‘It’s the address we were given.’
‘Very good, sir.’ I wished I could see the driver’s face. He muttered something inaudible and put the car in gear.
It was unnerving to drive off in a vehicle that didn’t even seem to have the engine running. No noise, no vibration. I nudged Alan. ‘I feel like Scotty just beamed me up,’ I whispered. Alan grinned and found the switch that turned off the mike on our side.
‘Now you can talk freely.’
‘I don’t want to. This is the only time in my life I’ll ever ride in a car like this, and I want to sit back and enjoy it.’
The drive wasn’t long, but it did indeed take us to the seedier side of town. Nothing downright ugly, but a bit rundown, a bit grubby. An empty store front here and there, weeds growing in cracks, a general need of a wash and a brush-up.
The office of the valet service wasn’t actually shabby, but it didn’t have the bright polish I had somehow expected. It was small, and right next to a garage. ‘Is this the garage, do you suppose?’ I asked. ‘Where the cars live when they’re not needed?’
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’ Alan sounded grim, and pointed. I had not recognized the unmarked car as a police vehicle, but now I saw it through Alan’s eyes. It was so deliberately conservative, so obviously inconspicuous, it could only be official.
‘Oh. So something’s up. And Alan, our car is in there!’
‘Yes.’ He turned the mike on. ‘We need to stay here for a little while. Will you wait for us, please?’
‘There is no lawful place to park, sir. Shall I circle until you return?’
‘I am a police officer. I retired some time ago, but my warrant card is still of use. Stay here and show it, if necessary.’ He pulled it out of his wallet and passed it through the little communication slot. The driver unlocked the doors, and we stepped away just as an irate traffic cop strode up.
We didn’t stay to watch the altercation.
The man at the valet office desk wasn’t eager to talk to us, and would probably have been downright rude if we had not arrived in such splendour. He looked us up and down, plainly trying to reconcile our very ordinary clothing with our royal carriage – and my hat. He compromised.
‘The office is not open, sir, but perhaps I can direct you to someone who can serve you.’
Alan ignored that ploy. ‘I believe your employees serve the Royal George Hotel?’
The man gulped and looked around, as if seeking someone who could deal with this awkward customer. ‘That is true, sir, but at the moment—’
‘I was told a few minutes ago that I could not retrieve my car. That is most inconvenient. I wish to speak to your superior.’
‘I … he …’
A very large man stormed into the room through a side door. From the background noises when the door opened, I assumed the service garage was on the other side. ‘Whose bloody great Queen Mary is blocking my drive?’ he roared. His voice was as massive as his physique; his temper as his ginger hair would suggest.
‘If,’ said Alan in his iciest voice, ‘you refer to the Rolls-Royce, my wife and I are using it today because my own vehicle, in your garage, is for some unexplained reason unavailable. My card, sir.’ He handed him the one bearing his title, with the word ‘retired’ in very small print. ‘I presume you are in charge of the garage, and I require an explanation and an apology.’
He studied the card. ‘You’re a copper?’
The chill dropped another few degrees, approaching absolute zero. ‘I am a sworn police officer, yes.’
‘Then you’re not quite on the job, are you, mate? You want to know what’s goin’ on, you ask your flippin’ constable.’
‘If you read the card carefully, you will see that I am not in charge of the force here in Bath. We are visitors here, staying at the Royal George, and I cannot say that we have been entirely happy with the treatment we have received.’
I mentally translated. We’re rich and well-connected and able to spend a lot of money to boost the local economy, and we’d better be handled with kid gloves, or else! I seldom see Alan do his intimidation act; I was enjoying this.
The garage man, however, was not easily intimidated, nor easily impressed by supposed wealth. He looked us up and down. I could see the calculator in his head summing up the probable cost of our attire and comparing it with our luxurious transport. ‘So that bus is the hotel’s.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the Rolls.
‘It has been provided for our use while our own is apparently being held hostage.’ Alan looked at me with a histrionic sigh. ‘It appears, my dear, that this person is unwilling to assist us. I believe I shall have to go in and take matters into my own hands. Will you come with me, or would you prefer to wait in a rather more salubrious situation?’ His nod at the limo was a lot more courteous than Garage Man’s.
