“Why, what is happening, Mr —?”
“Sorry, it’s Mr Iball, Ivan Iball, I’m a doctor — well an optician — and I’ve come up with a brilliant business plan but someone is trying to blackmail us…I-I mean me.”
“For the business idea?”
“Yes, it is certain to succeed; I mean we all have eyes.”
“Eyes, Sir?”
“Yes, the plan’s for an eye clinic; like I said, we all have eyes.”
“Yes, but mine are fine, Mr Iball.”
“Well why are you talking to the dashboard then?”
“Yes, well…what is this secret then, Mr Iball? You know, the plan?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr Cheesecake, but it’s a secret.”
“Look, if you want me help I’m going to need your co-operation. Also where exactly are we going?”
“To my house; and the plan is Two for the Price of One.” The plan didn’t mean nothing to me.
I wish this guy would slow down; he must be pressing his foot through that floor board, I thought to meself as the car began veering from one side of the road to the other. I looked over at Mr Iball, who seemed very calm apart from the crazy smile etched across his face. I, on the other hand, hadn’t sweated this much since I got married (mind ya, the divorce was a good knees up a few months later).
We arrived at his house (well mansion would be a better description; but with me living in a poky flat I would consider an air raid shelter to be a mansion by comparison). It had a long driveway which led up to a heavy wooden door, oak I would have said, and it had ivy running all the way up the side of the building. In the hallway there were paintings covering the green coloured walls; the most prominent of these being a painting of Winston Churchill which looked down on you as you walked in. I didn’t fancy even making a guess at how many bedrooms it had.
Mr Iball showed me into the lounge while he went and made a pot of tea. Again this room was full of pictures and paintings, a large grandfather clock stood in the corner and there was a large wooden sideboard with a photograph of what I presumed to be Mr Iball’s family perched on top of it. I started to have a look around and poked through a couple of drawers, but there was nothing of note. As I went over to a window, a big bay one at that, I had the urge to pick me nose — so I did so. Mr Iball chose that moment to come back into the room.
“Here you are, Cheesecake,” he said, putting the tray on the table. While he wasn’t looking I wiped me fingers on the most beautiful (and I bet most expensive) curtains I had ever seen.
“Thank you, Sir.” I took a sip of me tea. “Ahhh, a lovely cup of tea. Now, who lives here Mr Iball?”
Mr Iball pointed towards the photograph, confirming that it was indeed his family. “Myself, my wife, Iris; my daughter, Betty; and m-my s-son, Matthew.” Interesting, why did he stutter when he mentioned his son?
Soon afterwards he showed me some threatening letters that he had been receiving and I cast me eyes over them. They were all neatly written in blue ink and the sender was threatening to leak Mr Iball’s business plan to his competitors if he didn’t give the blackmailer everything he owned. I pondered and then pondered some more before realizing I didn’t have a bloody clue.
“Mr Iball, Sir, you say you have been receiving these letters for how long?”
“Oh, about two months now, Cheesecake. They were just asking for money to begin with, but now they want everything I own or they will go to my competitors.”
“Go to them with what, Sir?” Mr Iball paced around shaking his head. “Mr Iball, if you want me to help you have to tell me the lot.
“Okay, Cheesecake; as you know I am an optician and I have designed machines out of this world for eye testing. These persons or person have found out my ideas and are threatening to ruin me. These machines and treatments will be great for mankind and the plans must not get into the wrong hands. So will you help me; will you take the case, Cheesecake?”
I looked at the anxious Mr Iball. I was about to ram me finger up me nose but I thought better of it. “Okay, Mr Iball, I will take the case.”
“That’s great; so what happens now, Cheesecake?”
“I’ve got what I need for the time being so I’ll be in touch.” I was about to leave when his wife walked in; the look they gave each other told me that there was no love lost in this marriage. I was about to say hello but she avoided my gaze and ran up the stairs as if she was hiding something in her brown handbag.
I reached out to shake Mr Iball’s hand. “Right, Sir, you’ll be okay; I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
“Thanks, but be sure to sort it quickly, won’t you?”
