The Jade Monkey

by

Alec Tomlin

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Amongst its gleaming, high-rise neighbours in the business district the Haselgrave was a squat, square-ish building with dark windows in white frames. It lacked the polish and shine of the Bridgeman with its sterile efficiency, but it had a relaxed, down at heels atmosphere that was comforting.

As I stepped across the threshold I had a sudden vision of Pete springing up behind the front desk in his best ‘Igor’ outfit and lightening crashing overhead. The brass bell on the counter cried out for polish and the carpet was threadbare. A dead eyed clerk shuffled out from a back room when I rang the bell. He quickly looked through the hotel register and checked my name.

‘Room 22a. Third floor’

He turned around, reached a key down off of the wall behind him and retreated. I made my way across the hall and up the stairs to my room.

Images flickered through my mind as I climbed the stairs, the chains falling from the packing crate, Pete’s outstretched hand holding a gun, a sudden movement in the shadows. The room was small and my cases were piled up at the end of the bed. Kicking them to the floor I undressed, flung my clothes at a dresser. It was a long time till I finally slept.

- - -

My open curtains showed a pink-fingered dawn, with pale rose clouds drifting across the sky. I blinked blearily trying to see, sunlight blinding me, pouring in through the window. Getting out of bed Neanderthal man looked back at me out of a mirror I leant against the windowsill looking down on to the people rushing in the streets below. The air was fresh and clear and the sky now maturing to azure blue. I rubbed my hand on my chin and reached up to close the window, looking away from the drop to ground. I got some clean clothes out of my case, showered and dressed and opened the window. I checked in the mirror again and solid citizen grinned back at me. The sounds of the morning traffic, muted before, made the city seem alive.

I borrowed the hotel telephone and phoned to check my appointment. After five minutes of being transferred from department to department I managed to speak to her secretary about my appointment.

‘Hello’

‘Hello, I’d like to confirm an appointment with Miss Mills please.’

‘And you are?’

‘Mr Jones.’

The voice was pleasant and female with a slight twang of an accent that I couldn’t quite place.

‘I see. On what business’

‘Monkey business.’

She laughed. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Miss Michelle has asked me to investigate the theft of the Jade.’

‘I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t’

‘I guess I should count myself lucky to be talking to you then.’

I could almost hear her smile down the phone. ‘Yes you should. Now let me do my day job. One moment please.’

The phone was put down on a desk while I could hear voices in the background. I found myself holding my breath. I let it out slowly and waited.

‘Miss Mills can fit you into her schedule at 11:30 am. Are you able to make that?’

‘Even if I have swim there.’

I was rewarded with more laughter. ‘Lets hope you don’t have to.’

‘Excuse me, but who am I speaking to? If you don’t mind me asking?’

‘I am Miss Mills’ Secretary’

‘I was hoping for more than that.’

The self-proclaimed Secretary laughed. ‘I bet you were.’

I grinned into the phone. ‘I’m not quite that bad. I guess I’ll meet you before the appointment?’

‘Maybe after the appointment. You wouldn’t want to be late now do you?’

I laughed out loud causing some of the hotel residents to turn round and look at me. This was becoming a habit.

‘I’ll make the appointment. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye Mr Jones, I look forward to meeting you.’

‘Goodbye.’

In the hotel lobby I grabbed a handful of newspapers and started pouring over them in one of couple of large armchairs. The murder was still title line news. Police were said to be pursuing enquiries, which meant they had nothing but trying hard. The Jade was mentioned as an aside. Not a word about Mr Charles. I turned to the back pages to check out the business section. Its rare you learn anything from the front of pages of a newspaper, but the business pages can tell you an awful lot if you know how to read them. Property prices were being depressed by the murder, some speculation as to whether some municipal contracts would be revaluated by a new Mayor. Nothing I couldn’t have guessed. I sighed and turned to the crossword. Two down, unexpected death, six letters. Swearing I folded the newspapers and went back to my room to get ready to meet Miss Mills.

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Miss Mills’ offices were set over the newspaper printing works in the Herbert Manzoni building. As I walked across the floor of the lobby I could feel the rhythm of the presses below through the soles of my shoes. Light came down from wide skylights in the ceiling and played across the marble floor. Serious faced people rushed in and out of the doors, light catching on glasses, briefcase handles and broaches caught the eye briefly in a world of grey suits. I got directions from the front desk to Miss Mills’ office and after wearily looking at the stairs I took the elevator instead.

The name plaque next to the large oak double doors read Miss K. Mills. I paused for a moment in the corridor taking off my hat and smoothing down my hair. I glanced briefly at my reflection in the plaque. Not too bad, I’d managed to get here without being mugged, stabbed or shot at, now I could now hopefully try and get some suspects and start sorting out this whole mess. I smiled at my reflection in the plaque quickly and knocked on the door. A familiar, pleasant voice from inside said ‘Come in’.

The room was large and dominated by a large window full of sunlight that showed a clear view across town. Sat at a large mahogany desk that held all the symbols and icons of secretary-hood was a woman. Her hair was a golden red brown and drawn back in a businesslike fashion, her skin slightly tanned and her eyes were the same colour as the night sky on a tropic shore just as the sun has dropped into the sea and you’re waiting for the first stars. They were those kind of eyes.

She was dressed in a cream blouse and a dark blue jacket that hinted strongly that hidden curves were ahead. I could just make out a subtle perfume, that didn’t so much tickle the nose as caress. I smiled at her, she smiled back, and I smiled some more for good measure. Eventually it dawned on me that she was waiting for me to open my mouth and say something.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello.’

‘I have an appointment… But I’m willing to forget all about it if you’re free?’

I winced inwardly and waited for The Reply.

‘No I’m not. But you can come and watch later.’ She paused, still smiling, examining my confused expression and then started laughing. ‘The EHB club, 8 o’clock. I’ll be the one on stage singing.’

I raised an eyebrow ‘Doesn’t Miss Mills know that her Secretary works in a Nightclub?’

‘Yes she does, it’s her Nightclub. She paused. ‘Wasn’t it a little early in the day for passes?’

I grinned ‘What time would be acceptable then?’

‘Mmm.’ She said and rested her head on one hand. ‘Miss Mills will see you in a couple of minutes.’ She said gesturing with her free hand at a row of comfortable looking chairs against the wall. The hand was well manicured and didn’t have any rings. ‘And I will see you later when you can buy me a drink and we’ll talk about it.’

I took a seat, and looked out of the large window. From here you could see out across the town, the football ground and the racing track drew my attention all framed by the grainy little houses behind it running to the horizon. All those tiny houses with people who day in day out read one of Ms Mills’ papers, getting their news, sports results, their opinions from her. She also owned the EHB club where hazy recollection said I’d spent a couple of pleasant evenings.

The doors at the far side of the room swung open revealing a dark interior, blinds drawn so there were only a few spots of brightness where sunlight broke through into the room.

The Secretary looked over to me ‘You can go in now.’

