3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers

by Wilkie Martin

  Dropping his coat, he stamped on it until it stopped smoking.

  Faces were appearing at windows and footsteps were running towards us.

  ‘What about the rocks?’ I asked.

  ‘Later,’ he said. ‘I’d better go back in and make sure everyone is safe. Stay out here, unless I call.’

  He ran back up the stairs.

  Daphne looked at me and smiled bravely. I put my arms around her, feeling her body shake and kissed her on the cheek. It was wet and her tears somehow made me feel like a hero. We were still hugging when the sirens announced the arrival of the fire brigade and a police car. In moments, firemen were running around, unreeling hoses.

  Constable Wilkes approached. ‘Are you two hurt?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Good,’ said Wilkes. ‘Do you know if anyone’s inside?’

  ‘Hobbes is.’

  ‘Oh, no, he isn’t,’ said Hobbes, leading a white-haired couple to safety. They looked oddly familiar, but it took a moment to recognise them as the young newlyweds who’d moved in next door to me about a month before I’d moved out. I hadn’t known them, except to nod to, but they’d both had dark hair back then. Only when the woman sneezed and shed some of the whiteness did I realise they were liberally coated in a fine powder, like flour.

  Hobbes went back in and returned a few moments later with a furious, dusty, frazzled ginger cat. As soon as he released it, it hissed and ran up a tree. A bunch of firemen rushed into the block, dragging hoses.

  Daphne, her face streaked and puffy with tears, pulled away and turned towards Hobbes. ‘Is everyone alright?’

  ‘Besides shock and dust, they will be,’ he said. ‘However, I fear my coat is beyond hope.’ Picking it up, he peered through a black-ringed hole about the size of his head in the back. ‘I doubt even Milord will be able to do much with this.

  ‘Oh, well, the lass has been on at me to get a new one since the Big Freeze of sixty-three, but I doubt I’ll be able to get one like it now.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll have to find Mrs Duckworth somewhere safe for the night.’

  ‘I’ll be alright,’ she said. ‘I can stay in a hotel. I’ll be perfectly safe now you’ve caught Denny.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ said Hobbes, looking around, ‘that Mr Barker may still be a threat.’

  20

  Denny had gone, and so had Hobbes’s car.

  ‘You should have cuffed him,’ said Daphne.

  ‘Since he’d struck his head and was unconscious,’ said Hobbes shaking his head, ‘I could see no reason to cuff him, as I don’t condone gratuitous brutality … or do you mean, why didn’t I put him in handcuffs?’

  Daphne nodded, looking confused.

  ‘With hindsight, perhaps I should have, but I’m not sure where mine are. I think I had some once.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, trying to get the situation back under control. ‘What does matter is what happens next?’

  ‘That’s easy,’ he said. ‘We will go home and enjoy some supper. The situation will seem clearer on a full stomach and the lass is cooking a vindaloo tonight. Would you care to join us, Mrs Duckworth?’

  Her face suggested nervousness and uncertainty.

  As she hesitated, I jumped in. ‘That’s a really good idea. The old girl does the best curries I’ve ever had, much nicer than anything you’d get in a restaurant. The spices she uses are to die for.’

  ‘I can’t just turn up out of the blue. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘She’ll be delighted to see you,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘It’s true.’ I said.

  Although I could tell she was far from convinced, Daphne’s resistance crumbled. ‘OK. That will be nice. Thank you, Inspector.’

  Hobbes, with a nod, went to have a few words with Constable Wilkes and one of the firemen. He returned smiling.

  ‘The fire’s out and the gas supply has been made safe until the engineers get here and ensure everything stays that way. It appears that no major structural damage was done, although there’ll need to be a proper inspection before anyone can stay in there. I’m afraid, Mrs Duckworth, that your kitchen is wrecked. The fireman says it appears that someone turned the gas on and left an incendiary device. They will investigate further.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to the other residents?’ asked Daphne. ‘They have nothing to do with this. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Constable Wilkes has contacted the council, who are sorting out temporary accommodation for those that need it. By the way, the next-door neighbours recognised you, Andy, and suspected you might be the culprit again. I put them right.’ He chuckled.

