What is wrong with her? Georgina thought. And then she realized what the problem must be. Oh, the poor thing.
But what should she do about it? Oh God. Oh God!
It was just then that Barry’s car pulled into the driveway.
The old woman peered at Georgina. “You’re not Fredericka,” she said.
“No, dear. I’m not.”
“So what are you doing in my house? Are you collecting for charity, because I’ll tell you now…” And the old woman stopped to catch her breath. “Howard gives at the office.”
With Barry about to come in to help, Georgina felt a wave of confidence and even a protective feeling about this poor old person. Like as not, Barry would call the police, or chuck the poor drooling old dear out on the street. How frightening that would be for her. Georgina sympathized.
She moved forward to put her sympathetic arm around the old lady. It was then she saw a piece of paper fastened with a safety pin to the brown coat. It read, “If you are reading this, then my wife must have gotten out of the motel room. I’m real sorry she’s been a bother. She’s no harm, but if you give me a call or drop her at the Sunset Motel on Danforth Street, Room 116, I’d be beholden.” The note finished with a phone number.
“What have you done with Fredericka?” the old woman asked.
Barry was not in a good mood. He’d been just fine as he left Maxie’s — Maxie treated a man with a bit of respect. But now, to have to make this godawful stop at the Sunset Motel on his way to see Jim Pinney… Who knew what consequences there’d be for his equilibrium, his judgment at the meeting? Never mind that the Sunset was on the very route he took to drive to Fraserton. A man had to be on his absolute tippy-tippy toes to get the better of Jim Pinney.
“Oh, please,” Georgina had said. “I’m sure I can’t handle something like this by myself. And you can just drop her at reception if you don’t want to look around for Room 116.”
Barry looked at the gray lumpy figure in the passenger seat of his nearly new low-mileage Escape. The old woman was staring straight ahead, as she had since being loaded into the car.
Oh well. As long as there wasn’t a problem getting her out. As long as 116 wasn’t empty when he knocked.
They came to the motel and Barry pulled in. For the first time his passenger turned from staring straight ahead. “Lipstick,” she said.
“What?”
The old woman turned back to stare through the windshield.
Barry pulled up in front of Room 116. No need to ask where it was — he knew the layout of the Sunset. He unhooked the old woman’s seatbelt and went around the car to the passenger door. Opening it, he prised the woman out easily. He directed her by a shoulder to the room and knocked, fully prepared to dash away if no one responded.
But a moment later the door opened and a stout, bald old man said, “Gladys! Thank God! Oh, thank you, sir, thank you.”
Barry suddenly felt he’d been needlessly petty. “Not at all,” he said. “It was on my way. Pretty much.”
“Wherever did you find her?”
“On Redfield Drive — halfway across town. She was in the house, frightened the life out of my wife.” Barry nearly mentioned the drool, but decided not to.
The old man’s eyes teared. “I’m so sorry.” He took Gladys’s hand and led her gently into the room.
“Fredrick?” Gladys said. “What’s happened to Connie?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” the old man said to Barry. “I just don’t know.”
Barry said, “Maybe… get some help?”
“But where?” The old man retreated into the room and the door closed.
Barry went back to his car and settled himself in the driver’s seat. He flipped the mirror down and checked his tie, and his hair. And then he checked the side of his neck.
There was, indeed, a small spot of Maxie’s lipstick.
Ollie Cornbach was late for work. He leapt out of his car, pausing only to straighten his tie and his jacket. He headed into the Sheriff’s Department. Debbie Fry didn’t speak as she passed him going the other way. Stuck-up bitch, Ollie thought.
She was such a sore loser. Not his fault if she hadn’t actually asked him if he was married before she hopped into the sack with him. In fact he’d probably helped her out, in the long run. She’d know in the future not to try to sleep her way to a promotion in the first week of a new job. She’d know next time to wait awhile, wait till she knew how the guys in the hierarchy were fixed. Till she knew the lay of the land, so to speak.
