Paint. The art of scam.

by Oscar Turner

  Polly now hoped she looked as if she were concentrating, digging deep into her memory. She slowly nodded.

  ‘Yes, it's all coming back now. He was very tall, gangly, sort of spindly, about forty I think, he was a bit crazy looking, he scared me, but he was nice. He just set to and changed the wheel for me and left. Oh and that's right he had tattoos. On his arms and the back of his neck.’

  ‘Mmmm and what sort of car did he have?’

  ‘It was a big old thing, a Jaguar I think. I'm not sure.’

  Shoal went across to the desk, picked up a large envelope, pulled out a file and dropped it on the desk in front of her. She looked at the mug shot clipped to several other pieces of paper.

  ‘Is this the man that changed your tyre Polly?’

  ‘Yes I think so. It looks like him. How did you find him?’

  ‘Oh we have our ways Polly, we have our ways. It was also his car that drove you off the road.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Polly, genuinely surprised.

  ‘Yes Polly. Oh, indeed.’ said Shoal as he went back to his chair and sat down, leant back and looked up at the ceiling. ‘We stopped this man about five miles from where we found you. He was speeding you see. His car had no tax disc, he was drunk and tried to escape. We arrested him of course, then later we found scratches on his car, a Jaguar like you say, and the paint in the scratches match the paint on the stolen car you were driving.’

  ‘My God!’ said Polly looking horrified.

  ‘And then we found fingerprints on the stolen car you were driving that matched his. So. Well we put two and two together and bingo! Funny thing is, until we pointed this out to him, he didn't mention anything about changing your tyre either. Funny that. Don't you think Polly? That you both forgot.’

  Polly sat, stunned. ‘I, I don't understand, what are you saying?’

  ‘Just the facts Polly. I'm just telling you the facts. I'm sure you understand how it's all a bit puzzling, surely.’

  Polly straightened herself up, her mind racing. ‘Look Mr. Shoal.’

  ‘Yes Polly.’

  ‘I have no idea who this man is. I never set eyes on him before in my life. I am telling you the truth of exactly what happened. Are you insinuating something?’

  Shoal sighed and stood up, resuming his slow stroll around Polly.

  ‘So if we took you back to where you came off the road do you think you would be able to retrace your path, maybe show us where you had the puncture?’

  ‘Yes, I think so, yes, OK. If it helps.’

  ‘Anything will help Polly. I'm just covering all possibilities.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ snapped Polly.

  Shoal raised his eyebrows at her manner, then nodded his head as if he had concluded something.

  ‘This man Polly. You say he was lost. Did he ask you for directions to somewhere?’

  ‘Yes. Some farm. I can't remember the name.’

  ‘Willow farm?’

  ‘Yes that's it. Willow farm. How did you know?’

  ‘That's where we found the van Polly, that's where you must have escaped from.’

  Shoal went over to Ricketts and whispered something in his ear. Ricketts nodded and quickly left the room.

  ‘Right,’ said Shoal, ‘Now we seem to be getting somewhere at last. ‘Did you at any time see the stolen money Polly?’

  ‘No.’ said Polly.

  Shoal continued wandering around the room, circling Polly several times. The silence was a welcome relief, she was feeling strained by the vagueness she had to maintain.

  ‘And Mrs. Pascalli, the tea lady. You know her well Polly?’

  The question shook her.

  ‘I told you yesterday. No I don't.’

  ‘Not at all?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Shoal's ‘Mmm’ irritated Polly. Shoal had said ‘Mmm’ at least twenty times but this was an ‘Mmm’ that stank of mistrust rather than curiosity.

  ‘You spoke to Mrs. Pascalli several times?’

  ‘Yes, once or twice maybe.’

  ‘And what did you say Polly?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. For the tea. She's the tea lady. I thanked her, for the tea.’

  ‘Mmm..... As far as we can gather, the staff were tranquillised by barbiturates, probably in the tea and we are having trouble locating Mrs. Pascalli. So if you know anything about her, it just may help us clear up this little mystery.’

  As he was saying it, Shoal's face closed in on her, stopping some twelve inches away. He smiled and pulled back.

