The Calling

by Philip Caveney

  He broke off in alarm as Sherlock suddenly slapped himself on the forehead with a groan of despair. ‘I’m a blithering idiot,’ he cried.

  Sixteen

  The Phone Call

  Ed looked at him, alarmed. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘Give me that flyer,’ said the detective. ‘I have been as blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom than never to learn it at all.’

  ‘I don’t understand!’

  ‘It never even occurred to me before but of course, this is the modern world, somebody… most likely you… will almost certainly have posted this image on social media.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I’d bet money on it. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to check before. Personally, I blame Starbucks!’

  ‘Why them?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you the mood in that place wasn’t conducive to the thought processes? Oh, for a quiet study and my violin!’ He gestured at his surroundings. ‘This place at least has the right kind of atmosphere.’ He glanced at the landlord. ‘Congratulations on that, by the way. This pub is so much better than Starbucks. You might even consider that as an advertising slogan.’ He looked back at Ed. ‘As if you’d confine yourself to sticking handbills on notice boards. How old fashioned would that be?’ He removed his sunglasses, studied the flyer for a moment and then blinked, making a sound like a camera shutter opening and closing. He reached a hand into his coat and tapped the pipe, lifting the big hat from his head a second time. The curved screen descended from the brim of the deerstalker, across his eyes, and he stared fixedly at it, tapping the pipe a couple more times as he did so. Then his mouth curved into a black-toothed grin. ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘And this time, I can actually read the phone number… it begins with 0161, so that means it’s local!’ He looked at Ed and said the number aloud. ‘Does that ring any bells?’ he asked.

  ‘It does seem kind of… familiar,’ said Ed.

  ‘It should do. It’s almost certainly your home phone.’ He took out his mobile and punched in the digits. ‘I’ll put it on speaker,’ he said. ‘Who knows, if it is your home phone, we could actually have this case solved in the next five minutes.’ He tapped again and the screen slid silently back into his hat.

  There was a brief silence and then the phone began to ring. While they waited, Ed studied the landlord. He was staring across the table, open-mouthed once again. He was probably wondering what kind of person kept a perspex screen in the brim of his metal hat. And what kind of person had metal eyes that could double as a camera.

  ‘This is a lovely pub,’ said Ed, trying to keep him sweet.

  ‘Better than Starbucks,’ murmured the landlord. ‘Look, where have you two really come from?’

  ‘We keep telling you. Edinburgh!’

  The landlord smirked. ‘I mean, which planet,’ he murmured. ‘Go on, you can tell me. I won’t say nothing to anyone else.’

  Ed opened his mouth to protest but just at the moment, the telephone call was answered. ‘Yes?’ asked a voice.

  ‘Hello,’ said Sherlock. ‘I’m phoning regarding your lost dog, Lucky.’

  There was a long silence. Then the voice said, ‘Who is this?’ and Ed noticed that whoever was speaking had a rather posh-sounding voice.

  ‘More to the point, who is this?’ countered Sherlock.

  Another silence. ‘What has that to do with you?’

  ‘Well, I saw the poster advertising the missing dog and listing this phone number. So I called you. I have somebody with me who is also interested. The dog’s owner, a young boy.’

  ‘You have the boy?’ Suddenly, the man on the other end of the line seemed very interested. For the first time, Ed registered that there was something oddly familiar about the voice. But he was pretty sure it didn’t belong to his father. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s with me,’ said Sherlock. ‘He’s sitting right beside me at an address in Manchester.’

  ‘Well now, you listen to me,’ said the voice. ‘I’m not some idiot who you can take liberties with. You will bring him to me, do you understand? It’s not too late to make this work, but I need to make sure it really is him.’

  Sherlock frowned. Ed could see that he was trying to work something out. ‘And… what about the dog?’

  ‘We have the dog with us and we also have the boy’s father. Both of them are safe for the moment. But time is running out, my friend. If the boy wants to see his father alive, you’ll get him to me quickly. And he’ll bring the ransom with him. Otherwise, all bets are off.’

