3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers (33 page)

I thought it an odd remark.

Something smashed into the side of the car and, as Daphne flopped back into my arms, trembling as much as I was, I opened my eyes. Hobbes was leaning in at the window.

‘It’s alright,’ I said, ‘it’s Hobbes.’

‘Hobbes?’ Her voice was weak and tremulous.

‘Are you injured, madam?’ he asked.

‘No, not really. My throat is sore … and there’s glass in my hair, but I’m OK.’

‘Andy?’

‘I banged my head on the windscreen, but I’ll be alright in a moment.’

‘Yes,’ said Hobbes, ‘I saw that. What have I told you about seatbelts?’

‘Umm … seatbelts are for wimps?’

‘No … well, I may have said it once, but I also said that you should wear one.’

‘There was no time … umm … What happened to Denny?’

‘Mr Barker is taking a little nap.’

‘I see and Sir Gerald? He was here too.’

‘I regret he didn’t stay to make my acquaintance and made off in the Land Rover.’

‘He and Denny broke into the flats,’ I said. ‘They were looking for Daphne.’

As Hobbes stood up straight, holding his side and smiling, I could feel her relax and only then did I realise I had encircled her in my arms. Since she was snuggling against me, I guessed she didn’t mind.

‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘that I should see what damage he’s done.’

‘Quite right, madam,’ said Hobbes, wrenching open the buckled car door for her to get out.

I was very sorry when she broke away but, with a sigh, I got out as well, despite still feeling a little fuzzy round the edges. Denny was lying on his back, eyes closed, a happy smile on his ugly face and with the crowbar bent into a horseshoe around his neck. In addition to the car’s shattered rear windscreen and driver’s window, there was a dent in the door, about the size of Denny’s head, and the inside was sprinkled with glinting diamonds of glass.

‘I’d only just picked it up from the garage,’ said Daphne, staring and shaking her head. ‘I’ve had it for four years without a single problem and then I decided to come to Sorenchester …’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Duckworth,’ said Hobbes. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’

‘I’m really glad you did,’ I said, ‘but why?’

‘Sid phoned to say you might need a little help.’

‘That was good of him. I should have asked you, but I thought you were busy.’

‘I was,’ said Hobbes, ‘but public safety is important. I’d better check on the flat, now I’m here, but first, I’ll move Mr Barker out of the way and then we can put the cars somewhere sensible.’

He dragged Denny onto a patch of grass and left him there, before parking both cars in marked spaces. Then, with a frown at the shattered door, he led us into the building and upstairs. Daphne’s front door had been jemmied open and her sitting room was reminiscent of my old sitting room in that it was a complete mess. Everything that could have been turned over had been turned over. I had to hand it to Denny and Sir Gerald; they were fast. I doubted they’d been inside for more than a minute.

She shrugged. ‘I’m just glad I wasn’t here. It’s only stuff. Everything can be put back or replaced.’

‘Stay outside,’ said Hobbes, going in, sniffing and examining things, seemingly at random. ‘It would appear they were searching for something. Have you any idea what?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Daphne, ‘but I think it may have something to do with Hugh’s notes. I’m not sure.’

‘Get out!’ said Hobbes, turning and running at us. ‘And quickly!’

‘Eh? What?’ I said, as quick on the uptake as ever.

Gathering us up in his great arms, he bundled us down the stairs. We’d just reached the bottom when there was a white flash, a surge of heat, a bang that made my ears ring and a hail storm of debris and dust.

He set us down outside and dusted himself off. Daphne’s eyes were wide and frightened.

‘What just happened?’ she asked.

‘A gas explosion. I haven’t seen one of those for years.’

‘Did they cause it?’

‘That,’ he said, ‘would appear very likely.’

‘But why? They might have killed me.’

Hobbes shrugged, and took off his coat, the back of which was smouldering. ‘Without evidence or questioning them, I can’t know for certain. However, it would be reasonable to speculate they were attempting to get rid of whatever they were looking for. That suggests they didn’t find it and that they wanted to destroy it at any cost. I wonder if Mr Duckworth had learned the secret of the rocks?’