‘Thanks.’ I said, standing up and making my way towards the open doors. Half way I turned towards the secretary. ‘Please, what’s your name?’

‘Miss Mills doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’ She said reprovingly.

‘I’d still like to know.’

‘Trudy. Now, appointment.’ She made shooing motions with her hands.

I smiled. ‘Thanks. See you later.’

‘Later.’

My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room as I walked in. Here a drinks cabinet and there awards on the wall their contents indecipherable in the gloom.

‘Good morning.’ A soft female voice said from the far side of the room.

‘Not bad. Apart from being in Loughborough, but you can’t have everything.’

‘No you can’t.’ The voice replied.

The room was large, and I had reached the far side and stopped in front of a desk that had the smell of newsprint and pulp mingled with its natural mahogany scent. The blind shot up in front of me and the sun blazed in. I screwed my eyes tight and made out the shadowy figure standing over to the right.

‘But I’m sure there is something I can do for you.’

Blinking now in the light, I settled in a large leather armchair that I had been standing next to as Ms Mills sat down at her desk. She was just under medium height, with short brown hair and pale green eyes. But she had an air of authority, of seriousness that was striking.

‘First of all’ I said ‘I’d like to ask some questions.’

‘Of course. I take it that Michelle has given you the basics.’

‘Yes she has. She also said you might have some ideas as to where to start my investigation.’

‘Which are you investigating, the theft or the murder?’

‘Both, but the Jade has priority.’

‘I see.’ She said frowning. ‘In that case I think it would be well worth your while to talk to "Red" Mark.’

‘Red? Red hair?’

‘No’ she smiled. ‘Actually he’s blond. There’s a long story about that… But it’s not really relevant. I believe he can usually be found in the Elvyn bar, and that he has some idea of its whereabouts.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Mark has more than a few ties to the less than savoury denizens of Loughborough. If anyone knows who may have stole the Jade, he will.’

‘Excuse me, but why did you make a distinction between my investigating the theft and the murder?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘The theft was planned.’

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I sat there silent for several moments as I turned the idea over in my mind.

‘So… what do you think happened?’

Miss Mills leant back in her chair, arms on its side. ‘I think the theft was the work of a well-connected and organised gang. They had detailed inside knowledge, they managed to forge a key for the padlock and trick the case in which the Jade was stored.’

‘What was special about the case?’

‘The case itself was made of reinforced steel, Mr Jones. Do you really think that chains and a single padlock is considered adequate security by our insurers for something like the Jade?’ She shook her head. ‘Even so, our thieves managed open the case too.

All our precautions bar the last were sidestepped.’

‘Which was?’

She waved her hand in the air impatiently. ‘Miss Michelle thought it would be a good idea to verify the authenticity of the Jade when it arrived, so she hired an Archaeologist to carry out an appraisal.’

I nodded. ‘I think I met her that evening.’

Miss Mills turned away from me in the chair and faced the window looking out at the blue sky.

‘The Mayors murder is something else entirely, a crime of necessity. He discovered one of the thieves and was silenced.’

‘I disagree.’ I said. She turned then, and stared at me. I got the distinct impression that people seldom contradicted her.

‘How so?’

‘A few things. It’s too early to rule anything out yet.’ I’d heard hushed voices coming from the room. That’s why I’d gone in there, to get someone to raise the alarm about the theft of the Jade. The thief could have talked his way out of it easily, and he or she couldn’t have mistaken the mayor for anyone else given he was wearing his chain of office. Even then, why kill him with such a loud weapon when you know that half of Loughborough’s police force is almost literally on the other side of the wall? It just didn’t add up.

She paused thoughtfully. ‘If I were you I’d also start looking for the Mayors bodyguard. He seems to have failed spectacularly in his job after all. He may know more. I think you may want to ask your archaeologist friend a few questions about him. From what I understand she knew him somehow.’

‘I think that’s everything I wanted to know. You’ve been very helpful.’

‘You’re welcome. Goodbye Mr Jones.’

I closed the door slowly behind me, turning it all over in my mind, trying to make it all fit. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost missed the Secretary’s conspiratorial motion to come to her desk. She winked at me and lifted her finger off the intercom.

‘You should know; She and Miss Michelle never really trusted the Mayor.’

‘Could he have provided insider information to the gang.’

‘Some, not all though, they really didn’t trust him.’ She stressed the L’s in really, drawing it out.

I groaned. ‘So this gang had access to top quality resources and information and the mayor was involved.’ Again I had the sense of things not adding up. Killing the mayor made even less sense when you added the fact that he was in on the theft. Why did he meet up with the thieves? Why wasn’t his bodyguard there? Speculation ran wild in my mind.

‘Thanks for letting me know.’ I said.

‘Not a problem. Though be careful when you go to see Mark. He’s pretty high up on the criminal food chain down there.’

‘Thanks.’

She grinned. ‘Now don’t forget that drink.’

I made my way to the elevator for the long ride back down to the lobby. I held my breath as I made my way through the lobby, its sunlit marble and hurrying people crowding in. In reaching the outside air I let my breath out slowly. Miss Mills hadn’t been obviously lying about anything; she’d skipped over not trusting the mayor and knowing that Red Mark was due some respect was an important thing to omit. A guy can get in to trouble for something like that, I know. But on the whole she’d been pretty open. That worried me. Successful business people aren’t open with anyone, up to and including their own accountants. So why be open with me unless she was in a lot more trouble than I thought? Shaking my head I hailed a cab.

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The Elvyn bar looked as if it had been shabby and run down, once. New paint had been hastily applied over the exterior hiding the brickwork from sight and the windows were dark. I tried the heavy front door and it pushed back easily on its hinges. Music to dance to hung in the air, and there was the smell of newness and alcohol on the air. I checked my pocket for my gun, put on a no-nonsense glare and went in.

The inside was a deep dark blue, and there was an undersea, marine feel to the place. The paint in here failed to cover marks in the walls where something heavy had been removed to put in the bar that ran all the way across one side of the building. I pushed the brim of my hat back and scowled at the early drinkers of the day. The people here didn’t look like the type who liked to have their drinking interrupted. In fact I now noticed that few of them had drinks in front of them at all.

The darkened windows let in little light and the small dimmed lights overhead reinforced the feeling of an undersea world with sunlight shining down a world away. I walked over to the bar itself and scrutinised a blackboard, all eyes had turned to me now. I felt a sudden chill course down the back of my neck. People were shifting subtly in their booths. Unperturbed I walked over to the bar, giving the impression that lack of service would lead to more than a written complaint. A worried looking barman hurriedly walked over to me, his hands held down low behind the bar. I glared at him blackly, ignoring the eyes fixed on my back, gun ready.

I folded my arms and leaned against the bar. The barman was still watching me uneasily.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Jack Daniels, with ice.’

His hands moved away from beneath the bar and started fixing my drink. I could still feel the weight of the rooms gaze on my back.