  Sherlock glanced at Ed and raised his eyebrows. Ed had heard the man’s words but didn’t know what to make of them. If he wanted to see his father alive? Ransom? What was that supposed to mean?

  Sherlock returned his attention to the phone. ‘All right, we’ll come. Give me the address,’ he said.

  ‘No, we’ll meet in a safe place. Come to the Hulme Hippodrome at…’ Another pause. Ed pictured the man looking at his watch. ‘… at eleven o’ clock. You’ll find that one of the side doors will open easily. Go into the building and wait for me to make myself known to you.’

  ‘Very well. But I need a name.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to call you something.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’m stupid enough to tell you my name?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be real. For instance, you can call me Bill. But I refuse to talk to anyone unless

  I can call them something.’

  Another silence as though the man was debating the wisdom of the idea. Finally, he said, ‘OK. You can call me Myles.’

  ‘Very well, Myles, I don’t suppose you have the postcode for…?’

  ‘Listen to me. Don’t try any funny business. Do you understand? If I see anyone else with you… police, back-up men, anyone other than just the two of you, the boy can say goodbye to his father and his flea-bitten dog. He fooled me once, but he isn’t going to get another chance. This is his last opportunity to make good. Bring me the diamonds. If you don’t have them when you arrive, it will not go well with his father. I only need to make one phone call and the man is dead. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘The… diamonds,’ murmured Sherlock. ‘What diamonds?’

  ‘You know what diamonds. He knows what diamonds! If he’s not mentioned them to you, then just ask him. He was supposed to bring them to me yesterday, but instead, he decided to make a run for it.’

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘You ask too many questions, my friend.’

  ‘I’m simply trying to establish a few facts. Where did you last see the boy? What harm can it do you to tell me that much?’

  A sigh. ‘At Piccadilly Station. He was jumping on a train.’

  ‘I see. And… I expect you must know the boy’s name?’

  ‘Of course I know his name! What do you take me for, an amateur?’

  ‘You don’t understand. The boy is suffering from amnesia.’

  ‘Oh yes? And I’m St Francis of Assisi. Now, just bring him along to the meeting place and don’t be late.’

  ‘And his name? What’s his name?’

  ‘Enough! I’m getting a little tired of all these questions. All you need to know is that his father is alive and well for the moment, but I am very close to changing that situation. Do you understand? Don’t push me any more.’

  ‘And how do I know you’re telling the truth? I need proof.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to take my word for it, old boy. Eleven o’clock, Bill. Don’t be late.’ With that, the man rang off. Ed and Sherlock sat there looking at each other in stunned surprise. There was a very long silence.

  ‘Well, I’ll confess I didn’t expect that,’ said Sherlock, at last.

  Ed didn’t know what to say. ‘Somebody has kidnapped my dad?�
� he muttered. ‘And my dog?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Somebody… posh?’

  ‘A Londoner, judging by the accent. And clearly a man who will stop at nothing to obtain whatever he needs.’ Sherlock got up from his seat and began to pace about, a look of intense concentration on his face. Ed was horribly aware of the landlord listening in on everything that was being said, his mouth still hanging open like a stranded fish.

  ‘Let’s try and put together everything we know and what we can easily guess at,’ suggested Sherlock. ‘Usually I never guess. It is a shocking habit – destructive to the logical faculty… but at the moment, I have little other choice. I’m going to suggest this as the sequence of events.’ He cleared his throat. ‘This Myles and his men… I’m assuming he wasn’t working alone, we know of at least one other member of his gang…’

  ‘We do?’ asked Ed.

  ‘Of course. The scruffy fellow who took the flyer from the pub. I’m guessing that the other man, the smartly-dressed one, was your father.’

  ‘How do you know the man in the pub wasn’t the man on the phone?’ asked Ed.

