Clocks Locks and Danger

by Lizzie Lewis

  I nod. “All taken care of. I have a fire escape at the back of the building, so there’s no need to worry about me.”

  I don’t think he looks especially worried anyway. I think he just wants to put himself in the clear in case I get trapped in the front of the burning building and can’t find the key. I’ve already decided what to do. There are three sets of keys I’ve ordered. One for me, a set for Abi for emergencies, and I’m going to slip the spare double cylinder latch key under the stair carpet on the third step up. It’s not like putting a key under the doormat. Someone would already have to be inside the building to be able to search for it. In which case, they wouldn’t need it anyway.

  I remind the locksmith about the bar he’s fitting to the door at the top of the stairs. That’s good, because even if Abi can’t get away, I’ll have the locksmith there when the detective inspector has his self-invited look round the office.

  “Already done,” locksmith says with a smile. “You’d better check it, and then I’ll be on my way. And here’s the invoice. I have a card reader if you’d like to pay me now.”

  The man isn’t missing a trick. I run up the stairs quickly and check the metal bar. It’s exactly what I hoped for. So I have no reason to delay him. I have my debit card in the pocket of my jeans. It feels great to know that my cards are no longer maxed out, and I don’t have to put on an elaborate display of pretending to wonder what’s gone wrong at the bank.

  By this time, Abi appears with DI Dickinson. “Is it all right if I come up with you?” Abi asks. “I’d like to see what the locksmith has done on the door at the top of the stairs.”

  Crafty Abi. There, I knew she would come up with a good excuse. “Yes, come on. You can lead the way.”

  I want DI Dickinson to go next. I always feel uncomfortable with a man following me closely up the stairs with his eyes at butt level, even though I don’t have a figure to lust after. But he insists on taking up the rear. Not a good choice of word.

  We reach the top without me experiencing any groping hands, and I feel stupid. The detective might be missing his family, or perhaps he was glad to see them go. Either way, he isn’t interested in me. This has to be nothing more than a social visit by someone who knew Sam and wants to make sure I’m surviving okay.

  Abi spots the large sign for the window leaning against the front wall. She lets out a noise that implies full approval, and DI Dickinson smiles. “Very professional,” he says. “I hope you really do make a go of it, Janika.”

  I’m wishing I knew what his first name is. I can’t keep referring to him as Detective Inspector. He glances around the office and pats the top of the desk. “Very nice. Very nice indeed.”

  He smiles as he points to the clock on the wall. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Abi frowns. “It’s a clock,” she says, stating the obvious.

  Both the detective and I laugh. “It’s a camera as well,” I explain. “You can just see the tiny camera lens in the figure ten if you look really closely. It’s what’s called a pinhole camera, because the lens is no bigger than the head of a pin.”

  “Oh,” Abi says, “is it working now?” And she runs her hands through her long blonde hair, and smoothes down her black and cream striped Button Up jacket.

  “Twenty-four seven,” I say, amused by her reaction. “Don’t worry, Abi, I won’t be doing a public screening of this visit on YouTube.”

  DI Dickinson sits in the impressive swivel office chair behind the impressive mahogany desk. “You deserve to do well, Janika,” he says. “Sam would be proud of you if he could see you now.”

  “Perhaps he can,” I say. “He said he was a Christian.” There, that should kill any ideas of romance in the detective’s balding head.

  I notice Abi almost jump. “I didn’t know,” she says. “What about you, Janika? Do you go to church?”

  This is all getting a bit personal. I pull a face. “Not really,” I say, leaving the whole thing rather vague. Everybody should be entitled to their own belief, and not get quizzed about it by religious do-gooders.

  From the hurt look on Abi’s face I feel sorry for being so snappy. Especially after she’s been good enough to come up to play gooseberry with me and DI Dickinson. I’ll have to make it up to her later.

  It’s time to come clean. “I’m sorry,” I say to the Chief Inspector, “but I don’t remember your first name.”

  I put my hand to my mouth metaphorically, hoping it didn’t sound as though I was expressing a personal interest.

