The King's Park Irregulars

by David Wilson

  ‘That’s the problem, we can’t tell the police. We borrowed the mobile library without permission; goodness knows what they’d say about that. I’d lose my job, let alone what the police would do to us for spying.’

  ‘Could they do anything? I mean you were just parked on a public road and then the path up the back of the house was public as well wasn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I’d still be more worried about taking the library van. They might arrest me for grand theft auto.’

  Emma squinted. ‘Do we have that here? I thought that was just an American thing. We’d probably have something like, taking a vehicle without permission. Our crimes never sound as grand as they do in America.’

  ‘Oh hang on,’ Abigail rose from her chair and went through to the lounge, returning a few seconds later with a paperback book in her hand, on the cover of which Emma could see a large eye peering through a magnifying glass and a trilby hat on top of one of the words in the title. ‘I ended up with this book from Alasdair. He was getting into it with his usual gusto last night, full detective rig out, you can imagine.’ Emma nodded and smiled, as she could perfectly well imagine how he had looked. Abigail handed her the book. ‘I had a flick through it and it’s been written by an American so some of the references are from over there. Quite an interesting book though I must say.’ She poured them each a mug of tea and sat down again.

  ‘So did you put a tail on the van?’ Emma said only half joking.

  ‘No, we did not. I’ve no idea what we do next, we need to try and get some proper evidence for the police without getting into trouble ourselves.’

  ‘What’s Alasdair thinking about it all?’

  ‘I’ve not spoken to him yet this morning, but knowing him he’ll be putting a call into Downing Street to get the SAS to storm the building. I think we need to do something more subtle but equally as effective.’ She took the book from Emma. ‘Perhaps the answer lies within?’ she said, waving the book in the air, just as the phone started to ring in the hallway. ‘Ah, speak of the devil, that’ll be Columbo on the phone now!’

  Alasdair lay flat on his back on the bathroom floor, the miasma of the family remedy wafting up from his back into his nostrils and, he wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn there was a greenish cloud wafting across the ceiling towards the extractor fan. This is definitely the stuff, he thought, I wish I’d started marketing this years ago. I could have done for backs what Dr Scholl did for feet – Mr Mills’ Lumber Wonder. Perhaps I could get a doctorate from the university to make it sound better.

  The phone sat on the floor next to him, ringing loudly on the speakerphone since it was too much effort trying to keep the handset to his ear while maintaining optimum back relief. Abigail answered on the fifth ring. ‘Abby! How are you this morning? Hope you’re none the worse for wear. I’m laid-up on the floor again with my back!’

  ‘Good God, you’ve got it on speaker phone.’ Abigail jerked the phone from her ear. ‘You need to turn it down Alasdair, it sounds like you’re in a cave with a megaphone. You’ll do my eardrums a mischief.’ He fumbled with the phone and managed to turn the volume up at first, thereby allowing Emma, who was twenty feet from Abigail’s phone, to partake in the conversation, but then turning it down again to a more reasonable level. ‘How’s that now?’

  ‘Much better. I take it your back didn’t react well to our expedition last night?’

  ‘No, it’s seized up completely. When I got up this morning I had to come straight to the bathroom and lie down. Sophie’s not pleased at all with this caper, she thinks we should stay out of the way of it all. Not to mention the difficulty she had when she was trying to get ready this morning with a sleeping policeman in the bathroom, pardon the pun.’ He tried to raise himself up to a sitting position but failed as pain stabbed him in the back. ‘Nope, just tried moving and it’s still agony. This is extremely inconvenient, we’ll need to wait until later to go round and confront him.’

  Abigail’s heart leapt. ‘Whoa, what do you mean “confront him”? We’ll do no such thing, I’ve just been chatting about it with Emma and we need to find some way to implicate him to the police. We can’t go charging in throwing accusations around. We don’t have any proof.’