  Sherlock shook his head. ‘Somebody like Myles would never do his own donkeywork. He will have his own Gormleys to do that for him. Now, shush a moment!’ He refocused himself. ‘The gang must have had their eyes on your father as a potential target, perhaps for some time. We don’t know what your father does for a living, but I’m willing to bet it has something to do with diamonds – high quality diamonds. The detail about the handcuffs suggests that he’s used to carrying things of high value in his briefcase. These villains needed to create an opening for themselves, so I believe they took your dog, knowing that sooner or later you would put up a flyer asking for people to be on the lookout for him. They made sure that the flyer would be seen by as few people as possible, by getting somebody to take them down just as soon as they were posted .’

  ‘The scruffy man in the pub!’ cried Ed.

  ‘Exactly. I would suggest that they then phoned you, saying they had Lucky and invited you to go somewhere to collect him. You set out to meet them, completely unsuspicious of their motives, because they had merely answered your own enquiry. But while you were gone, Myles’ accomplices visited your home and abducted your father.’

  ‘You can’t know that!’ protested Ed.

  ‘I don’t, but it’s an educated guess. Your father… and I’m convinced that’s who he is, hasn’t been back here for his usual drink in over a week. You’ll note when we spoke to Myles there was no mention of your mother, so I’m going to assume that you and your father live alone together. He’s probably a divorcee or… forgive me for suggesting this, a widower.’

  ‘You don’t think I have a mum?’

  ‘No. Or at least, if you still do, she doesn’t live with you and your father. At any rate, when you reached the meeting place you were met by this Myles, who told you that he had taken your father captive and that if you wanted him to be released, safe and well, you would first have to retrieve some diamonds as a ransom… perhaps they were hidden in your home, perhaps you had to get them from wherever your father worked…’ He broke off, looking thoughtful. ‘The little piece of paper,’ he said. ‘The one you had in your pocket. Have you got it?’

  ‘Er… yeah.’ Ed rooted in his pockets until he found it. He handed it to Sherlock and the detective unfolded it to reveal the six figures. ‘This is obviously the combination for a safe,’ he said. The villains must have obtained it from your father and handed it to you, so you could collect the diamonds. I really do think this is your birthdate, something your father would easily remember as a combination. At any rate, you collected the diamonds, as instructed, and set out to meet your father’s abductors, but then something happened… and this is the area where I cannot be sure of anything, but for some reason, instead of delivering the ransom, as planned, you ran away. I would suggest you were being chased by Myles and his gang, how else did they know you’d jumped on a train? Perhaps you arrived at the station just as it was leaving for Edinburgh and you threw yourself on board. After that… well, we pretty much know the rest.’

  ‘But why do it that way round?’ asked the landlord unexpectedly, and Sherlock turned to glare at him. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but seriously, why not just kidnap the boy and tell the father to bring the diamonds?’

  Sherlock frowned. ‘Because, that’s what everyone would expect them to do. But I would suggest that if the boy’s father works in the diamond industry, he’s doubtless been trained for such an eventuality. He would have gone straight to the police, which is, of course, the correct thing to do in these circumstances. But a young boy, now… he wouldn’t have a clue about how to handle the situation. He’d be so much easier to manipulate. He’d be scared, anxious, he’d do everything he was told in order to save his father. Much easier to get the combination of a safe, for instance, from the father and have the boy collect the diamonds.’ Sherlock studied Ed for a few moments. ‘Our friend Myles is pretty convinced that you had them at the station,’ he said. ‘So, if that’s the case, what happened to them?’

  Ed shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said.

