“Chief Inspector Thomson at New Scotland Yard has sent over a copy of the S.O.C.O. report concerning your Range Rover. He thought it was safer to let you have hard copies rather than e-mailing it to you. Have you seen it?”
“Yes, he telephoned me earlier this morning. By the way, send him a little something by way of a thank you, for doing such a good job. There’s not so much as a mention in any of the dailies.”
“Of course,” said Tats, “he did mention that he had his people sending emails to all the editors the minute he found out whose car had been bombed.”
“Apparently there were at least six cars written off. If the S.O.C.O. people are right in reconstructing the explosion points, it’s almost as if whoever did this wanted the fire to spread.”
“Really? I said leaning forward. “Where were they?”
“Under the bonnet, centre of the roof, behind the rear seat, between the front seats.” Her eyes had become ever so slightly red around the edge. She caught me looking at her, giving me a wan smile back.
LJ went off to compile his report for the Partners. We had agreed that I should return to the rented house in Dorset. The Rumples were still there along with Fiona Price, who, it was decided, could be of use to us for the time being. We walked through the department to my office, closing the door behind us.
Tats immediately hugged me tightly, sobbing quietly into my shoulder. I gently stroked the back of her head. “Charlie would not have known anything, you know. It really would have been instantaneous,” I offered.
Blowing her nose, Tats turned and left the room.
Chapter 12
The high pitched note of a car horn ripped the afternoon air. Harry Caplin’s old black Mk1 Jaguar was parked in the short stay area of Bournemouth’s beautifully renovated Victorian station. I’d had to train it back from London as both of the firm’s helicopters were being used to ferry the Partners and their guests to and from the races at Royal Ascot.
“Hi there, Ace, climb into the cart. I told Mr Rumple I’d pick you up. He looked as if he’d got plenty to do, making ready and fussing around that big boat of yours, and as Fiona’s off shopping. So I thought I’d be neighbourly and help out.”
I wondered by what process of deduction dear old Harry had latched on to the boat being made ready. Was it possible to keep anything secret from him? It made the whole job a little more dangerous. We wove our way slowly across town through heavy traffic. From my relaxed position in the passenger seat, I could view all the many frustrated, over worked people with bland faces sat behind their windscreens fighting their way home through congested roads, but in reality only heading towards prebooked early graves.
“So what’s the word on the street Harry?” I said, shifting round towards him. Perhaps I should tell LJ to prepare a cover for us in case trouble blew up. We crawled past the sea front and on up the hill towards the west cliff of the town.
“I just got some new CDs from the States, Ace. Sammy Davis and Frank re-mixed and digitally remastered. Come around for drinks this evening. Get an earful of wax. Ha ha ha.” We were outside the rented house by now. I thanked Harry and he squealed down the road towards his place.
Rumple let me through the gates and met me at the front door.
Unfortunately for Miss Price she was the next person I saw. She was standing in the kitchen wearing a microscopic black bikini.
“Well hello Mr Dillon,” she said, putting a sustained accent on the final syllable of each word.
“Cut the crap, Fiona, I’m really not in the mood.” I said as I threw my bag down.
“Such skilful alliteration, Jake,” she said keeping her eyes on the magazine that she was flicking through. “What or who has upset you in London and where’s Charlie?”
“Charlie — is dead — murdered, Fiona.” I said quietly. I was interested to see her reaction, but there was none. I went on before anyone could speak, knowing that this news would devastate the Rumples like myself they had worked with Charlie on many assignments in the past. “So, tell me, why is it too much trouble for a member of this team to come and meet me? And for the record, I really don’t appreciate Harry Caplin informing me that Rumple is making the boat ready to sail.”
“Making ready the boat to sail? Come now Jake, he didn’t really say that, did he?”
“Not in so many words.” I said. “He inferred that Rumple was fussing about and making ready the boat. What I want to know is, how he even got to know that. After all, the boat is completely concealed inside the boathouse. What else has been told to him about what we are doing and why we’re here — Miss Price?”
“Now listen here, sir.” Said Rumple. “He’s just done to us what he’s done to you: mentioned the words ‘making ready’ to see what reaction he got.”
“What would you prefer us to do? Take him up on it and start playing ‘what’s my line?’”
“I don’t like it, Rumple. That man should not know about what we are doing here, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, you know, Jake, little us can’t be expected to manage without you.”
“You shouldn’t have left us all on our own like that,” Fiona said sarcastically.
I ignored her; the intonation in her voice made it quite clear that I was far safer to back off. Getting into an argument would not achieve anything, but I wanted to have the last word. “Fiona, please go and put some clothes on.”
“So much naked flesh in a kitchen is completely inappropriate.”
“I’ve had no other complaints…” she said, with a huff and moved past me through the door pausing, her nubile body brushing mine. “…so far.” She said, and leaned forward as if to kiss me. “My, you are breathing heavily, Mr Dillon,” she said huskily just an inch or so from my face.
“Go away, Fiona,” I said, “I’ve got enough on my mind already.” But I was breathing heavily.
“I hear you have a sexy blond tucked away in London, Jake. Is that true?”
Before I had the chance to answer her, the gate intercom buzzed. I backed away from her. It was a local car wash firm asking if we wanted a special deal on car cleaning? Rumple was about to dismiss the caller in his usual gruff voice, but I stopped him. Yes I would I said, especially as the Mercedes had been brought back from the airport in a filthy condition. So Rumple told the lad to drive in and that someone would be out in a moment.
By the time I got to him he was already unloading buckets, sponges and all of the other paraphernalia that goes with cleaning a car. I told him what was required and started to small talk as he worked. Casually asking him if he knew Harry Caplin, the American up the road? Or Mr Flackyard the local big man? Yes he knew them both. Was trade good at present? It was all right but not like it is in the winter. Was this his only job or did he work for other firms? No, this was his only job all year round, but that he would always consider other opportunities.
Would he care to earn himself some extra income? Paid in cash of course?
After haggling a little we struck a deal and agreed that it was best if no one else knew of our temporary little agreement.
His job was simply to carry on washing the cars of Robert Flackyard and Harry Caplin as usual. To find out anything else while he was at their homes or in any of Flackyard’s bars, for instance where they were going and to generally keep his ears and eyes open and to phone me with any information.
When he had finished and left, I went back inside to brief Rumple and Fiona about what had happened to Charlie and the assignment as it was now.
Chapter 13