To Catch a Creeper (34 page)

‘How the hell did Mrs Baker’s daughter know?’

‘Heard the commotion. She was bugging her mother after all. So batty Mrs Baker wasn’t quite so batty. We’re all going out to celebrate tonight if you fancy coming?’

‘Me?’ She looks down at little Meredith snuggled cosily in her Moses basket. ‘How can I?’

‘I’m sure Alec would babysit for an hour or so?’

‘I’m sure he would too.’ She leans down and kisses her on her forehead. ‘But I don’t want to. In fact I don’t think I ever want to leave this bundle of love for as long as I live.’

‘So that means…they didn’t persuade you to go back to work?’

‘Heck, no.’ She laughs. ‘Is that why you finally came round this evening? Checking up on me because I visited Younger’s?’

‘No, not at all.’ I quickly rearrange my features from relief to surprised and affronted. ‘I came to give you the good news about the burglar.’

‘Yeah, but you thought you’d caught her yesterday and you didn’t come round, you rang. And you’ve been ignoring my calls.’

‘But that was different.’

‘Mmm, yeah. Sure believe.’ She scratches at her chin.

‘No it was,’ I protest. ‘We hadn’t physically placed her in custody. Case wasn’t totally closed. Quite different. So what was it you wanted?’

‘Oh, doesn’t matter now.’

‘Doesn’t matter? You left thirteen messages on my phone.’

‘Did I?’

‘So what did they say?’ I have to ask. ‘About me and my terrible presentation?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh. I was that insignificant, was I?’ I scuff my metaphorical feet.

‘It wasn’t that. Turks and I spoke about you a bit, but not about the presentation. That was history as far as he was concerned. Turks might be a lot of things but he never holds a grudge. It didn’t take much to talk him around.’

‘You talked him around?’

She smiles a big beaming smile. ‘Haven’t I always been able to twist him round my little pinkie?’

‘
It is
you he’s in love with, isn’t it? Admit it? He lur-r-ves you, he wants to marry you…’ I clasp my hands together and rotate them while circling my hips in a little love dance. ‘And you’ll have ba-a-bies and ma-a-rry and…’

‘Stop it.’ She punches me playfully on the arm. ‘OK, yes, I admit he admitted to me that I was his only one true love, but, too late for him, it will have to remain unrequited. But he also acknowledges he’s a bit of a hothead, does things on the spur of the moment. He said it was only meant to be a couple of months’ suspension and he was expecting you back anyways.’

‘He was? When?’

‘Monday. This Monday coming.’

‘Three days time Monday?’

‘Yeah, oh and he asked if it was you who was sitting under a table in a restaurant the other evening texting on your mobile,’ she smiles. ‘I said, knowing Cathy, more than likely.’

Chapter 33

‘So Peter the Postie’s really the Crouch End Creeper?’ Pimple refills everyone’s glasses with sparkling wine. We’re onto our second bottle.

‘Try saying that after a few drinks,’ Shilpa slurs after a few drinks.

‘It was a riddle all right,’ says Isobel. ‘A riddle only the WOWs could solve.’

‘And try saying
that
after a few drinks,’ Shilpa slurs again.

‘To think we might have accused poor old you,’ Pimple shakes her head. I shake mine at her, frowning. Shilpa looks puzzled.

‘Thanks to Janet,’ says Isobel pointedly.

‘It wasn’t Janet’s fault,’ I jump in. ‘She wasn’t to know. At least she took the time off to go visit the estate agent when no-one else would. Apologise, both of you.’ Not only did she drop-kick the Creeper, she also saved my fingers from a severe mashing. Has to be worth forgiveness of all previous sins.

‘Sorry,’ says Pimple in a quiet small voice.

‘Sorry,’ says Isobel in a quiet small voice.

‘That’s better.’ I give a little laugh to show that I’m joking and not really a tyrant. ‘Besides,’ I quickly refill her glass, ‘we never really thought it was you, Shilpa. Just one of many possible options we had to follow up.’

‘And the gay guy turned out to be on the fiddle,’ says Pimple. ‘Well, I never.’

‘Insurance job,’ I nod. ‘Wasn’t burgled at all. Peter the Postie was most adamant about that.’

‘There’s always one,’ sighs Henrietta.

‘Yeah, but he was in line to be repossessed, so you have to feel a teeny bit sorry for him.’

‘And the slimy salesman estate agent is just a common-or-garden slimy salesman estate agent,’ says Shilpa through one open eye. ‘Sharp practice but no devious intentions.’

‘That’s right, Shilpa,’ I smile. ‘I should have listened to Implant Teeth after all.’

‘Who’s Implant Teeth?’ asks Pimple. ‘Not the solicitor?’

‘No.’