‘Friendly place.’ I said dismissively. ‘I need to talk to Red Mark?’

The barman managed to look even more nervous and held out his hand. The direct approach it was going to have to be. I pushed a few notes into his hand and picked up my drink. He looked at the crumpled notes in his hands for a few seconds and nodded and hastily put them into his back pocket.

‘Table in the far left hand corner.’

I turned around slowly; sudden movements in this place might mean that I wouldn’t finish my drink in a rather unpleasant and terminal manner. Looking round I counted twenty to thirty people hidden in the gloom of the booths. My eyes wandered slowly across the room and eventually over to a booth with dark blue cushions in the far corner. Yes.

Red Mark. He sat on the edge of his seat almost leaning over the table, facing the door watching it like a cat, unblinking, ready to pounce. His dark suit was immaculate the lapels a fashionable wide cut, the flamboyant wide brim hat was the finishing touch on the well dressed young gangster of today.

Taking a deep breath I held my drink in my right hand, and walked across the bar to Red Marks table. He looked up at me quickly as I approached, eyes moving, assessing, noting the gun in my pocket and that I’d have to lose the glass of Jack Daniels to draw it.

Nodding to someone behind me he motioned me to sit down. I sat.

‘What can I do for you Mr…?’

‘Mr Jones’

Eyes that had wandered back to the door shot me an amused look. ‘Of course.’

‘I’m after information.’

‘About what.’

‘The Jade Monkey.’

‘I see.’ He paused. ‘It’ll have to be quick. I’m expecting a social call.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘I was told that you might be able to tell me a few things.’

‘About the theft?’

‘Yes.’

He looked at me solemnly. ‘I might just have something for you. One of my associates says there’s a guy operating out of the docks. Scary Anthony. He’s been bragging that he’s got something good going for him.’

‘Which might just be involvement in lifting the Jade. And you’d like me to check him out for you.’ I finished.

He smiled. ‘You catch on fast. If I send a couple of the boys round down to the docks it looks like I’m trying to make a move, and it complicates my life.’

‘Especially if he has someone standing behind him. You send me down; I find out what this guy’s been up to and let you know.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I don’t suppose you know anything about the disappearance of Mr Charles?’

‘Not a thing. Though you might want to talk to this Scary guy about that too. If there were some side arrangement to the theft then he’ll know.’

‘Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.’

‘No at all.’

The sound of the traffic had changed outside, it had been changing for a while but now I could just about hear it over the murmur of hushed talk and the soft background music, a dull roar of heavy diesel engines. I looked up quickly at Red Mark.

‘I think it’s about time you have to go Mr Jones.’

‘That social call?’

‘Yes. The police get it in to their heads time to time that the guys and me get lonely out here and they decide to drop in on us. The murder and the theft have got them all stirred up anyway so they’re going to come talk to me.’

I could just make out the blurred shapes of large police vans out of the dim windows. The dance music still played quietly in the background, made the whole scene surreal.

‘There a back way out?’

‘Through that door with the seaweed on.’

I nodded. ‘Stylish décor.’

‘Designed it myself. Underworld dive. None of the guys get it.’

I grinned.

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’ll do something different with the place for the next social. Goodbye Mr Jones.’

‘Thanks again.’

‘Just don’t forget to tell me what you find out about this guy. Otherwise we shall have a disagreement’

I quickly gulped down the rest of my drink and walked nonchalantly to the door past figures crouched down low behind turned over tables. I opened a second door at the end of white washed corridor to be greeted by two police officers in shooting positions. I dived sideways and scrambled into the cover of a doorway, and the two cops ducked reflexively ducked as the roar of Thompson machine guns erupted from the bar. The sound of breaking glass continued for a while punctuated now and again by the snap of small handguns. The police seemed disinclined to get up again just yet and seemed to be content with shouting unflattering things at me. I slipped to the next doorway, down an alley, over a fence, across a public park and out of harms way.

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The Charnwood museum looked just as impressive by day as it did in the glare of lights the night I first arrived. But its gothic air seemed slightly out of place in daylight, the shadows nighttime lent it had hinted at the mysteries of history, forgotten things long hidden. By day all its secrets were caged behind glass and their mystery explained away by neat little plaques.

Heavy afternoon sunshine filtered in to the museum lobby through tall, narrow windows. Children and parents stood in two loud lines waiting to speak with one of a matched pair of smartly dressed women in front of old fashioned tills.

I waited in line at the counter, my eyes lost in the decoration of the lobby, a fan made of shining medieval broadswords with time dulled blades, a few pieces of the old town walls and a mock suit of roman armour. The queue thinned slowly as my memory started picking out details of my first visit here, the goons had been alert, waiting for something to happen, the sound of falling chains, the smell of gun smoke.

I awoke from my reverie and asked the stern looking women behind the counter for directions to the errant Miss Ferguson. Unfortunately Miss Ferguson was Not Here today as she was Unwell, but if I could leave a name and number a meeting would be arranged at the First Opportunity. I shook my head in a non-committal way, thanked her and paid for a ticket.

The museum bustled with people, the present crowding around the past, drinking it in. I gave most of the exhibits a cursory glance, a collection of roman broaches cleaned and pinned down dead in exhibition cases, black and white photographs of the old Charnwood forest swamped in explanations of boundary lines and figures. Slowly, carefully, I retraced my steps. I waited for a mother to marshal her two sons and march them on to the next exhibit before slipping through a side door marked ‘Staff Only’ to return to the scene of the crime.

I walked through the corridors towards where I remembered the storeroom to be, pausing only to take off my hat and coat and pick up some paperwork left on a small table. One of the powers of paperwork is invisibility. If you’re carrying some in an office and look like you know where you’re going, no one questions that you should be there. I walked past the room where the mayor was murdered, the heavy oak door criss-crossed with police tape. I checked down the corridor, gingerly pulled on a glove and pushed lightly against the door. Locked. Away in the distance another door closed and footsteps echoed down the corridor. I slid my gloved hand underneath my folded coat and carried on to the storeroom.

History piled high in crates and boxes stood in orderly rows, some crates open baring the antiquities of the ancient world to the warm air. The place was deserted and the packing crate that I’d flown in to Loughborough was gone. But the small truck that I’d arrived in was parked in front of a heavy steel slide door that made up one wall. It took me a few seconds to find the wire that linked it to an alarm, no repairs to the wire, so it hadn’t been cut. The small windows near the ceiling were heavily barred. This place was a fortress. A crowbar was left negligently against a row of shelves. I shook my head, a fortress where they left you a means of transportation and had an alarm a child could circumvent. Scary Anthony mustn’t have had a difficult time taking the Jade, it was just surprising that he had left the museum without taking anything else. I frowned as that thought took hold, had he taken anything else? I needed to talk to Miss Ferguson.

I took me a few moments more to find what I was looking for, a small office next to the door that smelt of oil and old paper. Dispatch logs lay strewn across a small desk, and bunches of keys hung on a rickety wooden rack. Shaking my head I lifted the keys labelled office, and left.