Dropping his coat, he stamped on it until it stopped smoking.

Faces were appearing at windows and footsteps were running towards us.

‘What about the rocks?’ I asked.

‘Later,’ he said. ‘I’d better go back in and make sure everyone is safe. Stay out here, unless I call.’

He ran back up the stairs.

Daphne looked at me and smiled bravely. I put my arms around her, feeling her body shake and kissed her on the cheek. It was wet and her tears somehow made me feel like a hero. We were still hugging when the sirens announced the arrival of the fire brigade and a police car. In moments, firemen were running around, unreeling hoses.

Constable Wilkes approached. ‘Are you two hurt?’

I shook my head.

‘Good,’ said Wilkes. ‘Do you know if anyone’s inside?’

‘Hobbes is.’

‘Oh, no, he isn’t,’ said Hobbes, leading a white-haired couple to safety. They looked oddly familiar, but it took a moment to recognise them as the young newlyweds who’d moved in next door to me about a month before I’d moved out. I hadn’t known them, except to nod to, but they’d both had dark hair back then. Only when the woman sneezed and shed some of the whiteness did I realise they were liberally coated in a fine powder, like flour.

Hobbes went back in and returned a few moments later with a furious, dusty, frazzled ginger cat. As soon as he released it, it hissed and ran up a tree. A bunch of firemen rushed into the block, dragging hoses.

Daphne, her face streaked and puffy with tears, pulled away and turned towards Hobbes. ‘Is everyone alright?’

‘Besides shock and dust, they will be,’ he said. ‘However, I fear my coat is beyond hope.’ Picking it up, he peered through a black-ringed hole about the size of his head in the back. ‘I doubt even Milord will be able to do much with this.

‘Oh, well, the lass has been on at me to get a new one since the Big Freeze of sixty-three, but I doubt I’ll be able to get one like it now.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll have to find Mrs Duckworth somewhere safe for the night.’

‘I’ll be alright,’ she said. ‘I can stay in a hotel. I’ll be perfectly safe now you’ve caught Denny.’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Hobbes, looking around, ‘that Mr Barker may still be a threat.’

20

Denny had gone, and so had Hobbes’s car.

‘You should have cuffed him,’ said Daphne.

‘Since he’d struck his head and was unconscious,’ said Hobbes shaking his head, ‘I could see no reason to cuff him, as I don’t condone gratuitous brutality … or do you mean, why didn’t I put him in handcuffs?’

Daphne nodded, looking confused.

‘With hindsight, perhaps I should have, but I’m not sure where mine are. I think I had some once.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, trying to get the situation back under control. ‘What does matter is what happens next?’

‘That’s easy,’ he said. ‘We will go home and enjoy some supper. The situation will seem clearer on a full stomach and the lass is cooking a vindaloo tonight. Would you care to join us, Mrs Duckworth?’

Her face suggested nervousness and uncertainty.

As she hesitated, I jumped in. ‘That’s a really good idea. The old girl does the best curries I’ve ever had, much nicer than anything you’d get in a restaurant. The spices she uses are to die for.’

‘I can’t just turn up out of the blue. It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘She’ll be delighted to see you,’ said Hobbes.

‘It’s true.’ I said.

Although I could tell she was far from convinced, Daphne’s resistance crumbled. ‘OK. That will be nice. Thank you, Inspector.’

Hobbes, with a nod, went to have a few words with Constable Wilkes and one of the firemen. He returned smiling.

‘The fire’s out and the gas supply has been made safe until the engineers get here and ensure everything stays that way. It appears that no major structural damage was done, although there’ll need to be a proper inspection before anyone can stay in there. I’m afraid, Mrs Duckworth, that your kitchen is wrecked. The fireman says it appears that someone turned the gas on and left an incendiary device. They will investigate further.’

‘What’s going to happen to the other residents?’ asked Daphne. ‘They have nothing to do with this. It’s not fair.’

