Angel Confidential

by Mike Ripley

  ‘I see.’ He wrote something. ‘Proceed.’

  ‘The job may last a week or perhaps two, or more. The important thing for your peace of mind, Sir Drummond, is that she seems fit and well and is actually working, earning a living, so she’s one up on most runaways.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he burbled. ‘That’s something, isn’t it?’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’ asked Buck.

  ‘No, no verbal contact as yet. We have maintained covert long-range optical surveillance only,’ I said, as if I knew what it meant.

  ‘And you have found out where she is living?’ This, again, from Buck, not the father.

  ‘We have traced her to Belgravia, but we have not been able to narrow it down as yet,’ I lied.

  ‘Good God, she’s not camping out in Victoria Coach Station, is she?’ At last, a reaction from the desolate dad.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Veronica, ‘she’s staying with some friends.’

  If she had been in range, I would have kicked her.

  ‘Who?’ asked Sir Drummond quickly.

  ‘And where?’ asked Buck, pen poised.

  ‘We are simply not sure,’ I said quickly. ‘There is a chance, however, that she has joined a religious group.’

  I checked their faces for reaction to that, and got the distinct impression that they were not expecting us to hold the front page on this one.

  ‘Has Stella, sorry, Estelle, done anything like this before?’ I tried, when they failed to register shock, horror or disbelief.

  ‘Like what? Run away? No, never,’ said Sir Drummond, almost distractedly. ‘All teenage girls think about it, or so I’m told. And when her mother died four – no, five years ago, I was very worried about her then. But she seems to have her head screwed on.’

  ‘What about religion? Any interest before?’

  ‘None whatsoever. Always got the impression she would rather slope off for a cigarette behind the bicycle sheds than go on church parade, or whatever it was they did at her boarding school.’

  ‘Do you have a name for this religious group?’ Buck tapped the nib of his pen against his notebook.

  ‘The Shining Doorway,’ said Veronica before I could flash her a warning look, or alternatively heave half a brick at her.

  ‘But no address?’ He stared at her.

  ‘No, not as yet,’ I said before she cracked and came over all honest. The game plan had been to keep some aces in the hole. Now we were down to one.

  Buck began to fold his notebook away.

  ‘Sir Drummond, I believe you told Mr Block that Estelle was upset about a boyfriend?’ I fished.

  Buck started: ‘Drum, there’s no need to …’ but Sir Drummond held up the palm of a hand to stop him.

  ‘Yes, she was sweet on a young fellow called Lee, Carrick Lee. As you might guess from a name like that, he was a bit of gypsy. A real one. A Romany, a Pikey. Wandered in here last summer after there’d been a fun fair in the village. Knew about cars, so I let him work in the museum. He came and went as it pleased him; it was far from what you’d call regular employment. About two months ago, he just disappeared; dropped totally out of sight. Not heard a word since. I thought it was rather bad form. Ungrateful. Estelle, on the other hand, thought I’d driven him out because I disapproved of their relationship.’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Veronica, then blushed.

  ‘Damn right I did,’ blustered Sir Drummond, ‘and I would have got rid of him if I’d thought for one minute it was getting too serious. But Estelle is far too sensible to let it get out of hand. A quick tumble or two in the bushes, that’s natural. Isn’t it?’

  We all realised from Veronica’s expression that it might be natural, but it wasn’t compulsory.

  ‘As your solicitor, Drum, I have to say this is not germane to anything we need to discuss here,’ pronounced Buck haughtily.

  ‘But that’s my point, Simon. I was just going to say to … I’m sorry, what was your name?’

  ‘Maclean. I’m a junior associate.’

  ‘Does that mean junior partner in the business?’ asked Buck, sharp as – well, sharp as a solicitor.

  ‘No, I’m a freelance. I help out on an ad hoc basis.’ I thought he might like the ‘ad hoc’, but he didn’t seem overly impressed. ‘You were saying, Sir Drummond?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was just that Estelle came home from university and we had an almighty row and she stormed out vowing to find this Lee chappy and live happily ever after.’

