Clocks Locks and Danger

by Lizzie Lewis

  I can hear Courtney still laughing. “You didn’t hear this from me, Janika, but why don’t you send Gerry the Taff on a wild goose chase? When you park back at your office, just make sure you’re not being watched, and find the tracker. You know the sort of places to look for it.”

  “I can do better than that,” I say. “I’ve got my bug detector in my kit in the back of my Micra. I know what you’re going to suggest. I give Gerry the Taff the slip when I get back to town. I’m sure I can do that, and I go into the local supermarket car park. I find the tracker. It’s almost certainly going to be magnetic. Then I clip it on the wheel arch of the car parked next to me, and drive off quickly and park in a side road where I’m not likely to be spotted.”

  “Janika,” Courtney says, “how could I possibly suggest you do such a thing? Nothing was further from my mind. No way can I support you doing that.”

  I don’t know if her phone calls are all recorded, so I’m not going to say I’m sure that’s exactly what she had in mind. But whether it was or not, it’s what I’m going to do.

  “So how am I going to get the note and envelope to you if I can’t leave town?” Actually, the answer is obvious. “As soon as I ditch the tracker I’ll take a more roundabout route to Brevelstone.”

  “Sounds good, Janika. It’s best if you don’t come to the station. Where in Brevelstone would you like to meet me?”

  Anywhere but Mill Bridge, but I don’t say it. I haven’t been near that bridge since Courtney took me there and I spotted Sam’s gold cross. And I don’t intend to go there ever again. “The railway station car park,” I say. I know it well. “By the far fence, where they’re doing all the building work.”

  Wilfred Chadwick comes out to his little front garden to wave me goodbye, and tells me to be sure to call again if I’m passing his way, and he can show me the medals and other mementos of the family’s military service. He even asks if he can phone me some time. In a quiet voice he tells me that life has been lonely since his wife died seven years ago this month, and although his daughter lives relatively close, he rarely sees her. It seems there’s a problem with her son and her husband.

  I give him one of my Button Up Detective Agency cards, and assure him I’d love to hear from him. And that’s the truth. I would.

  From the look in his eyes, it seems I’ve made a friend for life. Maybe I’ll be able to help him in the future if he ever needs a private investigator. But until that happens, it will be good just to chat on the phone. Maybe even call in and have another cup of very milky tea in an ancient cup and saucer.

  I glance casually up and down the road. There’s no sign of the black Audi, or of Gerry the Taff. Well, if he’s put a tracker on my car, he’ll be able to find me. That makes me wonder why he bothered to stay so close behind me on the way. The sooner I get back to town and park at the supermarket and switch the tracker onto another car, the sooner I can relax.

  In that case, I might as well find the tracker now, assuming there is one. I have my work pack in the back of my car, which includes the bug detector. Not that I was expecting to need it when I set out, but the whole kit fits neatly into a bag divided into compartments. The detector is quite small, and once again I look up and down the road. It’s still clear. Not even a man standing on his own. I don’t think I’d recognise Gerry the Taff from the photograph I took, although obviously someone in the CID office has managed it with their face recognition technology, combined with their personal knowledge of the man.

  The detector lights up immediately. The tracker is clamped inside the left rear wheel arch. I look up and down the road again. Where is Gerry the Taff hiding? Perhaps he’s gone home, thinking I really have come here just to take photographs. Courtney said he’s not very bright.

  At that moment, my phone rings. I recognise the number. It’s Brevelstone CID. Courtney Jacobs’ phone. I answer it, but all I can hear is Courtney talking in the background. “Hold on, Janika,” she says to me, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  After what seems quite a lengthy discussion with someone in the office, I hear Courtney’s voice on the phone again. “Are you still there, Janika?”

  “Yes. What’s happened?

  “DI Dickinson isn’t here at the moment,” Courtney says, “but I’ve had a word with the Detective Sergeant. She is also involved in the case. She doesn’t want you coming to Brevelstone with the package. She says it’s not worth the risk. She wants you to stay where you are and she’s sending a car. Is there anywhere safe you can sit while you’re waiting? Not in the car though.”