I was on me way home (after having spent over half an hour wandering around outside Mr Iball’s house looking for me car before realizing that I don’t even own one) when I heard a scream. With a quick tweak of me ears me vision soon located where the screaming was coming from: a woman was outside her home crying and looked in shock. I shot past her and entered her living room and there on the wall was a splattered corgi dog; a note was pinned to it which read ‘KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT’.
“Come and sit down, Mrs —?”
“Sorry, Miss Loveitt — Ida Loveitt.”
“Has this happened before, Miss Loveitt? My name is Bob Cheesecake, I’m a PI.”
“No, never.”
“Is it your dog, Miss?”
“No, Mr Cheesecake, I have never seen it before.”
“Okay, have you someone to comfort you, Miss Loveitt?”
“Well, sort of.” Hmm, what did she mean by sort of? I stayed with her until the police arrived and then headed for home.
As I zoomed along looking at various things with me X-ray vision it made me realize that with the powers I possessed I could become a superhero. I just needed to learn how to stop — ouch, what a place to park up a bus.
I went back to Mr Iball’s a day later, not first thing as I had promised though. Why, you ask? Because I forgot. As I arrived at the Iballs’ home a girl came running out with Mr Iball running after her. The girl was sobbing as she ran past me down the drive. Mr Iball stopped at my feet, shaking his head. “Hello, Mr Iball, I —”
“Where have you been, man?”
“Sorry, Sir, what’s going on; and who’s that?”
“That’s my daughter, Betty; she’s going to her friend’s. If you care to follow me I’ll show you why she’s screaming.” We walked into the study and there on the wall was another splattered corgi. There was a six-inch nail firmly embedded in it and I deduced that this was why it hadn’t fallen off the wall. You don’t get to be a private investigator just like that you know.
“Where are your wife and son, Sir? I mean, it’s nearly half past ten at night.” I made that deduction by looking at my watch.
“God only knows.” From the tone of Mr Iball’s voice I soon detected he hadn’t a clue where they were. I looked out of the window pondering about his wife and his son, and then there was also the intriguing Ida Loveitt to think about. I had seen Ida and Mr Iball having a heated discussion outside the post office that morning and couldn’t help wondering what it meant.
I had a quick look around the room, checking for signs of a break-in but I couldn’t see any evidence of a forced entry. I then took a closer look at the corgi and after two minutes of examining it one thing I concluded was that it was definitely dead. “Ah, yes I thought as much,” I exclaimed.
“What is it, a clue, Cheesecake? Have you solved it, man?”
“Hey no, Sir, this dog has fleas. Could I stay a while, Sir, to have a sniff around?”
“Yes, man, just sort it out, will you? It’s driving me mad. Right, I’m off to bed; just watch where you’re sniffing.”
“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir, and Sir —”
“What is it, Cheesecake?”
“Goodnight.”
A while into the search of the house I tripped over a table, landed near the curtains and fell on top of a pen. I wondered, have I found a clue or have
I just found a pen? Then, all of a sudden, the door flung open and in walked a young man who I recognized from the family photograph to be Matthew Iball. He was breathing heavily, his clothes were dirty and he was sweating. “Who-who are you?”
“Relax, Master Iball, Bob Cheesecake’s the name. I’m a private investigator; your dad has asked me to look into the threatening letters he has been receiving. Can I ask you some questions? Where, for example, have you been tonight, Sir?”
“Out.”
“Are you okay, Sir? You’re sweating a lot; and where exactly is ‘out’, Sir?”
“James’, my friend’s house.”
“And what have you been doing at James’ house, Sir?”
“I beg your pardon but that’s my business.”
“Okay, Sir, calm down; you may go now, thank you.” Matthew disappeared off to bed and after such a thorough investigation as that I decided to retire myself, so I made up a bed in the study.
