by Ian Martyn
‘Everyone’s an expert,’ mumbled Kirby.
Harold studied the video and his eyes widened. ‘Oh, I see. Poof.’
‘Poof exactly. So, does this mean anything to you?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Hmm?’
Harold played the video again and then handed back the phone to Kirby. ‘I have an idea and it’s not one I like. So if it’s all the same to you I’d like confirmation from an expert.’
‘And there’s an expert in cats that disappear and go poof while they’re at it?’
Harold smiled. ‘Yes, and luckily for you I know the man and he just happens to be in town.’ Harold glanced at the old clock on the wall whose ticking and tocking seemed to grow louder as it was scrutinised. ‘And if we get a move on we might catch the performance.’
‘What performance?’ Kirby asked, but Harold was already heading out of the shop. Outside, Harold stopped as if having a sudden thought. ‘Got your car, Inspector?’
‘No, I flew here. Why?’
‘Quicker that’s all. We could walk but I wouldn’t want us to miss it.’
Kirby pointed to his Ford Focus. ‘And where are we going?’
‘The University Theatre.’
‘And what are we going to see?’
Harold grinned. ‘Oh, I would hate to spoil the surprise.’
Kirby shook his head. ‘Great,’ he said as they pulled on to Osbourne Road. In a couple of days of outrageous surprises what was one more?
As they entered the theatre foyer, Harold hung back with his hands shoved into the pockets of his cardigan, doing his best to look aged and innocent. Kirby found himself behind four elderly ladies in the queue to pay.
‘So why are we here?’ Kirby asked when Harold had shuffled forward to join him.
Harold pointed to a poster. “The great Geraldo,” it read. “You won’t believe your eyes. One week only, matinee Thursday.”
‘It’s Thursday,’ Harold said by way of explanation as they reached the desk.
‘That’s one full and its half-price for your dad, fifteen pounds,’ the receptionist said. Kirby glanced back to Harold who had shrunk back into the cardigan, which now looked a couple of sizes too big for him.
‘Do you need any assistance?’ the receptionist asked, nodding towards Harold.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Kirby muttered.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing,’ Kirby said, pushing Harold ahead of him. ‘Come on, Pops.’
‘I think that might count as fraud,’ he said as they sat down.
‘Oh, come on,’ Harold said. ‘I might not be registered as a pensioner but I’m a few hundred years older than this lot.’ He looked around. ‘Well most of them anyway,’ he added.
Kirby stared at Harold. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘About what?’
‘Your age.’
Harold smiled and produced a bag of Maltesers. He offered them to Kirby.
‘And what’s the expiry date on these?’ Kirby asked. He held up a hand. ‘No don’t answer that,’ he added taking a handful.
The lights dimmed.
‘Just in time,’ Harold whispered.
A man in traditional magician garb of top hat and black cape with a red silk lining walked onto the stage pushing a tall cabinet, also black, with strange, oriental?, gold and red lettering all over it. He opened the front and back sections and walked through them. With a theatrical flourish he then closed them, back first, then front. He waved his white-gloved hands in a sinuous fashion before opening the front door again. A woman in a long white dress stepped out and curtsied as a ripple of applause circulated the theatre.
‘He always opens with that one,’ Harold said, which earned him a shush from behind.
Kirby watched what he thought of as your standard magic show, although he was no expert. At one point during a card trick, the man behind Harold said, ‘Bet that was up his sleeve,’ to the woman next to him, which caused Harold to crunch hard on a mouthful of Maltesers and mutter, ‘Idiot.’
After the show, as everyone else was filing out, Harold led Kirby to the front and a door to the side of the stage marked “No Entry, Staff Only”. He turned the handle then tutted.
‘Locked?’ Kirby suggested.
Harold turned it again and this time it opened. They continued down a narrow corridor to another door with a faded star on it. Scrawled on a Post-it note was “Geraldo”.
Harold knocked.
‘Come in, Harold,’ a deep voice said and the door opened. A man sat with his back to them. Kirby looked around, but the man was alone, or at least he was before they joined him. He glanced at the door, presuming it was some sort of trick. However, the last day or so gave him reason to doubt. He decided not to ask.
