a feeble light had been suspended above the door. It was enough to show there was a wide pathway that ran from front to back – it was wide enough to drive a car through.

The ancient, ill-fitting door at the back of the house was almost exactly opposite us. Faint light could be seen around the frame and through the cracks in the old door. So there must be someone in there. The faint sound of what I assumed was a generator could just about be heard coming from the back of the house. That was the extent of our knowledge so far.

It was now becoming very apparent just how ill-prepared we were for this whole exercise. Well, actually, that should read how ill-prepared I was. After all, this whole thing was my idea. The fact that we had no idea what we were going to do next was entirely down to me. Pete had just come along as support.

I had the uncomfortable thought that perhaps Nugent had been right when he had suggested I thought I was some sort of hero, but really I was an idiot. I certainly hadn’t thought this through, had I?

‘So, what’s the plan, Batman?’ asked Pete.

His mood had brightened considerably since he’d mentioned Daphne and getting married. She seemed to have that effect on him. It was great to see.

‘Well, Pete,’ I began, ‘I’ve got to be honest with you. I don’t actually have a plan.’

We were lying next to each other under the hedge. I couldn’t see him very well, but I felt him turn to stare at me in the gloom.

‘I know, I know,’ I said. ‘Funny enough, Nugent told me the other day I was an idiot. Looks as though he was right.’

‘Why were you talking to that moron?’ asked Pete, completely failing to hide his dismay that I should have anything to do with the local gangster.

‘I asked him if he could find anything out about Nash and where he might be holding Billy Bumble.’

‘But I thought you had sussed it out on your own.’’

‘Yeah, I did, but I’d asked Nugent before that,’ I explained. ‘He was the only person I could think of who might have known anything.’

‘That bloke’s a bloody thug and a crook,’ said Pete, disapprovingly.

‘Which is exactly how he came to know Nash might have a gun,’ I said, keen to justify myself.

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realised my mistake.

‘He might have a gun?’ hissed the incredulous voice next to me. ‘What do you bloody mean he might have a gun?’

It was pitch dark under the hedge but even so, I could clearly see Pete’s eyes widening as he started ranting at me.

‘You didn’t tell me he might have a fucking gun. You’ve dragged me all the way out here, through a knee-deep bog, across a field full of bloody cow shit, to rescue someone I don’t know from someone else I don’t know, who just might happen to be carrying a fucking gun.’

His voice was getting louder and louder. I was sure someone would hear him.

‘Keep calm and keep your voice down,’ I pleaded.

‘Keep calm? Keep my bloody voice down? You-’

‘If you don’t keep your voice down, we’ll find out for sure if he’s got a gun when he starts firing the bloody thing. Do you want that?’

It didn’t shut him up, but at least he lowered his voice. Now it was reduced to a hiss. He punched me hard on the arm.

‘You selfish bugger,’ he hissed. ‘You knew he might have a sodding gun and you didn’t even think to warn me?’

‘I’m sorry. I just got carried away. Anyway, we don’t know for sure if he has got a gun.’

‘We don’t know for sure?’ he echoed. ‘Well, you know what? I’m not gonna bloody well be here to find out. I’ve always said I don’t mind helping out and doing you a favour, but I don’t remember ever offering to get shot at by some homicidal maniac that you’ve pissed off. You can count me out. I’m going.’

Just as he was about to turn and crawl away, the door opposite us burst open and an enormous figure stooped under the doorway and emerged into the night. He stood upright, yawned, and then stretched his enormous frame, revealing just how big he really was.

‘Bloody hell!’ whispered Pete in alarm, pointing to the huge figure. ‘Is that Nash? He’s a big bugger, isn’t he? You didn’t tell me he was a bloody giant.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s not Nash. That’s another giant.’

‘Who the bloody hell is it then? I thought it was just this Nash bloke we were up against.’

‘That,’ I said, with a big sigh, ‘is Gregov.’

Pete’s eyes widened even more. I was sure they would pop out any moment.

‘You mean you know him?’ he asked, incredulously. ‘What is this? Some sort of homicidal maniac’s reunion for you and your murky mates?’

‘First, they’re not my mates, murky or otherwise, right? And second, I didn’t know he was going to be here.’

Technically this wasn’t actually a lie. I mean, I didn’t know for sure that Gregov was going to be here, although it was more or less a given. It was just something else I hadn’t mentioned to Pete,

‘Last time we met, I ended up in hospital,’ I explained.