  Sherlock took out his mobile phone and rang another number. It was answered straight away and he spoke quickly and directly. ‘James,’ he said. ‘I have two tasks for you. Firstly, I want you to find the co-ordinates for something called The Hulme Hippodrome in Manchester and I want you to find me a safe place to set down there as soon as possible. Open an entry portal in the same position as before, in the back yard of the pub. I also need you to run a check on this phone number…’ He pressed a button on the mobile and there was a beeping sound. ‘… find which address that belongs to and create a way to get us there quickly, but wait until I contact you before setting the co-ordinates. Got that? Good. I’ll talk to you soon.’ He signed off and slipped the phone into his pocket. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘There’s the little matter of those diamonds.’ He looked intently at Ed. ‘Myles says you had them with you at the station. Unless you dropped them or mislaid them, the chances are you still have them on you.’

  Ed spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘But you already looked at everything,’ he protested.

  ‘Indeed I did. Which means there’s only one place they can possibly be.’ He leant forward and reached out to Ed’s neck. He found the length of cord around his neck and lifted it to release the large metal whistle. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, his expression thoughtful; then he set the whistle down on the table top and with a swift movement, brought his fist down on it, popping it neatly open.

  Inside it was a tiny plastic bag, which seemed to shimmer and glitter with myriad reflections of light.

  ‘Not a dog whistle at all,’ observed Sherlock.

  ‘Just an ordinary one, stuffed with diamonds. Which accounts for the strange sound it makes when you

  blow into it. And for the fact that I thought it surprisingly heavy when I first examined it.’ He lifted the bag of gems and brought it up to his gaze.

  ‘Hmm. And not just ordinary diamonds but pale pink fancies – incredibly rare, and extremely valuable, despite their modest size. This tiny pack could be worth more than a million pounds in today’s money.’

  Ed felt his jaw drop open. He sat there, realising that he now made a perfect duo with the landlord. ‘I… I didn’t even know I had them,’ he murmured.

  ‘Of course you didn’t. You have amnesia! But you must have chosen to hide them in this.’ He stuffed the package back into the hollow whistle and clipped the metal side shut over it. ‘See, it pops back on securely. Clearly this is a hiding place you’ve used before for other small items – and somewhere that nobody would ever think of looking. Well chosen!’ He went to hand the whistle back to Ed but the boy waved it away.

  ‘Would you mind keeping it for me?’ he asked. ‘I might lose it.’

>   Sherlock nodded and tucked the whistle into his waistcoat pocket. He replaced his dark glasses, then took out his watch and consulted it. ‘We should think about getting to the Hippodrome,’ he announced. ‘Myles said eleven o’clock but I’ve always preferred to be ahead of schedule.’ He looked apologetically at the landlord. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to witness all this,’ he said. ‘I would have much preferred to keep everything more discreet but, alas, that was not to be.’

  The landlord nodded feebly. ‘That’s OK,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s been an education.’

  ‘I’m going to have to trouble you for the use of your back yard one more time and then we’ll be out from under your feet.’

  ‘No problem,’ said the landlord.

  ‘Of course, I will now have to kill you.’

  ‘What?’ The landlord looked horrified.

  Sherlock bared his black teeth. ‘Only joking,’ he said. ‘You may of course, report the events you’ve witnessed today to anybody you like, though I would humbly suggest that you’d do better to keep them to yourself. People are liable to think that you’ve let your imagination run away with you if you start talking about…’

  ‘Aliens,’ muttered the landlord.

  ‘Oh, no, sir, we’re not aliens,’ Sherlock assured him. ‘Ed here is a perfectly ordinary boy with amnesia and I’m a bronze statue that comes to life for one day a year. But as it happens, a statue friend of mine has invented an apparatus that can take us anywhere in the world, instantly, and that’s how we come to be here in your charming pub. May I just congratulate you on having one of the best preserved interiors I’ve ever witnessed?’

  ‘Er… thanks,’ grunted the landlord.

  ‘Well…’ Sherlock ushered Ed to stand up. ‘Thank you so much for your help. We’ll be going now.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said the landlord, with surprising calmness, but as Ed and Sherlock headed for the back door, he was up out of his seat and scurrying back to the bar, empty glass in hand.

  ‘I hope we haven’t completely deranged him,’ whispered Sherlock. He opened the back door and stepped out into the yard.