by Ian Edwards
Frankie shook his head. ‘Why don’t we have a poke around now?’
Alan frowned. ‘Probably not a good idea. I’m supposed to be downstairs and you’re on the hell hound’s most wanted list.’
‘Alan,’ Rosie called out. ‘Where are you?’
‘Come on let’s go downstairs before they think I’m rummaging through their knicker drawer.’
*
As Alan entered the kitchen, Rosie gave him a big smile. ‘We’ve had a great idea.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he replied, suspiciously.
Down on the floor Mr Licky ate noisily from a bowl with the inscription TOP DOG written across it.
Dawn opened a bottle of beer and put it in front of him. ‘In a couple of weeks Joy and I going away for the weekend, a surprise birthday party for a friend. It’s in a hotel and we assumed that we could take Mr Licky…’
‘But it turns out that they have a no dogs policy,’ Joy added.
Alan looked down at the crazed pooch who stopped eating, looked up from his bowl, growled at him and went back to his food.
‘Incredible,’ Alan shook his head in mock surprise. ‘Who wouldn’t want a nice dog like this staying in their hotel, mixing with the other guests?’
Dawn nodded. ‘I know, it’s ridiculous.’
‘Anyway,’ Joy said. ‘You seem to get on so well with him, Rosie thought it would make sense if you looked after him when we go away.’
‘No way,’ Alan snapped.
‘Oh come on,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s only for a long weekend.’
‘Absolutely no way,’ Alan said.
‘All we need you to do is take him out for a couple of walks a day, keep him company and feed him,’ Dawn explained.
‘Who’s being fed?’ Frankie asked, appearing in the kitchen and causing everyone to shiver. ‘And where’s that hateful hound gone?’
A growling from the floor answered Frankie’s question.
‘Ah…right,’ Frankie said. ‘I’ll be off then.’
‘All his food is here,’ Dawn explained. ‘All we need you to do is let yourself in.’
‘I’ve got the spare keys,’ Rosie shook a key fob with two keys on it.
‘Give him some food and take him out for walks,’ Dawn explained.
Frankie sidled up to Alan. ‘Son, listen to what you’re being told. You’ve just been invited in when no one else is around.’
Mr Licky left his bowl and walked up to Alan’s feet. He sniffed the air a couple of times, looking around.
‘So I just have to let myself in, feed him and take him for a couple of walks.’
‘Yes,’ Dawn and Joy said in unison.
Alan sighed. ‘Alright. That should be OK for a couple of days.’
Dawn put her hand on Alan’s shoulder. ‘That’s brilliant, thank you so much.’
‘It’s no problem, we’re glad to help.’ Rosie said.
Any further comment was interrupted by a round of barking and growling. Alan looked down to see Mr Licky staring up at Frankie and beating his tail on the ground. Alan and Frankie exchanged looks and Frankie disappeared. Mr Licky sniffed the space where Frankie had been and started yapping.
‘He really likes you, Alan,’ Dawn said. ‘It’s like he knows that you’re going to be looking after him.’
Alan looked down at the dog who looked up at him and growled.
‘Why don’t you take him out for a walk?’ Joy gestured at the garden. ‘Just round the garden.’
‘It’ll be part of the bonding process,’ Rosie added helpfully.
Alan looked down, Mr Licky was sniffing round his feet and making a snorting sound.
‘Why’s he doing that?’ Alan asked.
‘He’s just checking you out,’ Dawn explained. ‘Take him round the garden so he gets used to you.’
For the second time in five minutes Alan found himself reluctantly agreeing to something involving the crazed hell hound. ‘OK then,’ he muttered.
Joy opened the kitchen door and Mr Licky scampered out. Alan shook his head and followed the pug into the twilight.
‘Oh, hang on,’ Dawn called out as she rummaged through a drawer, producing a handful of little plastic bags. ‘Better take these, just in case you’re caught short.’
Rosie looked at the poop bags in Dawn’s hand. ‘I don’t think they’ll be needed.’