  ‘Why would anyone suspect Andy?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I said, blushing.

  ‘And an embarrassing one,’ said Hobbes. ‘We can talk about it later, but essentially their suspicions were based on him having previous form. We’d better get a move on. I wouldn’t want our suppers to spoil.’

  Although we struggled to keep up as Hobbes route marched us back to Blackdog Street, I had sufficient breath to explain how I’d set fire to my flat, and she had enough breath to laugh. For some reason, I was happy with that; it didn’t make me feel like a fool, or, rather, no more of a fool than usual.

  The church clock was striking half-past six as we entered 13 Blackdog Street to be greeted by a delicious, mouth-wateringly pungent aroma. Mrs Goodfellow had already set the table for the three she was expecting and Kathy was sitting there, picking at a chapatti impatiently. Hobbes introduced Daphne and, following a very quick wash and brush-up, we rearranged the seating. Mrs Goodfellow, having noticed and tutted over the state of my knuckles, applied a strange-smelling yellow ointment that provided instant, tingling relief.

  When satisfied I could hold my knife and fork comfortably, she served us, Hobbes said grace and we tucked in to a totally brilliant curry, a perfect combination of flavour and fire, with the most delicious, tender, melting pork and her special rice and chapattis. Daphne, after her first taste, looked delighted and turned to thank the old girl, who had, as usual, vanished.

  ‘You weren’t joking.’ said Daphne when her plate was clean. ‘That really was the best curry I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve had a few.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, accepting the credit with due modesty. ‘Mrs Goodfellow is the finest cook in Sorenchester … and probably in the entire Cotswolds.’

  Kathy, who had not said a word since we’d reached home, sniffed loudly. Although at first I assumed she was just being her usual sniffy self and was preparing to defend the old girl’s cooking, she stood up before I could say anything, clutched a handful of tissues to her face, and rushed from the kitchen.

  ‘What’s up with her?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s trying to come to terms with herself,’ said Hobbes, looking, I thought, a little awkward and quite sad.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She is acquiring self-knowledge and insight, which can be a painful process. I’ll talk to her when she’s had chance to compose herself. In the meantime, let’s go through to the sitting room and have a cup of tea.’

  As we took our seats, I was grateful that he took one of the hard oak chairs, leaving Daphne and me to sit together on the sofa, where her warmth against my leg made the world a better place. Mrs Goodfellow, reappearing with a well-laden tray, beamed gummily and winked at me before taking her leave, for it was Monday evening and time for her Kung Fu class. As often happened, Dregs accompanied her, though he had little to learn about self-defence. Hobbes, having poured the tea, sat back with a sigh and took a great slurp.

  ‘An interesting day,’ he said, ‘but at least nobody was seriously hurt. Still, losing my car is a nuisance, especially as Billy had only just got it for me. Oh well, I can always get another if I must and, Mrs Duckworth, if it suits you, I’ll ask him to fix yours. He’s very good.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Daphne, ‘I would appreciate that, but it’s my flat that worries me most. It’s an awful thing to happen jus
t as I was getting it comfortable. What sort of person would do such a thing?’

  ‘Umm … a bad one?’ I suggested.

  ‘That’s undoubtedly true,’ said Hobbes, ‘but it also suggests something more.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t it just nastiness?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ he said. ‘It strikes me that causing a gas explosion and fire is an act of desperation. The risk of being caught was high. It was fortunate you weren’t home, Mrs Duckworth. Have you really no idea what they want from you?’

  ‘No … well yes, I sort of know, but I don’t know why. Just after Hugh disappeared, Denny Barker forced his way into my house and demanded his notes. When I told him I didn’t have them, he ransacked the place, but didn’t find anything. He came back several times, just threatening me at first, but becoming increasingly violent when I denied all knowledge of them. The last time he turned up, I had to go to hospital.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’ I asked, maintaining a superficial calm while I was seething internally, although part of me was ecstatic that I’d managed to hurt Denny, if only a little. It felt like revenge.