I slipped back into the murder room easily. It seemed much as it had been, a second door at the far end, the big mahogany desk. But some things had changed. I walked over to the small outline in masking tape on the floor, the brown red dried blood stood out clearly in the patterned carpet. The police had found the bullet, the edges of the bullet hole showed clearly the signs of the forceps they had used to pull it out. The room was large, probably of someone important. There was something wrong here, I turned over an explanation or two in my head. Perhaps there had been extra security that the gang couldn’t circumvent and they’d needed the Mayor? Perhaps he was supposed to leave with them as a hostage?

I looked the desk over quickly, but it was a photograph on the wall that caught my attention. A small framed print of the mayor and a second man with Miss Mills and Miss Michelle standing either side of them on the museum steps. The legend ‘Benefactors of Charnwood Museum and the Curator’ ran below it. The Museums curator? He had tousled light brown hair and a wide smile; it looked like he would be more at home on a sports pitch than in a museum. In fact both he and the mayor were smiling. Friends perhaps? I needed to find out more. I shook myself; I’d been here too long and being discovered back at the murder scene would be very uncomfortable. I left quickly, taking care to lock the door behind me.

I ghosted past the busy workshops, the offices and the clack of typewriters, back in to the museum. The Police had thought it strange that the Mayor hadn’t had his bodyguard with him, Miss Mills had reminded me about it this morning, and now I needed to know more about the museums curator too. Could the mayor have been waiting for him in his office? I left Pete’s number with the lady at the desk and walked back out into the present.

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I caught a taxi from the town centre out to Faraday. Faraday perhaps isn’t the greatest place on earth, but some days it comes close. Warm afternoon sunshine shines down, kids play on large well-kept lawns in front of large well-kept houses at the edges of wide quiet roads. My house here had always been the exception, the lawn a little unkempt and the house a little worn. Over the years I had a few people complain at me for lowering the tone of the neighbourhood and that I should be a little more house-proud. But in the end it wasn’t any of them who burnt the house down.

The taxi slowed and stopped a few streets away from my final destination and I walked the rest of the way, keeping an eye out for anyone watching the house.

After about ten minutes I was knocking loudly on a door, and waiting. The house was a pale cream colour almost white, pretty tidy, and large like all the others here. The first house in a small cul-de-sac, that itself backed on to a large playing field. I stepped back and looked for a telltale movement at a window that would let me know someone was here. The large windows were set in white frames but the windowsills and the wall next to the windows were painted black. I ducked under a hanging basket and peered through a window into the house. The curtains were half drawn so even as large as the windows were the roomed seemed dark. I could make out a heavily stacked bookshelf and what were possibly souvenirs from archaeological digs, one in particular on the mantelpiece caught my eye, a small statue of a Chinese dragon that seemed to look back at me and grin with dragonish mirth. I resisted the urge to poke my tongue out at it.

I checked ‘round the side of the house, I relaxed a little when there was no car. But the house didn’t have an empty feel to it. Every time I peered through a window I felt that round the corners, just out of sight, someone was hiding there. I checked in all the usual places but no clumsily hidden backdoor key came to light, and I didn’t think that anything other than a really angry archaeologist would be accomplished by breaking in.

I left slowly, turning to walk down the drive to the road. The last of the afternoon was fading into evening and dark clouds gathered at the horizon. I pulled my jacket close against the wind and I noticed the old lady watching me suspiciously from across the road under the pretext of trimming her hedges. She hadn’t been there when I’d got here. I crossed over the road and she stopped the pretence of moving her shears every few seconds.

‘Is that yours?’ She said as I came into range gesturing with her shears at a car parked outside her house. The car was black and silver and reasonably new.

‘No.’

The old lady sniffed at my reply. ‘I thought it might be one of her friends. It’s been here a few days now. Burglars will want to break in to steal the keys. They do that you know.’ She nodded sagely.

I tried to match this to the activities of a few of my less than legally inclined acquaintances and failed. I tuned out her thin reedy voice as she continued on what was obviously a well-rehearsed tirade about the thoughtlessness of others and memorised the registration of the car. Even as I quietly took my leave, the old lady was still going, declaiming to empty space.

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Powerful searchlights scoured the night’s sky in front of the EHB club so that its pale brickwork shone. A landlocked lighthouse, calling partygoers from across town. It’s something of everything, a pool hall a nightclub and a hang out for the in crowd; something of everything for everyone who could want to go there.

Behind me yet another taxi drove off into the night with a little bit more of my money on board. Time to arrange a hire car, but tomorrow. I took a few seconds to dust down my least crumpled suit and made my way to the door.

Music and the memory of cigarette smoke hung in the air around a well-lit and crowded bar. I could just about smell cooking food wafting from the small kitchen near the back, it subtly mingled with all the other scents to culminate in the suggestion of a party. The sound of clinking glasses and laughter underscored the scene.

I stood for a while, simply watching the flow of people. There were hundreds here, dressed in all sorts of clothes some conservative others daring. The cheap and the tacky rubbing shoulders with a few suits and dresses that you sent armed guards with to the dry cleaners. My eyes walked around the room until they found Miss Mills sat at a table on a platform up to the right. A tall bodyguard stood to her left; he was wearing thick glasses and had short dark blond hair, his dark suit look almost as battered as mine. I shook my head, surely Miss Mills wouldn’t be short with the money with somebody she trusted her life too? She herself was wearing a dark purple number, picked out to match some small pieces of expensive jewellery. But it was who she was talking to that caught my attention. If her bodyguard was tall this guy was a giant, even sitting down he towered over her. He was pale with long dark hair, his clothes were dark too, but they looked well cut.

Then, with my gaze fixed on the table across the room, behind me someone spoke quietly into my ear.

‘Stick ‘em up’ A guys voice, helpfully prodding me in the back just below the ribcage to emphasise the point. I turned round slowly, hands half raised, ready to dive for cover.

I recognised him, the dark hair and the hungry expression, it was the reporter from outside the police station. He beamed a smile at me and gave me a pistol salute with his hand still made into a mock pistol.

‘You’ I said ‘Are as about as funny as hangover.’

He shrugged. ‘It was a joke - don’t take it so hard.’

‘Well I’ve been a little tense lately. What do you want?’

‘You can definitely tell about the tense part. I was thinking that we could trade a little information.’

‘I don’t have anything more to say to you that I haven’t said already.’

‘Hey I’m off duty.’ He raised his hands to tap his hat. ‘See. No press card.’

I fought the urge to smile. ‘What do you want then?’

‘I figured that we both might benefit from an exchange of information. Just a little chat. I’m running my own investigation in to what’s been going on lately and you might be able to help me…..’

‘…..in exchange for some information out of you.’ I finished for him. ‘Deal.’ I nodded to a table that had just been vacated by a couple next to one of the walls.

I sat back into a the wide back of a wooden armchair, taking a sip of my Whiskey and Coke. ‘So what do you want to know?’