‘Been a long time, Geraldo,’ Harold said.
‘Indeed, Harold,’ Geraldo said. ‘And are you going to introduce me to Inspector Kirby?’
‘He likes to show off,’ Harold said to Kirby. Geraldo smiled and inclined his head.
‘Can I ask a question?’ Kirby said.
‘Ask away.’
‘Why the fumble?’
Geraldo sniffed. ‘Tell him, Roberto.’ As he spoke, a pair of long, white and pink ears rose from inside the top hat, which was resting on the dressing table.
The rabbit rested it paws on the rim and looked up at them. ‘Because although they come to see magic they still want to believe that it’s really all sleight of hand and trickery.’
Kirby pinched the back of his hand, nothing, this wasn’t a dream either. The door thing Kirby could accept, however, he had to admit the rabbit was good. The rabbit winked at him before turning to Harold. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’
‘Show him,’ Harold said.
Kirby continued to stare at the rabbit. Surely not?
‘The video, Inspector.’
Er… yes, right,’ Kirby said, taking out his phone and entering the pin. He frowned at it.
Harold held out his hand. ‘Oh, give it here.’
‘You should try the six,’ Geraldo said as he took the phone from Harold. ‘Bigger screen.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ Kirby said.
Geraldo studied the video then showed it to Roberto who nodded. ‘Mephisto,’ he said, handing it back to Harold. ‘He’s been out of circulation for ten years or more.’
‘The gnome?’ Inspector Kirby asked.
Geraldo tutted and glanced at Harold who raised his eyes to the ceiling in sympathy.
Geraldo smiled as one might do to someone you thought to be a little simple. ‘The cat, Inspector. I’d recognise those eyes anywhere.’
‘I thought it might be,’ Harold said. ‘But I knew you could confirm it.’
‘And the gnome?’ Kirby asked again, because he was beginning to appreciate that in the worlds of Harold and now Geraldo things were rarely as they appeared. And if the rabbit could talk, who knows.
‘Well, I’m no expert,’ Geraldo said. ‘German perhaps, although could be Swiss, early twentieth century. Worth a bob or two I’d say.’
Everyone’s a comedian, thought Kirby. ‘But just a garden gnome?’
‘Ah,’ Geraldo said. ‘I see what you’re getting at. Yes, Inspector, this time just a gnome of the decorative garden variety.’
Kirby nodded. ‘Lucky then that Mrs Tanner was filming him.’
Geraldo shook his head. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Inspector. I take it the lady posts these videos of her precious cat, what did she call him?’
‘Napoleon.’
Geraldo laughed. ‘Oh yes, how appropriate. I take it she posts them on YouTube or something?’
Kirby took the phone back. ‘And Facebook apparently. She seemed very up on her social media.’
‘Oh she would be,’ Geraldo said. ‘Very Mephisto, loves an audience, the bigger the better. As for taking the gnome with him and the little puff of smoke, all very theatrical if a little over the top in my opinion.’
‘So,’ Haro
ld said, ‘he’s announcing his return?’
Geraldo nodded. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Return?’ Kirby asked.
‘Yes,’ Geraldo said, drawing out the word. ‘Which is interesting. You see Mephisto’s been in hiding on this…’ he glanced at Harold, who nodded. ‘… this side of the divide after falling out with his former paramour. What these days you would call partner.’
Harold smiled. ‘Not a lady to get on the bad side of.’
Geraldo and Roberto chuckled. ‘No, exactly,’ Geraldo said. ‘Marianne’s not one to tangle with lightly.
‘Marianne?’ Kirby said.
Harold frowned at Kirby ‘Yes, why?’
‘The missing girl’s mother is called Marianne. Ran out on her and her father when she was two.’
‘Harold?’ Geraldo asked.
Harold grabbed Kirby’s phone back and flicked at the screen. He found the picture of Sarah and Susie, and zoomed in on Sarah for Geraldo and Roberto to look at.
‘She does have something of a look of her,’ Roberto said. Geraldo nodded.
‘Why do I feel this is not good?’ Kirby said.