*
I was awoken by the creak of a window opening. I looked at the big clock; it was 2.15 a.m. I sat very still and I heard someone whispering, it was a man’s voice saying, “Come on, this way.” I hid under a table and made a noise to startle them. I say ‘them’ as I could just about make out the silhouettes of two intruders; but the noise (which was an attempt at a cuckoo but sounded more like a strangled chicken) worked because they hurriedly left amongst panicked whispers. I stood up feeling quite pleased with meself and then it hit me, why didn’t I see who it was and catch them? It was probably the letter writers. Well I am still learning this PI lark, you know.
I tweaked me ears as I made me way upstairs. I looked through the bedroom wall to see no Mr or Mrs Iball. I then left the house, stopping off at Miss Loveitt’s. When I looked through her wall the whole thing started coming together. This super eyesight is a blessing — “Aaaahhh!” Fancy not putting the manhole cover back on.
In the morning, I made a quick diversion to Mary’s, who was a breeder of corgi dogs. She was still upset as her favourite, Queenie (which I thought was a stupid name to associate with corgis), was still missing. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Queenie was now a doormat. As I shot back out again I noticed a man bent over. I didn’t recognize his face but there was something about him that I did recognize.
I stopped off for a drink at the Goose And Fat pub to gather me thoughts. I went to use their phone and rang Mr Iball at his work and told him to get all of his family together for seven o’clock that evening; I then made a couple more calls.
In the pub I was getting some attention from a lady who was on the large side and looked like her face had been whacked with a shovel, a heavy one at that. She started by smiling over at me and then she was blowing me kisses and repeatedly winking at me. I looked at me watch and I had a minute to spare so I took up the offer.
*
I arrived at the house at seven o’clock on the dot and knocked on the door. I waited a minute and then knocked again, a bit louder this time. After I still didn’t get a response I realized I had gotten the wrong house.
When I finally got to the right house I went inside to find Mr Iball and his family waiting for me; they were all looking quite confused and nervous.
“What’s going on? I have got better things to do than wait around for you,” yelled a very anxious Mrs Iball.
“Yes, what’s the matter, Cheesecake? Have you solved it?” asked Mr Iball.
“I think so, Sir, and it’s not Cheesecake no more —” I threw off my trench coat and Betty screamed. I stood there in amber boots and tights, a pair of red goggles covered my eyes and I was wearing a green jumper which had a motif of a pair of spectacles and a train on it. “I’m Vision Express Man.”
“Ha ha, stupid idiot man more like, ha.”
“Quiet, Matthew, let him speak,” said Mr Iball.
“Thank you, Sir, cheeky sod.”
I walked over to Betty, looking intently at her. “You, my dear, are in the clear. All I can say about you is stop wearing that hideous flower patterned underwear.” It’s amazing this vision.
“Wh-what, how do you know?” muttered Betty.
“Yes, Cheesecake, how do you know? You were supposed to be looking for clues, not rifling through the knicker drawer.”
“Nothing like that, Mr Iball, it’s called being a great detective, which means sniffing about.”
There was a knock on the door and I was very interested to see their reactions to who was about to walk in, especially Mr Iball’s. I opened the door and in walked Miss Loveitt bang on time.
“What’s going on?” asked Mr Iball, who was looking very flustered.
“Calm down, Mr Iball.”
When the police then came in with a man the look on all their faces was a right giggle — well it made a change from everyone laughing at me; I was starting to feel like a right idiot now. I rubbed my hands together and said, “Mr Iball and Miss Loveitt are lovers, and together they both have a brilliant business idea. They still haven’t got a name for it yet but you can’t pick your nose without getting your finger stuck every now and then —”
“Get on with it, you clown.”
“Patience, Matthew. Anyway, as I was saying, Mrs Iball found out about them and their plan so she tried to steal the contract. She wasn’t so bothered about her husband having an affair though as she’s been having one for years.”
“Mum, Dad, how could you? I ca—”
“Yes, all right, Betty, stop interrupting for God’s sake, me brain’s numb enough as it is trying to remember everything. As I was about to say, a few years ago you had an assistant, Mr Iball, that’s him, Harry, over there with the police. Any road, I believe he stole from you and you sacked him; so as revenge he started an affair with your wife and together they schemed to steal the plan,” I explained proudly.
