“No, no. Listen. Yeah, that’s right,” said number one, “just like his usual fencing and other activities! ’E’d never let on in that caper.”
“Exactly,” pondered their superior, “but as you say, he’s signed his name.”
“Why draw attention to himself like that?” Asked number two.
“Especially in a far more serious crime!” Said number one.
“I think the answer might be simpler than it looks,” said the Boss, “if we assume that the note was supposed to have been left at the scene of the crime.”
“To incriminate himself?” Number one sounded amazed.
“No. To stop us coming after him. Simple as that.”
There was a pause while the two detectives worked it out. Finally, number two said, “Because if they were married, and just collecting his wife it’s not a crime!”
“Exactly.”
“Except the arson, and the near loss of life, and the public mischief, and... other things, I expect.” Number one again.
“Exactly.” Repeated Button. "The question is, where do we stand now? If there is a marriage involved, then that’s not a police matter.”
“But the rest of the charges are, surely?” Number one again.
“Oh, yes, certainly. But we haven’t got powers of entry on a charge of arson, and technically, we have no proof of kidnapping. I think we downgrade this to a Watch-and-Wait until we know more. We could assume the kid-napping, but we wouldn’t want to spoil anyone’s honeymoon, would we, what?”
Having already sent the earlier crew home, Button ensured that the relief team understood their brief, repeated the usual instructions in the event of a development, and went straight home to his wife, early breakfast and warm bed.
67 SUDDENLY NOTHING HAPPENED
The next day there was no activity at Plenty worthy of a greyhound racing anywhere. Blowback and Skinner were seen leaving in the morning. Later in the day they returned. From what they were carrying it was deduced that there must be a rabbit farm somewhere. The observation post had a change of staff in the morning and a night shift arrived to take over just after dark. The day after that, there was still no activity at Plenty. Not even a sighting of Blowback or Skinner. The OB shifts came and went. Boredom set in.
Back at HQ, Button was beginning to think Diana had in fact married Horn. The result of interviews with her parents simply left him guessing. After their rollercoaster ride of emotions from her supposed death, first to getting kidnapped and now she suddenly got married? They didn’t know what to think except be horrified at the suggestion. But, yes, they had to admit she was feisty and independent.
Enquiries among her local suitors produced nothing but Police spending time peering up blind alleys. He began to worry about the way the expenses were running up, especially the extra round-the-clock shifts, inevitable overtime, logistic support for meals, water, rental of covert OP and toilets, away from home allowances, to say nothing of the mountain of justifying paperwork.
If it turned out it was all a false alarm and Horn had just made a mess of getting the girl to elope with him, Button knew the Chief would be after him for wasting time, wasting resources, inefficiency, and incompetence. The Chief was lining himself up for retirement. If he couldn’t get a nice juicy case to round off his career, he’d want at least the place to be looking clean, sharp and efficient.
At the rate things were going, Button saw himself being downgraded. Just when the Missus wanted a holiday and he was thinking of his own retirement.
“Isn’t that always the way?” He said out loud, staring at a hopeful looking new recruit coming towards him, a King Charles spaniel who thought she was being asked for the way out. The youngster blurted, “I don’t know Sir, I’m new.” She was so frightened at being accosted by such a big cheese she peed on his boots.
68 MEMORY LANE
Montague Stump had steadily trotted north and made good time. After a sleep on the very fringes of Diddling, he was up and going again before dawn. He was moving once again with that most efficient of movements that had brought him all the way from Wallop. He called it a “tiddle-trot,” not his invention by any means. Legs hardly moving back and forth at all, but just enough to let his relaxed feet flop forward, touch ground, move back to send him forward, lift, flip forward and repeat. It was as relaxed and relaxing as the leaves of a silver birch flickering in a breeze. This simple action left him clear to think, and he had plenty of time to do that as he worked his way north. But this would turn out to be a very long day, and Monty would be very busy. In fact, long, busy days were coming for several people.
