‘On a coach.’
‘Which coach?’
OC shook his head. ‘I know it wasn’t a silver and grey coach. The man who drove it went into the bank.’
Kitty left it there. ‘Well don’t tell Mum. I’ll kill you if you do.’
OC checked his wall for advice and getting it, nodded, ‘Okay, I won’t tell Mum.’
‘We’ll be grounded for ever and it’s your fault,’ Anna shouted at Kitty when she heard.
‘No, it’s not. Anyway school won’t contact Mum, because nothing happened and OC doesn’t remember.’
School also asked questions although Miss Jarvis, when she returned to school next day, well aware that Philip was not good at answering questions kept them simple. ‘Why did you leave the cathedral in the first place, Philip?’
OC thought about it. ‘It was cold.’
‘I see. And then what happened.’
‘I got on a coach and it took me back to school.’
And that definitely was that.
The robbery made headlines both on television and in the newspapers. Mrs Longbotham was shocked to learn that it was her local branch that had been robbed and said so to a number of her friends. The robbers had got away with a great deal of money too and so far the police investigation appeared to be going nowhere.
Back at headquarters, Inspector Sheppard was having a very bad week. The Commissioner had asked if he had any clues and he had had to say no. Then he had asked his men, if they had any clues and they had also said no.
‘Descriptions?’ he growled.
‘None, guv. They were wearing balaclavas.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘None, guv. They were wearing gloves.’
‘So how did they get in?’ he shouted, almost at the end of his patience.
His words were greeted with a shrug of the shoulders.
‘And the getaway car?’
‘Dunno if they even had one guv. CCTV didn’t pick up anything, only an old school coach.’
‘So was it an inside job? And what about the kid?’ the inspector asked.
This was greeted with another shrug of the shoulders.
‘This is hopeless,’ he groaned. ‘We’ll never get them at this rate.’
Then learning he had make a statement to the press, which was rather the same as jumping into a pond filled with piranhas, he changed into his best uniform and went out to meet them.
‘I can promise you we’re closing in. I had extra men posted all along the M5 corridor, which is why banks in Gloucester, Cheltenham, and Cirencester weren’t targeted. It’s rather like corralling horses,’ he explained. ‘Gradually, we are driving the gangsters so far south they will fall off Lands End.’
Since OC rarely read the newspapers and never bothered with the news, he didn’t know any of this. And since Mrs Longbotham knew nothing about her son’s journey back to Bristol, neither did she.
A few days later OC misplaced his Filofax. On the Tuesday, he had been round to visit Cash, who was very low.
‘I’ve come to do some homework,’ he announced.
Cash looked up from his inspection of the garden, in which he’d been counting the droplets of rain falling from the basketball hoop.
He jerked his head towards a pile of exercise books. ‘Help yourself.’
OC stared at him. This wasn’t like Cash at all. ‘Have you sorted them?
Cash shook his head. ‘Not interested, no more,’ and went back to counting raindrops.
Suddenly, OC didn’t fancy doing sums either. And because he didn’t feel very happy at Cash’s house, he went straight home leaving his Filofax behind.
Surprisingly, he managed very well for a couple of days. After all, as Kitty had promised, his memory had improved. But suddenly he missed it and, after school, called round to ask Cash if he knew where it was.
‘You can look, if you like,’ Cash said, his voice as listless and dull as the weather. OC stared round his friend’s bedroom, a pile of chocolate wrappers and crisp packets lying on the floor.
‘What’s the matter? Are you unhappy?’
Cash shook his head. ‘No, I’m fine, really.’ Because he was, except he wasn’t. He burst into tears. ‘I wanted to be a master criminal, but now I can’t.’
OC stared at his friend. ‘Why not?’
Cash sniffed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Because master criminals need legs to run away from the police and I can’t run.’
OC thought about it for a moment. As far as he was concerned, Cash’s argument lacked logic. Doctors had told him he couldn’t do things because of his strange brain. They’d been wrong. He could do all sorts of things, like maths and science and chess and tidying and studying trees. ‘Why do you want to run away from the police? They’re nice.’