  ‘And you think that’s what she has done in London?’

  ‘Obviously not. She’s cooled off, got herself a job. Probably forgotten all about him. She’ll soon get bored with having a job.’

  ‘So you’re happy with our report?’ I think Veronica had meant that to sound sarcastic, but she wasn’t very good at it.

  ‘Why should I not be? You have told me she is well, has a job, and presumably we can contact her there, can’t we, Simon?’

  Buck nodded and almost smiled.

  ‘I believe the retainer was for four days?’ This to Veronica, who nodded. ‘Then I think the books are clear, so to speak.’

  ‘There’ll be expenses,’ I said quickly.

  ‘And a written report,’ Veronica chipped in.

  ‘Send them both to my office.’ Buck reached into his wallet. ‘Let me give you one of my cards.’

  Veronica took the card but looked at Sir Drummond.

  ‘So you don’t wish us to follow up the investigation?’

  ‘But you’ve done a splendid job. And I am sorry to hear about Mr Block. He was so sympathetic.’

  ‘But what about Estelle? Aren’t you worried about the people she’s living with?’

  Sir Drummond looked as if she’d slipped into Hungarian, and Buck took the opportunity to answer for him.

  ‘But, Miss Bludgeon’ – I noted the old legal trick of getting people’s names wrong to rattle them, but Veronica missed it – ‘you haven’t told us anything about them. Should we be worried? Who are they? Can you say Estelle is in some sort of danger? I have known her since she was a child and she has always known her own mind. I, like Sir Drummond, am very relaxed about the situation now. If, on the other hand, you are holding something back from us, then your report is far from satisfactory. Or perhaps you are suggesting that we spin this investigation out unnecessarily?’

  Veronica stood up in the fastest move I’d seen her make.

  ‘Not at all. I think that concludes our business then. We’ll be leaving you now.’

  I almost cracked up at that one. She sounded like a hotel porter trawling for a tip.

  ‘Good,’ said Sir Drummond, too quickly for really good manners. ‘I hope you’ll have a chance to look round the Centre.’

  ‘We had a quick look before we saw you,’ I said, noting that the invitation (maybe to buy a ticket) hadn’t been extended to Veronica.

  ‘See anything you fancy?’ he grinned. It looked like someone had drawn the Tropic of Capricorn across his globe of a face.

  ‘‘Fraid not. They’re either too expensive or too distinctive for me. I go for the purely practical and preferably unmemorable.’

  ‘I take that as a compliment,’ he said, though it hadn’t been meant as one. ‘I have put a lot of thought into the collection and ... I say, yours isn’t the black Austin cab, is it?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘I saw it out in the park. Is it a Fairway?’

  ‘Please.’ I tried to look hurt, like he would expect. ‘It’s an FX4S.’

  ‘I’m not too up on cabs, but there aren’t many of them left, are there?’ He all but put his arm round me. Veronica made for the door, ignored but dignified.

  ‘More than you’d think.’

  ‘A classic design,’ he said dreamily. ‘I would love to have one in the collection.’

&nbs
p; ‘One day, Drum, perhaps,’ Buck butted in. ‘At the moment, I suspect it’s a working vehicle, isn’t it, Mr ... Maclean?’

  ‘Quite right. He works hard for his diesel.’

  ‘“He”, eh? All my cars are “she”s – quite definitely feminine.’

  ‘Drive a taxi in London for a day and tell me you’d treat a woman like that,’ I smiled back. I’ve found a smile helps when you’re talking gibberish.

  ‘Quite, quite.’

  He grinned some more and slapped me lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t show you out, but I need to chat some more with Simon here. Just follow the signs, the exits are clearly marked.’ And then louder, to Veronica’s retreating figure: ‘And thank you for everything, Miss Blugden. You’ve put my mind at ease.’