‘Oh, great,’ he said with renewed sarcasm. ‘This just gets better and better.’

‘He didn’t put me in hospital. It was the night Nugent’s guys beat the crap out of me. Gregov is the guy who was after Jelena that night.’

Pete heaved an exasperated sigh at yet another mention of Nugent’s name. He was never going to be Pete’s favourite person.

‘He’s not going to show up, is he? Bloody Nugent? That would really round the night off to have that arsehole turn up as well.’

At that moment, Gregov looked directly at us and smiled broadly. He hadn’t seen us, had he? Surely not. We were still under the hedge and it was pitch dark under there. Of course, he could have heard us...

We both held our breath and waited to see what was going to happen. He continued to stare at us for a few more seconds, then he turned back to the house and stooped back inside.

We let our breath out together. Phew! That was close.

Then, to my dismay, he backed out of the doorway. I wasn’t sure, but I thought this time he seemed to have something in his hand. As he turned towards us again I could see quite clearly what it was. A cold feeling sank into my guts. Oh crap! He was carrying a shotgun.

He pointed the gun at us and began to walk over.

‘I think I’m going to shit myself,’ said Pete, very quietly.

Silently, I empathised with his sentiment. I knew exactly how he felt.

Gregov stopped a few yards short of the hedge. He held the shotgun casually at his side, but it was still pointed at us, and I didn’t doubt he knew exactly how to use it.

‘Out. Now!’ ordered Gregov, waving the gun towards us, just in case we hadn’t already seen it.

Gingerly, we crawled from beneath the hedge and very, very slowly, we climbed to our feet.

‘We wait for you, Mr Bowman,’ said Gregov. ‘Knew you would come.’

‘Ah! Yes.’ began Pete, ‘Well now he’s here, I’ll get out of your way. I was just going anyway. I just wanted to make sure he arrived safely and then-’

‘Shut up!’ said Gregov.

‘Right,’ said Pete. ‘Yes. Of course. Whatever you say.’

‘Is better,’ agreed Gregov.

‘Well, well, well. Look what we have here,’ came a familiar voice as Nasty Nash emerged from the doorway. He was twirling what looked like some sort of pistol around his finger, like an old fashioned gunfighter.

‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist poking your nose in, Bowman. You like to interfere and play the hero, don’t you?’

It took a moment for that to penetrate my brain, but suddenly the penny dropped.

‘You mean this is a trap?’ I asked.

Nash turned to Gregov. ‘I told you he’d fall for it, didn’t I?’

They had a good laugh together at their shared joke – me.

‘Fall for what?’ I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what he meant and I was horrified to have walked into it so easily.

‘Well…’ Nash was beaming. ‘It’s like this.’

He began to explain his theory, using his fingers to make his points. He started with the forefinger on his right hand.

‘First, you find some interfering twat who can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business.’

Middle finger. ‘Then you find some pathetic specimen to kidnap, making sure it’s someone the police don’t give a toss about.’

Ring finger. ‘Even better, you pick on someone whose wife won’t turn to the police because she doesn’t trust them, but who will turn to the interfering twat we want to trap.’

Little finger. ‘And sure enough, Mr Stupid Hero just can’t resist getting involved.’

He waved his hand in triumph as he finished explaining his ingenious plan.

‘All we had to do was wait for you to show up. When Gregov spotted you nosing around the other day, we knew it wouldn’t be too long before you sprung the trap. And sure enough, here you are!’

He looked happier than I’d ever seen him.

‘And don’t you just love the real irony of the venue,’ he said spreading his arms in an expansive gesture to take in the surroundings. ‘I think it’s just perfect that you’re going to be buried right here, in the garden of a house owned by the biggest interfering old twat of them all.’

To create dramatic effect, he adopted a suitably theatrical pose to consider the situation for a moment before continuing.

‘It’s a shame you brought your friend with you though. We only dug enough holes to bury you and Billy. Now we’re going to have to dig another one.’

They had another good laugh at our expense, then Nash raised a finger to indicate the arrival of yet another brilliant idea.

‘Oh, hang on,’ he said, chortling, ‘we don’t need to dig another hole. You can dig it yourselves.’

This provided a further excuse for a good laugh.