“What about the corgis, Mr Cheesecake?”
“Well, Ida, my dear, Harry works at Mary’s corgi grooming parlour. And see, well, he hates the dogs ’cos they gave him fleas; that’s why they call him Harry the Fleabag and it’s probably why Mrs Iball is scratching. He’s a nasty piece of work, ain’t ya, chum? I said, “You’re a nasty git.”
“Better than being a silly git,” snarled Harry. I went to clip him behind his ear but missed and ended up clouting one of the policemen; he didn’t look amused.
“So how did you catch them out, Mr Cheesecake?”
“Well, Betty, first I found a pen — it’s the one they wrote the threatening letters with and it’s got their fingerprints all over it. Then, the other night, they tried to steal the contract and I scared them off. On my visit to Mary’s I heard Harry’s voice, he was shouting at a corgi, and it matched the voice I heard outside that night. I also knew there was something about him that I had seen before. Lastly, the first night I met Mrs Iball I realized that I had already seen her handbag somewhere before. So, there you have it.” Betty ran upstairs crying and Mr Iball gave Mrs Iball a disgusted look as the police put handcuffs on her and Harry.
“Brilliant, man, brilliant.”
“Thank you, Mr Iball, Sir. Right, take them away…and stop laughing at me costume it ain’t funny, it don’t half itch.”
There was a bit of moaning and groaning from Mrs Iball and Harry as the police led them away. As one of the policemen walked away I watched Matthew looking him up and down. This solved another piece of the puzzle. Matthew was gay and the other night I had caught him coming home from a secret tryst with his lover James.
What I really couldn’t understand though was why no one had asked where I had seen Mrs Iball’s bag before and what exactly it was that I had recognized about Harry. Well, let me tell you. Mrs Iball’s bag had been hanging on a branch in the bush at the lake, the same bush where she had been getting friendly with Harry whose backside it was I recognized from this event. But should I tell them? No, what do they want for two bob an hour? I shot out the front door and came to a sudden stop thanks to a lamppost.
*
A co
uple of months later I was on a case: the case of the sheep, the apple pie and the slippers. I was running down the high street and there was Mr Iball and Miss Loveitt in their new shop. The sign proudly read:
‘IBALL EXPRESS: TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE.’
Vampire of Apartment 133A Greenstone Street
Another girl missing on page four of the local paper; the front page dominated by a local man found dead in unusual circumstances. I dropped my digestive biscuit as I read on. The man’s body had been found in a warehouse. He was thought to be in his forties though reports suggested he looked more like ninety. He was found on his back, his body twisted and deformed; his complexion as white as a pure cloud. His eyes had sunk deep into their sockets and his mouth was gaping open as if the life had been sucked out of him. There were two unusual puncture marks on his neck. His stomach had been ripped open and his heart torn out. Mangled intestines surrounded the body; the rats and insects had feasted on the rest. The coroner was blaming some sort of ferocious animal.
I stood up and looked out from my apartment window; a thick, scary fog engulfed Greenstone Street. Who or what was doing these murders? The police had no clue; but I had my own theory, it was a vampire who had been driven into town looking for fresh meat. This was Kelly’s theory too. Kelly was my flatmate and had just walked into the room. “Your coffee is on the side, Kel.” I had known Kelly for a couple of years now. We met at college where we were both studying for our medical degrees.
“Thanks, Jack. Look at it out there. The fog. It’s horrible…scary.”
“I know, it’s been like that for a couple of days now.”
Kelly sipped her coffee. “Are you okay? You look anxious.” A noise came from across the landing and Kelly and I looked at each other.
“Have you seen the paper?” I asked, throwing it over to her. She caught it and started to flick through the pages. While Kelly was engrossed in the story I went to investigate the noise.
“My God, Jack, it’s getting to the point where I don’t even want to go out at ni…what are you doing? Why are you looking through the letter box?”
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