Old Age Private Oh My! (Old Age Pensioner Investigations (OAPI) Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by A. W. Blakely

  With the coffins covered, the masked kidnapper stepped back to the camera, picked it up and talked to Mrs. Spencer.

  "Ten grand. I want ten grand and I want it left outside your front gate in three hours. If you don't then they die. You understand?"

  The screen went black.

  "That's just ridiculous," said Kate.

  "What a bunch of nutters," said Spider. "Nobody would believe that, would they? Roobarb can act better than that. And that gun looked about as real as Kate's dye-job."

  "Oi, you cheeky sod."

  "Come on," said Stanley, any joy he had at solving the mystery gone, replaced with sadness and sympathy. What mother would ever want such a son? You never think your children will turn out anything but perfect.

  "Dad, this still doesn't make any sense," said Kate. "Why didn't their accomplice just get them out of the coffins straight away?"

  "Because they were all idiots, that's why. Did you notice the hammer he used to nail them in?" Kate and Spider shook their heads. "It was a ball pein hammer." He got blank looks. "A ball pein hammer is used for doing metal work. Shaping it, rounding off rivets, that type of thing. There's no claw."

  "Huh?" said Spider.

  "It means the idiots had a hammer without the claw on one end, the part of a hammer you use to maybe prise open the lid of a coffin a little and then use to remove the nails. What a bunch of muppets."

  "So you're telling me they died because they had the wrong hammer?" asked Kate.

  Stanley shrugged. "Maybe. My guess is that the fake kidnapper is some kind of metal worker and just brought along his hammer and then found he couldn't get them out of the coffins. Probably went off to get one, in his own car, and for whatever reason never came back. Maybe he dropped the phone off here first then something happened."

  "You solved the case, Uncle Stan, you really did. You're amazing."

  "Well, I wouldn't say that," replied Stanley, beginning to feel better about the whole situation.

  "You did really well, Dad. Come on, let's go tell Mrs. Spencer and then I think we need to go to the police, don't you?"

  "Definitely."

  The three family members went to break the terrible news to a woman that lost her son years ago but didn't deserve to ever have to watch the final act he and her grandson performed before they died.

  All Over Now

  Although greeted rather rudely to begin with when Stanley, Kate, Spider, and Roobarb all entered the police station, requesting to speak with those running the investigation, once they explained to a pair of rather bemused detectives what they had been doing, and what they had found, they were taken very seriously, very quickly.

  It took all of about five seconds for one detective—a slender woman Stanley thought looked about as old as Spider—to identify the masked "kidnapper." He was known to her and half the local police force. He was one of the regular petty criminals that got called in along with his sometime cronies, Charlie and his son Robert, whenever there was any local, low-scale crime. It came as no surprise to Stanley to discover he was an ex-sheet metal fabricator, explaining the rather unfortunate oversight concerning the hammer.

  When Stanley asked if they'd go and pick the man up, it turned out he was already in jail, sentenced to eighteen months for receiving stolen goods. Timothy, the well-known, and exceedingly inept criminal was arrested when his home was raided the morning the van had been reported missing. Presumably, the very day the men had made their desperate attempt at a ransom.

  Stanley could only assume he'd been unfortunate enough to have returned home for a better hammer and been collared before being able to free his friends. A rather over-eager Spider asked the two detectives if he'd been questioned about the case and they said they had spoken to him, but he'd said nothing. And besides, he and the two dead men had been pulled in together numerous times, and it was well known they were friends, that they'd had no reason to doubt the man's word that he knew nothing about it. He was small-scale, not the kind of man that buried people alive in coffins.

  Having played their part, Stanley and his family left. The detectives said they would be in touch soon enough. There had been a definite vibe—the detectives seemed less than amused by the fact they'd actually questioned the man partly responsible and dismissed him almost out-of-hand. It wasn't Stanley's fault if they couldn't do their jobs properly. Was that harsh? Maybe, but it was obvious the deaths were not a priority.

  The next stop was to the home of Denise, to explain what had been discovered. Spider and Roobarb waited in the car while Stanley and Kate went to break the news. It wasn't easy, but Denise accepted what she was told, cursing her father and brother for stooping so low and for being such idiots. They'd shamed her, that's how she put it, and neither Kate nor Stanley could argue with that.

  Then it was over. Back in the car, driving to Banrook and home.

  "When do you think we can send her the bill?" asked Stanley.