  He smiles as he says, “You must call me Roger.”

  Roger – I’m not sure I’m going to get used to referring to the man informally yet – spends a little time looking around the office, but as he goes to open the door to the living quarters, Abi very diplomatically takes him by the arm. “That’s all private,” she says with a laugh. “Come downstairs, and have another coffee and something to eat.”

  Abi is amazing. I’ll never, ever hold anything against her. She seems to have a remarkable ability to read situations in advance. I don’t think that’s anything you could learn on a residential PI course. I just hope it’s something that’s also built into me. I’m certainly going to need it in my work as a private investigator.

  I’m wondering how Tom MacDonald’s grandmother is going to react when she discovers she’s been secretly recorded on video. Of course, unless he’s stupid, Tom isn’t going to tell her if there’s no sign of abuse, and the grandmother is genuinely taking great care of her granddaughter. Perhaps little Katie needs to see a doctor about why she bruises so easily. So, either way, something good is bound to happen from me taking on the case. My first professional case. It’s so simple that it definitely can’t go wrong.

  I follow behind Roger and Abi as we leave, making sure they go in front so I can lock the door at the top of the stairs. It’s not a high security lock, but even if someone manages to get through the outside door, the alarm will instantly trip, and they’ll be trapped on the stairs.

  The window at the back, where I have the rolled up ladder for the fire escape, is a substantial white uPVC construction with a locking handle. No one can get in that way. And if anyone tries, there’s now a vibration sensor on the glass, connected to the main alarm.

  Roger pauses and examines the stairway sensors and the digital control box. “It all looks good to me,” he says, turning back and giving me a smile. “With all these precautions, there's one thing you can be sure about, Janika. You’re going to be safe here.”

  I pass him the new key to the double cylinder lock. “You’re going to need this to get out. That latch locks itself when the door closes.”

  Chapter 14

  I’m feeling lost without my usual phone. Not that anyone is going to be contacting me about a possible investigation. Those flyers aren’t out yet, and although Pete has helped me place my large sign with my mobile number in the window, it’s unlikely anyone will phone today.

  I’m really regretting not getting the flyers and business cards organised earlier, but at least something good has come out of it. The MacDonalds are going to display my flyers and business cards on the counter, and they gave me my first commission. I didn’t expect to be snooping on a grandmother, but it’s work, even though I’m not being paid. Well, I thought all along that I might need to get involved in pro bono work to get my name known.

  Just after two o’clock my spare phone rings. That’s strange, because nobody knows the number yet, apart from Abi. I answer it cautiously. “Hello?”

  Much to the surprise of the man on the other end, I burst out laughing when he explains who it is. How stupid can I be! It’s the phone shop guy. He actually noted the number of the SIM card when he fitted it in my spare phone.

  He tells me my phone is now clean.

  “I’ll be with you immediately. ... What message?”

  In my excitement I wasn’t really listening. “The print shop? Thanks. See you soon.”

  Things are getting better and better. A
pparently Tom at the print shop has sent a text to say that my printing is ready to collect, and phone shop guy spotted it on the screen just after he’d finished putting everything back together. Note to self: get him to confirm that there are definitely no secret apps on there.

  I’m at the print shop now, and Tom and Daisy are looking pleased with themselves as they hand me two packages. Taped on the top of each one is a sample of what’s inside. Both the flyers and the business cards look absolutely amazing. The quality feels outstanding as I run my finger over them. The gold really looks like gold, against a glossy black background. Expensive. No wonder the MacDonalds are grinning.

  I hope they stick with the quote they gave me when I dropped the job off. I’m getting my debit card out of my bag to pay, just hoping that there hasn’t been a rush charge. I mean, they look really, really classy. I wasn’t expecting them until tomorrow.

  They tell me to put my card away, but I remind them that I said I was going to pay for them, but not charge them for lending them the spy clock – on the condition that they place some flyers and business cards on the counter.