Montague had worked out what he thought might be a way to get the double bed at least out from under Fairly Fullon – surely a tricky enough feat in itself – and forget about trying to move it all the way from Diddling to his place at Wallop halfway to the south coast. He resolved that whatever happened he would have fun with his mates. Success or not with the wretched bed didn’t matter so long as he met up with them again. That would be fun in itself.
Just like the old days! Yeah! By Golly! Haven’t thought of those days for – well, not since those days! Of course, if they are still around. Hadn’t thought of that! May have to search for them. They could be married, settled, kids and all that. Who knows?
But as he entered his old hometown, above all he knew he had to face his parents and had to that first. He didn’t want them getting word that he was back but apparently avoiding them. Duty to family first. After that he would see if any of the old gang were still around.
On the other hand, he had to pass Bortontick. The home of Fairly Fullon, the possessor of Monty’s considerable inheritance. The sky was only just beginning to lighten. Nobody was up this early, it seemed. Not even revellers going home.
Well, OK. You know what? Since I am actually passing the wretched place...
He dawdled past, trying to see as much as he could.
OK, Ha-ha. Oh, yeah, that looked about the same, didn’t it? Smaller than I remember. Fancy that. Maybe a bit run down? Maybe it was run down back then. Too long ago to remember, and I was rather more impressionable back then, I suppose.
He didn’t want to be spotted so didn’t stop and picked up his trot again.
Next, he came to Diddling proper. Not much seemed to have changed there, either. His plan again was to simply pass through, hopefully without being recognised, and head straight to his family at High Aytus. But he was unable to resist having a quick look at his old gang’s favourite haunt, the Café Credenza, so he turned down a side street to pick up the first parallel street. He wouldn’t stop. Just look as he passed. But sure enough, he did stop to peer into the gloom. It was empty and all locked up, of course.
Well, too early yet, isn’t it? Just as well, really. I’ve got to get to the house first, before the whole town knows I’m back.
Trotting on, he passed the next shop, a corner shop called The Bottle of Fun. This was where Fairly Fullon got all his party provisions. And other unmentioned extras. Stump kept going, looked round just to check nobody had noticed him. An old rabbit was on the other side, but was a long way back –
Ooops! - Stump collided with someone coming round the corner. Confusion. Embarrassed apologies.
Stunned pause.
“Josh? Joshua Nunt?”
“You’re... Monty! Stumps! Your back!”
“Shush – Shush! I don’t want -”
“What? Oh. Hang on. I’m just opening up. Here, come.”
Joshua Nunt, a fox of very similar age to Stump, led the way back to the café, unlocked it and let them both in. He, along with Maximum Tann, a seeming giant of a fox had been Monty’s closest friends right up to when he left. Inside, the place looked more or less the same as he remembered. Stump watched Joshua go behind the counter to hang up the keys.
“Hey, what’s with that side of the counter, Josh?”
“I own the place, that’s what. Well. As good as, any road.”
“What happ
ened to Stoppy – Old Mr Stop, yeah! What happened to him? Where’s he got to?”
“Oh, he died. Poor old Stops carked it. Had a heart attack or something. And the shop closed. For a while, any road. Then family put in an offer, like. You know, at the auction. And...”
“So it’s yours!”
“Yeah, well as good as, you might say. I rent it off Dad, like. Yeah.”
“Congratulations! You making heaps of money?”
“Well, you know. Comes and goes. Gets busy round lunchtime. Usually. Can’t complain, any road.” He wiped the counter down with a cloth. “Need it,” he added, “Wife and kids and all that.”
“Hey! Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Amy Settle. You remember her?”
“No, but go on. You said kids.”
“Ay, Amy done us proud with young. And what about you, Monty? What you been up to then, all these years?”