‘Constable Wilkes has contacted the council, who are sorting out temporary accommodation for those that need it. By the way, the next-door neighbours recognised you, Andy, and suspected you might be the culprit again. I put them right.’ He chuckled.

‘Why would anyone suspect Andy?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said, blushing.

‘And an embarrassing one,’ said Hobbes. ‘We can talk about it later, but essentially their suspicions were based on him having previous form. We’d better get a move on. I wouldn’t want our suppers to spoil.’

Although we struggled to keep up as Hobbes route marched us back to Blackdog Street, I had sufficient breath to explain how I’d set fire to my flat, and she had enough breath to laugh. For some reason, I was happy with that; it didn’t make me feel like a fool, or, rather, no more of a fool than usual.

The church clock was striking half-past six as we entered 13 Blackdog Street to be greeted by a delicious, mouth-wateringly pungent aroma. Mrs Goodfellow had already set the table for the three she was expecting and Kathy was sitting there, picking at a chapatti impatiently. Hobbes introduced Daphne and, following a very quick wash and brush-up, we rearranged the seating. Mrs Goodfellow, having noticed and tutted over the state of my knuckles, applied a strange-smelling yellow ointment that provided instant, tingling relief.

When satisfied I could hold my knife and fork comfortably, she served us, Hobbes said grace and we tucked in to a totally brilliant curry, a perfect combination of flavour and fire, with the most delicious, tender, melting pork and her special rice and chapattis. Daphne, after her first taste, looked delighted and turned to thank the old girl, who had, as usual, vanished.

‘You weren’t joking.’ said Daphne when her plate was clean. ‘That really was the best curry I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve had a few.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, accepting the credit with due modesty. ‘Mrs Goodfellow is the finest cook in Sorenchester … and probably in the entire Cotswolds.’

Kathy, who had not said a word since we’d reached home, sniffed loudly. Although at first I assumed she was just being her usual sniffy self and was preparing to defend the old girl’s cooking, she stood up before I could say anything, clutched a handful of tissues to her face, and rushed from the kitchen.

‘What’s up with her?’ I asked.

‘She’s trying to come to terms with herself,’ said Hobbes, looking, I thought, a little awkward and quite sad.

‘What do you mean?’

‘She is acquiring self-knowledge and insight, which can be a painful process. I’ll talk to her when she’s had chance to compose herself. In the meantime, let’s go through to the sitting room and have a cup of tea.’

As we took our seats, I was grateful that he took one of the hard oak chairs, leaving Daphne and me to sit together on the sofa, where her warmth against my leg made the world a better place. Mrs Goodfellow, reappearing with a well-laden tray, beamed gummily and winked at me before taking her leave, for it was Monday evening and time for her Kung Fu class. As often happened, Dregs accompanied her, though he had little to learn about self-defence. Hobbes, having poured the tea, sat back with a sigh and took a great slurp.

‘An interesting day,’ he said, ‘but at least nobody was seriously hurt. Still, losing my car is a nuisance, especially as Billy had only just got it for me. Oh well, I can always get another if I must and, Mrs Duckworth, if it suits you, I’ll ask him to fix yours. He’s very good.’

‘Thank you,’ said Daphne, ‘I would appreciate that, but it’s my flat that worries me most. It’s an awful thing to happen just as I was getting it comfortable. What sort of person would do such a thing?’

‘Umm … a bad one?’ I suggested.

‘That’s undoubtedly true,’ said Hobbes, ‘but it also suggests something more.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t it just nastiness?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ he said. ‘It strikes me that causing a gas explosion and fire is an act of desperation. The risk of being caught was high. It was fortunate you weren’t home, Mrs Duckworth. Have you really no idea what they want from you?’

‘No … well yes, I sort of know, but I don’t know why. Just after Hugh disappeared, Denny Barker forced his way into my house and demanded his notes. When I told him I didn’t have them, he ransacked the place, but didn’t find anything. He came back several times, just threatening me at first, but becoming increasingly violent when I denied all knowledge of them. The last time he turned up, I had to go to hospital.’