My brain seemed to have effectively shut down, or at least, that part which handled things like ‘coming up with a good escape plan’ had shut down.

Unfortunately, coming face to face with not one but two homicidal maniacs armed with guns was not something I was equipped to deal with. Pete seemed to be enduring the same sort of problem.

I was also suffering from an almost overwhelming sense of guilt for bringing him up here. Maybe they were all right – perhaps I was just a big idiot trying to play the hero.

Chapter Sixteen

Nash and Gregov marched us at gunpoint around to the front of the house. I had got Pete into this and I desperately wanted to get him out of it, but all I kept thinking was that this wasn’t how this was supposed to have worked out. Right at that moment, it seemed a totally hopeless situation.

Nash was singing at the top of his voice. It sounded vaguely like ‘Barcelona’. I couldn’t make out the verses, but I don’t think they were relevant. The important part was the chorus, and he made sure we heard that loud and clear. He had replaced the normal chorus of ‘Bar-cel-o-na’ with ‘blow-your-brains-out’. Just in case we were in any doubt as to his intentions.

He was clearly round the bend, but that was little consolation. Knowing he was crazy and carrying a pistol just made him even more dangerous.

As we turned the corner to the front of the house, the moonlight seemed even brighter. I could clearly see the grand front door and the driveway, overgrown with weeds, curving away from the house and disappearing off down the hill.

There were two cars parked out front opposite the house. One was the little jeep Gregov had been driving yesterday. I recognised the other as Nash’s own car.

Our feet were crunching on the gravel drive and Nash was still singing, but I was sure I could just make out another sound and it was getting louder. Then I recognised it as the sound of an engine approaching.

Nash suddenly stopped singing. He seemed to have heard it too.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Listen! What’s that noise?’

We all stopped walking and crunching gravel. Now we could hear it quite clearly. A vehicle was making its way up the drive at high speed. And it sounded like nothing was going to stop it. Whatever the vehicle was, it could be heard crashing through the vegetation which had taken over the old driveway.

Then, just before it shot over the rise and onto the front drive, I clearly heard the engine noise. I recognised it instantly. It sounded just like a highly-tuned V8.

I couldn’t quite believe it, but the cavalry had arrived, in the very welcome, but completely unexpected, form of Nugent the Nutter.

The powerful car crested the rise in spectacular fashion, all four wheels off the ground, headlights and roof-lights blazing. As it shot onto the drive, I could make out the top half of someone sticking out of the roof. It was Nugent. He had the sunroof rolled right back and he was standing on the passenger seat, operating the roof-lights to search out his prey.

With the lights shining in our eyes, I could barely see him, but it almost looked as though he was armed with a pump action shotgun. I swear I heard him yell ‘Yee, ha!’ It was like a scene from some bizarre modern day western.

This all happened so fast the four of us seemed frozen to the spot, mesmerised by the blinding lights shining in our eyes. Nash was first to move, taking up the appropriate stance and firing a round at the advancing car. Cool as a cucumber, he aimed and fired again and again, but all we heard were useless clicks. He’d only loaded the one bullet to use on me.

‘Fuck!’ he roared. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ In frustration, he threw the useless pistol at the car then stood to face it as though he could repel it by sheer force of will.

The car roared across the drive straight at the defiant Nash. Pete and I dived towards the house, out of the way, certain that Nash was going to be flattened. But whoever was driving knew exactly what he was doing and he expertly spun the steering wheel so the car turned broadside to us, skidding to a halt just a few feet from where Nash stood.

There was an ear-splitting boom and, firing from the hip, Nugent reduced the windscreen of Nash’s car to tiny fragments of glass. Swinging to face the house, he let go another huge boom and the tired old front door of the house disintegrated into matchwood.

My ears were ringing from the two shotgun blasts, but I clearly heard the ominous sound of another shell being pumped into the chamber. Then there was stillness and an almost deathly silence.

Suddenly, there was the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps and Gregov was off like a shot. He showed a remarkable turn of speed for such a big man as he sprinted back the way we had come, down the side of the house, and into the darkness.

I suppose anyone can improve their sprinting ability with the right incentive, and in his case, an apparently crazy guy riding shotgun on the roof of a souped-up Range Rover seemed to have done the trick.

Nash was livid. ‘Come back here, you bloody coward,’ he roared at the disappearing giant’s back.