  ‘Mr. Shoal I don't know anything about Mrs. Pascali, beyond the fact that she was the tea lady.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Polly's eyes stayed on his.

  ‘The rest of the staff seem to think you were quite friendly with Mrs. Pascalli.’

  ‘Relatively speaking, maybe I was.’

  ‘Relatively?’

  ‘Yes, nobody else seemed to even have the courtesy to thank her for the tea.’

  ‘And you did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You like Mrs. Pascali, Polly?’

  ‘I had no reason to dislike her.’

  ‘Nobody else in the office seemed to be particularly fond of her.’

  ‘Maybe they aren't particularly fond of anybody.’

  ‘Ah ha! A bit of animosity in the air, hey Polly?’

  Polly drew a deep breath through her nose and shook her head slightly.

  ‘Mr. Shoal I really don't know what your driving at.’

  ‘I'm just trying to get some sort of profile on things Polly, that’s all. You see this thing seems to me have been a long, well organised plan and to get to the bottom of it I have to fully understand the politics of it all. These people are pro's Polly and....’

  ‘But what on earth has whether I liked Mrs. Pascali or not got to do with it. Are you insinuating that I was involved or something?’

  Polly stood up and eyeballed Shoal.

  ‘Well were you?’ asked Shoal calmly.

  ‘Jesus Christ Mr. Shoal! I don't believe it! How on earth.....’

  ‘Calm down Polly, calm down.’ said Shoal interrupting assertively.

  ‘Calm down? How dare you!’

  Polly's body was shaking with a confusing mixture of fear and anger, her eyes burning into his. Shoal broke the stare, took a few slow contemplative steps back to his desk and sat down.

  ‘Please sit down Polly.’

  Polly's eyes were still locked on Shoal's. She felt sick; her hands were trembling. Slowly she lowered herself back onto the chair and attempted to compose herself.

  ‘The driver of the van Polly. Parks. John Parks. Do you know him?’

  ‘No, I told you I didn't see the driver.’ said Polly.

  ‘I know, you told me you didn't see him. I asked if you know him?’

  ‘No. No I don't.’

  ‘Ever heard of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You overlooked him clocking on late on his time sheet.’ said Shoal glancing down at a note. ‘Twice.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes’

  ‘So what? I make mistakes sometimes. Don't you?’

  ‘Rarely. But you must remember the name Polly.’

  ‘No Mr. Shoal, I don't. There are seven hundred and fifty employees at Hogarth's. Their names mean nothing to me.’

  ‘You like working at Hogarth's Polly?’

  ‘It's OK.’

  ‘Your husband told my colleague you hate it.’

  ‘He did? When?’

  ‘On the way to the hospital.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Polly momentarily cursed Seymour, hoping it didn’t show.

  ‘Why do you work at Hogarth's Polly?’

  ‘For money, why else?’

  ‘You have money problems Polly?’

  ‘No more than anybody else.’

  ‘I see. Now. Um. You like perfume Polly?’

  �
��Yes.’

  ‘Expensive perfume?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thought so. I found some perfume on the floor near the entrance of the offices. Smelt the same as the one you were wearing yesterday.’

  ‘That's right. I dropped it.’

  ‘You dropped it. How?’

  ‘My bag caught on the door. Ripped the strap off.’

  ‘You haven't mentioned it before.’ said Shoal sliding out a draw in the desk and retrieving a large, clear plastic bag containing her bag. ‘Is this your bag?’

  ‘Yes, I didn't remember. It wasn't that important in the big scheme of things.’

  ‘Oh I see. Mr. Arnold had a smell of the same perfume on him.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yes on his shoes mostly. Forensics will confirm it in time. You get on with Mr. Arnold Polly?’

  ‘OK, I suppose.’

  ‘Did you know that Mr. Arnold had a doctors appointment yesterday morning Polly?’

  ‘No. Not until he told me’

  ‘Why were you late for work Polly?’

  ‘I slept in.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see. When you saw Mr. Arnold was ill, in the corridor, did you try to stop him from going to the pay office.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? Why didn't you try to get help?’