‘You’ve met "Red Mark" yes?’

I nodded.

‘The line from police HQ is that he’s involved.’

‘In the murder or the theft?’

‘Hell, both.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think they’ve got anything. They’re going after Mark because they have to be seen as doing something and he’s a useful target.’

He nodded to himself thoughtfully for a few seconds. ‘OK’

‘Who’s that guy at Miss Mills’s table.’

He looked across the room for a second. ‘Hmm. That’s Gareth’

‘Another reporter?’

‘Yeah. Though he does opinion pieces and writes editorials for editors who are hard of thinking whereas I’m freelance.’

‘He knows the local politics?’

‘Backwards. That all you want to know?’

‘Yeah.’ All I needed to know to see that the town’s politics were beginning to come to the boil.

‘Right. Do think there’s anything in the disappearances?’

‘The bodyguard?’

‘And the Archaeologist brought in to check the Jades authenticity.’

This guy had good sources of information. ‘Well between the two of them they had access to the mayor and the Jade.’

His eyes sprung to life. ‘Yes!’ He began talking quickly. ‘If they were working together they could pull it off. The Archaeologist steals the Jade, the Bodyguard kills the mayor to create glorious confusion they leave, sell the Jade back to a Chinese Collector. They’re away and wealthy!’

He looked at me as I shook my head. ‘What’s the problem then genius?’

‘The problem is’ I said ‘They hate each other like poison’

‘Well they would feign that wouldn’t they. So no-one would suspect.’

‘No, this was a long, deep hatred. I don’t know the story behind it, but I think they’d both rather mainline cyanide than give each other the time of day.’ I said.

Over in the distance a comedian finished his act to small applause. The curtain fell and lights dimmed. A guy in a penguin suit announced a double-barrelled stage name into the microphone to warm applause. Not much time to ask my question if I wanted to see how good this Secretary come songstress really was.

‘Last question.’

He gestured acceptance with his glass whilst raising it to his lips.

‘Does Miss Mills have much contact with anyone in the Police at all?’

He almost choked on his drink. Hurriedly he wiped his mouth and tried to stop coughing. But he managed to gesture towards the back of the room. I turned round slowly and in that moment before the lighting went down even further and curtain opened, across the room I recognised the Chief Constable sit down at the same table as Miss Mills.

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Chapter 12

The lights dimmed and the lady sang. Her dark blue dress shimmered in the spotlight. She was good. I could probably find half a dozen long and elegantly descriptive words that could describe how she sang, her dress, her figure, her voice and the way that the spotlight fell on her hair. But I couldn’t pull my attention away enough from the effect that all the above had to think that hard, which is probably the best compliment I can give her. Then very suddenly, it was over and the room silent; she stood in the spotlight basking in the applause that rippled from a spellbound crowd.

As she left the stage and the applause died down, I looked across at the reporter; he was smiling into his drink.

‘This the first time you’ve heard her sing?’ He said.

I nodded, realised that this wasn’t enough and struggled to find my voice. ‘Yeah’

He nodded. ‘You can start drinking your drink again too.’

I looked at the drink that I had forgotten I was holding and took a sip. Somehow it didn’t seem to have the same kick it had ten minutes ago.

She came out again through a small stage door passing in-between two goons in suits who looked like relatives of King Kong there to reduce backstage tourism. She was wearing a different dress, still dark blue, but it looked as if it had been picked out for comfort rather than a performance like her stage dress. I waved at her from our table and she walked over.

‘So, where’s my drink?’

The reporter looked at me as if I’d suddenly grown antlers.

I smiled. ‘I didn’t know what you’d like.’

She smiled back ‘Well that’s just simply not good enough. Come with me.’

I got up out of my chair, and said a quick goodbye to the reporter whose mouth was hanging open and began following her to the bar.

The barman nodded recognition and our drinks were served swiftly. Stools were found for us at the end of the bar looking out across the room from the bars far end. She closed her eyes and drank swiftly from her glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side.

‘So why sit here?’ I asked.

‘Because I like watching people get drinks from the bar. It’s a pleasant atmosphere here.’

‘Fair enough’ I said, lifting my glass to my lips. How many drinks had I had today?

‘How is your unofficial investigation coming along anyway?’

‘Good. Nobody has shot at me in the last hour or so.’

‘And you’ve got lots of strong leads to follow.’

‘Not strong, they’ve just started going to gym and are looking speculatively at the weights.’

She laughed and we talked for an hour or so and drank a few more drinks and I was definitely beginning to feel very comfortable and affable. But I had work to do. I stood up slowly.

‘Are you going?’

‘Believe me, I don’t want to.’

‘But duty calls hey.’

I nodded.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘The reliable, dutiful type. I thought you were extinct.’

I gave her a tight smile. ‘Just endangered.’

‘Well.’ She stood up, put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a swift peck on the cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, and I shall see you soon.’ She looked up and her eyes met mine. ‘Right.’

I held that look for a moment. ‘Right.’ I said, and I found I meant it. Wild horses would need to be involved in keeping me away, but for now I had to leave.

The night’s air hit me like a club as I went outside and hailed a cab. Clouds still chased across the sky and the moon was hidden from view. Good. Not as good as more fog for what I had planned, but a moonlit night would have made my life more difficult. I’d had a few drinks, enough for an excuse to act drunk if anyone questioned me too closely while I was on my way there and definitely not enough for me to finish off the conversation I’d started in a bar a few years with Harvey. A cab drew up and I shouted ‘Faraday’ at the driver.

One of the little known pitfalls of a private detectives life is transportation, you spend a fortune on taxi fees, get blacklisted by every car hire company in town when you bring back something with bullet holes in or, if you use your own car, you become a lot more recognisable when you start tailing people. Still, I hate bicycling. There’s nothing more embarrassing than having to buy four bikes in two weeks because yours have all been stolen. Trust me on this.

The night span past my window as I looked up from my slumped position in the back of the cab. The cab driver was muttering curses under his breath in front but I’d slapped a large enough note on the passenger seat that I was pretty sure that I’d get Faraday. It didn’t take long. I’d chosen a place that I’d seen on my earlier visit, a few streets away from where I wanted to be but the walk wasn’t going to do any harm unless someone shot out the dark at me, which wasn’t a reassuring thought….. I stumbled out of the cab and vaguely thanked the driver who didn’t reply and screeched off into the night still mumbling curses about drunks.

It took a few seconds to check where I was, and figure out which way to go. I pulled the brim of my hat down low and pulled my coat tight. I didn’t want anyone to recognise me if this went wrong. I walked slowly, beneath the streetlights hardly glancing up at the occasional car that passed by. My thoughts began to get a little clearer as I walked. So, the Chief Constable socialising with Miss Mills while two important investigations were underway. I couldn’t think my way through it. I thought Miss Michelle had been the one leaning on the law to get results. Perhaps they both were.

