by Roger Hurn
It wasn’t working. The more I drank the soberer I became. I guess it’s like one of those mysterious laws of quantum physics where things have exactly the opposite effect to what they’re meant to have. Or something. Maybe I was drunker than I thought. Anyway, I decided to give it up as a bad job and go back to the office and crash out on the sofa. I stumbled out onto the street just in time to see a woman being mugged. I had nothing better to do so I went staggering to her rescue like some half cut Don Quixote.
Chapter 3
The mugger yanked the woman’s bag from her shoulder and she went tumbling down and cracked her head on the pavement. The guy looked horror struck but then he glanced up and saw me. He had it away on his toes before I could grab him. It didn’t matter. I knew who he was. His name was Ritchie Donovan, a local smackhead and petty criminal who lived in a squat on the nearby Crossfield Estate. Back in the day he’d played football with me for my local Sunday league team, All Nations United. But that was before I got crocked and he discovered the joys of using narcotics to blot out his troubles. He wasn’t a bad lad, but he wasn’t the brightest. I guessed he’d taken the bag because he was looking for the price of a score. Ritchie was after a white Christmas but not in the way Bing Crosby meant it.
I didn’t bother giving chase. I couldn’t have caught him anyway. I’ve got a dodgy knee from the time some chancer took me out in a particularly tasty game between All Nations United and our bitter rivals The New Cross Globetrotters. It was an injury that cost me my job in the DPG and led to me ending up as a low rent private investigator in Deptford. I’m not complaining, but when life had been dealing out luck I’d definitely found myself at the back of the queue. Still, I had more pressing matters to deal with than moaning about fate. The woman was sitting on her trim backside holding her head in her hands and making little sobbing sounds.
I knelt down at her side and gave her a quick once over. There was no blood, but she winced when I touched the bump on her head. Her eyes were a bit unfocussed and the colour had leached out of her face. I helped her up and she leaned against me. I wasn’t complaining. In the bleak midwinter in deepest darkest Deptford her hair had the scent of summer flowers.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We need to get you to A & E.’
Her eyes snapped back into focus and she forced a smile. ‘No, I’m fine. But I must get my bag back.’
She pushed herself away from me, but then staggered. I grabbed her before she could fall.
‘Hey, you’re in no state to go hunting muggers,’ I said stating the bleeding obvious. ‘But you don’t need to. I know the guy who nicked your bag. I’ll go and get it back from him just as soon as I’ve taken you to my office and patched you up.’
She stared at me suspiciously. ‘How come you know him? Are you in this together?’
Her voice was as smoky as a single malt, but she sounded vulnerable and scared. I shook my head. ‘No, I’m a private investigator and Ritchie Donovan, your friendly neighbourhood mugger, and I have crossed on a few occasions.’
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened a little. It was probably because I was lonely and half pissed, but I wanted to kiss her and tell her not to worry because I was going to make everything all right. I didn’t. I figured she had enough to worry about without a self-pitying and fairly sloshed private eye acting inappropriately. Instead I told her she was welcome to wait at my office while I went and retrieved her property.
She smiled at me and a whole flock of butterflies decided to hold a jamboree in my stomach. I tried to look business-like and purposeful, but my step was suddenly lighter and I felt that maybe there was a Santa Claus after all.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I think you may just have saved my life.’
I couldn’t see how, but I wasn’t arguing. ‘Saving the lives of damsels in distress is all part of the Ryan Kyd Private Investigation Agency’s service,’ I said. I must have been drunker than I realised because I thought I sounded smooth and not at all like a total plonker. But she didn’t groan or roll her eyes; she just kept on smiling like she really had stumbled across Sir Galahad in a back street in South London. Some hopes.
I was still holding her, but she made no attempt to pull away. She raised her eyebrows quizzically. ‘Are you Ryan, or is that the name of the guy who owns the agency?’
‘It’s me. It’s kind of a one-man-band, but my clients know they get my full attention when I’m working a case.’ For some reason I’d decided not to mention Carly.
She nodded slightly and her smile didn’t waver. ‘I bet they do,’ she said as she gently removed herself from my embrace. ‘My name’s Rachel, by the way.’