‘So what do you reckon?’ Harold said to Geraldo, ignoring Kirby.
‘Mephisto and Marianne, points to one thing for me.’
Roberto twitched his whiskers. ‘Sisillius.’
‘Again?’ Harold said. ‘Didn’t work out last time.’
‘But a daughter,’ Geraldo said. ‘And of this world?’
Harold nodded. ‘Oh Edna’s going to love this. They didn’t exactly part on good terms last time they met.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Hang on. And you two just happen to be around?’
Geraldo glanced across at Roberto, who ran a paw over one long white ear. ‘Three days ago we were playing Whitby when Roberto felt a disturbance.’
Kirby held up his hand. They continued to ignore him.
‘It’s the whiskers,’ Roberto said.
‘On the same fault line,’ Harold filled in.
‘Exactly,’ Roberto said. ‘So we thought we’d better come north and see what’s what.’
‘And there just happened to be a slot?’
Geraldo inspected a fingernail. ‘One of the Dupreis sisters went down with laryngitis. Apparently she’s quite prone to it; all those cigars.’
‘And you’re sticking around?’
‘As the poster says, here all week.’
‘You care to fill me in?’ Kirby said as he and Harold got back in the car. ‘I know it may seem trivial to you, Geraldo and Roberto, but I am supposed to be in charge and there is still a missing girl.’
‘Yes well, let’s get back and I’ll make you a cup of tea. I think you might need it.’
Eleven
‘Any news on Sarah?’ Harold asked as they left the car park.
‘Bit difficult if she’s not in this world, as you put it.’
‘Ah, yes. Did anyone see anything?’
Kirby glanced at Harold. ‘Like what?’
‘Anything.’
Kirby shook his head. ‘Not really. Had my sergeant asking around. However, it’s amazing how people can look without seeing. Some did say they’d seen a group of teenagers hanging around near the bus stop, but that’s all.’
‘Teenagers?’
‘Yes, you know, bigger than children, smaller than adults, well some of them anyway. Grey hoodies, crotch around the knees and arse hanging out of their jeans, that sort of thing. Talk in grunts and look at the floor when you speak to them.’
‘Yes I know what teenagers are. I get them in the shop from time to time.’
‘Trying to nick stuff?’
Harold smiled. ‘Not from me. These teenagers, all in grey hoodies you say?’
‘I think so.’
‘With the hoods up?’
‘Of course.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Hmm?’
Harold sucked his lip as he paused, then drummed his fingers on the dashboard before glancing across at Kirby.
Kirby could feel another test of sanity on its way. ‘Come on, out with it.’
‘Goblins,’ Harold said.
‘Goblins?’ Kirby repeated, feeling he was failing the test.
Harold tutted to himself. ‘Could be, makes sense.’
‘Goblins?’ Kirby said again, this time pulling the word out as if it was reluctant to leave his lips. He stared across at Harold. ‘Goblins? And that’s supposed to make sense?’
‘Watch it,’ Harold said, pointing at a red light. Kirby hit the brakes so hard it had them both straining against the seat belts.
‘Like me to drive?’ Harold asked as he rubbed his neck.
‘You drive?’
Harold shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘No,’ Kirby said as the lights changed. He took a deep breath to steady himself. He gripped the wheel a little harder. ‘So, go on then, goblins.’
‘Simple little fellas. Shortish, keep themselves to themselves and communicate mainly in grunts. Always fighting with each other.’
‘Just like teenagers then.’
Harold smiled. ‘So stick them in hoodies, who’d know?’
‘What and then send them to abduct a girl at a bus stop? In Jesmond? On a Monday morning?’
Harold pursed his lips as if thinking about it. ‘Possible, if you had one of the brighter ones leading them.’
‘Not like teenagers in that case. Anyway, how’d they get here?’
‘A gateway.’
‘I thought you were guardians or whatever of those?’
‘Can’t be everywhere. And it’s not unknown for new ones to pop up.’
Kirby shook his head. ‘Great. Just dandy.’