Miss Ferguson’s house was still big and pale cream; the curtains on the windows were still half drawn, and all the lights were out. The hanging baskets swayed in the wind, creaking back and forth on their chains. It was the lights that were important; I’d hoped to find out if anyone had come back. Carefully I made my way to check the back of the house. There were no lights, but the back door was open.

My gun flew from my pocket to my hand like it was trying to win some sort of medal. If I had one at the time I would have given it one. Nothing moved. I pushed the door open fully, and stepped through.

It was a kitchen with a black and white tiled floor like a chessboard. Even in here were small artefacts, skilfully decorated earthenware pots and bowls. A few cups were left on the side ready to be washed up. I picked one up and checked it over. It had been coffee, two or three days on the side I guessed. I put it back down and walked silently through in to the front room. It was much the same as I had managed to see from the outside. Curios and bric-a-brac were neatly arranged on shelves and the same Chinese dragon I’d seen before was lit by a thin streak of light that pushed through a gaps in the curtains, it grinned up at me from the mantel piece and I suppressed the urge to grin back, something was wrong.

I ghosted my way to the bottom of the stairs and gradually made my way up, testing each stair as I went to find if any would creak underfoot and give the game away. None did. The first room I tried was a well-appointed bathroom, but on the second try I found the bedroom. A single figure was in the large double bed, covered by a thick duvet. I realised that for the past half minute I’d not heard any breathing. I gently pulled the duvet away and met the cold staring eyes of Mr Charles.

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My litany of curses barely remained sub-vocal. The body had not been dead long, there was no smell and rigor mortis hadn’t set in. I could have sworn that the curtain had moved earlier today when I stopped by. It would have been a lot of effort to drag a guy that big up a set of stairs as a dead weight. I didn’t know how he died. Poison maybe, or strangulation, he hadn’t been shot or stabbed that I could see. I didn’t dare turn the light on for a better inspection, or take my gloves off to check for wounds more thoroughly. I rifled his pockets but they were empty, someone else had got there first.

I went back downstairs and in to the front room. Perhaps this place had a cellar, that I hadn’t checked, or perhaps he’d got frightened when I dropped by earlier. It was while I was lost in my thoughts that the car pull up outside and someone got out. The Chinese Dragon grinned mockingly from his perch as I hurried to the window. Peering through the gap in the curtains I could see the car in the streetlights, but the person who’d got out was now in the shadows of the drive. The figure paused taking something from its pocket. A lighter flamed in the darkness and I found myself looking at a familiar face.

Once, long ago, we had been partners in a detective firm; it had ended very, very badly. She had tried to kill me on three separate occasions. If she saw me now, it would be four. Ice waltzed down my spine and I almost dropped my gun, which would have been both unfortunate and probably fatal.

She had pale skin and long, dark, luxuriant hair that chased down her back. She was slightly under medium height and was a few years older than me, I could never tell how many; though most of the time we were partners I felt she was younger than me. But it was her eyes that had always held my attention, when we were on a case or talking across the desks in our office, they were at the same time brown and golden, laughter danced there. They had a sense of wild wickedness and joyful exuberance that hid beneath that ever so calm, professional exterior. She hated me and wanted me dead.

I backed slowly away from the window suddenly feeling very sober and wishing fervently that I were elsewhere or that I at least had some silver bullets. I walked quickly to the front door and undid the latch. The best plan I had was to creep out of the front door while she came in through the back. I waited for the sound of the back door and made to slip out the door. There was the sound of a sharp indrawn breath, the coffee cup. Damn. I crashed out the door, slamming it closed behind me and ran down the drive. A guy sat in the car that she’d arrived in and was beginning to get out, his hand reaching for his pocket. I absently waved my gun in his direction and the guy half fell onto the road swearing as I turned to run up the road. In the distance a pair of headlights shone as a car turned down the street. I ran down the middle of the road towards it waving my hands in the air. There was a small thunderclap and a bullet and flew over my head. The car had stopped and I wrenched the door open and dived into the passenger seat. A pair of startled sapphire blue eyes looked back at me. The Archaeologist.

‘Go!’ I shouted.

‘What? That’s my house!’

‘No time for questions! Go!’

A bullet ricocheted off the road in front of us and Hannah looked back over her shoulder and threw the car into reverse. I rolled down the window and answered the shot with one of my own. As the car swerved back into a three-point turn I had a clear view down the road. The guy who had been in the car had now stood up and was trying to bring his gun to bear and beside him that oh so familiar figure had made it to the end of the drive. She looked at the car and met my gaze and I saw a flash of recognition in her eyes. I slumped down in my seat as Hannah floored the accelerator. The tires squealed on the road for a second before hurtling us away through the night. I was still alive, but inside I felt dead.

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I sat on the bonnet of Hannah’s car and looked out over Loughborough. Beacon Hill is one of the closest hills to the town. Its pretty deserted at night, and you can see cars coming from a long way away. Plus the view of Loughborough is the best you’re going to get without flying. Hannah finished fetching a horribly bright looking orange sweater from the back of her car and put it on over the top of a dark blue suit, before coming round to sit on the bonnet. She met my gaze.

‘A funding meeting at the University. They like their archaeologists to look formal. Now, you’ She said, ‘Have a lot of explaining to do.’

I looked heavenward. ‘That sounds about right. I’ve been looking for you to see if you could answer some of my questions.’

She wrinkled her nose and looked out across the city. ‘I think this is definitely a case where the gentleman goes first.’

I looked over my shoulder for one and chuckled. ‘Let’s see. I am a pilot. But before that I was a detective here in Loughborough. For long and very complicated reasons my partner stopped being a detective and took steps to stop me from being a detective.’

‘What steps?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Oh I really do want to know.’

‘Attempted murder, arson and finally dynamiting our office.’

‘What did you do to make him so angry?’

‘Her.’

She looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

‘It wasn’t like that. We just had some severe differences about her choice of new employer and I said some things that were possibly a little ill considered.’

‘Such as?’ She pressed.

I sighed. ‘Mostly to do with her being a deranged psychotic not fit to sleep on the streets let alone walk them.’

‘Ouch.’

‘It went downhill from there.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was she doing at my house?’

‘Probably looking for Mr Charles.’

‘At my house?’ She sounded outraged.

‘Well, he was there.’

‘What! That’s it, he’s a dead man!’

‘Yes.’ I said quietly.

She paused and met my eyes. ‘You mean that don’t you. He’s…’

‘Yes.’

‘You didn’t…?’

‘No. I think that whoever She is working for wants everyone to think that you killed him. They were coming back to finish faking the evidence. But that’s just my theory. I don’t think they’ll have had the time now. People tend to get a little upset at people using guns in Faraday so I expect the police are going to send a few people ‘round and if they’re half switched on they’ll find the body.’

‘Great. Looks like you’re going to have company on the most wanted list.’ She folded her arms against the cold and looked back towards the lights of the town. ‘So, what were you doing in my house anyway?’

‘Looking for you, strangely.’