  "Dad!"

  "What? Just asking."

  "Soon. I'll send it soon. Let's just wait until the police have cleaned up the rest of this mess and have been to see her, okay?"

  "Okay, love. Thank you both, you've been a great help. What a team, eh? Solving a double murder and giving the family a resolution to this whole sorry mess."

  "Closure, Dad. It's called closure."

  "Speaking of 'closure.' Can you 'close your' mouth and focus on the road. Kate! KATE!" Stanley shut his eyes tight and prayed the last thing he saw before he died wasn't the back of a truck with a picture of a cow saying "Moo" on it.

  Somehow, they made it home.

  Babs cooked, so at least Stanley knew what he was eating.

  ***

  The next morning, Stanley received a call from the young female detective. Apparently, Timothy Richards, the man she had identified as the fake kidnapper, had confessed when confronted with the evidence. He had, in police-speak, sung like a canary.

  He'd panicked, it seemed, got himself muddled and confused, was what he'd told the detectives when they questioned him again mere hours after Stanley had made his big revelation. When he was picked up he'd said nothing, thinking he might be questioned and freed. But as time went on, and he remained in custody, he'd decided he would be in less trouble by remaining silent rather than confessing. When the bodies were discovered he kept quiet as he assumed he would be tried for murder if he owned up.

  The female detective gave Stanley the distinct impression that the man was not the most astute of criminals. Meaning, if brains were dynamite, he couldn't even blow his own nose.

  Stanley asked what would happen to him, and the detective said that wasn't her concern, but he would most likely receive a long sentence. Maybe not for murder, but that remained to be seen.

  Stanley let it go at that. He'd played his part, solved the crime, and he understood this was why the detective was so short with him. Nobody liked to feel they weren't useful, capable. He should know, he had enough doubts about himself and the direction his life had taken of late.

  He thanked her politely for letting him know, then hung up.

  The Tin

  Stanley had one more loose end to tie up. Much as he disliked the man, there was also pity. As with so many people he had dealt with lately, even his own family, it was clear that life had simply got away from this shell of a man. It can happen to the best of people, it can happen to the worst, and sometimes, maybe more often than he had ever thought possible, there is nothing you can do to stop the downward spiral into depression.

  Stanley knocked on the door while Kate waited in the car. He was greeted with a scowl, the familiar odors of an unwashed body, the stink of rancid fried food, and a dirty and chaotic house.

  "What?" said the landlord, scratching at unkempt hair, looking surprised at the grease on his fingers.

  "These are for you, I believe." Stanley handed over the tin and the letters it contained.

  The landlord said nothing. He held out shaking hands, then took the tin caref
ully, as if it was the most delicate thing in existence. Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he lifted his head and questioned Stanley without a word.

  "My dog found it in the back garden at the house Pam was in. I thought you might want them."

  "Th... thank you. Oh, I thought they were lost forever." The landlord riffled through the numerous letters, smiling, already lost to memories of long ago. "I wasn't always like this, you know. Back when she was with me, my wife, well, I was a different man. A real go-getter. But after she died, and it took so long, such a terrible time..." His words trailed off into silence.

  "I understand." Stanley turned and left.

  Back in the car, he buckled his seatbelt and smiled at his daughter.

  "You soppy old sod," said Kate, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

  "Sometimes life is hard, Kate, and sometimes it gives you everything you could ever want. It can be cruel, and it can be kind. I think I'm the luckiest man on the planet."

  "Of course you are. With a gorgeous daughter like me, and Mum chasing about after you, you've got it made."

  "I think you're right. But it's easy to forget sometimes."

  "Maybe I'll start reminding you, like when it's time to talk about my raise."

  "Raise! We haven't broken even yet, what with all the new computer equipment and all the costs of making us a legal business, and you're talking about a raise."

  "Very funny. But just think, in a year from now we could be the best detective agency in the country."

  "I think I'll be happier if we keep it local and I get to go home for my dinner. Although a new car for you wouldn't be a bad idea."

  "Don't be daft. You love the old Mini." Kate started the engine and trailing a dense cloud of black smoke they headed back to Banrook, and home.

  Stanley closed his eyes, and smiled. He wondered how the tin happened to be buried in the garden, but decided it was one mystery he didn't mind leaving unsolved.

  THE END

  Get a deal on new releases, and important news, by joining the author's newsletter at www.awblakely.com