The lay of the land. That was good. Ollie would try to remember to tell it to Lou in the diner mid-shift. Lou, his best friend from Roseville High. He’d gone away for a while, Lou. But now he was back. And maybe when his convictions had expired Ollie could get him onto the force. Maybe in Debbie’s place, if the stuck-up bitch held on to the job for that long before transferring to pastures new.
Ollie strode into the deputy’s office. “Sorry, sorry, Wayne. Last-minute emergency at home.”
“So last-minute you forgot to zip up afterward?”
Ollie looked down and checked his fly.
“Gotcha,” Wayne said, rising from behind the desk. “But I think you just told me more than I want to know about why you were late.”
“A man’s gotta do…” Ollie said with a grin.
“Well, a man’s gotta do a lotta paperwork tonight,” Wayne said.
“Yeah? What’s happened?”
“Crime wave.”
Ollie perked up. Was it his chance to crack a big one at last? He had ambitions to work for the state police, but without a degree he’d be stuck in the slow lane forever unless he could crack a big one.
“Mrs. Parriton had her jewelry box emptied this morning.”
“Mrs. who?”
“And the Larovics lost cash and some kinda old Indian artefaction.”
“The who?”
“And John Baker came home to find some Olde English figurines gone, and his jade cufflinks missing, and a gold Mexican dish vanished. What’s a gold dish? D’ya know?”
Ollie was frowning. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve had fourteen reports of thefts today.”
“But we don’t get that many in a month.” He considered. “In a year, most years.”
“Well, we got it today. I processed six of the reports but the other eight are awaiting your personal attention.”
“Hell’s bells.” Maybe no visit to Lou at the diner tonight after all.
“While you were out in town today,” Wayne asked, “you didn’t see a gang of bikers or anything, did you?” The phone began to ring. “That’s probably another one, Deputy Cornbach.” Wayne slipped his jacket on. “Have fun.”
“No,” Ollie said, about the bikers. He had been out in town, but he hadn’t seen a damn thing out of the ordinary. He dropped into the seat at the desk. “I didn’t see a damn thing.” He picked up the phone. “Roseville Sheriff’s Office.”
“She nearly got caught,” Frank said to Beverley.
“Shut up and drive,” Margaret said sharply. But something caught in her throat and in trying to clear it she began to wheeze.
“I’m just saying,” Frank said.
“Well, I had an easy time,” Beverley said. She was short, round, and wore her graying hair long and straight.
“What do you think the pickings will come to today?” Margaret asked, her breathing under control again.
“You should have seen her, though, Bev,” Frank said with a smile. “When she got returned to the room she looked great. How did you do that drool, Marg? The guy who brought you in was really spooked.”
“Natural talent,” Margaret said. “You know, I was thinking…”
“There’s a first,” Frank said. “Just kidding.”
“I was thinking that what we are doing is really a contribution to homeland security. All these small-town people leave their doors open, their cars running when they go to the drugstore for a l
otto ticket. They have no attitude of alertness. What would happen if al-Qaeda came to Roseville? Security is all about vigilance.”
“Yeah, right,” Bev said. “Justify it however you want, sweetie. But we’re making money for ourselves.”
“That too,” Margaret said. “I was just saying.” She coughed, and stifled a wheeze. There was a chance if it got too bad, Frank and Bev would make her be the one to stay in the motel room while they went out, despite the fact that old women at the money end were less risky because they were less threatening.
“Well,” Frank said, “it’s my grandson’s birthday next month. And you know what greedy little beggars kids are these days because of the TV they watch.”
The women chimed, “Amen.”
“So,” he said, “where’s next? Who’s got the map?”