‘I might have to if I become a bank robber.’
‘Can’t you be something different then? I wanted to be a scientist. Now I like trees. You can change.’
Cash sniffed. ‘But I want to make money – pots of it – like bank robbers.’
OC then said something astounding. Better than all the things he’d said that year. ‘You don’t need legs to make money, you need a brain, and you’re great at that.’
Cash for the first time in weeks.
He turned away from the window. The squeak in his chair vanished and his eyes began to sparkle.
‘You’re right! I am good at making money. I shall become a stockbroker and make a bankful of money trading in stocks and shares. That’s brilliant, OC. Tomorrow, I’ll start studying the Financial Times again. Who needs second-rate gangsters, anyway? That Birmingham lot, they couldn’t see a good thing if it was handed to them on a plate. They’re bound to get caught one day, eh, Philip?’
‘Yes,’ said OC.
The following day was Saturday and having been especially busy all week, Mrs Longbotham had not had a chance to get to the bank. Knowing how much Philip enjoyed a car ride, she decided to take him with her. It was always quiet in a bank so there would be no problem and she could drop him back home before going to the supermarket.
It was not until OC pushed open the glass doors that he remembered he was carrying a wad of money in his Filofax. While his mother was talking to the cashier, he counted the notes which came to £400. Carefully and accurately, he calculated how much interest his £300 would have earned in a year. This came to £18 (6%), which meant that the robber had given OC way too much money.
‘I want to put £318 back into my account. The rest of the money belongs to the bank,’ he said, in his clear, loud and very cheerful-sounding voice. ‘The robbers gave it to me and I am returning it.’
The cashier stared at him across the glass partition and her eyeballs froze.
‘You’re that kid from the robbery!’ she gasped.
Swivelling on her chair, she called out, ‘Mr Austin, Mr Austin. It’s the kid – the one from the robbery.’
Mrs Longbotham’s head jerked. ‘What do you mean… robbery?’ she said, swivelling on the balls of her feet.
The cashier swung round. ‘It was in all the papers. The robbery – two weeks ago?’
Mrs Longbotham laughed. ‘Oh, that robbery. Yes, I read all about it – it must have been awful. But what’s my Phil got to do with it?’ She laughed again. ‘I can assure you, he didn’t mastermind it, he was a on a school trip. Weren’t you, Philip?’
OC nodded. ‘Yes, I was on a school trip.’
Mr Austin came up. ‘Good Grief! The police have been looking for you.’
Mrs Longbotham’s head jerked – twice. Once at Mr Austin and the second time at the little line of customers who were eagerly listening. ‘But Phil was on a school trip,’ she protested.
‘It was definitely him,’ the cashier insisted. ‘Wasn’t it, Mr Austin?’
He nodded and buzzed the security door. ‘You’d better come in. Sonia, phone Inspector Sheppard,’ he called, ushering an extremely worried Mrs Longbotham and OC into his office.
There were fo
ur chairs in the office. Mr Austin sat behind his desk. Mrs Longbotham and OC sat in front of his desk, while Sonia Davis, the cashier, who was determined to hang around, sat on the corner of the desk swinging her legs, leaving one chair free.
The door kept opening; members of staff peering round for a good look at OC, trying to decide if it really was the same boy. OC recognised several of them, they’d been sitting on the floor with the customers, and he gave them a friendly smile.
Suddenly, the door swung open again and two men appeared. One was a big man, very tall, his hair retreating across his head at the same rate as his belly expanded. Nodding casually to the manager, he took the last chair. The second man remained standing with his back to the door.
‘I’m Inspector Sheppard,’ the big man said. ‘This is Sergeant Hill. We’ve been looking for you, young man. Name please.’
‘I’m Deirdre Longbotham and this is my son, Philip,’ Mrs Longbotham said. ‘I think there’s been some mistake. A case of mistaken identity, perhaps?’ She smiled, her smile a little patronising. ‘I promise you, Philip couldn’t possibly have been here that day. He was at a school carol concert.’