  Still grinning, Tom points to a little cardboard stand that contains a batch of my flyers and business cards. Great, but they’re not exactly prominent or I would have spotted them to begin with.

  “We can’t possibly charge you,” Daisy says. “We really appreciate the offer of the clock. You can come around any time after six. Tom’s Nan will have gone by then. It won’t take long, will it?”

  I’m only half listening. I don’t have the cheek to ask them to move the small display stand to somewhere a bit more prominent, but both Tom and Daisy turn their backs for a moment and I surreptitiously slide the display forward, and stand there innocently while I make a note of their address.

  Now to the phone shop with my freshly printed flyers. I’m wondering if phone shop guy will be amenable to leaving some on the counter. I’m certainly going to give it a go. I’m not the timid creature I was at school. Meeting Abi again has brought back all sorts of memories of that time, plus the horrific relationship with Bruno Kamiński in Poland. No wonder I came back to England.

  Phone shop guy is smiling. He says he’s checked my phone and he’s found one suspicious app on there, but it seems he has no idea what it did. It wasn’t a tracking device, but it was definitely some sort of spyware. But he’s deleted it anyway, and given it a full virus and malware check of his own.

  I have to admit I can’t share his smile. As a private investigator my phone has to be cleaner than clean. I’m wondering when the spyware got on there. Probably when I was doing a Google search and clicked on a dodgy site. I’ve always believed my antivirus app would sort out that type of thing.

  Anyway, I thank him profusely, and am more than happy with the cost. He’s given my phone a physical as well as an electronic clean.

  I take a deep breath. Come on, girl, you’re no longer a mouse. “I’m wondering if you would be good enough to put a few of these flyers on the counter. Or perhaps some of my business cards. In return, I’ll recommend you to anyone who has a phone problem. How’s that?” I’m sounding much more confident than I feel. I’ve learnt to do that.

  Phone shop guy looks at the flyers and points to his very cluttered counter. “Leave a few business cards. Call in occasionally, and you can leave some more if I run out.”

  I think he rather fancies me. Well, it’s a one-way fancy, but I smile. “Yes, great idea. And you know how to phone me if you run out extra quickly.”

  I’m glad to get out of the shop, although I’m relieved to have my phone checked and cleaned. I could have bought a new one, but this one is an old friend. So now I have to go back to my new office and wait for the phone to ring with requests for my services. In the meantime, I really fancy one of Button Up’s jam doughnuts. Liam won’t be back from school yet, so there’s a good chance there’ll be at least one left.

  <><><><>

  I’ve only just sat down for my coffee and jam doughnut when my phone rings. Unfortunately, it isn’t a potential client. It’s my mother, phoning from Poland to check up on me.

  I’ve not seen my parents since Sam’s funeral, and we don’t have much contact. My mother can’t forgive me for leaving Bruno, and refused to believe just what a control freak and bully he was. Whenever he hit me, he always did it below the waist where it wouldn’t show.

  Bruno is the son of one of my father’s Polish friends, and my parents thought it was going to be a marriage made in heaven. Fortunately, the marriage never took place. Sometimes I feel sad, like I do now, and wonder what our child would look like if he had been born. It was six serious blows to the stomach that caused the miscarriage. Only five months old, but still a baby boy. My child.

  I was too scared to tell the hospital what had happened, and my mother wouldn’t believe that the injury had been responsible. “You’re young,” she told me. “Miscarriages happen. Plenty of time for you and Bruno to have another.”

  That’s when I fled to England, where I met Sam. Sam was the most gentle, loving man I could ever hope to meet. I’ve heard that physically and emotionally abused women can go into a series of similar relationships, but fortunately not me.

  Anyway, my mother says she and Dad are coming over, and they want to make sure I’m living in a nice place. Well, it is nice, but they’re probably expecting something much more luxurious, and not just a bedsit attached to an upstairs office.

  “No, Matka,” – that’s Polish for mother – “there isn’t room for you both to stay with me. ... I’ll definitely find you a nice hotel. ... No, there’s only one bed.”