Say That Again
by Peter Lovesey
Copyright © 2007 by Peter Lovesey
A winner of the Cartier Diamond Dagger, the CWa’s life-time achievement award, Peter Lovesey is a longtime contributor to EQMM and a former winner of our Readers Award. The following story emerged from a seminar he and friends Michael Z. Lewin and Liza Cody presented at a crime writers’ conference in Britain — one of many projects the three have participated in together. Mr. Lovesey’s latest novel is The Circle (Soho Crime).
❖
We called him “the Brigadier with the buggered ear.” Just looking at it made you wince. Really he should have had the bits surgically removed. He claimed it was an old war wound. However, Sadie the Lady, another of our residents, told us it wasn’t true. She said she’d talked to the Brig’s son Arnold, who reckoned his old man got blind drunk in Aldershot one night and tripped over a police dog and paid for it with his shell-like.
Because of his handicap, the Brigadier tended to shout. His “good” ear wasn’t up to much, even with the aid stuck in it. We got used to the shouting, we old farts in the Never-Say-Die Retirement Home. After all, most of us are hard of hearing as well. No doubt we were guilty of letting him bluster and bellow without interruption. We never dreamed at the time that our compliance would get us into the High Court on a murder rap.
It was set in motion by She-Who-Must-Be-Replaced, our so-called matron, pinning a new leaflet on the notice board in the hall.
“Infernal cheek!” the Brig boomed. “They’re parasites, these people, living off the frail and weak-minded.”
“Who are you calling weak-minded?” Sadie the Lady piped up. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain.”
The Brig didn’t hear. Sometimes it can be a blessing.
“Listen to this,” he bellowed, as if we had any choice. “ ‘Are you dissatisfied with your hearing? Struggling with a faulty instrument? Picking up unwanted background noise? Marcus Haliburton, a renowned expert on the amazing new digital hearing aids, will be in attendance all day at the Bay Tree Hotel on Thursday, 8th April, for free consultations. Call this number now for an appointment. No obligation.’ No obligation, my arse — forgive me, ladies. You know what happens? They get you in there and tell you to take out your National Health aid so they can poke one of those little torches in your ear and of course you’re stuffed. You can’t hear a thing they’re saying from that moment on. The next thing is they shove a form in front of you and you find you’ve signed an order for a thousand-pound replacement. If you object they drop your NHS aid on the floor and tread on it.”
“That can’t be correct,” Miss Martindale said.
“Completely wrecked, yes,” the Brigadier said. “Are you speaking from personal experience, my dear? Because I am.”
Someone put up a hand. He wanted to be helped to the toilet, but the Brigadier took it as support. “Good man. What we should do is teach these blighters a lesson. We could, you know, with my officer training and George’s underworld experience.”
I smiled faintly. My underworld links were nil, another of the Brig’s misunderstandings. One afternoon I’d been talking to Sadie about cats and happened to mention that we once adopted a stray. I thought the Brig was dozing in his armchair, but he came to life and said, “Which of the Krays was that — Reggie or Ronnie? I had no idea of your criminal past, George. We’ll have to watch you in future.”
It was hopeless trying to disillusion him, so I settled for my gangster reputation and some of the old ladies began to believe it, too, and found me more interesting than ever they’d supposed.
By the next tea break, the Brigadier had turned puce with excitement. “I’ve mapped it out,” he told us. “I’m calling it Operation Syringe, because we’re going to clean these ruffians out. Basically, the object of the plan is to get a new super-digital hearing aid for everyone in this home free of charge.”
“How the heck will you do that?” Sadie asked.
“What?”
She stepped closer and spoke into his ear. “They’re a private company. Those aids cost a fortune.”
The Brig grinned. “Simple. We intercept their supplies. I happen to know the Bay Tree Hotel quite well.”
Sadie said to the rest of us, “That’s a fact. The Legion has its meetings there. He’s round there every Friday night for his G and T.”
“G and T or two or three,” another old lady said.
I said, “Wait a minute, Brigadier. We can’t steal a bunch of hearing aids.” I have a carrying voice when necessary and he heard every word.