Monty wanted to catch up with all the news and learn about Josh’s kids but reckoned on coming back to do that properly. Meanwhile, he said, “Oh, you know, seeking my fortune, Josh, as they say, seeking my fortune.” I wonder if Josh knows how my family is...
“And did you find it then? That’s the main thing, isn’t it? Did you find it?”
“I’ve done alright, I think.”
“So you can hold yer head up then?”
“Yes, I think so, Josh. And what I –”
“Is that why you came back then, Monty?” Joshua cut him off.
“I hadn’t -” Stump, caught off guard, thought to say he hadn’t thought of it like that but Josh cut in again as if to save Monty from embarrassment.
“It’s all a bit different here now but. Lot o’ things gone by, you know.”
“My parents, are they -?” Stump was suddenly worried. But that’s as far as he got. The door opened and a very large fox came in.
“Max, look who’s here,” said Joshua as the new fox came close.
“Monty!” With a hearty growl, Max recognised Stump who swung round.
“Max The Tank! How are you, Max?”
“Wow, Chum!” Cried Maximum Tann, as large as ever. “Where’ve you been all this time!” he shouted, looking at Monty’s waistcoat, “It’s like you never went!”
“Well, travelling, you know.” Said Stump.
“Ha! Things have changed here! Josh has got this place? Did he tell you?”
“Yes, he did, and -”
“After old Stoppy died. Yeah. Seen your old man yet?” Max asked.
This answered Monty’s most urgent but un-asked question, but left him with his original priority. “No. I’ve got to get there before he hears I’m around.”
There was a pause. Joshua and Max exchanged looks.
“You wouldn’t have heard, would you? You don’t know what happened after your little episode with our Mr Fairly Fullon, do you?”
Monty looked from Max to Josh. “No. What don’t I know?”
“Well,” said Josh, “Um, certain secrets came to light, any road.”
69 GAME OVER
From Max and Josh, Monty Stump learnt that Fairly Fullon had continued his success with the occasional appearances of his pinball betting game. Still nobody knew how Fullon had made his fortune or where he had come from before moving into Bortontick. Nobody of their generation cared so long as his rave parties continued, which they did for a long time after Monty had left the scene. Every once in a while, the ending would be with the pinball machine making its entrance.
That Fullon always won was at least noted by some of the regulars. However, nobody had any ideas other than the fact that Fullon was damnably lucky, insufferably sure of himself, most unpleasant in many ways, but worth putting up with on account of his generosity and lavish spreads.
The fact that somebody or other occasionally got burnt was considered part of the game of getting stuff from him. Most people felt they were winning by avoiding being the next sucker to fall under the Fullon luck – especially when they could so easily see coming the set patter that Fullon would put on. And if nobody was getting fried, Fullon seemed happy throwing parties anyway.
This way, while everybody was happy, Fullon smoothly drew any new young blood into his entourage. Nobody associated his winnings with his lavish expenditure that everyone periodically enjoyed. Until... On one typical occasion, out came the pinball machine with the usual flourish, fanfare and fussing that went with it. He won, as usual, and away went the machine – except not quite. On this occasion, a drinks tray had been spilt. As the two servants were turning round with the machine, one of them slipped and fell, taking the thing with him. It fell, crashed open, and out tumbled three rather stupefied rats.
It turned out that the rats were totally deaf, a condition caused by their proximity to the noise of all the dingdangs. Fullon had them practicing almost mercilessly every day to learn and keep up their skill in manipulating the travel of the ball. The long and the short was, he stood exposed as a cheat. Every game had been manipulated. He had won every time because the rats made sure of it.
“Were the servants in on it?” Monty asked quietly.
“Had to be,” replied Josh. “If you remember, it was always the same two.”
“And always the same routine.” Said Max.
“Remember? he got you to play first?” Josh pointed out.
“And then they fiddled with the machine. You remember?” asked Max.
“No, not really,” said Monty. He tried to remember but things were blurred at the time and then put out of mind for too long to be reliable.