‘The publican?’ she tries again.

‘No.’

‘The single mother with two kids?’

‘No, it’s some nutter who pointed out that the burglaries were never carried out in the mornings, when Peter was delivering his letters, and that…’

‘Yoo-hoo!’ Janet comes sweeping in. Big white envelope in her hand. ‘Guess what!’ She waves it in the air.

‘What?’ We all say excitedly.

‘I’ve a super special delivery for Cathy. It says on the front, “To the Coordinator of the Crouch End Creeper’s Capture”.’

‘Now try saying
that
after a few drinks,’ Isobel finally flogs the joke to death.

‘What is it?’ Pimple asks as I hold it up to the light before scrabbling to tear it open.

‘I think it may be a reward,’ Janet says in a hushed voice.

‘A reward?’ I begin reading. ‘Yes…it
is
a reward. A cheque for £10,000.’

‘Who for?’ asks Isobel.

‘Who from?’ asks Henrietta.

‘The dead banker’s widow.’ Janet pours herself a glass of wine and sits down. ‘She’s rich as stink. The banker apparently killed himself because not only did he have a dreadful disease and couldn’t bear the fact he wasn’t able to protect his family’s worldly
goods, but he’d also embezzled loads from customers’ funds and it was weighing on his conscience. Salami slicing.’

‘Salami?’ Shilpa looks confused. ‘Isn’t that a sausage?’

‘Also known as penny shaving,’ Janet says authoritatively. ‘Thousands and thousands from innumerable bank accounts over decades, pennies at a time. Untraceable. He had some software to slide it into a special account. Quite genius really. Anyway it’d be impossible to track down the owners. She only found out because he confessed shortly before he topped himself. She can’t keep the money, yet she can’t risk returning it to the bank and having him branded a criminal. She gave it to my friend to pass on to me to pass on to Cathy.’

‘£10,000!’ I whistle through my teeth. ‘Wait, I can’t possibly take this. It’s immoral. Ill-gotten gains. And illegal. Isn’t it?’

‘You have to, otherwise she’ll get upset. And she’s upset enough as it is, what with her husband killing himself. It could drive her over the edge. Lead to a second suicide.’

‘What about the police?’I flinch at a soft sound, half-expecting the door to be kicked in. ‘Don’t you think we should hand it over.’

‘To whom? I told you. It was just a few pennies. From about a zillion people. They’d have a job giving it back.’

‘Oh. But…’ I can’t think of a solution right now. ‘What about you guys?’ I stick the letter back in the envelope and turn to the others, hoping to involve them in this dilemma. ‘You all helped. We’ll divvy it up.’

‘No,’ says Henrietta, ‘I wasn’t really helping you.
You
were helping
me
. In fact I should add to the collection.’ She starts scrabbling in her bag for loose change.

‘Put your money away,’ I command. ‘Then you, Isobel? You did a lot. All that psychoanalysis.’

‘I don’t need it. Larry might be short of a lot of things, but money sure ain’t one of them.’

‘Shilpa?’

‘No,’ says Shilpa, shaking her head. ‘My religion wouldn’t allow.’

‘Look,’ I try again. ‘I can’t just keep the dough for myself – to pay off my overdraft, credit cards, bank loan and payments for the new range oven.’ Tempting though it may be.

‘Then use some of it for that and the rest do something useful with,’ suggests Henrietta. ‘You haven’t a job so maybe you could start up an agency specialising in, er, perhaps like, say, helping people who would otherwise commit suicide?’

‘HPWWOCS?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Has a certain ring to it. Kind of an alternative Samaritans, you mean?’

‘Yeah,’ Henrietta smiles. ‘That would suit you, but you not only listen to problems 24/7, you actually act on them.’

‘On my own?’

‘I’ll help,’ Pimple pipes up. ‘I’ve had enough of cleaning. My energy levels aren’t what they used to be. And this detective work is far more fun.’

‘Only thing is,’ my mind’s racing like a young stallion chasing a herd of mares, ‘I’ve actually got my job back. Unless…’

***

My heart’s in my mouth as I cross the carpet, scanning for familiar faces coming down the corridor – Vicious Viv, Lewis, Gurlet, the thought of meeting any of them fills me with dread. My palms feel clammy, sweat pooling in my armpits. Give me the Creeper any day.

Luckily, as anticipated, the only one not boozing at the pub is Alice manning the phone lines.

‘That’s her?’ Janet’s leather briefcase almost knocks over a giant vase of tall reeds as she swings it forward. She’s got a client meeting straight after this. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in a suit, wearing make-up and looking incredibly corporate. ‘The one with the famous backside?’ The comment rings in the hushed elegant surroundings. Oh how happy I was here for a short while, so proud of my new life, my career. Ending in so much shame.

