The King's Park Irregulars

by David Wilson

  ‘Thanks. I know they’re planning to report it but maybe just not had the time yet.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s fine. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about your landlady and her eccentric friend. Let’s talk about something different.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  If you’re going to be kidnapped, Alasdair Mills thought, this would seem to be the basement to be kidnapped in. Far from being the dank and dark basement usually associated with a kidnapping, where the victim is chained to a wall, this one was positively palatial by comparison. There was a sofa to sit on, the floor was carpeted in a mottled eggshell colour, and there was a desk and chair in one corner on which stood a large angle-poise magnifying glass with an inbuilt light, of the type used to inspect details in antiques and such like. A few shelves and cupboards were lined along one wall.

  Not being one to sit and bemoan his situation, at least not at this stage, Alasdair started to have a look around and see if there was anything in the desk or cupboards which might be of use in his escape. As comfortable as this basement is, Alasdair thought, it is still a basement and I am still being held against my will by that crook upstairs. If he is in fact still upstairs and not already away swanning around town or the park, soaking up the atmosphere before tomorrow. I’ll give him a bloody atmosphere alright if I can get out of here. The desk drawers were mainly empty aside from some paper, pencils and other stationary. Nothing of much use there. The shelves along the wall had a small collection of old Matchbox and Corgi cars on them, lined up facing outwards. Probably his toys from his childhood, Alasdair thought. I’ll bet that’s where his collecting began – it’s textbook. The cupboards either side of the shelf had some books on antiques, collectables and that sort of thing and a few boxes of postcards, letters and some old coins. Alasdair ran his hands through them but again nothing particularly interesting leapt out at him. Elsewhere there were boxes with old books, clothes and the usual overspill from most people’s lives that ends up in their basement or loft. He must have somewhere else in the house that he keeps all of the really good stuff. I’d love to have a good rake around the rooms upstairs but maybe first priority is trying to get out of here. He scanned around the room again to see if there was any other possible escape aside from the door at the top of the stairs but there was nothing. There had been a window in the basement but it had long ago been filled in with large stone blocks, which might have been to avoid the dreaded window tax. This is ridiculous, he can’t seriously be going to keep me here, he’s just trying to frighten me but it won’t work.

  Alasdair went up the stairs and banged his fists on the solid door, which he thought was made from oak when he was brought in but from this side it looked metallic. ‘Help! Anyone there? Help!’ His fists punctuated the shouts but judging by the sturdiness of the door it didn’t seem to be doing any good. He was about to try again when there was the noise of a key being thrust into the lock on the other side and the door flew open. One of the heavies who had manhandled him earlier was standing in the doorway blocking out most of the light that was trying to come through, making it look somewhat like an eclipse.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing? If you don’t shut up and sit down you’ll regret it. Now …’

  Alasdair looked at him contemptuously. ‘Look you oversized buffoon, I demand to be released immediately. Where is your idiot boss, I can’t speak to you.’ He made to push his way past and through the door but the man didn’t budge and simply picked him up and carried him bodily back down into the basement.

  ‘Mr Scott’s a very busy man and he’s not here. You’ll get out sometime soon but at least not until after everything’s done tomorrow. Mr Scott doesn’t want you ruining his big day, so I’ve to keep you on ice until it’s time to deal with you.’

  ‘“Keep me on ice” – have we moved to Chicago? And what do you mean, “deal with me?” What’s going to happen to me?’ The heavy bent over the sofa where Alasdair was sitting.

  ‘I don’t think you want to know. Anyway, it’ll only be worse for you if you don’t co-operate so I would suggest shutting it. You don’t want to annoy me so we have a bad atmosphere, do you?’ Alasdair refused to let this man see that he was intimidated.