  ‘Because,’ said Hobbes, ‘I suspect that Mrs Duckworth had found out that Sir Gerald and Mr Barker had already rendered the local police impotent by means of bribery and terror.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said.

  ‘But,’ said Hobbes, ‘you do know the whereabouts of Mr Duckworth’s notes, do you not?’

  She hesitated before nodding.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Under a layer of megalodon teeth in a box in the museum’s storeroom.’

  ‘Where did you keep them before?’ I asked, impressed and proud that she’d managed to thwart Sir Gerald, while at the same time my loathing for him and Denny was rising.

  ‘In the back garden. I wrapped them in plastic bags to keep them dry and hid them in a big conifer.’ She smiled. ‘After wrecking the house, Denny took the shed apart and dug up the garden, but I don’t think he ever thought of looking upwards and, even if he had, he wouldn’t have seen much. The branches were really dense and I don’t think he ever suspected.’

  ‘Well done, indeed,’ said Hobbes, his chuckle rumbling through the room. ‘May I be permitted to examine the notes when we’ve finished our tea?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Daphne, shaking her head. ‘At least, not easily. I don’t have a key to the museum yet and even if I had, I haven’t been briefed on how to disable the alarms. Security is quite tight. Apparently there was a break in a few months back.’

  ‘There was,’ said Hobbes, ‘and Andy was of considerable assistance to me in apprehending the perpetrators.’

  Although I gave him a glance conveying gratitude, he didn’t acknowledge it, so perhaps he was only speaking the truth. Not that it mattered, for she favoured me with a huge smile.

  ‘But,’ he continued, ‘you wouldn’t mind me looking through your husband’s notes when we can get to them?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’d love to know what all the trouble has been about. Do you have any ideas?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to find it’s all connected to the rocks in the Blacker Mountains.’

  ‘What about them?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I have confirmed my suspicions,’ he said, putting his empty mug back on the tray and standing up. ‘Now, I have work to do. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so, if I were you, Mrs Duckworth, I would stay here tonight. You can sleep in Andy’s room and Andy can take the sofa. Look after Kathy if she comes down, please.’

  ‘But where will you sleep?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Goodnight.’

  He left us alone.

  ‘I don’t want to turf you out of your bed,’ said Daphne.

  ‘It’s alright,’ I said, ‘you won’t have to.’

  ‘Andy!’ she said, opening her eyes wide, ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Umm … nothing … What I … umm … meant was that I was turfed out of my room yesterday. I didn’t mean to imply that I intend sharing it with you.’

  For a moment I was worried I’d offended her. Then, she laughed and I laughed, too. Although I realised she’d been teasing, the mere idea of sharing my bed with her turned me hot and cold in turn.

  ‘Who, exactly, is Kathy?’ she asked, after a long pause.

  ‘She’s Hobbes’s daughter,’ I said. ‘She turned up out of the blue a few days ago and I think she shocked him. He hadn’t realised he had a daughter. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m just curious. You see, I caught a glimpse of someone, who I now believe was Rupert Payne, hand something to her this morning. I’d quite forgotten with all the excitement, but I remember thinking that something … shady was going on.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ I said, ‘because I’m almost sure I saw Rupert getting off the bus this evening. He was looking very smart and prosperous, which was odd as he was sleeping rough yesterday.’

  Daphne shrugged. ‘Don’t forget, his father is in town. The boy probably just got his pocket money.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said, ‘I hadn’t thought of that, though last night he sounded scared of his father and I formed the impression he wouldn’t dare approach him for money, because that would mean admitting he’d lost his wallet. I wonder what he was doing with Kathy. Perhaps he got money off her.’

  ‘Who knows? You could ask her.’