  We were in the small corridor before the door to the hallway, and I caught up with her before she opened it.

  ‘Okay, so you had a job and now you don’t. Life’s like that, but at least you got paid,’ I said in a rush. ‘And maybe it was a good thing that Buck guy was there, because I don’t think his cheque will bounce.’

  She turned her glasses on me. I may have been wrong, but they could have started to mist up.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that. It’s that he didn’t care – care enough – about Estelle. He never asked if she had her health, did she seem happy, and nothing about those terrible people she’s living with.’

  ‘He cared £800 worth,’ I argued.

  ‘He paid for one fact: where she worked. Didn’t it strike you as odd that he never once asked about how she was? He’s her father, but he wasn’t asking any of the right questions.’

  She was right, and I was annoyed. I had missed it.

  ‘Come on, let’s talk about Plan B on the road.’

  ‘What’s Plan B?’

  I did a double-take. ‘Oh shit, you don’t know either?’

  She sniffed. It was the best I was going to get. There was no doubt about it, the audiences were getting tougher these days.

  Compared to when we arrived, the reception desk was doing a humming trade, in that it had one customer. Then I realised that it wasn’t a customer. The person talking to the schoolmistress was the kid from the sentry box in the car park.

  We smiled at the headmistress, who looked hopefully at her rack of souvenir brochures, knowing deep down she wasn’t going to make a sale today, and walked out into the afternoon sunlight. The car park kid followed at our heels.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you really had business with the old man.’ He pronounced it ‘bizyness’.

  ‘Would you have let us in free?’ I asked as he drew level.

  ‘Nope. Times is hard, we need the cash.’

  ‘You on commission then?’

  Veronica was giving him what I classed as her ‘Are you talking to us?’ look. I suspected she had several versions.

  ‘No,’ said the kid. ‘I look a flat wage, index-linked to that of an Albanian road sweeper just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘The place isn’t doing the biz then?’

  ‘You’ve seen it. What do you think?’

  We had reached his sentry box, but he seemed in no hurry to even pretend to go back to work.

  ‘Look on the bright side: no queues.’

  ‘I suppose so. Not much of a marketing line, though, is it? I mean, No Queues Because It’s Crap isn’t going to pack ‘em in, is it?’

  ‘Your problem, mate, not mine. Good luck.’

  We walked across the grass to Armstrong and he shouted after us.

  ‘Hey, maybe I’ll see you in London if I save up enough to ride a cab.’

  I raised an arm in farewell without looking back.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Veronica whispered.

  ‘I dunno. But he was fishing for something.’

  I stopped in Hatfield and we found a branch of Veronica’s bank so she could deposit Buck’s cheque. I also suggested she withdrew some cash, but if she did, I didn’t get to see it.

  While I was waiting for her – and keeping an eye out for traffic wardens, as I didn’t know if the natives were as friendly towards taxis as they were in town – I had an idea. As soon as Veronica was back in Armstrong, I asked her what the name of Buck’s firm was from his card. She read out: ‘Kay, Morgan and Williams.’

  Before she could state the obvious, I said: ‘Funny how common it is these days to have a firm of solicitors where none of the partners are actually the names of the firm, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she agreed vaguely. ‘What are you after?’

  ‘Just wondering. I bet you a pint that Buck is the senior bod, top dog, in the practice.’

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Probably not. It’s just that he seemed to have a powerful influence over Sir Drummond back there.’

  She thought this through. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. Pint of what?’

  ‘Never mind. Lend me ten pence.’

  I pulled up at a phone box and took the coin and the card from her. The box had a residential phone directory intact and, once I had got over my surprise, just for the hell of it, I looked up Buck, S. There were four of them, but only one with an address in Great Pardoe. It was worth a shot.

  I rang the number for Kay, Morgan and Williams, and a female voice answered at the fifth ring. I have this theory with solicitors that it takes them four rings to set their meters running.