  ‘My dear man, between my back medication and your halitosis there already seems to be a bad atmosphere.’ The man stood back and looked at him, sizing him up, before laughing and walking back up the stairs as Alasdair looked after him. A few moments later the heavy slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

  Abigail hung up the phone and sat in the chair next to the sideboard in her hallway looking at the phone questioningly. Where is he? That’s been two hours now I’ve been trying to get him and still no answer – he must be seeing the missed calls on his mobile so why not phone back? She walked through to the lounge and then on to the kitchen where she tidied a few items by the sink and moved things on the worktop, but something was unsettling her about all this. If Alasdair’s gone round there and got into an argument with Milton Scott then who knows what might have happened. Alasdair might have murdered him or vice versa, or perhaps he discovered it was all a big misunderstanding and they’re sitting in Milton’s kitchen having a cup of tea and a laugh about the whole thing. I’m not really seeing the latter but the former might be a distinct possibility, Abigail thought to herself. If he won’t answer his phone and he’s not at home since I’ve checked already, then maybe I need to try and see if he’s still at Milton Scott’s house or if there’s any sign of him there. She put her coat on to go around there and then stopped just before she opened the front door. What reason can I give for going to his door? I can’t just turn up and ask if Alasdair’s been around or perhaps you’ve murdered him and disposed of the body, Mr Scott? Oh yes please, I’ll take another refill of my tea. It’s not tea with the vicar I’m going to, I need to have some idea.

  She paced back and forth in the hallway for a few moments trying to come up with something but her mind drew a blank. As she sat down again next to the sideboard, she saw the headscarf and sunglasses that Alasdair had given to her on their stake-out a few nights ago, and underneath those the private detective handbook which she picked up and skimmed through. Aah, OK, I need to have a disguise of some sort. She picked up the headscarf and tied it around her head like an old washerwoman and examined herself in the hall mirror. With that and the sunglasses, I think that passes muster as a disguise, she thought. Now I just need to have my story ready as to why I’m there. My car’s broken down, or I’m a visitor to town and I’m lost? No, I don’t like those. She looked around again trying to see if anything could inspire her, when her eyes fell on the very thing.

  The strange head-scarfed woman stood on Milton Scott’s doorstep thirty minutes later and pressed the doorbell. Abigail’s heart was pounding – it’s one thing to play at this but I’ve now got face-to-face contact with the suspect. It all seems a bit too real now. She pressed the doorbell again, and again and was about to turn and walk back up the driveway when the door opened and a rather brutish man stood before her. The adrenalin in her body was running too fast to realise that this was one of the men whom Alasdair had described to her being in Milton’s kitchen, and there was no way for her to know this was Alasdair’s captor … The heavy-set man was staring at her angrily but Abigail was not going to be deterred.

  ‘Good evening sir, is it evening? It’s always difficult to know if this still counts as afternoon or if it’s evening, isn’t it?’ She smiled but the man was stony-faced.

  ‘Whatever you’re selling we don’t want it. Go away.’

  ‘But I’m not selling anything,’ she was hunched over, trying to look much older and the dark glasses gave her a look of someone with an eye problem. ‘Oh, I’m sorry sir, if I could just come in for a wee seat and I’ll explain.’ She bustled forward through the door and to her surprise the man stepped aside, letting her pass, seemingly taken aback by the boldness of this frail old lady. She made a bee-line for the lounge but he stepped in front
of her and gestured to a chair in the hall.

  ‘You can sit there for a minute. What do you want anyway?’

  ‘Oh, I’m dropping off a charity bag for you to fill with clothes and leave out again for collection.’

  He put a hand under her arm and tried to coax her off the chair. ‘Great, leave it on the table there – you’ll need to go now.’ Abigail remained seated and the man clearly didn’t want to force her off the chair.

  ‘But we need to see which one you wish to donate to first.’ She opened her handbag and pulled out seven plastic charity bags and spread them on the table and then looked up at him with shrewd eyes. ‘I think you’re an animal person, am I right?’

  He was staring at her. ‘What are you talking about, I thought you were just dropping off a bag?’