She held out her hand to me and I shook it. Her skin was smooth and cool and I figured she must have had one of those prank electric shock handshake things in her palm because I felt a charge go racing through my body when we touched. She didn’t have one of course. She didn’t play those kind of tricks. She was much too grown-up for that.
Anyway, to get to my office you have to go up a steep and narrow stairway which reeks of the smell of onions from the kebab shop. I thought Rachel would struggle but, by the time we arrived, she seemed to have made a full recovery and took the staircase in her stride – though her nose did wrinkle up at the whiff. I opened the door and ushered her in. She sat in the client’s chair opposite my desk and I poured us two stiff shots of brandy from the bottle I keep in my drawer. Her hand shook slightly as she took her glass from me and, although she was doing her best to hide it, I could see that she was anxious.
I waved my arm expansively at the office. ‘As you can see, it’s not exactly Pinkerton’s, but at least clients know I’m not squandering their money on keeping myself in the lap of luxury.’ I chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Hey, I even paid for the Christmas tree out of my own pocket.’
Rachel put her drink down on the desk and sat forward purposefully. ‘I’ll pay you whatever it is you charge, Ryan, and gladly, but do you think you could go and get my bag back for me now please?’
Now I know I’m a pushover for a pretty face but there was something in the way that Rachel was holding herself and the slight edge I could hear in her voice that made me switch into PI mode. Call it a copper’s instinct, but I had a strong feeling that there was more in that stolen bag than her purse and house keys.
‘There’s no rush. If I know Ritchie he’s gone back to the squat and will be laying low. He’s probably hoping I didn’t recognise him, but then he’s a lad who always was big on wishful thinking. So I’ll finish my drink and then toddle round and relieve him of your bag before he gets his act together enough to go out and find a buyer for the contents.’
I could see something flash below the surface of her large green eyes and it wasn’t just the flecks of gold in them either.
‘Actually, Ryan, I really do want my bag back and I don’t want to put you to any more trouble, so just tell me where the squat is and I’ll go and get it myself.’
I stared at her over the rim of my glass. ‘Now that is really not a good idea, Rachel. You’ve already had a nasty whack on the head and that squat isn’t the most salubrious place to go to at the best of times.’ I drained my glass and stood up. ‘But I can see you’re worried so I’ll put my skates on and deal with it for you right now.’
She shot me a relived grin but I didn’t move. Her grin slipped a bit as I continued to stare at her. She frowned. ‘What’s the matter, Ryan, have I smudged my lipstick or something?’
I shook my head. ‘No, but I get the feeling that there’s something in that bag you’re not telling me about.’ I shrugged. ‘And I’d like to know what it is before I go charging in after it.’
She cocked her head and gave me an appraising glance. I could see she was deciding whether or not to lie to me. Then her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed hard and wiped them away. Then she sniffed and looked up at me pleadingly.
‘You’re right, Ryan, there is something in the bag that shouldn’t be the
re.’ Then the tears flowed again and her shoulders shook. Now I’m about as much use as a waterproof teabag when it comes to dealing with sobbing women, but I went round the desk and patted her shoulder.
‘Hey, it’s all right. Whatever it is I’ll sort it out for you. That’s my job.’
She reached up and put her hand on mine. Her eyes were glistening and she looked absolutely miserable.
‘I’ve been so stupid, Ryan. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I thought no one would know and it was only going to be for over the Christmas holidays and now it’s all gone horribly wrong and I’m going to lose my job.’
I perched on the edge of my desk, but I kept on holding her hand. ‘Whoa, slow down, Rach. What have you done and why are you going to lose your job over it?’
Rachel sighed. Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘I work for Millibrand’s Auction House in Creek Road. We have just taken possession of the amber necklace that Napoleon gave to Josephine the night before he left to go off to war. He was crazy in love with her then and each of the beads is inscribed “To Josephine from Napoleon 1796”. We’re putting it up for auction in the New Year and collectors from all over the world will go into a feeding frenzy to get their hands on it.’
