Angel Confidential (14 page)

I bit back a retort about going equipped for burglary when I saw she was serious and also embarrassed about having to ask for help.

‘You don't need those things,' I said carefully. ‘Play to your strengths, don't get hooked on gadgets. If you can't drive, you don't need to know how to hotwire. If you can't talk your way through a door, why do you want to enter an empty room? And if nobody's home, smash the frigging door
in
,
find what you want and get out. You'd be no good at a secret search. And what do you need videos and listening devices for when you've got eyes? People will always tell you things, if you ask them right.'

‘Like that vicar this morning?'

‘Exactly. And maybe sometimes its what they don't tell you that's important. But those are the only work skills you need that I can see. Keep Detection Simple. Campaign For Real Detectives. Talk to people and to hell with the electronic devices.'

‘You mean forget all the hardware?'

‘Absolutely.
Detective Unplugged
. There's a title for you.'

 

If we
had been expecting a liveried flunky or even a butler to greet us as we entered Sandpit Lodge, then we were about 20 years too late. Unlike in the Classic Car Centre, however, there was someone here to take our tickets and sell us a range of souvenir brochures that sat in a wooden stand, yellowing from the sunlight through the open door. She put down her knitting as we entered. She looked like a retired headmistress from the local village school.

‘Good afternoon,' she said. ‘Would you like to wander round yourself or can I give you a tour? I don't mind doing it in the slightest, but to be honest, I don't know too much about the house. This isn't my normal job. I used to be the headmistress at the village school and I just do this to help out.'

‘Actually, we're here on business, to see the owner,' Veronica said, warming to the old dear instantly. She produced one of her business cards and held it out like a wizard would point a wand.

‘Well … Miss ... Blugden ... I suppose I'd better find Sir Drummond. He didn't tell me he was expecting visitors, well, apart from Mr Buck, who knows the way anyway. And I don't like leaving the desk unattended for too long …'

Veronica took the initiative. ‘Please don't worry about that. I'll keep an eye on things. I think you can
see from my card that we have a reputation for trust and discretion, or Sir Drummond wouldn't be employing me, would he?'

‘Of course he wouldn't, you're quite right,' said the sweet old thing as she peered at the card. ‘My, my, private
and
confidential. Well, of course. I won't be a minute.'

She tottered off into the gloomy recesses of the hallway and through a dark oak door marked ‘Private – Staff Only'.

‘How was that?' Veronica beamed at me.

‘Exactly right,' I said, just thankful she'd shown the right card. ‘Just remember what we rehearsed when we get to see the main man.'

‘And I get to take the lead.'

‘Sure.'

She turned on her heels to have a better look at the hall and the impressive oak staircase that did three right-angle turns up to the first floor. I leaned over the old lady's desk to check out the contents of her cash drawer and deduced that business was not exactly booming.

‘Oh, I hate that,' said Veronica suddenly.

‘What?' I snapped. I hadn't really been thinking about claiming our admission fee to the car museum back in cash. Well, maybe just
thinking
about it.

‘Signs like that.' She pointed to one of three that said that photography was not allowed inside the house. ‘They really annoy me. They don't let you lake photographs so you have to buy their rotten postcards. It's the same in all the big country houses. It's a swiz.'

Oh dear, she did have a lot to learn.

‘There were some in the car museum, but it's nothing to do with postcards.'

‘It isn't?'

‘‘Fraid not. It's a favourite trick of robbers to come round as visitors and photograph the alarm systems so they can work out how to disable them. So, no photography, please. It's probably written into the insurance policy.'

Though I hadn't seen anything worth stealing in the house yet.

‘That's useful to know,' she said slowly, then looked at me with an awful sincerity. ‘Do you think I should start making notes?'

You should have started about ten years ago, I thought, but I didn't say it as the headmistress was holding the door at the end of the hall open.

‘Sir Drummond will see you now,' she announced, just like I could have guessed she would.

‘Thank you,' said Veronica, nodding graciously.

‘He's asked Mr Buck to stay for the meeting,' the headmistress confided as we passed her and moved into a short corridor.

‘Who's Mr Buck?' hissed Veronica out of the corner of her mouth.

‘I've no idea,' I hissed back. But he'd rated three question marks in Albert's notebook. ‘Let's keep an open mind. I've found it's the best policy.'

‘Open mind,' she said to herself. ‘Open mind.'

The door at the other end of the corridor was half open, then fully open as a tweed-jacketed arm pushed it back. ‘Miss Blugden, come in. I'm glad you found the place.' Then he saw me.

He was about my height, which isn't saying much, about 60, and he had the roundest face I'd ever seen. Almost a perfect circle, ruddy-complexioned and iced with a receding crop of white hair and a snowy white, clipped moustache.

He held out a hand for Veronica to shake, which she did with a muffled and very respectful ‘Sir Drummond …' under her breath. I could tell that the tweed jacket had seen better days, but it went with the scuffed brown shoes and the shirt with the slightly frayed collar that you hope nobody will notice.

‘And this is ... ?' He looked at me like he had a master's degree in eye contact.

‘Mr Maclean,' said Veronica, as we'd rehearsed. ‘He's an associate and also one of our regular drivers. Junior associate,' she added vindictively.

I shook Sir Drummond's hand, and I felt Veronica scowl at me because I didn't bow.