  “How long for?”

  I can hear Courtney passing the phone over to someone. A pleasant sounding older woman explains that her name is Detective Sergeant Dyer. She’s already arranged to dispatch a car and driver to collect the anonymous note and envelope, and she tells me to stay put because Courtney has told her there’s probably a tracker on my car.

  I don’t like to tell her that it isn’t there any longer, and while we’re talking I have a bright idea. A delivery truck has pulled up just down the road. It has a Brevelstone address and phone number on it. Brevelstone Speedy Deliveries. It’s probably not going to be stopping for long.

  Detective Sergeant Dyer tells me to stay put and keep my phone handy. She’s going to phone me back with further instructions. I wander down the road, holding the magnetic tracker out of sight in my hand.

  The driver nods to me as I walk past, and I feel obliged to stop. “Nice day to be out,” he calls down from his cab window. “Lovely village this. Are you a local girl?”

  I suppose I should be used to it by now, getting chatted up by men in lonely places. I’m sure he’s harmless. No criminal gang would drive a truck like this in order to abduct me.

  I shake my head but don’t feel the need to return his friendly grin. “Just visiting,” I say, pointing to Wilfred’s cottage. “Are you going back to Brevelstone now?”

  From his expression, I guess he’s thinking this is his lucky day. “Straight back, love. You looking for a lift?”

  At least he hasn’t asked me if I’d like to go all the way. Oh dear, I’ve got to stop thinking about men being after one thing. It’s not that I have an aversion to men in general, but at the moment I’m finding it hard to trust any man. That is, apart from Abi’s Danny. And Pete Wilders of course, and I’m sure Melanie’s husband Steve is trustworthy, although I’ve yet to meet him. But apart from men like that, yes, I have a problem.

  “Sorry, I’d love to travel with you, but I’ve got my car here. But thanks for the offer.”

  I can see disappointment on his face, so my conclusion was probably the correct one. And for that, he’s going to be the recipient of the tracker. I don’t need to go to any great lengths to conceal it. He’s still in his cab, and the engine is running. He’s not going to hear the magnet grab onto the back of his truck.

  I wave goodbye, and return to the old cottage where Wilfred is still standing wistfully in his garden. Well, it wasn’t the truck driver’s lucky day, but it’s going to be Wilfred’s. He’s going to have the joy of making me another cup of milky tea and show me the medals while I wait for the Brevelstone police driver to arrive. This time, I’ll ask him to go easy on the milk.

  Half an hour later the police driver has picked up my package, and I’m saying goodbye to my new old gentleman friend. He’s obviously reluctant to let me go, but I promise I’ll be back. He assures me the kettle will always be on for me whenever I’m coming this way.

  I feel so sorry for him. It’s hard enough to lose the partner when you’re young, but after a lifetime together, things must get so desperately lonely if you don’t have family close by.

  I need to get home. Home? Yes, the Button Up Detective Agency is my new home. I’ve only been there a short time, but the whole place has a comfortable, healing feeling. There’s something about Abi Button, as was, that brings me peace. Maybe it’s because she goes to church. Not that I’m ever going with her. Yes, I went with Sam, eve
n though it wasn’t my sort of thing. I felt obliged to go with him as a sort of duty, out of love.

  There’s just one thing I have to do on the drive back. I must remember to keep a close eye on my rear-view mirror for the black Audi ‒ every single mile of the way.

  Just as I’m climbing back in, I can see a black car stopping further down the road. My trick failed. Gerry the Taff isn’t chasing the truck all the way to Brevelstone. He’s parked two hundred yards down the road, and he’s waiting for me to move off. Nice try, Janika.

  Chapter 20

  I’ve decided to drive back to town, stopping occasionally to take a few photographs. I’m not going to try to lose my tail. I can do it easily, assuming there was only the one tracker on the car. Oh no! Have I fallen for an elementary trick? Well, it’s not important. I’m going to park in my slot behind Button Up and walk to the print shop. After doing another sweep for a possible second tracker.