  ‘But we saw them there Abby, we’ve as good as got him banged to rights! The van that was seen outside my house when the burglary took place was in his driveway and he was talking to the people who were in it.’ He winced as pain shot up his back again due to the tension in his body.

  Abigail’s voice was calm when it came back over the speaker. ‘OK then, Columbo, so we go to the police and tell them about it and we show them what? The photographs we took last night, the video from our surveillance cameras? Or perhaps a quick sketch we can draw on the back of a napkin? If we go to the police we’ll look daft. We’ve no proof and they know you and Milton don’t get on so it just looks like you’re trying to throw some mud at him.’

  Alasdair sighed heavily. ‘Maybe. But we did see them there, surely that counts for something?’

  ‘It counts enough to let us know that our hunch, or rather your hunch, was right. But we don’t know that the van that we saw last night is the same one that was at your house – we didn’t get the registration. The one Dorothy saw may have been stolen and used for the burglary, we don’t know.’

  Alasdair was prepared to concede there was some logic to this but his frustration was still evident.

  ‘OK, Abby. But I know it was him, I can sense it. I mean it’s not as if they were making a business call at that time to check his guttering, is it?’ Abigail had to concede this time that he did have a point. ‘And they were having coffee with him as well so my gut feeling is it’s him behind this, and I’m going to make sure that my property is returned.’

  It was Abigail’s turn to sigh. ‘Yes, you may be right Alasdair. But let’s not do anything rash, we need to figure this one out. Let’s not put him on the most wanted list as public enemy number one just yet.’

  ‘Public enemy number one? Have you got my book Abby?’ He could almost feel the heat from her face coming down the line.

  ‘Erm no, well yes, but never mind about that. Just you get your back sorted out and I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll talk to you later.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sophie stood in the King’s Park surrounded by activity, which, if she were being honest (and she was always apt to be), was completely bewildering. She’d started up some giant machine and it was gaining momentum. Hopefully not running out of steam too soon, she thought. From her position in the middle of the grass, she looked at the two large marquees, bunting strung along the top of their open fronts. Inside they were laid out with row upon row of tables and chairs, ready to cater for the throngs of people looking to partake of their high tea. Large flower displays would be placed on the tables on the morning of the day in question and volunteers would be bustling back and forth serving the food. Facing the marquees was a row of small stalls, which had been set up for various charities that would be raising funds for their causes, or simply just raising awareness. On Sunday, where she stood now would be adorned with further rows of chairs for the audience to sit and watch the concert on the stage, which was being erected before her very eyes.

  Around twenty people in jeans, work shirts and toolbelts scurried around like ants, each one knowing where to be and when, in order to secure the next piece of the stage. She gazed absently at the lights and speakers being hoisted onto the gantry above and tried to summon up the energy to get on with the next thing on her ‘to do’ list, but, for the moment, that energy escaped her. She sat down at one of the tables just inside the main marquee and stretched her legs out. The tiredness had been lurking in the shadows for a few days now and she had fended it off, but now it seeped into her bones, leaving her feeling exhausted. The pressure upon her to oversee the event was more than enough, but to top it all off, Alasdair was now getting involved in moonlight adventures and goodness knows what else
and it was all just too exhausting. Just as she thought this her mobile phone rang and Alasdair’s name flashed up on the screen. ‘Hello,’ she answered flatly, not being particularly enamoured to speak to him at the moment.

  ‘Sophie, where are you? You sound a bit off; you must be tired. Why don’t you come home for lunch and we can have some wine?’

  ‘I somehow think that’s more likely to tire me out even further. I have things to be doing anyway – I do have a lot going on at the moment you know.’ There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘I’m sorry for waking you up this morning. It was just such a huge shock, I thought you’d be keen to know what we’d discovered. Especially with him being …’

  ‘Don’t even say it, Alasdair,’ Sophe said frostily. ‘I’m well aware he’s acting as our main guest on Sunday but given that you have absolutely no proof of anything, I’m not going to change things now! You just seem to be intent on trying to blame him for this but it’s getting out of hand. And as for dragging Abigail into all this, well. Although I thought she would have had more sense.’