He made to take off after Gregov, but another ear-splitting shotgun blast stopped him in his tracks. He fell in a heap on the ground and for a moment I thought Nugent had actually shot him, then I realised the gun was pointing harmlessly away from all of us.

Nugent’s loud, distinctive voice boomed into the night.

‘Just where do you think you’re going, Nashy boy?’

‘You wouldn’t dare shoot me,’ called Nash, but the confidence in his tone didn’t match his words.

‘But you’re not sure, are you?’ sneered Nugent. ‘I’m bloody good at this you know. I could blow one of your feet off from here. Or your head if I felt like it. I certainly wouldn’t miss, that’s for sure. Excuse my paraphrase, but as someone once said, go ahead, arsehole, make my day.’

His braying laugh filled the night, and I began to really understand why he was called ‘Nutter.’ He certainly sounded as unhinged as Nash, and he was beginning to worry me.

‘Now get up,’ he said to Nash. ‘Go sit in your car. And don’t try anything funny, coz trust me, I will blow your head off. And you know I mean it.’

Only one of the roof-lights of the car remained lit now, so it was a bit easier to see what was going on. Nugent reached his hand down into the car and produced a pair of handcuffs wrapped in a plastic bag. He threw them across to me.

‘There’s a pair of gloves in the bag. Put them on and then cuff his hands to the steering wheel,’ he told me.

When I’d finished and Nash was secured in the car, Nugent shooed me away and spent five minutes talking to Nash. His demeanour suggested he was probably threatening his captive, but I couldn’t actually make out what he was saying.

Pete was sitting on the drive, still somewhat shocked by what had happened. He was clearly not happy about Nugent arriving on the scene.

‘But he just saved our lives,’ I said, stating the obvious.

‘Yes, I know that,’ explained Pete, ‘but I was doing okay up to then. I mean, even with guns pointing at me I was keeping it all together. Then that lunatic turns up and starts firing that bloody cannon all over the place.’

I really couldn’t figure out his problem. I mean, we were alive, weren’t we?

‘So what’s the problem?’ I asked.

‘It was so loud I wet myself when he fired the bloody thing. Now I’m wet on the bloody inside too.’

Ah! Right! What could I say to that?

When Nugent had finished threatening Nash, he came over to us grinning like a maniac.

‘Well, that was a bit of alright,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like that. I’d forgotten how much fun it is being out in the field. Are you both alright?’

He made it sound like he was some sort of executive going back on the shop floor, but then I suppose he was really.

‘We’re fine,’ I said. ‘Shaken but not stirred. Well, not too much anyway’

‘You made me piss myself, arsehole,’ snapped Pete, ungratefully.

Nugent sighed. ‘Well, pardon me for saving your life, you ungrateful old sod,’ he said. ‘Next time I’ll just sit back and watch you two amateurs get murdered. Would that suit you better?’

For once I agreed with Nugent – Pete was being ungrateful – so I thought it best to change the subject before it turned into an argument.

‘Made a mess of your car.’

I nodded at the filthy vehicle, covered in an assortment of vegetation, mud, and general filth. A bullet appeared to have passed clean through the windscreen and out through the back screen, leaving a perfectly round hole in each, surrounded by just a small amount of crazing.

‘Yeah, shame about that,’ agreed Nugent. ‘But it’s going back tomorrow so it’s not my problem.’

‘Going back? Don’t you like it?’

‘I love it, but they paid their debt.’ He sounded almost sad. ‘But it’s no good anyway. Not enough cup-holders.’

Pete fell for it. ‘Not enough cup-holders?’ he said in disgust, ‘Not enough bloody cup-holders?’

‘Ha!’ said Nugent, pointing at Pete. ‘Gotcha, you silly bugger! D’you really think I give a damn about cup-holders?’

His braying, donkey-like laugh echoed around the grounds.

‘Anyway,’ he said, serious now. ‘You two need to agree a story. I suggest you say you got here and found Nash where he is. Someone had beaten you to it.’

‘Why would we do that?’ asked Pete, reluctant to lie to the police.

‘What about Billy?’ I asked.

‘You two are so bloody dim at times,’ he said, in exasperation. ‘Just how are you going to explain all this away without involving me?’

Before we could think of an answer, he added a warning, ‘And I’m telling you now, you’d better not involve me.’