  I’m nearly back, and I haven’t seen the black Audi for some time. My phone rings on my hands-free. It’s a number I recognise. “Hi, Courtney. Any news?”

  I can hear Courtney chuckling. “You’ll be glad to know that Gerry the Taff has been picked up by your local police. It seems he was tailing you, but he’s been stopped to have his licence and insurance checked. It seems there’s a problem, so his car will be temporarily impounded.”

  “How’s he going to get back to Brevelstone?” As I ask the question, I start to laugh. I picture the man standing by the side of the road, thumbing for a lift. Well, it’s his fault, especially if his paperwork isn’t in order.

  “They are holding him until DS Dyer can get there to question him. And while his car is in the pound,” Courtney continues, “it will get a good going over. I gather they’re expecting to find drugs. He’s only a small time dealer, but that’s how he supports himself from day to day. Plus doing odd jobs for whoever needs his services. He’s not going to trouble you anymore today. What did you do with the tracker? We’re going to need it to see if we can find the owner. Gerry the Taff wasn’t working for himself, that’s for sure.”

  I laugh. “If you go to Brevelstone Speedy Deliveries, you’ll find it clamped to the back of one of their trucks.”

  I’ve just pulled into my parking place at the rear of Button Up, and I’m keen to find out if there really is another tracker. There isn’t. So Gerry the Taff must have seen my car, and guessed what I’d done. In that case he’s not as dim as Courtney thinks. Next call, the print shop.

  Tom is there, and he looks agitated when he sees me. There’s no sign of Daisy.

  “It worked,” he says. “It actually worked.”

  I’m pleased to hear that, although why is he using the past tense? Is it broken?

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Tom goes on. “Will everything have been recorded?”

  “Only the last eight hours. What’s happened?”

  “I came to work first,” Tom says. “We have to open up at nine, and Nan doesn’t always get there in time for both of us to leave. As soon as I got here, I logged in and started looking on my phone at our living room. It’s amazing. I could see and hear Daisy and Nan talking together, and then Daisy said goodbye, after giving Katie a kiss.”

  I’m starting to feel impatient. I hope Tom isn’t only telling me this because he loves the technology. “And then something happened?” This is pro bono, and I have a paying assignment for Mrs Miller to check on her daughter’s boyfriend called Victor Armitage.

  “Too true something happened,” Tom says. “The front window is slightly open, and as soon as I hear Daisy drive off, Katie starts to scream. And then it starts. Because she won’t stop, Nan starts to shake her. Shakes her violently. The sort of shaking that can damage a young brain. Then she drags Katie out of the room and I can hear them going upstairs. Two minutes later I can hear Nan moving around in the kitchen, and Katie is still screaming from somewhere. She’s obviously locked into her bedroom. Then Nan comes back with a cup of tea and sits down and watches the television. And I can hear Katie still screaming in her bedroom.”

  I really don’t know how I should be feeling. Elation that my spy system has been successful, or should I identify with the trauma that the whole family must now be going through?

  “Daisy went straight back when I told her what had happened. The thing is, we don’t know whether to inform the police or treat it as a family matter. Whatever, Nan is never going to be allowed to see Katie on her own again. Ever. Maybe never even see her again.”

  I can only nod in understanding.

  “So if you have the time to call in today, can you get the clock? And if you have a clear recording on the memory card, we would like it. To tell you the truth, Janika, just looking at that clock is going to upset us.”

  So my first official job has been successful, but how much better it would have been if the clock had stayed there for several days, and recorded the grandmother playing happily with Katie, and generally having fun.

  While we’ve been chatting, a customer has arrived, and clearly Tom doesn’t want to discuss the matter any more. I tell Tom to phone Daisy and get her to switch the recorder off on the back of the clock, so the evidence doesn’t get overwritten. I promise to call in sometime late afternoon, but I have another job to do first. Tom says he quite understands, and until they can arrange other childcare, Katie will be at home.