‘Now wait just a minute!’ The man stepped in front of the door. ‘Seems I’ve got to let the police – the real police – on my private property, but you got no right—’
His back to the door, he hadn’t noticed the approach of another man. He was wearing a suit and an air of authority. ‘Mr Nesbitt, sir, the inspector would like to speak to you, if you have a moment.’
The garage man’s face turned an unbecoming shade of puce. I refrained from chortling in triumph, but it took considerable effort. We swept past the blockade.
‘If you’ll follow me, sir, we can go directly to the parking garage. The area where the mechanics work is … um … not terribly clean.’
It was also quite busy. One car was up on a lift, with someone in overalls doing mysterious things to its undercarriage. Another was having a dent pounded out, loudly. A man, apparently a customer by his clothing, was arguing, also necessarily loudly, with one of the mechanics. The place was no grungier than any garage, but it wasn’t a good place for my hat.
‘Only to be expected,’ said Alan, his usual manner restored now that he wasn’t dealing with surly rudeness. ‘Repairs always create muddle and disorder. Now, can you tell me what’s going on here? The … er … gentleman back there was not forthcoming.’
The constable grinned. ‘Bit of a rough diamond, our Slim. Knows his job, but his tongue needs a good tune-up.’
‘His manners could do with one, as well,’ I commented.
‘Yes, indeed. As to the situation, sir, I’ll let the inspector give you the details, but the fact is, someone’s tried to break into your car, and done a bit of damage into the bargain.’
‘I see.’
We entered the garage in silence, to find Inspector Roberts, with another man, looking over our car. They were standing by the back of the car. When we got close enough to see properly, I gasped with dismay. The trunk lid – boot cover, whatever you want to call it – was scratched and dented. Someone had obviously been trying to pry it open.
‘We instructed the garage to keep all the cars locked in future, hoping that would prevent further problems,’ the inspector told Alan. ‘Plainly we were wrong.’
‘But why?’ I almost shouted it in my frustration. ‘There’s nothing in there except a small tool kit.’
The inspector nodded. ‘But of course whoever did this thought that there was something, something valuable.’
‘Something he put there.’ Alan wasn’t happy.
‘Almost certainly, yes. And the amateurish way he tried to open the boot is all of a piece with the oddly assorted nature of the articles we found. Some of great value, some mere souvenirs worth a few pounds, some of no value at all. We’re dealing with a very peculiar sort of criminal here.’
‘Indeed. Any self-respecting crook these days can get into a car in ten seconds flat, leaving no signs at all. And once in, he can find the latch that opens the boot, or the bonnet, or wherever he likes. This chap plainly didn’t know what he was about.’
‘I don’t know why you keep saying he,’ I grumbled. ‘Could just as easily be she. No, I’m not being feminist about it, or not only
that! But you have to admit that, on average, women are somewhat less knowledgeable about cars. I, for example, wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to break into one. There was a time, I believe, when a coat hanger would help, if a window was left ajar, but no longer. So I insist on equal opportunity suspicion.’
That made Alan laugh, as I thought it might. The inspector got a coughing fit just then.
‘So,’ I pursued, ‘the cars have not been kept locked until now?’
‘No. It wasn’t deemed necessary, as the car keys are kept in a locked cabinet to which only the manager on duty has access.’
‘Nor, apparently, was surveillance deemed necessary.’ Alan looked up and around the room. ‘No cameras?’
Roberts spread his hands in the universal gesture of frustration. ‘There have never before been any problems. Now their insurers are insisting on cameras, but it seems a bit late to lock the stable doors.’
‘Insurers,’ I echoed. ‘So someone will take care of this damage?’
‘They are poised to do the work next door, as soon as our people have gathered the evidence they need. You’ll remember Sergeant Blake, who took your fingerprints yesterday. And this is Sergeant Lewis, my right-hand man and photographer.’