Dawn frowned. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I made him go before we left home.’
Chapter 20
Hander and Fingers stood in the doorway to the cellar, looking at the scene in front of them. Hander spoke first. ‘Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before,’ Fingers added.
Hander sighed and stepped further into the cellar. The far wall resembled a modern art tapestry. Saws, chisels, screwdrivers, nails and screws had all been forced into the freshly plastered wall. Hander pulled on the handle of a hammer, but it refused to budge.
‘This has been forced right in,’ he groaned as he pulled again at the handle.
‘What do you think happened?’ Fingers asked. ‘Was it that ugly brute from the other week?’
Hander stepped back from the wall. ‘I’ve no idea mate.’
Following the previous incident in the cellar they had agreed that neither of them would work down there alone. Hander was sure he had locked the doors the previous evening. There was no way anyone could have gotten into the cellar without a set of keys.
Fingers took his phone from his pocket and switched it to camera mode. He stepped back and took a picture of the wall. ‘Don’t you think it looks like a word?’ He said, passing the phone to Hander. ‘The way that everything is stuck in the wall.’
Hander stared at the screen, made the image bigger, then smaller and the rotated the screen round. ‘Maybe, but it’s not a word I recognise though.’
Fingers shrugged and pocketed his phone. ‘Do you want me to start getting all this stuff out of the walls?’ He said whilst attempting to prise a screwdriver from the wall.
Hander righted a stool, brushed the dust off the seat and sat on it, watching as Fingers attempted to remove some embedded screws with a screwdriver.
‘Everything OK boss?’ Fingers asked as he successfully removed the first screw, dropping it on the ground and moving onto the next.
‘All these things that keep happening, the weird goings on, the men who leave and won’t come back. They’re really screwing with the deadlines. If we can’t complete on time there’s going to be trouble.’
Fingers dropped another screw on the ground. ‘So, you’re saying we need a plan?’
‘Right,’ Hander jumped up from the stool. ‘Staff meeting upstairs.’
*
Hander finished the call and put his phone on the table. He had called in some favours from friends in the building business and secured the services of a couple of builders and a carpenter.
‘Right, that’s sorted,’ he said. ‘A mate of mine can spare me a couple of men from a hotel refurb that he’s working on over at Heathrow. The only downside is that they’ll have to work nights.’
‘They’re going to work at night?’
‘Yeah, tonight in fact.’
Fingers gulped. ‘At night? That’s when most of the weird stuff happens.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers. And we won’t tell them about what’s been going on,’ he grinned. ‘Anyway, we’ll be here with them. Safety in numbers.’
Fingers stared back at him, unconvinced.
‘If you want to shoot off home and get some rest, we can meet back here at eight. I’m going to speak to the council, see if I can rustle up some extra funds to cover the night work.’
Hander watched as Fingers shuffled out of the office and checked the time. He’d give it another hour and then go over to the council offices. All he needed now was a good reason to ask for more money.
*
Crozier stared across the desk at Hander. He h
ated people turning up at his office unannounced and he especially took issue with having his lunch interrupted.
‘I’m sorry to turn up without an appointment,’ Hander explained. ‘But the lady on the reception desk said I should come straight up.’
Crozier eyed his half eaten sandwich. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Hander?’
Hander coughed. He had considered a bit of small talk before getting to the point of his visit, but the look on Crozier’s face warned him against it.
‘Well it’s a bit awkward actually.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m afraid we’ve had some unforeseen issues and we may not be able to conclude green phase on schedule.’
Crozier frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The renovation of the theatre is not going to be finished on time.’
‘Why’s that? You’d promised me everything was going to be completed on schedule.’
Hander fidgeted in his seat. ‘I did say that, yes,’ he agreed. ‘But I also said that staff retention was difficult. People are leaving and it’s proving difficult to get replacements. You just can’t get the staff these days.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’
‘Why won’t people stay or why can’t I replace them?’