“ ‘Steal’ is not a term in the military lexicon, dear boy,” he said. “We requisition them.” He leaned forward. “Now, the operation has three phases. Number One: Observation. I’ll take care of that. Number Two: Liaison. This means getting in touch with an inside man, Cormac, the barman. I can do that also. Number Three: Action. And that depends on what we learn from Phases One and Two. That’s where the rest of you come in. Are you with me?”
“I don’t know what he’s on about,” Sadie said to me.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s playing soldiers, that’s all. He’ll find out it’s a nonstarter.”
“No muttering in the ranks,” the Brigadier said. “Any dissenters? Fall out, the dissenters.”
No one moved. Some of us needed help to move anywhere and nobody left the room when tea and biscuits were on offer. And that was how we were recruited into the snatch squad.
On Saturday, the Brigadier reported on Phases One and Two of his battle plan. He marched into the tea room looking as chipper as Montgomery on the eve of El Alamein.
“Well, the obbo phase is over and so is the liaison and I’m able to report some fascinating results. The gentleman who wants us all to troop along to the Bay Tree Hotel and buy his miraculous hearing aids is clearly doing rather well out of it. He drives a vintage Bentley and wears a different suit each visit and by the cut of them they’re not off the peg.”
“There’s money in ripping off old people,” Sadie said.
“It ought to be stopped,” her friend Briony said.
The Brig went on, “I talked to my contact last night and I’m pleased to tell you that the enemy — that is to say, Marcus Haliburton — works to a predictable routine. He puts in a fortnightly appearance at the Bay Tree. If you go along and see him you’ll find Session One is devoted to the consultation and the placing of the order. Session Two is the fitting and payment. Between Sessions One and Two a box is delivered to the hotel and it contains up to fifty new hearing aids — more than enough for our needs.” He paused and looked around the room. “So what do you think is the plan?”
No one was willing to say. Some might have thought speaking up would incriminate them. Others weren’t capable of being heard by the Brigadier. Finally I said, “We, em, requisition the box?”
“Ha!” He lifted a finger. “I thought you’d say that. We can do better. What we do is requisition the box.”
There were smiles all round at my expense.
“And then,” the Brigadier said, “we replace the box with one just like it.”
“That’s neat,” Sadie said. She wa
s beginning to warm to the Brigadier’s criminal scheme.
He’d misheard her again. “It may sound like deceit to you, madam, but to some of us it’s common justice. They called Robin Hood a thief.”
“Are we going to be issued with bows and arrows?” Sadie said.
“I wouldn’t mind meeting some merry men,” Briony said.
The Brigadier’s next move took us all by surprise. “Check the corridor, George. Make sure no staff are about.”
I did as I was told and gave the thumbs-up sign, whereupon the old boy bent down behind the sideboard and dragged out a flattened cardboard box that he rapidly restored to its normal shape.
“Thanks to my contacts at the hotel I’ve managed to retrieve the box that was used to deliver this week’s aids.” No question: He intended to go through with this crazy adventure. In the best officer tradition he started to delegate duties. “George, your job will be to get this packed and sealed and looking as if it just arrived by courier.”
“No problem,” I said to indulge him. I was sure the plan would break down before I had to do anything.
“That isn’t so simple as it sounds,” he said. “Take a close look. The aids are made in South Africa, so there are various customs forms attached to the box. They stuff them in a kind of envelope and stick them to the outside. What you do is update this week’s documents.”
“I’ll see what I can manage.”
“Then you must consider the contents. The instruments don’t weigh much, and they’re wrapped in bubble wrap, so the whole thing is almost as light as air. Whatever you put inside must not arouse suspicion.”
“Crumpled-up newspaper,” Sadie said.
“What did she say?”
I repeated it for his benefit.
Sadie said, “Briony has a stack of Daily Mails this high in her room. She hoards everything.”
Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 129, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 787 & 788, March/April 2007 Page 24