I didn’t care who was who. ‘They’re going to work on the car next door? I’m not sure I’m happy about that.’
Sergeant Lewis comforted me. ‘Don’t worry, madam. O’Hanlon may not be easy to get along with, but he knows his business, and he keeps his men up to the mark. The work will be well done. It’s a matter of pride with him.’
I shrugged. I suppose it didn’t matter if I liked the man, so long as he did his job.
‘Very well,’ said Alan. ‘Rob, I was going to get in touch with you a bit later. Is there a place where we could talk for a few minutes?’
After some polite skirmishing the inspector sent his car back to the station, along with the two sergeants, and Andrew, our driver, conveyed the three of us in silent splendour back to our hotel. Over wine and snacks in a quiet corner of the lounge we discussed the odd situation.
‘My first thought,’ said Rob, ‘was that we were dealing with an undiscriminating collector. You thought the same, didn’t you, Mrs Martin?’
‘Dorothy,’ I reminded him. ‘But it doesn’t quite fit, somehow. A collector, no matter how broadly interested and un-particular, would hardly hold onto a torn scrap of handkerchief.’
‘Unless it had belonged to a celebrity,’ Alan pointed out. ‘Teenagers would swoon over the very germs of one that had belonged to – and been used by – a rock star.’
‘Ugh! What a thought!’ I drank some wine to wash away the idea. ‘But this one certainly wouldn’t qualify in that category.’
‘Quite,’ said Rob. ‘Nor would a few of the other items. Junk, pure and simple.’
‘Like what, Rob? We really didn’t see it all properly before you took it away.’
‘Dorothy,’ said Alan with a frown.
‘No, I didn’t mean it that way. No complaint intended. Of course it had to be taken away. But if we knew what was there, it might give us some ideas.’
‘I don’t have the inventory with me.’ Rob took another sip of wine. ‘But I can remember most of it. There was the piece of bluestone, of course. Valuable, though not in terms of money, or not as much as one might think. Thieves have been peddling them on eBay for a few pounds. In historic terms, though, they’re priceless. Then there were a few Roman coins.’
I gasped. ‘Oh, but they’d be worth—’ I began.
‘They would if they were genuine. These are replicas, quite good ones, but shiny and new. If they were to be sold as genuine, they’d have to be very carefully “antiqued”. There were a few trinkets from various museum shops, value a few pounds at most. An earthenware goblet from the Roman Baths shop, along with a bottle of the spring water – though why anyone would want that is beyond my comprehension. A few leather-bound books, but replicas, not old or worth a great deal. The most valuable pieces were some jewellery in the Jane Austen period and style. They’re nothing actually worn by Jane, which would be very valuable indeed – if such items exist – but quite nice replicas or souvenir pieces in silver with gemstones.’
‘Oh, we saw those! At the shop, I mean. Remember, Alan? I really wanted that little cross set in topazes, but it cost more than I could justify spending on myself.’
‘That particular item was among those in the stash.’
For a moment the remark hung there, vibrating in the quiet air of the lounge. I looked at Alan. He looked at Rob.
Rob smiled and ate a couple of crisps. ‘It’s a pity we intercepted the goods before they could be posted on the Internet. You could probably have had your cross for a good deal less than market value.’
‘I was about to put my hands out for the cuffs.’
‘Dorothy, I might, very reluctantly, come to suspect you of theft if a rare book were stolen. A piece of jewellery, no. Most especially not a cross, with its associations.’
‘I do like pretty things, though. I admit it.’
‘You do. And you wear them very well, if I may say so. That hat is … remarkable.’
It was adorned with large silk chrysanthemums and velvet oak leaves. Remarkable was certainly the word. I had forgotten I was wearing it and hastily removed it as inappropriate to the setting and the time of day.
Alan simply laughed. ‘My dear, if you were ever to take to crime, you would be captured immediately.’
‘Well, I like that! Am I so incompetent?’
‘You are extremely competent. You are also conspicuous. Even when you’re not wearing a hat, the ghost of one adorns your head. But to get back to our real discussion, you think, then, Rob, that the goods were being stolen for the market?’