  As I leave, I pull the stand holding my flyers and cards even further forward. I don’t feel guilty. I’ve done the family a great favour. No wonder I’m feeling hungry. It’s nearly one o’clock. I hurry to Button Up for my lunch. The table in the far corner that I normally sit at is occupied by a man in a smart suit. It’s Abi’s husband, Danny. Just the man I need to see.

  “Hi, Danny,” I say. I point to the empty chair at the table. “May I?”

  Danny jumps to his feet to help me sit down. He’s a gentleman. Abi has a real winner here.

  “Can we talk business for a moment?” I ask. Danny glances up at the clock above the service counter. He only has a cup of coffee, so I guess he’s already eaten. “I need to pick your brains.”

  “No problem, Janika, but you’ll have to be quick.”

  I tell him about Mrs Miller, her daughter Laura, and Victor Armitage. He smiles ruefully. “The old, old problem. There’s no place where you can register that you’re unmarried, only married. And it’s difficult to prove a negative. That’s not going to help you, I know.”

  Abi comes across, and pulls up a spare chair. She’s not come to take my order, she’s come to listen.

  “Are you discussing marriage?” she asks, giving me a nudge.

  “It’s a case Janika is working on,” Danny says. “The mother thinks her daughter is being enticed into a relationship by an older married man, but of course she might just be jealous, or maybe has someone already in mind that her daughter can’t stand.”

  Abi gets up and takes my order. A tuna and sweetcorn panini with side salad. Obviously the conversation wasn’t as interesting as she hoped.

  Danny says he has to leave, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I’m feeling so sorry for Tom and Daisy, and perhaps even more sorry for little Katie. It’s just as well I called at the print shop to get my printing done. I’m the only private investigator in town. So where are all my clients?

  A light bulb pops on above my head. Not a real one, but the sort in comic strips. Mrs Miller has already given me details of Victor’s house, and even mentioned his smart red VW Golf. I know what a honey trap is, and this plan doesn’t involve anything underhand like that. I’m not going to make myself available to him, to see if he can be trusted in a steady relationship with someone else. Definitely not. Probably not.

  I insist on paying for my lunch, and as soon as I finish my cappuccino I’m in my Micra, driving to Victor’s address. Like many of the roads in town, Beechcroft Road isn’t one I know, but I have satnav on my phone. It leads me to a smart area, with a row of modern detached houses set well back. Everyt
hing looks expensive, including the landscaped gardens.

  There’s no red Golf on the drive, but it could be in the garage. So I can’t tell if Victor Armitage is home. I need an excuse to ring the doorbell, and this is where my brilliant plan comes in. I stop on the other side of the road, jump out, and open the bonnet of my Micra.

  I pretend to poke about at the engine, and then gaze around as though seeking help. My old Nissan Micra looks like the sort of car that would break down. I’ve not yet taken it to Rupert’s garage to get the door mended and have a full service. Victor’s house is on the other side of the road.

  I can see an older woman pushing her net curtains aside in the house I’m parked outside, which isn’t what I need. Amazingly, I spot a man in the house that I’ve identified as Victor’s. I give him a little wave, but I don’t beckon him out. I need to see how he responds to a maiden in distress. Some maiden!

  “Can I help you?”

  Not only has he come out of the right house, but he answers Mrs Miller’s description. This has to be Victor Armitage ‒ mid forties, wealthy looking and smart. And by the way he’s walking, he knows it. I can see why any woman, even a naïve young one, would be attracted to him. Except me, of course.

  “It keeps happening,” I say. “It will start again in a few minutes. Something to do with the petrol feed, so I’ve been told. No, I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”

  I don’t want to put him off, but I want to play hard to get, especially if he has something nefarious in mind.

  “You can come in and wait if you like. Tea or coffee?”

  No honey trap, no honey trap, I say to myself. And whatever happens, don’t get involved with the man, even if it means losing Mrs Miller as a client. I smile. “That’s fine, thanks. I’d rather not, unless your wife is home.” I point to his left hand and give a little giggle.