  ‘Well, we found that most people would like to choose which charity they donate to so we’re providing a new service to bring a range of bags, and you can choose which charity you wish to support. Dogs or cats?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Dogs or cats? I’m getting a distinct animal sense from you Mr …?’ she paused waiting for his name but he clearly wasn’t going to give it so she pushed on regardless. ‘But we also have a couple here for the kids and also heart disease and the homeless? If I could even persuade you to take them all then you’d be helping a very needy homeless child with a heart condition and a cat.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Sorry, they make us say that, apparently no one will entertain anything these days without any waffle. Seemingly they had a brain-storming session at head office and this is what passed for some humorous banter I’m told. Now what can I leave with you?’ The man looked down at the bags and to Abigail’s surprise picked up the children’s charity bag.

  ‘If you leave this one I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.’

  Abigail stood up. ‘Splendid, shows how much I know, I was sure you were a cat person.’

  ‘Nah, never had any pets when I was younger, but I had my share of homes. Now, you better leave.’ He opened the front door and Abigail walked out feeling quite elated. I must remember to come back for that bag next week and hand it in to the charity shop. She walked slowly down the driveway, aware that she may be being watched and so kept her old woman routine until she was out of sight. Well, that also confirms my suspicions about Alasdair. You certainly wouldn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Alasdair had been there if he’s not still there now. What she had smelled in the hallway was the vague but very distinctive smell of Mills’ Balsam.

  Later that evening, as Sophie was still finalising arrangements at the park, and Abigail was at home still trying to get a hold of Alasdair but realising she may need to give up for tonight, Alasdair was sitting in the basement eating a supper of Scotch eggs and some lentil soup, as Milton Scott looked on.

  ‘I’m surprised to have Scotch eggs,’ he said in between mouthfuls. ‘I didn’t think you were up on the latest culinary trends. I thought you’d be more of a pickled egg man myself.’

  Milton smiled thinly. ‘Don’t try and annoy me, Alasdair. As I said, this is your last chance to tell me who your accomplice is before I sign your death warrant for tomorrow.’

  Alasdair stopped and looked up ‘Death warrant! You’re not serious? That sounds a bit much.’

  ‘Oh, I’m very serious. You don’t think I’ll just let you go after this is all over do you? Not when you can implicate me now in these thefts, never mind your abduction. No, I have a feeling there may be some sort of an accident tomorrow night; maybe you walked in front of a car in the dark and didn’t stand a chance. I’m waiting, Alasdair?’ Alasdair stuffed another piece of Scotch egg into his mouth.

  ‘No chance,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll never talk.’ All of a sudden there was the faint sound of bagpipes playing, which stopped them both. Milton reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone on which the screen was flashing and the bagpipes became louder.

  ‘Interesting ring tone,’ Milton said. ‘I never could stand the pipes though and this has been driving me daft all afternoon.’

  ‘It’ll be Sophie, she’ll be wondering where I am.’

  Milton looked at the phone and raised an eyebrow. ‘Actually, no, she hasn’t called you all day. But this Abigail has called you six times not counting this one now. She really seems to want to get a hold of you. Would you care to comment?’

  Alasdair folded his arms, ‘Nope, she’s just my dentist.’

  Milton laughed. ‘Of course she is, but let me take another guess that maybe this is the other person in your ‘we and us’? Since you don’t seem to want to tell me, then I’ll just need to find out for myself and then perhaps your friend Abigail will meet a similar fate; maybe you’ll even have formed a suicide pact! All manner of things can befall people these days.’ The phone stopped ringing and then a few seconds later made a beeping noise to indicate a voicemail had been left. Milton dialled the number and put it on speaker. Abigail’s voice issued forth:

  Alasdair, where the hell are you? I know you were at Milton Scott’s house today as I could smell your balm when I was there but I don’t know where you are now. Give me a call otherwise I’ll try you again tomorrow morning. I’ve spoken to the police to say you’re missing but they say that since you’re an adult then you need to be missing for twenty-four hours before they’ll do anything, since there’s no suspicious circumstances. I didn’t tell them the full story of course. Call me back as soon as you get this.