He shrugged. ‘The pieces don’t all fit. I admit it. But unless we’re back to positing a very strange sort of collector, I can see no other explanation. Do you, either of you, have a better idea?’
‘I had thought perhaps a child,’ I said hesitantly, ‘simply taking things for the look of them. Like a magpie, stealing shiny things. But that doesn’t explain something like a ceramic goblet. Or a chunk of bluestone.’ I held up my hands.
Rob turned to Alan, who said, ‘I confess myself at a loss. There is the possibility of two thieves, of course, but that raises more questions than it answers. You have, of course, tested everything for fingerprints.’
‘Yes,’ said Rob with a sigh. ‘There were many sets found. The cache all came from shops, of course, or most of it, so many people handled the items. There was only one set found consistently, and unfortunately it matched nothing in our database.’
‘Is it certain,’ asked Alan, ‘that all the items were stolen? They’re all of local provenance, except the bluestone. Could they simply have been purchased?’
Rob sighed again. ‘There’s no quick way to check that, especially with the more-or-less worthless items. Shops expect a certain amount of “shrinkage”. The Austen jewellery, however, was certainly stolen. It’s worth enough that the shop keeps a careful check, and those items are missing from its books. We’re positing that the rest was also stolen, but we can’t say that with certainty.’
I shook my head and went back to the fingerprints. ‘No surprise, is it, that you can’t identify them? Since we’re thinking an amateur crook, not a slick professional who’d show up in police records. And surely a check takes quite a long time.’
Both Alan and Rob smiled. ‘Not these days, my dear. Technology has made the process quite rapid. Not, of course, foolproof. In the end, a human must still look at a comparison and make a decision. But the narrowing-down process is much faster with the aid of computers. And I take it you came up with nothing?’
‘Nothing even close. Apparently these are rather unusual prints. I know too little about the matter to be more informative. We tend to leave these things to the experts.’
Now it was Alan who sighed. ‘I’ve never been quite sure abou
t the proliferation of specialization in today’s world. There are benefits, certainly, but one can lose touch with the big picture.’
‘Oh, and in medicine, as well!’ I interjected. ‘Even back in America, years ago now, the old-fashioned general practitioner was dying out in favour of internists and rheumatologists and neurologists and orthopaedists and heaven knows what, until I had the feeling that a lot of doctors knew about pieces of me, but there wasn’t one who knew and cared about me, myself, a living, breathing human being with problems and worries and fears, rather than just a collection of symptoms.’ I finished my wine to cool me off.
‘Yes, well.’ Rob stood. ‘My wife is complaining that she never sees me, so I’m going to give myself the evening off and have a meal with her, for a change. I’ll be in touch.’
SEVEN
At breakfast the next morning, I asked Alan, ‘Do they have a business centre here at the hotel? Someplace where guests can use computers? Surely not everyone in the world has an iPad.’
‘I’m sure they do. I’d guess that most of the hotel’s patrons do own laptops of some sort, but as this is more of a holiday destination than a business-conference sort of place, they might not bring them along. Why?’
‘Just a random thought. These thefts are so petty, at least most of them. I wouldn’t have thought it would pay the thief to fence them in the usual way, so I’m wondering if they’re being sold online, eBay or wherever. Not just bluestones, but the rest of the stuff.’
‘That’s assuming that the thefts have been going on for some time, that our stash was just the most recent of several.’
We hadn’t been keeping our voices down. The couple at the next table rose in something of a hurry, leaving their meals half-finished. I couldn’t keep back a giggle.
‘It’s not ours! Though those poor people must think they’ve fallen into a den of thieves. But I know what you meant. Anyway, don’t you think it’s worth a try? The Net, I mean, not adopting a life of crime.’
Alan looked out the window of the breakfast room. The sky was leaden, promising rain any minute, quite possible with thunder and lightning. We could see people walking with their heads down against the wind, their scarves flapping wildly, their raincoats billowing. He shrugged. ‘It’s not the most congenial day for sightseeing. We might as well do some detective work.’
The Bath Conspiracy Page 5