  ‘Kay, Morgan and Williams, good afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, good afternoon. Could I speak to your senior partner, please.’ I made my voice sound like I was wearing a suit.

  ‘I’m sorry, to whom exactly did you wish to speak?’

  She was good. Worth her salary.

  ‘Your senior partner. It is Simon Buck nowadays, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mr Buck is not available this afternoon.’

  Not an admission, but not a denial. Worth every penny.

  ‘Can I ring him out at Great Pardoe later?’

  ‘Well, I …’

  ‘It’s okay, I have his home number. It’s just I was in the area and thought I’d look him up.’

  ‘Well, he won’t be back in the office today and I do know that his wife is expecting him home this evening.’

  Then one of those weird things happened. I wasn’t taking the conversation much further and, feeling I had established a bit of rapport, if not trust, I added a throwaway line: ‘Been checking up on him, has she?’ All innocent, I thought, just chit-chat.

  ‘As usual,’ said the woman down the line. ‘Five times today. So far.’

  ‘Keeps him on a tight leash, does she?’ I answered, almost automatically.

  ‘You could say that, Mr …’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll catch him later,’ I hurried, and hung up.

  I didn’t realise until much later that I had just made the understatement of the year.

  So far.

  Veronica contained herself until we were approaching the M25 orbital before she asked why I had been sniffing after Buck.

  ‘Just curious,’ I said over my shoulder. ‘If you’re going to continue with this case, you might come up against Mr Buck. He seems to be paying the bills, because I don’t think Sir Drummond can cut the mustard on that front. He looked as if he didn’t have two pennies to rub together.’

  ‘But there is no case. Not now,’ she said slowly, willing me to disagree.

  ‘So you feel as if you’ve earned all that money?’

  ‘You made me bank it. I was going to talk to Albert.’

  ‘And you’re quite happy to leave Stella in the clutches of a weird religious cult, just because her father doesn’t give a damn?’

  She came over all indignant. ‘You really thought I’d do that?’

  ‘Sure seemed t
hat way.’

  ‘Then you don’t know me, Mr Angel.’

  I wish.

  ‘So you’ll at least make contact with Stella?’

  ‘I think it’s the least I should do. Somebody should give a damn.’ Then I saw her looking at her watch in the mirror. ‘Do you think we could catch her coming out of work tonight?’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’m going to drop you off in Hackney with the girls, then I’m going out. I have some stuff to do.’

  We hit the M25 at the start of rush hour, and headed east to the junction that would drop me down into Tottenham and then Stoke Newington. I should have charged her extra for going the scenic route.

  ‘You didn’t like that Mr Buck, did you?’ she said after worrying about it.

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Neither did I. He couldn’t even get my name right.’

  So she had noticed.

  ‘It’s just an old lawyer’s trick to throw you off balance,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about it. Just remember, when you find yourself really needing a solicitor, it’s usually too late.’

  ‘You mean you just dislike them all? On principle?’

  ‘Sort of. Let me tell you my solicitor story.’

  She moved her bulk onto the rumble seat behind me so she could hear better. She was getting really confident about being in Armstrong now; she’d tried nearly all the seats.

  ‘Okay, so picture this. You’re in heaven, well, actually looking at the edge of heaven, right on the boundary between heaven and hell. On the one side, clouds, blue sky, beauty and bliss unbound. On the other, red light from the darkest flames of hell, molten lava, bare rock, etc. The only sound, the howling of souls.

  ‘And right down the middle, on the boundary, is a white picket fence running off into eternity. Except for this one point, where about a 20-foot stretch of the fence has fallen over and is just lying on the ground on hell’s side.

  ‘So, one afternoon, God is out walking the boundary, as he does from time to time, and he sees this break in the fence and the fallen fence just lying there.

  ‘So he leans over the gap in the fence and shouts down: “Oi, Nick, get up here, sharpish.” And gradually, the Devil stirs himself and comes up to the fence and says: “Hey, God, how ya doing?”, or somesuch, trying to look cool.