‘Come in, come in,' he said with mock bonhomie. ‘The library is usually the only place one can find sanctuary when the house is open to the public.'

I smiled as if I had these problems all the time and didn't mention that I hadn't noticed him having to beat off the visitors with a stick.

The library was a library in the sense that it had maybe as many books as the average Oxfam shop. No leather-bound editions here, just popular paperback fiction. There was a fireplace but no fire, and no more than half a dozen pieces of furniture, including a moth-eaten set of armchairs.

From one of these arose a tall, angular man wearing a pinstripe suit and the sort of black-framed glasses Michael Caine hasn't worn since 1966.

He didn't seem to be the type you could warm to instantly.

But, as I'd said to Veronica, we should adopt an open mind.

‘This is Simon Buck,' said Sir Drummond. ‘I've asked him to join us. He's my solicitor.'

I decided to save time and hate him on sight.

 

 

 

 

 

‘I understand that you may have something positive to tell Sir Drummond,' said Buck precisely.

I hadn't counted on anyone else being present, and certainly not some
legal Doberman, so I could only hope that it didn't throw Veronica.

‘Well, we have some
news
,' she said, sticking to the script, ‘but first there is a small administrative matter to do with your cheque.'

She
produced a purse from her shoulder bag. It was a brightly-coloured, velcro-fastened wallet with illustrations campaigning for the
protection of endangered species, and pretty embarrassing. But if she had produced a gun or said, ‘The murderer is in this room …' (after all, we
were
in the library), she could not have got their attention more fully.

Sir Drummond went red – bright, circular red – in the face.

‘Is there a problem?'

‘It's made out to Mr Block.' Veronica held the
offending rectangle out towards him.

Sir Drummond didn't seem to want to touch it, and made no move towards her. Buck stepped closer and leaned over so he could point his glasses at it.

‘That seems to be correct. And the date is accurate, and you obviously haven't tried to cash it.' At that point, Sir Drummond exhaled. ‘So I don't quite see ... ?'

‘The problem is at our end, I'm afraid,' she said confidently. I was impressed. ‘Albert – Mr Block – has been taken ill rather suddenly, and is unlikely to return to work.'

‘Good heavens, nothing too serious, I hope?' This from Buck, who seemed genuinely concerned, certainly more so than Sir Drummond, who just concentrated on breathing more easily.

‘A mild heart attack,' I said. ‘He'll survive, but he's not up to coming back into the team. He's thinking of early retirement, once he's out of hospital.'

‘So it would be very helpful if we could have another retainer, in my name.'

Very businesslike, I thought. Well done, Veronica.

‘If it's not too much trouble,' she added, and I despaired.

‘So you just want another cheque, made out to ... ?'

‘V Blugden, please. Miss.' She handed Buck a card, and he slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket.

‘And this was paid against an invoice?' Buck asked, taking the cheque from her.

‘Invoices are not normally issued on retainers but I am sure I could let you have a VAT receipt.' Good girl.

‘That won't be necessary.' Buck turned to Sir Drummond. ‘Shall I take care of this, Drum? I have my cheque book here.'

Sir Drummond cleared his throat.

‘Thank you, Simon, that would be ... convenient.'

Buck sat down, produced a cheque book and balanced it on his knee. He wrote it out, consulting Veronica's card once in a prissy sort of way, and then detached it from the book, scribbled something on the counterfoil and handed it over. He swapped it for Sir Drummond's, and while Veronica checked the details, I noticed that he folded the cheque made out to Albert and put that in his breast pocket along with Veronica's card.

‘And now may we have your report?' asked Buck.

‘And please sit down,' said Sir Drummond, relegated to the role of housekeeper.

Veronica made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, pulled the hem of her skirt down with both hands, then turned to me.

‘I think I will let my associate outline our findings to date,' she said with a regal nod of her head.

I realised she meant me,
but tried not to show my surprise.

‘Your daughter started work this week as fill-in receptionist in a medical practice in Wimpole Street. She got the job through the agency you told Mr Block about.'

Buck shot a glance at Sir Drummond, who was leaning forward in his chair, his hands clasped between his knees. Buck produced a pen and a small black notebook or diary.

‘Name?'

‘The senior consultant is called Linscott. Full details will be in our written report.'

‘I see.' He wrote something. ‘Proceed.'

‘The job may last a week or perhaps two, or more. The important thing for your peace of mind, Sir Drummond, is that she seems fit and well and is actually working, earning a living, so she's one up on most runaways.'

‘Yes, yes,' he burbled. ‘That's something, isn't it?'

‘Have you spoken to her?' asked Buck.

‘No, no verbal contact as yet. We have maintained covert long-range optical surveillance only,' I said, as if I knew what it meant.

‘And you have found out where she is living?' This, again, from Buck, not the father.

‘We have traced her to Belgravia, but we have not been able to narrow it down as yet,' I lied.

‘Good God, she's not camping out in Victoria Coach Station, is she?' At last, a reaction from the desolate dad.

‘Oh no,' said Veronica, ‘she's staying with some friends.'

If she had been in range, I would have kicked her.

‘Who?' asked Sir Drummond quickly.

‘And where?' asked Buck, pen poised.

‘We are simply not sure,' I said quickly. ‘There is a chance, however, that she has joined a religious group.'

I checked their faces for reaction to that, and got the distinct impression that they were not expecting us to hold the front page on this one.