‘Both,’ Crozier growled.
‘Can I be frank?’
‘As long as you don’t expect me to be Betty,’ Crozier snapped. ‘Just get on with it.’
Hander sat back in the seat. ‘It’s the money. I’m paying the going rate, but it seems other jobs are paying more. And we’re losing people.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘There are,’ Hander paused for a moment, puzzled. A strange muffled sound interrupted his thoughts. ‘Can you hear that?’ He asked.
‘Hear what?’
‘That sound. Listen,’ he held a finger in the air. ‘It’s a tune, it sounds like…’
‘I can’t hear anything,’ Crozier waved his right arm dismissively.
‘It sounds like it’s coming from...’ Hander swivelled round in his chair. His eyes came to rest on the large stationery cupboard in the corner of the room. ‘In there.’ He stood up and the sound stopped.
‘Oh …it’s stopped.’
Crozier shook his head. ‘It was probably your imagination.’
‘Right,’ Hander paused, unconvinced. ‘OK, you’re aware that there are several large scale, high profile building projects currently going on in and around London.’
Crozier nodded slowly. ‘Go on.’
‘Well. We’re all chasing the same skilled workforce. But they have bigger budgets. They’re offering better wages and we can’t compete.’
Crozier leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. ‘So to summarise, if we want to finish on schedule, I’ve got to come up with some more money.’
Hander remained silent and just smiled in agreement.
‘OK. How much?’
Hander reached into his inside pocket, took out a sheet of folded paper and passed it across the desk to Crozier.
Crozier snatched at the offering, scanning its contents. ‘That’s a lot more than the original figure we agreed.’
Hander grinned. ‘You know the building laws? Think of a figure and add thirty percent.’
‘I’ll have to speak to finance and the Arts Council first. There’s no way I can sanction this without speaking to them. I’ll get back to you soon. In the meantime, I am presuming you will carry on with the work as agreed? Finish whatever’s next in red stage?’
‘Green stage.’
‘Whatever.’
Hander opened his mouth to reply, stopped and craned his head to the right. ‘I can hear it again,’ he said.
Crozier quickly glanced over at the stationary cupboard. ‘Are you sure? I can’t hear anything.’
Hander closed his eyes in concentration. ‘I know it. It’s a song. It’s on the tip of my tongue.’ He got up walked over to the stationery cupboard, placing his left ear against the door.
‘What on earth are you doing, man?’ Crozier raised his voice.
‘Yes, it sounds like “In my secret life,” the Leonard Cohen song. Do you know it?’ Before Crozier could respond, Hander tried the handle of the cupboard. ‘It’s locked.’
‘Of course it’s locked. It’s a stationery cabinet. It’s locked to stop people stealing stationery.’
Hander waved his arm across the otherwise empty office. ‘But it’s your office. You’re the only one in here.’
‘I know, but I can’t trust myself not to take the odd envelope, so I keep the door locked and leave the key with my secretary. Anyway, the sound you can hear is coming from the office next to us. We have very thin walls.’
Hander nodded. ‘OK.’
Crozier stood up and came round the desk. ‘Anyway, don’t let me keep you…’ He steered Hander towards the door. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I have confirmation that the funds will be released.’
Crozier eased Hander out through the adjoining office, pushing him out of the door and in the direction of the lifts.
‘Thanks for calling and I’ll speak to you soon,’ Crozier gabbled and pushed Hander into the lift.
Crozier smiled patiently until the lift doors closed. Once he was satisfied Hander had gone, he hurried back to his office. Taking a small key from his pocket, he unlocked the stationery cupboard door and let it swing open just in time to hear Leonard Cohen begin crooning about his secret life for the third time. Standing in the corner, wrists and feet bound together with packing tape and a padded A4 envelope over her head was Alison.
‘How many times do I have to remind you that when you’re in the cupboard the phone goes on silent?’ He reminded her. The envelope mumbled something and he bent down and picked the phone up. The screen showed a call from Mum. He tapped the screen, rejecting the call and put the phone back down at her feet.
