How about dinner one evening, for a start, I thought, but I decided not to rush it. "Not exactly," I told her, 'but on Thursday I was speaking to a friend of yours. Mo Dlamini. He asked me to give you his number."
"Mo? That's wonderful. I'll write it down."
I dictated the number then told her that we'd have to hold on to the photographs she'd loaned us, but I could send her copies if she was worried about losing them.
"Oh, keep them, Inspector," she said. "I've had to let go of a lot more than a few old snapshots lately. I, er, would like to know what happens, though. I don't suppose you're allowed to discuss it with a civilian, are you?"
"Not on the telephone," I replied, smiling to myself. "And not until after it's been to court, which could take years."
"Oh, what a pity," she replied.
"On the other hand," I said, "I've been on lots of other cases which have been to court and I'm perfectly free to discuss."
"What are you trying to say, Inspector?" she asked, with a laugh in her voice.
"I'm trying to say, Mrs. Holmes," I began, 'that we are both grown up and on our own, and I would like to take you out to dinner one evening, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me."
"I'd be delighted. You're very kind. Does your sergeant go everywhere with you?"
"Er, no, not everywhere. In fact, I wasn't thinking of bringing him along. Do you mind?"
"Not at all, Inspector. I'm afraid there is one small snag, though."
There always is. Usually it weighs seventeen stone and plays rugby union. I invited her to tell me all about him "On Monday I'm going to Greece for two weeks. Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. I'm accompanying my mother and a friend of hers, just to make sure they stay out of trouble. I don't want my inheritance going to someone called Popodopolopodis." She laughed again.
"That's all right," I said. "I'm a patient man. Have a good time and I'll give you a ring in a fortnight or so."
"I'll look forward to that. Thank you."
Dumdy-dumdy-dumdy-dum. I put the phone down and sat back.
Dumdy-dumdy-dum. She was a very pleasant lady, I thought.
Dumdy-dumdy-dumdy-dum. And intelligent, too. Dumdy-dumdy-doo. I put the stuff on my desk in neat piles and went home.
The Reynard Organisation headquarters are in London's Docklands, in spite of what the people of Leeds are led to believe. The new office block would be one of Fox's satellites, and the thousand new jobs he promised would be young girls with telephone receivers glued to their ears, working round the clock.
Monday morning I asked Graham to investigate how I could get to see the man.
He rang me back just before lunch. "The office block in Leeds is called Reynard Tower," he told me, 'and Fox himself is coming over to cut the ribbon. He's on a run with the government at the moment, probably trying to ingratiate himself for a knighthood. Having sacked about a quarter of a million workers in the last twenty years these thousand jobs are his way of proving that we have turned the corner and are now in a leaner, fitter Britain. Opening day is two weeks tomorrow, so that's your best chance to see him while he's in Yorkshire."
"How do I make an appointment?"
"Ring his diary secretary at the Docklands HQ. Then follow instructions."
"Thanks, Graham. You've been a big help. Are you serious about going to America?"
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I could be. I definitely could be. What do you think?"
"I think you should," I told him. "I get the impression that Melissa and Kingston didn't part on friendly terms. Maybe she'd enlarge upon that. Or do a deal, who knows?"
"Their politics are poles apart. He's a militant capitalist and she sounds like an anarchist. Then there's the sex thing; a woman scorned and all that. You could be right."
"Think about it. Have a word with Piers and Mr. Tregellis. Tell them that I think someone should go over there and stir things up." I'm a great believer in stirring things up.
"I'll do that, Charlie. Thanks. Thanks."
I dialled the number he'd given me and a very polite female told me that I was through to Reynard London.
"I'm trying to fix an appointment with JJ. Fox," I told her. "Could you please put me through to his diary secretary?"
"What name is it, please?"
"Priest'
"Mr. Priest?"
"As in Roman Catholic'
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. Nothing."
"I'm putting you through."
It was Pachelbel's Canon in D. I hate Pachelbel's Canon in D, especially when it's played on a twenty-quid Yamaha organ. Fortunately I had only to endure two bars, which is all you need hear to know the work intimately, when another female sang: "Secretaries; how can I help you?"
"I'd like to make an appointment to see Mr. Fox when he comes to Yorkshire in a fortnight. Can you put me through to his diary secretary, please?"
"Mr. Fox? We don't have a Mr. Fox."
"J.J. Fox, love. He owns the company."
"Oh, that Mr. Fox."
After that it was personnel, then head of secretariat, with bursts of Pachelbel in between. By the time I reached the legal department I'd decided that a hatchet downsizing of his own administrative staff might be a good idea and that Pachelbel should have been burned at the stake.
"Did you say Detective Inspector Priest?" one of his tame solicitors asked me after I'd been shunted around the legal department.
"Yes. From Heckley CID."
"And what's it about?"
"Before I answer that," I said, 'tell me this: do you have the authority to make an appointment for me to see Mr. Fox?"
"Yes, I do. Subject to his approval, of course."
"Right then, listen up. It's about murder. I want to ask Mr. Fox a few simple questions, and one way or another I shall ask them. It might be easier and less embarrassing for all concerned if you could make an appointment for me to see him on his territory, then I won't have to insist on seeing him on mine. Do I make myself understood?"
"I'll ring you back, Inspector."
Phew! I'd enjoyed that last bit. It's not too often I get to tell a lawyer the facts of life. No doubt if and when I saw Fox he'd be surrounded by them and they'd have a conference about everything from whether to say good morning right through to having milk or sugar in their coffees. I'd learn absolutely nothing, but I'd have them worried, and that's worth a lot.
He kept his word. At four o' clock he confirmed that Fox would be opening the Reynard Tower in a fortnight. He'd arrive at the Fox Borealis Monday afternoon and stay for one night. Tuesday morning he was having a power breakfast with the Lord Mayor of Leeds and other dignitaries, and would see me at ten, before his next appointment at half past. I said my thank yous, like I'd been brought up to do, and wrote it in my diary, with a fluorescent marker-pen circle around it.
We were on our way!
I'd been neglecting Keith Crosby, so I rang him from home, after chicken pie and new potatoes. I didn't give him any details or names, but assured him I was working full-time on the case and the Serious Fraud people were interested and involved. He thanked me profusely.
After that I finished most of the painting that I'd started on Thursday night. Every summer the police put on a gala in the park to raise money for the children's ward of the General. The dogs and the horses show what they can do, and we stage a mock bank raid, with flashing lights and cars skidding on the grass. One of the stands is for paintings by cops or their families. Most of them are of the Dales, some amateurish, some extremely skilled, but all slavish to the scene as viewed. The PC who has organised the show for the last ten years brought me a wad of entry forms for the troops and I told him to put me down for a couple of paintings. If I could knock up a couple of big abstracts I'd enter them, just for the notoriety. Anything for a laugh, that's yours truly. And Janet would be back by then; perhaps she'd come with me.