  ‘I could,’ I said, ‘but she can be … unpredictable. Sometimes she’s not too bad and I can tolerate her, but at other times she’s awful. She’s thrown things at me and been rude to Mrs Goodfellow and she’s selfish and …’

  ‘Don’t talk about me behind my back,’ said Kathy, entering the sitting room and staring at me through red-rimmed eyes. ‘It’s not fair.’ Running to the front door, she opened it and fled into the night, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘Oh, no …’ I said, ashamed and sorry. ‘I didn’t mean …’ I turned to Daphne. ‘I didn’t think she was listening, or I wouldn’t have … I didn’t mean to upset her.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’d better go and find her. I feel somehow responsible for her.’

  ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘No, I’d better go alone. Hobbes said you should stay here.’

  ‘I think he meant we should stay here, but, if you’re going out, I’m going with you. I don’t want to be left here on my own.’

  Although I had a ton of misgivings, I couldn’t dissuade her, and anyway, she had a point. Getting up, we put on our coats and set out.

  The heavy clouds had blown away and the moon, ripening towards fullness, lit up a clear sky that still held a faint hint of pink towards the west. A man down the street was scraping ice from his car’s windscreen and somewhere in the distance I could hear a gritting lorry. I wasn’t at all surprised that Hobbes had been correct about the frost.

  ‘Chilly, isn’t it?’ I said.

  Daphne nodded, pulling up her collar. ‘Any idea where she’ll be?’

  ‘No, not really. She doesn’t know her way around too well. She seemed to like the Feathers, though, so we could try there first.’

  We walked through town, hardly seeing anyone, except for some shivering tobacco addicts huddled outside the Barley Mow in a cloud of smoke. On the way, I tried to prepare Daphne for the full horror of the Feathers, but it was peaceful and almost homely when we arrived. A coal fire was blazing in the fireplace and two old boys were playing darts, while Featherlight slouched against the bar, a mug of beer in one hand, shovelling pork scratchings into his mouth with the other.

  ‘Evening, Caplet,’ he said, spraying crumbs. ‘And with yet another beauteous lady, I see. Welcome, my lady.’

  For a moment I was nonplussed and disconcerted by his affability, but then he’d always managed a certain old-fashioned charm with women in his pub – not that there were many.

  ‘What can I get for you, this cold eveni
ng?’ he asked.

  ‘Umm … nothing actually … the thing is, I …umm … we want to ask you a question. Is that OK?’

  ‘If that was the question,’ said Featherlight with a chuckle, ‘then, yes, it was OK.’

  ‘What?’

  He sighed. ‘Oh forget it. Fire away, Caplet.’

  ‘Right … umm … have you seen Kathy?’

  ‘Of course I have, you dolt,’ he said frowning. ‘What sort of stupid question is that? You brought her in here yourself.’

  ‘No, have you seen her since then? In the last few minutes?’

  ‘I regret I have not set eyes on the fair Kathy since Hobbes took her away.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I looked at Daphne and shrugged.

  ‘Hiya, Andy, what’s up?’ said Billy, emerging from the cellar, looking dusty and pink in the face.

  ‘We’re looking for Kathy.’

  ‘What?’ Featherlight roared, the furrows in his forehead deepening. ‘Why? What have you done to her? I’ll smash your face in.’ He took a step towards me, his face taking on a purple tinge.

  ‘Stop,’ said Daphne. ‘Andy didn’t do anything. She overheard something, got the wrong end of the stick and stormed out. We just want to make sure she’s alright.’

  Featherlight stopped. ‘Sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean any harm. I’m just worried about her. She’s sweet, but she may have problems.’

  ‘What sort of problems?’ asked Daphne.

  ‘Well, besides having Hobbes as a father, and hanging around with Caplet, there’s the other thing.’

  ‘What other thing?’

  Looking around, lowering his voice to a whisper, he leaned towards us, smothering us in beer fumes: ‘Drugs.’

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘No, not really,’ said Featherlight, the purple tinge returning, ‘it’s the sort of thing I’m always joking about. Sometimes, Caplet, you can be a real clod!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know. What sort of drugs?’