He shook his head. ‘That was so embarrassing.’
He closed the cupboard door, locked it and slipped the key back into his pocket.
‘Right, now where was I?’ He said and went back to his sandwich.
Chapter 21
Sarah studied the information on the screen, making notes on a pad beside her mouse. She clicked the mouse again to reveal a new page.
‘I knew that,’ she said, tapping the screen with her pen. ‘And that,’ she paused. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that,’ she added, scribbling on her notepad.
She sipped her coffee and clicked onto a new page on her screen. The general knowledge website boasted that it could help anyone win any pub quiz. Sarah doubted these credentials, but was nevertheless intrigued.
‘Really?’ She said, reading another page. ‘That can’t be right.’
‘Talking to yourself again?’
Sarah looked up from her screen. Giles Monroe, rising star of the comedy circuit stood framed in the doorway.
‘Hello Giles,’ she smiled at her boyfriend. ‘What are you doing here?’ Had she forgotten a date? ‘We’re not supposed to be going out tonight, are we?’
Giles pulled out a chair, brushed it down and tentatively sat down, trying to keep as little of his expensive suit in contact with the upholstery as possible
‘No, don’t worry you haven’t stood me up,’ he laughed. ‘I remember you said you were working late so I thought I’d pop in on my way to work.’
Sarah frowned. ‘What work?’
‘I’m presenting the awards at the hairstylists presentation dinner dance tonight.’
Sarah grinned. ‘Is that a permanent job?’
Giles nodded. ‘Very good,’ he acknowledged, secretly annoyed he had missed that one from the list of puns he’d drawn up earlier. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m prepping for a quiz night,’ she told him. ‘I’m in a team with some friends and we’re taking on the boys. Alan, James and Harry.’
‘I wouldn’t waste your time revising. There’s not three brain cells between them,’ he scoff
ed. ‘They’d stand more chance if they let that ridiculous dummy of Harry’s answer all the questions.’ He laughed. ‘Though I suppose Alan is as much use as a wooden dummy.’
‘Giles!’ Sarah snapped. ‘I’ve asked you not to insult my friends.’
‘Just joking,’ he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Anyway what are you still here for?’
Sarah leaned back in her chair. ‘The local anger management group are putting on a play to raise funds, so we’ve let them use the upstairs studio to rehearse in.’
‘Really? What play?’
‘Twelve angry men.’
Giles frowned, unsure if she was being serious or not.
‘And also,’ she continued. ‘The West Merton and District Branch of the King Arthur Heritage Group are having their monthly meeting here.’
Giles stared at his girlfriend. Had she gone mad? He did wonder whether hanging around Alan Rose and his collection of oddballs would eventually tip Sarah over the edge.
A heavy thumping on the door interrupted his thoughts.
‘That’ll be them,’ Sarah jumped from her seat and headed over to the main door.
Turning round, Giles watched as Sarah unlatched the door, pulling it open. She stepped back allowing a man to enter. The figure strode purposefully into the room wearing burgundy robes and carrying what appeared to be a child’s plastic sword.
The man slid the sword into an equally plastic scabbard, looked Sarah square in the eyes (a feat which was pretty much unavoidable as he was the same height as she was) and announced his presence.
‘Alright, luv,’ he said in an accent which was more Bow Bells than Ancient Briton. ‘We’re The West Merton and District Branch of the King Arthur Heritage Group…’
‘Yes, I’ve been expecting you.’ Sarah offered the man her hand. ‘Mr…’
‘King. Arthur King.’ The man shook her hand. ’I’m in charge of this lot,’ he gestured over his shoulder at the six men standing nervously behind him. Sarah noted each of the men wore equally bizarre robes and were brandishing plastic swords and shields. ‘I suppose that makes me the King,’ he laughed at his own joke and added. ‘You’ve got a room for us?’