  Eventually the phone call finishes, and I really don’t fancy my coffee. It’s gone cold, and the jam doughnut looks too big a mouthful to cope with, the way I’m feeling. I’m wondering why my mother, my matka, is having this effect on me. I’m thirty-three and have a life of my own, away from my controlling parents. What did she mean, do I have a steady boyfriend now? How dare she! No one can replace my Sam.

  There’s a folded newspaper on the table. Perhaps there will be something there that will take my mind off my parental problems. It’s folded back at a crossword. I look closely and it seems to be a cryptic one. I remember Abi saying she likes to do cryptic crosswords. Perhaps this is one of hers. Well, it’s not finished yet. I think I’ll surprise her and fill in a couple of clues. Assuming I can.

  Four down. More of a cryptic clue than an anagram. It has to start with the letters F A. Okay, it’s FAMILY. I wonder if Abi will mind if I fill it in. My pen is in my bag. No, Family won’t fit. The last letter has to be an R.

  Abi comes across and is surprised to see my coffee has not been drunk. “Is there a problem?”

  I feel like bursting into tears and confiding in her about the phone call I’ve just received, but I force a smile. “Sorry, my mother rang and I got rather distracted.” I’m hoping Abi won’t ask what caused the distraction.

  Abi offers to get me a fresh coffee, and she spots the pen in my hand and the folded newspaper. “See if you can get four down,” she says. “I’m completely stuck on that one.”

  “Me too.”

  While Abi goes to get my fresh coffee, I study the crossword again. And then I laugh. Six across is Quicker, not Quickly. So everything fits.

  Pete follows Abi across as she brings me my coffee. Pete points to the newspaper. “Are you good at that sort of thing, Janika?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes.”

  Pete laughs. “We pull Abi’s leg about her crosswords. If she doesn’t know one of the answers, she looks it up on the internet.”

  I can see Abi turning red. “Not true, Pete. Yes, if I’m stuck I try to find the answers online, but only so I can see how the clue works. So I can learn for next time. If I get help with a crossword, I never claim to have completed it by myself.” She turns to me. “Honest.”

  “But she leaves the folded paper on one of the tables for the customers to see,” Pete whispers, loudly enough for Abi to hea
r.

  “Pete, I think the toilet needs cleaning,” Abi says, winking at me. “And then you can tidy the storeroom.”

  Pete is obviously used to this putdown, and he takes no notice. Melanie and a rather self-conscious looking ginger haired boy appear from round the back. Liam has something wrapped in white tissue paper.

  “Sherlock Holmes,” he says, as I start to unwrap the tissue paper. “You said you liked him.”

  “Liam,” I say, “it’s wonderful. Sherlock Holmes is my hero. Every time I get out my keys I’ll remember him. And I’ll remember you, too.”

  In my hand I’m holding a coloured plastic key ring in the shape of the famous detective. It makes me smile to see the comic representation of Sherlock Holmes, but it really is a great present. Liam has backed away. Perhaps he thinks I’m going to give him a kiss. So I thank him again, and get out the key fob to my Nissan Micra and attach it while he watches from a safe distance.

  Given half a chance I would have kissed Liam. It’s wonderful to be given such a moving pressie, especially by a small lad who is apparently so excited that I’m here. I know I’m a disappointment to my mother, but I hope I’m not going to be a disappointment to the boy.

  Chapter 15

  Tom and Daisy Macdonald’s house is on the edge of town. It’s an area I don’t remember visiting when we lived here in a previous lifetime. If my parents had let me have a bicycle, as many other kids had at school, I would have explored around a bit. Compared to Brevelstone, the place is tiny, surrounded by countryside.

  It’s seven o’clock and I get a good welcome. Daisy shows me the room where Tom’s Nan looks after Katie most of the day. The little girl is looking at me now, and she gives a shy smile. Daisy has introduced me to her as a good friend. Sensible, even if not true. Tom and Daisy are about my age, so perhaps it’s some sort of subconscious wish on their part.