  ‘He wouldn't stop. He's a very stubborn man. He kept on walking.’

  ‘So you did try to stop him.’

  ‘No, not really. I couldn't.’

  ‘Did you struggle with him?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘So how did he get perfume on him?

  ‘He helped me pick up the stuff that had fallen out of my bag, he must have got some on him then I suppose. What exactly are you saying Mr. Shoal?’

  ‘Oh. Nothing. It just seems a bit strange to me. That's all.’

  ‘What does?’

  Shoal smiled as he wondered over to the door.

  ‘Won't be a moment, Polly.’

  Shoal slipped out. Polly behaved as if she were being observed, which was likely judging by the mirror embedded in the wall opposite her. She crossed her legs, leant back and stretched her arms. It was an appropriate posture, she imagined, for an innocent victim of a well-orchestrated crime. She hoped her fury with Seymour and her sudden intimidation by Shoal's questioning didn't show as much as it felt.

  Shoal came back into the room after a few minutes and again started wandering around the room thoughtfully tugging at his goatee.

  ‘How would you feel like going for a drive, just to look around. Something might jog your memory?’

  ‘Yes. Ok. If you think it will help.’

  Shoal stood at the open door and politely gestured Polly through.

  His eyes stayed on her as she got up and went out through the door where there was a uniformed officer waiting. Shoal ushered her along the long corridor; mutterings and footsteps echoed around making their source indefinable. The uniformed officer walked ahead of her and Shoal behind.

  ‘Nigel?’ said Shoal.

  The uniformed officer suddenly stopped and looked back Shoal.

  ‘Yes sir?’

  ‘That forensic sample, you know the dirt on the wheel. Is it back yet?’

  ‘Don't think so sir.’

  Polly, sandwiched between the two of them, was forced to stop and wait as the contrived sounding exchange between them continued.

  ‘Well maybe give them a call, see if you can hurry them up will you?’

  Polly looked into an open door next to her. There he was, Spider, sat in a chair, his extraordinarily long legs, awkwardly twitching and swaying, his massive hands rubbing and scratching at his face. He looked up at Polly. His face, clearly distressed, changed into three or four indeterminable expressions in quick succession. He stood up and headed toward her before two men appeared from inside the room and grabbed him by the arms, forcing him back down.

  ‘Hey lady, it's you innit. Tell 'em will ya. I don't know nuffin about all this shit. Tell 'em!’ screamed Spider.

  Polly looked up at Shoal who's eyes were already firmly fixed on hers. Shoal smiled and calmly reached into the room, grabbed the door knob and gently closed the door.

  ‘Friend of yours Polly?’ said Shoal

  ‘A friend!’ said Polly angrily. ‘That's him. The man who changed the wheel for me.’

  ‘Yes, that's right Polly, chivalry is not dead after all, come along Nigel lets get a move on.’

  They drove around for over an hour in the unmarked police car. The pouring rain that had by then turned the whole area into a quagmire: any hope of finding any track marks were lost. Polly maintained her vagueness, but was able to re-enact her movements in some detail from when she got out to the van to her driving away from the barn in the car. Where she went after that, was a mystery. The area around Willow farm was on The Barrington Estate, a labyrinth of well used forest tracks and lanes and she genuinely could not remember anything.

  ‘We'll drop you back home now Polly. I'll be in touch in the near future.’ said Shoal as they drove back to town. He had made no secret of his irritation with Polly's inability to show them her route after she escaped

  ‘Why?’ asked Polly.

  ‘Oh, just a few more questions that may need answering.’

  They pulled up outside Polly's place and Shoal reached across to open the car door.

  ‘Ok. Now you get some rest Polly. We'll be in touch.’

  ‘Right, um. I am safe, aren't I? said Polly. ‘You don't think they would try and get at me. You know. Try and find me.’

  ‘Why would they, Polly? You haven't got anything on them have you?’ said Shoal, exaggerating his questioning tone.

  ‘Well. No.’ said Polly avoiding eye contact with Shoal.

  ‘They've got what they want. I mean, if you could identify them, well that would be different, wouldn't it.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Don't worry. I've got some people keeping an eye on you, just in case.’