They drove the rest of the way without speaking while Harold whistled what Kirby later realised was “Raindrops keep falling on my head”. It seemed to him as if Harold might be enjoying all this, a bit of a break perhaps from the mundane life of a backstreet shopkeeper. Whereas Kirby felt as if his brain had filled up it’s daily, no weekly, quota of strange things to think about and that it couldn’t cope with much more. However, another part of his grey matter, where the coppering bit was housed, was still fighting to understand. They turned on to Clayton Road and then took a right.
‘Er, this isn’t right, Inspector?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘My shop’s further on.’
‘We’re not going to your shop,’ Kirby said as he pulled into the car park of the Collingwood Arms. ‘I’ve a feeling I’m going to need more than a cup of tea.’ He took out his phone. ‘Ah, Constable where are you?... Excellent, let me buy you a drink… On duty, I know, well just this once. I think it might help… Yes, Constable, it is like that.’
‘A constable?’ Harold asked.
‘Yes, WPC Shirley Barker.’
‘Er, is that good idea? The fewer who know and all that.’
‘Humour me, Harold,’ Kirby said opening the pub door. ‘If I’m going mad, I don’t want to be on my own. And if I’m not, I think I’m going to need someone to remind me from time to time.’
It was a relief for Kirby to walk into the normality of a pub in the late afternoon. The dim lighting and the smell of beer were a balm to his frayed senses.
‘Hiya, Harold,’ the barmaid greeted them.
Harold nodded. ‘Nancy.’
Kirby raised an eyebrow at Harold but didn’t ask. After all, he guessed, it must be Harold’s local and even a man who came from another world must fancy a pint every now and then. ‘What’re you having?’
‘The IPA, thanks.’
‘Three pints of the IPA, please. Oh, and a couple of bags of plain crisps.’
‘Coming up, pet.’
They took the drinks and the crisps to the benches and tables that ran along the front of the pub. Kirby chose the one at the far end furthest away from the two other groups that were there.
Kirby’s trained brain went into automatic analysis mode. In the opposite corner were a group of what looked like academics, th
e older, balding one, in a creased linen jacket and the other two in T-shirts and jeans with holes at the knees. They were hunched over a document, pointing, gesticulating and occasionally laughing in that “ha, ha, would you credit it” sort of way. Next to them were five office types, three men and two women. They had no doubt decided to knock off early and make the most of the sunshine. The three men were in their shirtsleeves, ties loosened and top buttons undone. One of the women was nursing what appeared to be a small lemonade with both hands, as if for comfort, while the other had a glass of what he presumed was white wine. White wine woman was flirting with the man next to her, leaning in close then slapping him on the arm at whatever he’d suggested.
It all seemed so normal. He envied them. It was a warm late summer afternoon, they were sitting outside enjoying a drink, blissfully unaware of all the disturbing things he was being told. And he knew there was more to come. But then wasn’t that always the policeman’s lot? That’s what coppers did, protect everyone else from the things they didn’t want to think about.
Harold sipped at his beer. ‘I prefer cheese and onion myself,’ he said, helping himself to a few crisps which were laid out on the packet Kirby had split open. ‘Since we’re waiting, what’s your first name? Can’t keep calling you Inspector.’
‘You can call me Kirby.’
Harold raised an eyebrow. ‘Must have a first name?’
‘Alright, it’s Jonah. But only my mother calls me Jonah.’
‘Nothing wrong with Jonah. It’s a good name, an old name.’
‘And you, Harold, what are you supposed to be, Celt?’
Harold put his pint down and stopped mid crisp. ‘Celt? British please, ancient British as your archaeologists like to call us. Or even worse, Iron Age, as if somehow they weren’t people. Huh, everyone seems to think being Celtic is just so cool. I could tell you a thing or two about the Celts…’
‘Sorry, only asking,’ Kirby said, realising he’d touched a bit of a raw nerve. To his relief Constable Barker appeared in the doorway. He held up a hand and she wandered across. She looked at Harold as she sat down. Kirby pushed a pint of IPA in her direction. She stared at it for a second, then shrugged and took a sip while still studying Harold.
Very good, Constable, Kirby thought, wait to hear what’s volunteered before asking your questions.