  ‘But we saw him speaking to the people who burgled our house!’

  ‘No, you didn’t. You saw him talking to people, that’s all. It could have been completely above board, nothing to do with our burglary.’

  Alasdair let out a high-pitched yowl. ‘Oh come on Sophie, they turned up at his house in the early hours of the morning, that’s not normal!’

  ‘No, maybe not, but it’s not against the law either. In fact, if we want to start going down that road it’s far more suspicious and strange to steal a library van and sit out in it in the street staring at someone’s house. Isn’t that called stalking? You need to get a grip of yourself Alasdair; Milton Scott is not a criminal!’ She stabbed her finger onto the phone and cut off the call before he had a chance to reply. Honest to God, she thought, this is getting out of hand.

  ‘Good morning Mrs Mills.’ Sophie jerked her head round and saw Milton Scott standing over her, holding two takeaway coffees, one of which he held out to her. ‘I was buying one for myself,’ he gestured towards the small shop just inside the park, ‘and I thought you might like one.’ Sophie wondered how long he’d been standing there and how much of her conversation he had heard. He was studying her quite carefully and her face must have given something away. ‘Sorry to interrupt your phone call, I couldn’t help overhear that you sounded a bit annoyed. Not a problem with the plans I hope?’

  ‘No, all fine, just my husband causing difficulties again. It’s nothing.’ She took the coffee and sipped at it. ‘It’s very kind of you Mr Scott, thank you.’

  He smiled and shrugged. ‘It’s no problem.’ He sat down at the table and sipped his coffee while he watched the work on the stage. ‘It didn’t sound like nothing, if you don’t mind me saying? If there’s anything I can do to help then I’d be happy to do so.’ He smiled at her again, although she noticed it lacked any real warmth and he was still studying her intently. Did he hear what I said, she wondered. He might have but then why not mention it? Maybe he’s trying to save causing me any embarrassment. I mean if I was in his shoes I’d want to know what was being said about me but I suppose in his position you maybe get used to it. Such a shame people don’t give him more of chance.

  She pointed to the stage. ‘What do you think of the Milton Scott Stage?’ He regarded it for a few moments, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘It looks impressive. So when would you like to go over the schedule for Sunday? I’d like to have a day or two to let it settle in my mind and make sure I’m properly prepared for my opening and closing speeches.’

  ‘Oh, we could do that now if you have time? I have the schedule in my bag.’ He nodded amiably and she leaned down to rifle through the folder in her bag for the schedule, unaware that he was still stroking his chin thoughtfully, but now staring at her and wondering just exactly how much he had to worry about over what he had heard.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Abigail was sitting in her lounge with the newspaper on her lap but staring instead out of the window, her mind racing. I haven’t felt this awake for months, she thought, it’s like being given an electric jolt. I can’t believe that he’s got me involved in this but I must say I do love having something to work my brain properly. I believe this is what would be termed a three-pipe problem in Mr Holmes’ day.

  Emma had been upstairs getting ready to go to the restaurant, since she was working this afternoon as it was the grand opening tonight. She had thought it odd to open on a Thursday rather than a Saturday but as Alec had pointed out, you don’t want to open a restaurant and have a baptism of fire with a big crowd on a Saturday night. Better to open quietly without any fanfare and iron out any wrinkles before starting to advertise and pull in the customers. With High Tea in the Park on Sunday, they were also hopeful to pick up some business from the influx of people to the town then, so a couple of days to settle in were just ideal. So open they would, and if any customers came by then it would be an opportunity to see how they could cope, and to grease the wheels of commerce, a free bottle of wine would be given to each table who wished it, free coffees to those who didn’t. She came into the lounge, throwing her jacket over a chair and sitting down on the sofa.

  ‘All ready for the big night?’ Abigail asked.