‘Ah! Right. Yes,’ I said. Of course we couldn’t mention him, could we? Not without getting all of us into a whole lot of trouble. ‘But shouldn’t we make sure Billy’s alright?’

‘Go in there,’ said Nugent, pointing at the house, ‘and you’re bound to leave some
evidence of some sort, aren’t you? Trust me, Billy will be fine. The whole thing was designed to lure you up here. Billy was never going to get hurt as long as he behaved himself. The Old Bill will find him when they get here. You two just need to make sure you forget I was ever up here. You don’t know what happened, this is how you found it. Right?’

He climbed into the car and sank back into his seat.

‘Come on, Tosser,’ he said to his driver. ‘We’d better make ourselves scarce before the plod arrive.’

As the engine roared into life, Nugent leaned out of the window.

‘Right. The plod will be tipped off in a couple of minutes. I’ll make sure Dave Slater gets the message. Just remember, if anyone asks you what happened, you know nothing, and nor does Nash. As far as anyone knows, it could just as well have been the Scarlet Pimpernel that caught him and cuffed him. You got that?’

‘Why would Nash agree to that?’ I asked. ‘And what about the other guy, the giant?’

‘Nash will do what I told him,’ said Nugent with certainty. ‘Why? Because he’s going away for a long time and I know some people who can make that a very uncomfortable long time. As for the other bloke, I don’t reckon you’ll see him again. Anyway, just remember you haven’t seen me for weeks. Know what I mean?’

He sat back in his seat and the window closed. As the car started to pull away I could still hear his braying laugh filling the night.

Somehow I couldn’t see Dave Slater buying this idea that we had just stumbled across this scene and had nothing to do with it, but that was going to be the story, and we were going to stick to it.

Chapter Seventeen

Nugent had been right about it not taking long for the police to arrive. But this time, the ascent up the hill was a painfully slow one as DC Steve Biddeford carefully edged his way around the undergrowth and assorted rubbish that littered the drive.

In the passenger seat, an irritated DS Dave Slater was grinding his teeth in frustration. His bloody dinner had been interrupted yet again. It was as if there was someone watching him when he was on call at night, holding all the bloody phone calls until he started eating. This was going to be another dinner paid for and gone to waste. Why couldn’t they just let him eat for once?

And why were they going so slow? Was there something wrong with the car? Or perhaps it was the driver.

‘Can’t we go just a bit faster?’ he snapped at his young partner. ‘I’m sure a bloody snail just overtook us.’

‘When you’re driving, you can go as fast as you like,’ retorted Biddeford. ‘But tonight I’m responsible for this car and I’m not going to get another bollocking for taking it back in a shit state.’

Just two days ago, they’d been chasing a suspect vehicle and, urged on by Slater, Biddeford had cut across a pristine village green only for them to sink up to their axles in the mud. To say the duty sergeant had been annoyed would be something of an understatement. He was in no rush to repeat that particular experience, so tonight it was a case of softly, softly.

‘I bet this is some wild bloody goose chase anyway,’ said Slater, bitterly, ‘just to get me away from my dinner.’

He leaned forward to take a closer look at the driveway they were following.

‘I mean, look at this place. Does it look as though anyone ever comes up here?’

‘Someone’s been up here recently,’ said Biddeford, pointing out some flattened vegetation up ahead. ‘Must have been some sort of four-wheel drive effort to have gone straight through all this crap and vegetation.’

As well as being overgrown, the driveway had obviously been used for fly-tipping. There were piles of rubbish dumped here, there, and everywhere. It was a wonder it was still possible to drive up here at all.

At last, they crested the rise and emerged at the top. A big old house was over on their right and there were two cars opposite, one of which Slater recognised as Nasty Nash’s. The familiar figures of Alfie Bowman and Positive Pete were leaning against it.

‘What the hell are they doing here?’ asked Slater of no one in particular.

‘It wasn’t those two that phoned,’ said Biddeford.

‘Who was it, then?’

‘Anonymous,’ said Biddeford.

Slater turned in his seat to look at his partner. Sometimes he just couldn’t tell if Steve Biddeford was plain stupid or what...

‘And that definitely rules these two out, does it?’ he said, his irritation loud and clear.

‘Ah. No, I suppose not,’ came the mumbled reply.

Slater loudly sighed his exasperation.

‘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...

***