I whistled softly. ‘OK, I can see that, but why did you take it? You must have known you couldn’t get away with stealing it?’
Rachel looked at me as if I’d just slapped her. ‘I wasn’t stealing it, Ryan. I was borrowing it. You see, my bastard fiancée James has just dumped me. We were going to spend Christmas with his parents and tell them we were planning to get married next year, but he got cold feet and yesterday he told me it was all off. I was completely devastated.’
I blew out my cheeks in disbelief. ‘OK, but how does taking the necklace help you get your boyfriend back?’
Rachel gulped. ‘It doesn’t. But Napoleon gave it to Josephine as a token of his love for her. I just wanted to have it for myself for a little while.’
She looked up at me imploringly. ‘I know this sounds completely mad, but I was going to wear it on Christmas Day and pretend that James had given it to me.’
It did sound totally barking to me, but then I didn’t go in for romantic gestures and James was obviously a right bastard for chucking Rachel just before Christmas. Maybe something like that is enough to send a sensitive woman loopy. I had no idea about Rachel’s emotional state, but she was great looking and she seemed really sweet so it must have been a real shock to her system to be given the heave ho. In my admittedly limited experience, classy girls like Rachel don’t get too many knock-backs in this life, but when they do they take it hard and it seemed Rachel was no exception to the rule.
She squeezed my hand. ‘I was going to put it back before anyone noticed, but then I was mugged on my way home and now Mr Clemens my boss will find out and I’ll go to prison.’ She broke down and howled full blast this time. She was definitely coming apart at the seams so I went into overdrive.
‘Hey, don’t worry, honey. I’ll have that necklace back in no time. You stay here and help yourself to tea or coffee or brandy or whatever. Then we can sort this problem out before your boss knows anything ever happened.’
She leapt up out of the chair, flung her arms round me and gave me a hug and a kiss. It’s a perk of the job, though not one that comes along too often in my case. I guess it should have sent alarm bells ringing but it didn’t. It just made my heart race.
Chapter 4
The Crossfields Estate is famous locally for having some of the guys from Dire Straits and Squeeze living on it back in the day. But they’re long gone and nowadays it’s a pretty mixed community with lots of students. It’s an OK place, but Ritchie was living in a squat that definitely lowered the tone of the neighbourhood. I bashed on the door for ages until it was finally opened by a bleary eyed trustafarian. I shouldered my way past him. He wasn’t best pleased, but his happiness wasn’t my primary concern.
‘Where’s Ritchie?’
‘Who wants to know?’
I glanced exaggeratedly over my shoulder then back at him. ‘Err … that’ll be me, pal and I’m in no mood to piss about so where is he?’
His eyes were too close together to allow him much space for thinking, but he could see I meant business. He shrugged and nodded at a closed door. ‘He dosses down in there with Ellie. She came back here about 10 minutes ago so I dunno why she didn’t answer the door.’ He sucked on his teeth, then turned and shambled off back down the corridor to another room.
I hammered on the door. ‘Come on Ritchie. Open up, mate. It’s Ryan.’
There was no response so I went in uninvited. The room was a tip and you’d have needed a highly trained team of archaeologists to find the floor as it was buried under a layer of empty Super Strong lager cans, assorted pizza boxes, unwashed clothing and other detritus too messy to mention. Ritchie was laying on his back on a mattress against the far wall. His eyes were wide open and he was staring at nothing. He was as dead as it gets. He had a needle in his arm, but there was a pool of sick on the mattress. The vomit round his mouth told me that he’d probably died from inhaling that rather than from a straightforward OD. Drinking tramp juice while shooting up heroin is a pretty dumb thing to do at the best of times, but then Ritchie was never in any danger of being head-hunted by MENSA. Now he was gone and I felt a twinge of sadness at the waste of his life. He’d been amiable enough and not a bad footballer and he certainly didn’t deserve to die in a squalid hovel like this, but he’d made his choices and there was nothing I could do for him now. I wondered where Ellie was and why she hadn’t helped him. Then it hit me like a fist in the face. Rachel’s bag was gone and, wherever it was now, that was where Ellie would be.