I cringe, wincing. Janet’s been pumping me for information ever since we planned this little outing. Alice hangs up, sees me, looks briefly astonished then hastens around the desk to give me a welcoming hug.

‘Cathy. Wow.’ Her body is slender, bony. ‘We’ve missed you around here.’

‘Really?’ I’m ridiculously pleased. Was Honour lying? ‘Someone said that?’

Alice laughs, squeezing my arm. ‘Well, a few of us anyway.’ She goes back to her place and focuses on Janet with a bright smile. ‘Can I help you, madam?’

‘We’re together.’ Janet leans over the desk and gawps at a framed photo of Alice’s bare bottom. ‘Hey, wow, nice dagger.’

Almost casually Alice changes the angle so it faces away from us. Not like her to be so modest. She switches to professional mode, still smiling. ‘Turks is out, Cathy, if you’re looking for him.’

‘Nope, she’s not,’ growls Janet. She plonks herself on the corner of Alice’s desk, harder than she anticipates in her tight suit skirt, and picks up one of the Younger and Wilding giveaway biros from their wire cylinder container. ‘Truth is, blondie,’ she says in a menacing Humphrey Bogart manner as she repeatedly presses the top button, ‘we came to see you.’

‘Oh.’ Alice is still smiling but she looks rattled, her eyes shifting towards the empty corridor. ‘But why? What about? I’m about to go to lunch.’

I clear my throat. I hate confrontation. ‘You. Me,’ I say, like a Native American, only just managing not to point. ‘Messed-up presentation?’ It comes out in a high-pitched squeak. ‘Someone meddling with my laptop?’

‘Yes, Honour and Viv. I know. So what?’

Janet removes her jacket revealing a sleeveless silk top and those impressive tattooes. She has a toothpick between her teeth. ‘Don’t be an arse. We’re on to you, chubby-cheeks. You did it, didn’t you?’ She picks up another photo, Alice’s bum protruding from a pile of dead leaves – a Masterpiece Mystery if I remember right.

‘Leave that alone.’ Alice snatches back the silver frame, all pleasantness gone. Janet has that effect on people. ‘How dare you?’ Her eyes begin to moisten as they stare at me, two limpid pools of hurt. ‘Cathy, you’re surely not suggesting…?’

Cold sweat prickles down my spine. I feel supremely uncomfortable.

‘Not me, exactly…’ I witter and fade as Janet gives me an exasperated look. ‘I mean,’ I cough and add gruffly, ‘Honour said…’

‘Honour?’ Alice sounds scornful now. ‘You mean
Oxford
Honour?
Jailbird
Honour? The girl’s a confirmed liar. You think Turks would trust anything she says?’

I mull over her words and give a deep resigned sigh. ‘She’s right.’ I put a hand on Janet’s arm. ‘I told you it was a mistake coming. We’ll never know, not for sure. One person’s word against another. And even if it were Alice, no-one would believe us. There’s no hard evidence.’

‘Bummer.’ Janet puts her jacket back on and lets the toothpick drop. ‘I guess then it’s a complete waste of time.’ She raises her eyebrows at Alice. ‘Unless I can interest you in an insurance policy? Protect your assets against sagging or middle-aged spread?’

Alice shakes her head.

‘Retirement plan?’Janet slides off the desk with the same lack of grace. ‘Accidental death?’

‘Don’t tempt me.’ Alice curls her lip. “I thought Cathy was pathetic.’ She nods towards me, all pretence gone now. ‘But you…you’re scary sad.’

This time I catch hold of Janet’s jacket.I’m not sure if she’s capable of jumping over the reception desk but I’m not taking any chances.

‘But why did you do it, Alice?’ I ask plaintively. ‘I thought you liked me. You laughed at my jokes. You told me when I had my jumper on the wrong way round. When I left my label out. You even lent me your best black jacket for my business lunch. You were my only friend after Rosa left.’

‘I know why,’ Janet says in her old bossy know-it-all way. ‘She was in love with your boss. The Turkey guy.’

‘Turks?’ Alice’s voice is contemptuous. ‘Big blubber lips? He’s old enough to be my dad.’

‘Why then?’ Janet’s question is mild, almost like she doesn’t care anymore.

Alice appears to debate her options then makes up her mind. ‘OK, I’ll tell you. You’re right, you can’t prove it anyway. It should have been me got that job. I worked my guts out for my marketing degree, applied all over the country for a creative position. But no, they all said, too sodding young, not enough experience. Only thing bloody Turks would give me was reception duties. Oh, but we always promote from within, blah blah blah.’

‘So he made you start at the bottom…’ there’s a wicked glint in Janet’s eye and I nudge her, not wanting the confession to stop.