  Milton pressed the red button and switched off the call. ‘What does she mean she was here?’ He looked around at his heavy, who was guarding the stair and exit from the basement. ‘Do you know about this?’

  ‘No, not really, well there was a woman here but she was dropping off a charity bag so …’

  Milton’s face went red. ‘Idiot! The very person we want was right here in my house and you let her go?’

  The heavy straightened his back. ‘We didn’t know we wanted her at that time and anyway how was I to know since we don’t know what she looks like, do we?’ and then after a heartbeat, ‘Mr Scott?’

  ‘No, we don’t. But we will tomorrow. Sleep tight Mr Mills, tomorrow should be an interesting day.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sophie tweaked the curtains as soon as she got up to have a look at the weather and was reasonably happy to see it was dry although a little cloudy overhead. I think that’ll burn off by midday, she thought, we should get sun for this afternoon. It was only seven o’clock so she crept along the landing to the bathroom and slipped into the shower so as not to wake Alasdair. Having not come home until well after eleven last night, she had slept in the spare room – no point in both of them having little sleep, although she did think he would be up early this morning to see if he could lend a hand. Still, I might get on better if he’s out of my way. It’s a terrible thing to say but sometimes it’s easier not having him under my feet although I’m sure I’m not the only wife who sometimes feels that about their husband! She dressed and walked quietly downstairs for a breakfast of cereal and toast and left a note for Alasdair on the kitchen table. She would call him later this morning before things got underway at the park and arrange to meet him for their high tea but for now he could sleep and she would head to the park to oversee things. The stalls would be going up now for the charity sales and the first of the musicians were arriving at ten o’clock so they could get themselves settled. She picked up her coat and bag and left by the back door to save opening the heavy front door and slipped around and off to the park filled with a curious feeling of excitement, trepidation and anticipation all rolled into one.

  As Sophie was walking to the park, Abigail was lying awake after a restless night. She had gone to bed at eleven and then counted practically every hour pass on the clock, unable to relax or sleep soundly. She was still wondering if Alasdair had been home and how early she could call to check. If I can’t get him this morning then I’ll need to call the police again and then tell Sophie and that wil
l shatter her day today. If he had just waited like we agreed then we wouldn’t have a problem, if there is a problem. He might well be fine. Just out and about yesterday and lost track of the time, you know what he’s like. She swung her legs off the edge of the bed and sat up – I’m going to phone now, it’s not too early and if I wake him up then I can always give him a piece of my mind which will make me feel better, if not him.

  She put on her dressing gown and went downstairs to the phone in the hallway and dialled Alasdair’s mobile number again. Still no answer. She hung up and tried it again, just in case he was sleeping and had been groggily reaching for it when it stopped, but still no answer. This is becoming very worrying indeed, she thought, as she wandered through into the kitchen and sat down at the table trying to think what to do next.

  After drinking several cups of tea and a slice of toast, Abigail went and tried the phone again with the same result. She threw the receiver down harshly into the cradle out of sheer frustration and it bounced out and onto the sideboard. ‘Something wrong Abigail?’ Emma was standing at the top of the stairs and started down as Abigail looked up.

  ‘I think there might be, but I’m not really sure. I’m not entirely sure what to do about it either.’

  Emma stopped at the bottom. ‘Why don’t we have some tea and let’s have a chat about it?’ They walked into the kitchen and Abigail sat at the table as Emma busied herself about the kitchen making some toast for herself and tea for them both as Abigail relayed the events of the last twenty-four hours to her.

  ‘Oh my God, Abigail, that was absolutely mental. What if they had recognised you at the house and kidnapped you too? You shouldn’t have done it by yourself, why didn’t you tell me, I would have come with you?’