  ‘I think so,’ she looked a little uncertain, ‘it’s such a new thing for me, well for Alec as well, and we’re just hoping it goes well. Fingers crossed. By the time we open later we’ll be all hands on deck.’

  Abigail smiled. ‘Ship shape and Bristol fashion. I’m not sure what that means exactly but Arthur used to say it and it seemed to be a good thing.’ She opened the paper and casually flicked through the pages, not really taking in the stories. ‘You know what puzzles me, Emma? If Milton Scott has such a successful business and is a wealthy man, why would he get involved in this sort of thing, assuming that he is involved? I mean this website he’s got going must be raking in a good bit of money, just look at the size of the house he bought. It must easily have cost over a million pounds.

  ‘True,’ Emma said, ‘but then aren’t these people always in debt up to the hilt to finance their lifestyle? He might have a big house but it doesn’t mean he’s wealthy. Maybe his business isn’t doing as well as he’d like everyone to think.’ Abigail thought back to how Alasdair had described the interior of the house – decadently distasteful he had said in typical style. A lot of furniture but much of it was either in poor repair or seemed to be imitation. She had just put it down to him being younger and not having good taste but then one did have to ask if there was more to it than that.

  ‘But what would he then have to gain by stealing the slippers from Alasdair? It’s not as if that’s helping his situation in any way is it?’

  Emma chuckled. ‘Maybe he’s put them on eBay to get some cash.’ Abigail stared at her.

  ‘What? I’m only joking Abigail.’

  ‘No, but what if you’re right?’ Abigail said shaking her head.’What if he stole them to sell on and get the money – Alasdair paid eight thousand pounds for them and there were a few collectors after them so I bet one of them would love to get them at a discount.’

  ‘But what would be the point of that, they would be stolen goods so whoever bought them could never tell anyone they had them or show them off. It would seem a bit pointless to me.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Abigail said getting up and going over to the sideboard, bringing out an old stamp album, ‘but let’s not forget what sort of people we’re dealing with here.’

  ‘Criminals?’ Emma offered

  ‘No,’ said Abigail, ‘collectors.’

  She sat down next to Emma and flipped through the album. ‘Look at all these, dozens of different stamps, literally hundreds of hours spent on it and these never saw the light of day or went on display. Arthur was a collector, and that’s the thing. For him and whoever might buy those slippers, it’s not about being abl
e to show them off, it’s to satisfy the urge to complete the collection. I saw it in Arthur when he had to find one stamp to complete some part of his album; it was like an itch that wouldn’t go away. Looking for it in antique fairs, stamp collector fairs, junk shops; anywhere there were likely to be stamps he would spend hours trying to find it. It must be a genetic thing I think – either you have that or you don’t.’

  Emma frowned. ‘So you think Milton Scott might have sold the slippers to help to keep himself in the manner to which he’s become accustomed?’

  Abigail raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘It’s possible isn’t it? I mean from what I’ve read about him he didn’t come from money, his parents were normal working-class folk. I think he likes to trade on the fact of being in the same family tree as Sir Walter Scott but then look what happened there – maybe Milton Scott doesn’t want history to repeat itself.’

  ‘Why, what happened to Sir Walter Scott?’ Emma asked.

  ‘He had great wealth and then lost it in some bad investments and was saddled with huge debts. He spent the last years of his life trying to earn enough money to pay it all back, but he died in the process, still down on his uppers. Maybe it’s the family curse.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Emma left for work just after two, leaving Abigail chewing things over in her mind. She was back in her chair again flipping through pages, although this time it was The Detective’s Handbook as opposed to the Stirling Observer. I wonder what the next step would be, she wondered. This is all just supposition at the moment so I can’t go to the police, or could I? Would they just think it was my imagination running riot or do they have to follow it up? I’m not sure I want to start some sort of investigation into him when we don’t have any proof – I’ll end up being charged with wasting police time. I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to tell Alasdair about all this given there’s a fair chance he’ll do something hasty, although it is his thing and it might be best to have a sounding board for my idea.