“Oh. Yes.” Josh took up the story. “Fullon would always accuse his opponent of trying to cheat - I mean, really! We were just kids! Suckers, any road - But he’d make the idea of whoever it was might have somehow tampered with the machine, didn’t he,” Josh looked at Max, “As if that were possible! But he’d insinuate, wouldn’t he? Something like that?”
“Yeah. That was the signal.” Said Max.
“That gave the servants the chance to come back in and set the rats to do their thing.” Added Josh.
“The cunning devil,” Monty summed up Fairly Fullon.
His friends completed the picture for him. All this had come to light long after Monty had departed. Nobody challenged Fullon. It was most likely, people never guessed what the rats were doing there.
From then on Fullon’s parties lacked their usual zing. Eventually they had fizzled out altogether. Fullon was now like a recluse, seldom to be seen, and never parading around Diddling as he used to do.
So Fullon was a fraud after all! Thought Monty, This would be dramatic news to Dad - unless he knows.
“Is this common knowledge?” he asked.
The other two looked at each other. “As far as we’re aware, it’s never been spoken about.” Said Josh, and Max agreed.
“We only know,” continued Josh, “because we were there and worked it out. Just nobody said anything, like we never did talk about the Fullon Flings, any road.”
“Nobody did.” Max confirmed.
OK. So, Monty thought. Let’s assume Dad thinks I’ve still committed the ultimate crime. Consorted with Fullon, lost everything to None Other Than, and then I ran away, wouldn’t face the consequences. Wouldn’t face him. And now this?
Well, this news certainly helps. But, but, but. What’s the best way to handle this? There isn’t one. The fact that Fullon was a crook who swindled me may mean that he’s the guilty one and I was innocent. And it would be nice if Dad saw... But Dad’s going to say I should have known better than to consort with the fellow - against Dad’s known wishes in the first place... He’s going to skin me alive whatever I say.
The urge to get the confrontation with his father over and done with was now impossible to contain any longer. He took his leave and ran.
As he ran, he thought of the confrontation that was going to take place, the storm he had to weather, the frustration he had to struggle with. All his old feelings returned. His anger, born of that frustratio
n was there. He found even now it could ignite again – although at that moment it was just a simmering disquiet – but it was back as if it had never left him, caused, as always, by the usual tiny little bit of hope that his Dad would for once see his point of view. And everything surrounded by the awful, immense, swamping, familiar dread of Dad’s anger.
With that age-old dread rising even after all this time, and in spite of what he had now achieved with his life, he only hoped his father would at least see him, even if he didn’t listen.
70 GETTING SORTED
The morning was crisp and fresh and there was dew on the lawn. The house and grounds looked as immaculate as ever. That was a good sign. He didn’t know what else to do, so rang the bell. Henrietta, his mother opened the door. Their greeting was heartfelt, mutual and long. Little was said. Somehow, little needed to be said. Whatever he might have tried to say seemed unnecessary. Her acceptance washed everything away. Next was the difficult step, but he felt much more prepared.
“Where is he?”
“In his study.” Then she added, “Where else?”
“Dad... Um. How is he?”
“Older. He’s mellowed a bit. You’ll see. Just... Go easy. He... hurt a lot, you know, all this time. Don’t... Go on. Go. Make your peace with him. Just...” As Montague broke from her and pattered down the polished hall she murmured, “...if you can” and watched the adult that was her son walk towards his father.
At the study door, Montague Stump knocked, waited, then went in and closed it again behind him.
“Hi Dad.”
Alfred Stump was seated at his desk facing away from the door. He looked up but not around. “So you’ve come back.”
OK, so at least the old man didn’t roar, or worse, fly at him. Now he turned and looked his son over. Long pause as his eyes rested on the waistcoat. Montague knew of old that his father was weighing up what to say next. He looked older.
“I was always wondering if you would come back.”
A Tour de Fate Page 19