She smiled. ‘Makes sense. You said you had some questions.’

‘Mostly about the Jade.’

‘Do you want to see it?’

My brain stalled for a few seconds.

She laughed at my expression and slid down from the bonnet.

‘Don’t worry it’s a replica, I wanted something to put in the display cabinet so we could check security. Much good that it did us.’

After fishing around in the car for a moment she returned holding a small figurine in a gloved hand. She tossed it to me before getting back on the bonnet.

I looked at in the half-light. It was a small figurine of monkey one arm raised and the other lowered about six inches tall. Whatever they’d used to replicate Jade was pale dark green.

Hannah spoke as I turned it over in my hands.

The Jade Monkey. Over a thousand years old, its origins are unknown. It’s been the focus of religious worship of several groups in the past, none of them I might add particularly wholesome.’

‘Not good.’

‘They weren’t. There are a lot of legends and folk stories about the Monkey too, the very few with happy endings are the ones where they throw it into the ocean or down a well. It’s disappeared a couple of times; been stolen, found, lost the usual. It ended up in the hands of the Chinese authorities and they sold it Miss Michelle.’

‘Any of these cults still around?’

‘No, they all died out centuries ago.’

‘Good. One homicidal maniac after me is enough.’

‘That’s about it unless you want a more detailed history.’

‘No thanks, that’ll be fine. This isn’t the real one is it?’

She snorted. ‘No I had ‘Made in China’ engraved on the bottom of the fake.’

I gave her a long look. ‘Can I have my sense of humour back when you’ve finished using it?’ And a thought struck me. ‘You did miss one thing out though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The price?’

‘That’s because I don’t know how much it could cost. Whatever price Miss Michelle paid for it, it must have been very substantial. Anyone selling it on the black market could pretty much name their own price.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘So who’d be able to buy it’?

‘Miss Michelle, maybe.’ She grinned.

I handed it back to her. ‘Usually these thefts are to order. It’s so much easier when you already have a buyer lined up. Either that or they’re looking to sell it back to the museum. But the murder’s made it all go wrong for them.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’

I shrugged. ‘The only lead I’ve got at the moment says to check out the docks. A guy called Scary Anthony?’

‘I know him.’ She said darkly. ‘A thief, a murderer, and a second rate grave robber.’

I scowled. ‘I get to meet all the nicest people.’

‘I think that’s going to be a "we". The quickest way to clear my name is to clear yours first.’

‘It could be a bumpy ride.’

She smiled and drew a large .45 revolver from a leather holster on her hip and sighted towards the town along the barrel. ‘I’m used to it.’

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I stalked stiffly out of the early sunshine into Pete’s bar, Hannah walking slowly behind me. Sleeping uncomfortably in a car isn’t fun, but it’s better than being dead or arrested. A goon leant against the wall just inside the door looked at me from behind thick glasses. He was tall and had brown blond hair he was wearing a slightly worn looking dark green suit. He wasn’t a bulky guy but he looked as if when he hit things they stayed hit and that he could deal with anything that could fit through the door. More than that there was a calculating intelligence in his eyes, as he quickly checked me over. I half expected him to give me his card. His pockets bulged, disturbing the lines of the suit, so much for concealed weapons. He certainly wasn’t in line with what I’d come to expect from people in the Goon industry. He did notice Hannah’s hip holster as his eyes widened for a split second, but he simply nodded and made no move to stop either of us going in to the bar.

The bar was full of mobsters, dark suits contrasted with bright ties, their black hats pulled down low, hiding their eyes. Sometimes, the mix of films on at the studios is exactly right and the atmosphere in Pete’s bar seems to hold up a mirror to life. I half expected Italian music to start coming from the fading jukebox in the corner.

Peter looked up from behind the bar and saw us.

‘Hey, Hannah.’

‘Hey, Pete.’

I looked between the two of them before my gaze settled on Pete. ‘You really do know everyone in the town don’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘Close.’

‘Scary Anthony?’

‘Him I just don’t want to know. Small time crook down at the docks trying to work his way into a bigger league, very ambitious.’

‘This just gets better and better.’

‘Warehouse 12 on the wharf would be a good place to start looking for him.’

‘Duly noted. So who’s the guy on the door?’

‘That’s Simon. I decided with all the trouble that seems to be stirring in town someone who knows how to handle himself might come in handy.’

‘He’s a pro?’

‘Yeah, a "Trouble Consultant". Get him to give you his card.’

‘Trouble Consultant?’

Pete grinned hugely, spreading his hands in front of him. ‘Yeah, Trouble turns up consults with him and decides to go somewhere else.’

He turned to Hannah. ‘You’re being quiet there.’

‘Drinking in the ambience. Have you still got that trunk I left for you to put into storage?’

‘Yeah its in the back.’

‘Well I need the key and some privacy for five minutes.’

‘Will do.’ Pete rummaged around in the till for a few moments before bring out a large iron key and giving it to her.

I turned to Pete as she walked over to the back room. ‘So how do you know her?’

‘In passing. She did some consultancy work for a couple of films a while ago.’

‘And she keeps a trunk here because?’

He smiled. ‘Its useful’.

‘Anything new? Seems that the Jade wasn’t the only thing stolen from the museum. They did an inventory after the theft and it seems a few other artefacts were missing from the loading bay where the Monkey was stolen from.’

‘I see.’ I didn’t. Why on earth steal the Jade, which was worth a king’s ransom, and then stick around to steal some other artefacts. But Red Mark had mentioned side agreements for the theft. What if that was part of the payment? Scary Anthony steals the Jade, and gets choice of artefacts in the loading bay for his trouble as well as a large amount of money and some significant backing.

A Jack Daniels and coke materialised from the ether next to my hand and I took a sip and did a mental inventory. Scary Anthony was involved in this mess, my ex partner knew I was back in town, the police were still holding me back as an ace card in case they needed a murderer in a hurry and the person who wanted to help me was shortly going to be wanted for murder herself. The only bright spot was that I was fairly sure that she hadn’t killed Mr Charles.

Hannah came back a few moments later. Her hair was tied back and she wore a heavy cream shirt tucked into dark brown trousers with shoes so sensible they were probably doing their own tax returns. A small satchel hung from a long strap over one shoulder, a heavy brown leather jacket was slung over the other. Her attitude had changed along with her clothes, her posture was different, the .45 in its battered leather holster now looked as if it belonged with her. This was business.

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Loughborough Docks had changed. In the past after the shipping trade had died down as manufacturing moved overseas it had been the place to go to do underhanded deeds. Deserted, derelict and decaying. Crime had always suited it; shadows clung to the small alleyways between the warehouses where things could happen hidden from view. It had changed dramatically. The few low dives that had clung to hideous half-life were now covered with a cheap paint and cheering slogans. Money had been spent on lights to banish the shadows and a pair of disinterested cops walked past tourists. It wasn’t much, but I doubted that the gangs who had their run of this place in the past had given up without a fight. I shook my head; Miss Michelle must be serious about the town to care what happened this far off the beaten track.