The Inspector shook his head, very … very … slowly. ‘No, ma’am, no mistake. We have at least a dozen witnesses who can swear that your son was right here in the middle of the robbery.’
Mrs Longbotham grabbed her cheque book and started to fan herself with it. ‘It’s a mistake,’ she insisted. ‘It has to be. He was on a school trip – singing carols.’
‘I think, ma’am, we’d better hear from your son. Philip, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So where was this school trip Mum was talking about?’
‘I don’t remember where it was, but they were singing.’
‘Gloucester Cathedral,’ Mrs Longbotham rushed in. ‘Philip sometimes has trouble remembering things.’
‘Right oh! So you were singing.’
OC shook his head. ‘I wasn’t singing. I was cold.’
‘So you were cold … and?’
‘I got in a coach.’
‘You got in a coach because you were cold. But you were in the cathedral?
‘Yes.’
‘So how did you get from the cathedral to the coach?’
OC thought this a bit of a silly question. ‘I walked.’
Now Inspector Sheppard hadn’t got to be an inspector without learning quite a lot about people and he was quite happy to sit there all day, if necessary, asking questions, if eventually someone came up with the right answer.*
‘So tell me about this coach. What was it like?’
‘I know it wasn’t silver and grey,’ OC shook his head. ‘My coach was silver and grey and all the silver and grey coaches were locked. This one wasn’t.’
‘You said you were cold, so why did you leave the cathedral?’
OC screwed up his face, his eyebrows frowning, his mouth swirling round and round in a circle while he thought. Suddenly, his brain kicked in. ‘I remember now. I left my jacket on the coach.’
‘Right! Now we’re getting somewhere.’ The Inspector leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers across his rather large middle. ‘The cathedral was cold, so you went out to get your jacket and got on a coach that wasn’t locked.’
Philip beamed. ‘Yes.’
‘So what did you do then?’
‘I looked at some trees. Then some men got on the coach and they took me to Bristol.’
The inspector exchanged glances with the sergeant who was leaning against the door. ‘Did you know these men?’
Philip nodded. ‘I knew the one with the gun. He had a knife.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Longbotham. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ OC said, gently patting her hand.
Mrs Longbotham groaned.
‘Tell me about the man with the gun. Is he the same man as the man with the knife?’ Inspector Sheppard asked.
‘Yes, and he was wearing a fur coat. And he had a very big car. The other man didn’t have a big car. And he didn’t have a gun. The man in the fur coat had a gun. It was ever so big.’ OC stretched his arms out very wide.
Mrs Longbotham moaned and put her hand over her eyes.
The sergeant came away from the door and leaned on the desk staring down at OC.
‘Have I got this right? There were two men on the coach, one had a fur coat and one didn’t. But the first man – he also carried a knife and a gun … something like a shot gun … very big.’ He nodded encouragingly.
‘That’s right,’ agreed OC, ‘except he left the knife at home and there were six men.’
Mrs Longbotham began to rock backwards and forwards. OC took one look and quickly flicked open his Filofax to the letter R.
He jumped to his feet. ‘Excuse me, I have to go now.’
‘Sit down,’ hissed Mrs Longbotham, in an excellent imitation of a snake. ‘I need to know why you were in the bank in the middle of a robbery?’
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but he’s told us all that,’ the Inspector intervened. ‘Your son, Philip, here, he went to the cathedral with the rest of the kids but he was cold, because he’d left his jacket in the coach. Was it hot in the coach?’
OC nodded.
‘Makes perfect sense to me. Off he goes to get his jacket. Finds his coach locked. Gets on the only coach that isn’t locked. Am I right or am I right?’
OC smiled and nodded again.
‘Blow me down, a few minutes later and the bank robbers get in. They take you back to Bristol, where they plan to rob a bank. So, young man, what happens then?’
OC beamed again. ‘That’s easy. They went into the bank.’