I didn’t call 999. It was way too late for Ritchie and I didn’t need to hang around answering questions. What I had to do as a matter of urgency was to find Ellie and the necklace before she sold it for a few quid in a pub. So I wiped the door handle just to be on the safe side and slipped out of the squat. I didn’t feel happy about it, but I wasn’t shedding any tears either. I was thinking how grateful Rachel would be when I turned up with the necklace. Yeah, I know. Sometimes I don’t like myself too much either.
Chapter 5
I’d met Ellie a couple of times back when she used to come and watch Ritchie play for us on a Sunday morning. He was still reasonably clean then, but I had a suspicion she was into stuff bigstyle. She sniffed all the time and was thin as a whip. Her face was pretty in a hard kind of way, but her eyes were like two piss holes in the snow. I think she was the one who’d got Ritchie into the whole drug thing, but he probably didn’t take too much persuading.
She also had too many tattoos for my taste – not that that means anything, but I’ve never been a fan of letting some twat who failed GCSE art run amok with a needle on my skin. Yes, you’re right, I didn’t rate her, but I doubt she’d ever lost any sleep over it.
Anyway, I made a beeline for all the usual haunts, dives and clubs she might have gone to. I drew a blank at all of them except a pub called The Last Lick. The bouncers on the door were Delroy and Chet, two guys I knew from the All Nations. They were both wearing Santa hats but, for some reason, Delroy was also wearing a blonde bob wig with his. It didn’t suit him, but I figured it was his idea of looking festive. I didn’t say anything because I’m a PI not a fashion guru. Anyway, we did the usual hand slapping malarkey and then I asked them about Ellie. When they both looked shifty and shuffled their feet I knew I’d hit the mark.
‘Yeah, she was here, man,’ said Delroy. ‘She was trying to shift some plastic necklace. I nearly bought it for my missus ‘cos I’d forgot to get her a Christmas present, but she wanted big money for it.’
Chet nodded in support of his mate.
‘That’s right, Ryan. She said it was amber or something, but she wasn’t fooling nobody. That shit’s got insects and stuff in it so that’s how you know it’s for real.’
Chet prided himself on
being the smart one in the duo.
‘You got that right,’ agreed Delroy. ‘I mean that necklace looked like it was straight out of a Christmas cracker. My missus would of killed me if I’d given that shit to her, you know what I mean.’
I nodded. ‘OK, guys, what else did she sell you?’
They did the soft shoe shuffle again, but stayed schtum.
I sighed. ‘Come on, lads. It’s me you’re talking to. Ellie ripped off a client of mine and I need to get the stuff she stole back asap. I’ll make it worth your while.’
I pulled out my wallet and waved a couple of twenties under their noses.
Delroy sighed. ‘OK, man, but only ‘cos it’s you, alright?’
He handed me a smart phone and a credit card in the name of R Hapgood. I presumed Hapgood was Rachel’s last name. I realised that I hadn’t asked. Somehow, Rachel had been enough for me. Anyway, I took it and glanced at him. ‘That’s it?’
Chet looked embarrassed. ‘Well, there was these, but they ain’t worth shit.’
He handed over a set of keys.
‘So why did you buy them?’
They both shook their heads. ‘We didn’t buy them. They was in the bag so we took ‘em. You never know what they might fit.’
I’m not sure Alexander Pope had Delroy and Chet in mind when he wrote that hope springs eternal in the human breast, but his words definitely described their outlook.
‘So, you won’t be wanting me to buy them back then.’ I snaffled the keys from Chet before he could react. ‘Oh, and where’s the bag they came in?’
‘We sold it to a punter for a tenner.’ Delroy looked defiantly at me. ‘He got a bargain.’
‘Yes he did,’ I agreed. ‘But I’d like it back and I’ll pay fifteen for it.’
They exchanged glances and Delroy disappeared inside the pub. In the meantime, Chet fished out a makeup bag. It just had the usual paraphernalia plus a box of contact lenses. I guessed Rachel would be glad to get those back. I don’t wear the things, but my missus does and she changes them every day otherwise her eyes give her hell.