Hannah had her own contacts here and said she’d meet me near the warehouse. I’d scanned the area quickly, but the only sign of anything criminal was the gift shop prices. After I was overcharged for a soft drink I leant against a set of railings, my eyes skipping over the water to warehouse 12 and the single small freighter that was moored next to it. I could make out figures moving on the deck. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure, shrink back into the shadows in an alleyway. I dropped my empty cup into a bin and started walking, trying to keep the tension I suddenly felt out of my posture. It could be the police keeping an eye on me, or some eyes and ears for Red Mark making sure that things were being taken care of, maybe even that reporter keeping an eye on his story. I sighed, there suddenly seemed to be a vast number of people with a vested interest in where I was and what I was doing. As I walked a memory presented itself for consideration. I’d been followed from Miss Michelle’s too. I fought to keep from frowning and turned a corner. I had thought that it was one of her goons. But what if it was someone else? I had to find out for sure. I stuck my hands in my pockets, and let my palm rest against the grip on my gun.

If anything warehouse 12 turned out to be more deserted than the other warehouses. Thick dust plated the windows, and a forlorn sign promised that trespassers would meet with security patrols and guard dogs. Judging from the age of the sign I’d have to make an appointment at the rest home first. A few brain cells working overtime slipped me a mental note saying that Pete had said to start looking at warehouse 12 and the freighter was moored out front. I hate it when he tries to be cryptic. I continued to stroll disinterestedly past and ducked down an alley. I turned quickly, put my back to the wall, slipped the gun from my pocket and waited. A set of footsteps hesitated, and then stopped outside the alleyway entrance.

‘Hey, Jones? You there?’

I relaxed and stepped away from the wall. ‘Hannah, get in here.’

‘What?’

‘I was being followed.’

‘Oh.’ She didn’t look over her shoulder as I half expected her too, and slipped in to the alleyway. She’d done this sort of thing before.

‘Did you see anybody?’ I said.

Her brow creased. ‘Well I saw you dive into the alleyway. There was a woman. Headscarf, dark grey business outfit, sensible shoes. Sure she was following you?’

‘Pretty sure, why?’

‘It’s a bit paranoid. Who knows we’re here?’

I smiled. ‘It’d only be paranoia if they weren’t all after me.’

Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Well, your mystery lady just carried on past. She knew that you’d spotted her.’

‘I think she’s followed me before.’

‘You have a stalker? It wouldn’t be your ex-partner would it?’

‘No. She’d never bother following me around. She tends to take a direct approach to things. But, whoever she is, her gambit’s been blown; I think she’ll drop back into the shadows again for a while. File her away as Miss X and we can get back to sneaking onto the boat. Did you learn anything?’

Hannah looked out of entrance of the alleyway. ‘Not much I didn’t know before. The guys on the freighter are from a local storage company. No sign of the van used in the theft from the museum and no sign of Scary Anthony for the last couple of days.’

‘When were the guys hired to do the work?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Right.’ I moved to the entrance of the alleyway and took a long look at the freighter.

Hannah moved behind me to get a view. ‘So how do we get on board?’

‘Easily, apparently.’

‘No guards, no lookout, in fact no security at all that I can see.’

‘Well they’re trying to keep a low profile.’

‘With hired movers?’ I shook my head. ‘I’d just be happier with something I could see. It tends to cut down on the nasty surprises later.’

She sighed. ‘Scary Anthony is not the sharpest tool in the box. I doubt he could even spell security precautions.’

Several men in blue overalls walked down the gangplank to the shore and I drew back into the shadows. They talked amongst themselves as they walked. But they were too far away from them to hear what they were saying. One of them laughed, and they started to head in the direction of one of the bars. It didn’t feel right, too easy, but sometimes you do get lucky.

‘Are you ready?’ I asked.

Hannah shrugged, getting her hands free and settling her jacket. ‘Yes.’

I drew my coat tightly around me and drew my hat brim down low and walked out into the sunlight.

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Chapter 17

The ships hull was a dirty red that was matched by a yellowing white superstructure pocked with spots of rust. Barely legible white letters spelt out the name 'Conquistador'. As I stepped onto the gangplank black paint flaked off and fell into the water below. Somehow it seemed out of place, after seeing the renovation of the rest of the docks, the freighter was a throwback to shady past that hadn’t quite faded. Even as I stepped onto the deck my impression of the place didn’t change. The cargo hoists that the movers had used were tidily stowed, but everywhere else on deck was crowded with rusting equipment that I didn’t recognize and tangled piles of ropes that had seen better decades let alone better days.

I picked my way carefully across the deck, taking quick glances at the bridge. Hannah whispered something behind me that I didn’t quite catch. I turned to face her. Keeping my eye on the closet door to the ship’s interior. 'What was that?' I hissed.

‘I said it doesn’t look like anyone’s here.’

‘I know. It’s almost perfect isn’t it? I nearly fell for it too. The hoists gave it away though.’

She looked at them thoughtfully for a moment. ‘They’re in good condition.’

‘Yes.’ I grinned. ‘Carry on like this and I’ll buy you a Fedora. It gives the game away really. This whole thing’s a mock up. Would you think anyone in their right mind would try to escape from town in a bucket like this? I think as soon as we get below we’re going to find that rest of the ship is in fairly good shape.’

She grimaced. ‘I think you’re giving him too much credit.’

I nodded. ‘Maybe. So who came up with it for him?’

‘Then who…?’

‘Right.’ I said and moved towards the door.

I ducked through a bulkhead into a dimly lit corridor. A metal stairway by my side I guessed led up to the bridge. An open door showed rack of modern radio equipment. I paused, listening intently before moving on. Lacking security precautions was one thing; the ship being completely deserted was another. Even considering that this wasn’t a large ship I guessed you’d need a crew of six or so people. Where were they? As if on cue a large door swung closed ahead of us with a loud clang sending my hand to my pocket.

I relaxed gradually as nobody started shouting, shooting or otherwise making my life uncomfortable. Hannah had flowed into a shooting stance, the .45 held in both hands, her eyes locked on the door. I glanced either way down the corridor and gestured to her to lower the gun. I took a step forward and put my hand to the painted metal of the door. It opened slowly; it had closed but not locked. A little brass plaque on the wall proclaimed it to be the captain’s cabin. I nodded and gently pushed the door open.

The captain’s cabin was smaller than I had thought, it was made even smaller by the crowd of artifacts, antiquities and unidentifiable pieces of junk that were scattered around the room. Even the small bed was covered with bric-a-brac. Light came through a small porthole in the rear. Scary Anthony himself was sat slumped at a heavy metal desk that was almost buried under manila coloured sheets of paper. He was shorter than me, perhaps 5’6, 5’5 with short dark hair. Cheap black shoes stuck out from underneath faded blue work trousers, and in the middle of his dark blue anorak a black knife hilt stood from his back.