‘And how did you get into the bank?’
OC frowned and shook his head. ‘I don’t remember. I know I was very angry with the man with the gun. He was taking my money. I told him not to take it.’
‘That’s exactly right. I tell you, Mrs Longbotham ... this son of yours,’ said the Inspector. ‘Bold as brass, the witnesses said he was too. Took no notice of the guns. Up he gets and tells the gang not to take his money.’
‘Oh!’ Mrs Longbotham said, her voice sounding rather faint. She leaned across the desk. ‘Mr Austin. I don’t suppose you have any brandy?’
‘Sonia can make you a cup of tea. Will that do?’
She nodded weakly.
‘I am very sorry about the money.’ OC handed across his Filofax. ‘I expect you’ll be very pleased to have it back as the robbers took all yours.’
Inspector Sheppard laid a firm hand on the thick file. ‘Would you mind if we borrowed it, Philip? The money may have some fingerprints on it that will help us catch these robbers. I’ll give you a receipt.’ Putting on gloves, he took out the bundle of notes and dropped them into a clear plastic envelope, which he gave to his sergeant to hold.
Mr Austin coughed and spoke. ‘I hope we get lucky.’
‘Now we’ve come to a very important part of this interview, Philip.’ The Inspector took off his plastic gloves and steepled his fingers.*
‘I want you to think very carefully, as you are the only witness that actually knows what these men look like, without their balaclavas. Would you recognise them again?’
OC nodded.
Inspector Sheppard smiled triumphantly. ‘What about the man in the fur coat?’
OC shook his head. ‘He wasn’t in the bank.’
‘But he was on the coach?’ the sergeant butted in sharply.
‘Yes, then he got off the coach and got into the car. The man in the pin-stripe suit was talking to him.’
‘What man, in what pin-stripe suit?’ yelled the sergeant – completely losing it.
Philip jumped back in his seat looking flustered and clutched his head.
Mrs Longbotham grabbed at his hand, patting it gently. ‘It’s okay, Phil, just keep breathing. Breathe, breathe.’
Inspector Sheppard glared at Sergeant Hill.*
; Now OC might be the nicest, politest, most good-tempered, and definitely kindest teenager you could ever wish to meet, but even he was beginning to get very tired of answering questions. It seemed to him that he’d answered most of them twice already and he could feel his brain getting very jumpy.
When he recovered, he said, ‘Ask my friend, Cash. He’ll knows about the man in the fur coat.’
There was dead silence.*
‘You mean Charles was there, too?’ Mrs Longbotham ventured and clutched her heart.
‘No! He was ill but he knows the man in the fur coat. He told me never, never, never to talk to him again. Do you think I could go home now, Mum? I am very tired.’
‘Who is this Charles?’
‘He’s our next-door neighbour.’
‘Right!’ The Inspector got to his feet. ‘Now, we are getting somewhere.’
Cash played it cool right from the start, not showing by as much as a raised eyebrow how exciting it was to have six police cars outside the house and, what seemed like, the entire Avon and Somerset Police Force inside the house, hanging onto his every word.
Asking his mother to serve them tea, he thought about it, already calculating how much money newspapers would pay for his story. Then he said, ‘Of course I can identify them, but I am terribly sorry I never heard the man’s name and haven’t a clue where in Birmingham, except it was somewhere off the centre. We were playing chess you see,’ and smiled modestly.
‘Well, sir. Could you show us?’
With Cash helping out, OC also managed to fill in a few more blanks about the robbery, although the man in the pin-striped suit remained a mystery. That afternoon, after a hurried conference with Birmingham’s Police Force, a police van and two cars burned rubber up the M5.*
Triumphantly, Cash led a team of armed police along the narrow by-ways to the street where the neon light blazed for Jim’s Gym. No one wasted any time. The gym suddenly became very draughty, as the door was blasted down, and very full, as half-a-dozen armed police rushed in.
The Amazing Brain of O C Longbotham Page 11