  ‘Where?’ said Polly looking at Shoal.

  ‘I'll see you soon Polly. Get some rest.’

  Polly slowly climbed the stairs and let herself into the flat with the unlikely hope that Seymour would be out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Back to normal.

  ‘Well? How was it?’ asked Seymour brightly, standing at his easel, the new canvas now daubed with uneasy grey lines.

  ‘Oh, it was… I'll tell you in a minute.’ mumbled Polly as she flopped down on the bed.

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  Seymour was in mourning. It was Saturday, his favourite day. A day when they would normally lay in bed for hours, talking, giggling, drinking coffee, eating toast, making love, smoking joints, reading the papers and generally forgetting all about the numerous issues that plagued their life. He felt robbed as he watched Polly over the top of the canvas, occasionally making suitable noises for an artist absorbed in his work. She looked uneasy as she stared up at the ceiling, her mouth gently chewing at troubling thoughts.

  ‘So. All sorted then?’ asked Seymour having rehearsed several sentences and how to say them in his head. That was all he could come up with.

  Polly didn't reply. She just lay there staring, barely blinking. Seymour began whistling an unknown tune.

  ‘I heard about it on the radio.’ said Seymour.

  Polly sighed and looked across at him.

  ‘Oh? What did they say?’

  ‘Nothing much really. Just about a robbery at Hogarth's. They didn't even mention you. They said something about Arnold. That he had a heart attack. That was it really.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Polly?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘They didn't. I mean. You know. Try anything on?’

  Polly returned her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘No Seymour. No they didn't.’

  ‘Oh. Good.’ said Seymour adding white to the grey and standing back ‘So. How much did they get then?’<
br />
  ‘I don't know.’

  ‘Must have been a fair amount eh? Few grand at least.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘You gotta hand it to them, haven't you. Pretty clever stuff. I mean. The tea lady drugging everyone! Fucking brilliant! You always said there was more to her than meets the eye.’

  Polly lifted her head and looked across at him.

  ‘I don't believe you Seymour. They could've killed me!’

  ‘Oh yeah I know. But they didn't. Thank God. No, no I just meant...you know. I've been thinking. It was well planned and by rights you should have been fast asleep with the rest of them in the office. Then it would have gone more smoothly, anyway the long and the short of it is that it's my fault. I made you late for work. So I just want to say sorry. OK?

  ‘Oh shut up Seymour. Please. I just want some peace for a few moments.’

  Seymour started to mix up some yellow paint he didn't need.

  ‘Want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘You sure. I'm having one.’

  Polly turned her head on the pillow and looked at him. He shuddered. He knew that look well. Time to shut up, make himself a cup of tea and leave her alone.

  Seymour was relieved to have a task that he could perform and went over to the kitchen area. The silence in the room caused by the tension Polly exuded made his clumsiness more pronounced. The harder he tried to negotiate the operation silently, the louder it became. Polly, irritated by the noise, eased herself off the bed, stretched and shook her head as if to clear it.

  ‘How was your morning then?’ she asked dutifully.

  ‘Oh fine.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Oh, bit of this and a bit of that.’

  ‘How were the cartoons?’ asked Polly touching the TV as she passed it.

  ‘Oh. I only watched a bit of it. You know how it is. The TV gives me inspiration sometimes.’

  ‘How sad,’ said Polly, stopping to look at the canvas.

  Seymour looked over to her and smiled. Polly smiled back at him but looked away again. She stood staring at the canvas for a few moments, her mind numb.

  ‘I've only just started that one.’

  ‘Oh. Right. It's good.’

  She stood there gazing at the meaningless image for a few more moments then disappeared into the bathroom.

  Bolting the door behind her Polly leant on the basin with her arms and looked into the mirror, staring deep into her eyes. Those eyes. There were hiding something, even from her, again. Why did she do it? Why didn't she just slam that boot shut and head for the nearest house and phone the police. Why? She stared at her reflection and saw a grin appear from nowhere. The same mischievous grin that she had seen before when she had got herself into trouble in the past.