Love and Locksmiths

Julia seemed taken aback by this statement. She asked, "Are you from the police?"

"No, I'm a reporter." Ellen handed Julia her business card.

"I see, and you're looking for a juicy story, I suppose?"

"Well, yes and no. A story, yes, but as far as Harry is concerned I just want to help him. I don't intend to write anything that will hurt him."

"You say Harry doesn't know what really happened. I wonder if you do?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I've got to go and pick my daughter up from school. It's her riding afternoon. Why don't you come with me, and we can talk on the way."

Julia's Story

As they drove through the countryside, Julia asked, "How did you find me?"

"Ian Jenkins gave me the name Prendergast, and I searched the web. I found your parish magazine online, which referred to your reading the lesson, and to Harry's donation, which I suppose you made in his name."

"I try to maintain the semblance of a happy marriage with an ex-pat husband, and people are usually very trusting. Perhaps behind my back some of them think that I am covering up a failed relationship, but nothing's ever said to my face."

"How did you come to end up here?"

"I don't know why I got mixed up with Ian and Rodney. I was just a silly girl looking for excitement, I suppose. Rodney suggested that I cultivate Harry and find out what I could about the workings of the bank. When he came up with the story about the problem with the lock, it seemed too good to be true.

"Ian and Rodney wanted to meet Harry, so I introduced them to him as my brothers. They weren't, of course. Rodney dreamed up the plan to rob the bank. I wasn't keen, but by that time I was beginning to fall for Harry, and I suppose I thought that if we had some money behind us, he and I could go away together.

"For the robbery, I was driving the van. No-one was supposed to get hurt, no-one was supposed to be recognised. Harry wasn't in on the plan. He was supposed to be in the same position as the rest of the staff.

"When I heard the shot I was petrified. I thought perhaps a security guard had shot Ian or Rodney. When they came out with the money, at first I was relieved, but as I drove to the garage where we were going to change cars, I got to wondering who had fired the shot, and who at.

At the Garage (2)

"When we arrived at the garage it was pandemonium. I was trying to find out from Rodney who had shot who. He was shouting at Ian because the truck in the garage was the wrong way round. Ian told me that Rodney had shot a woman customer, and had given the gun to Harry, so as to implicate him in the robbery. That made me mad, and I was screaming at Rodney. On top of all that, it turned out the truck was no good anyway because it had a flat. Ian was trying to keep a low profile. He was just a stooge, and afraid of Rodney. Rodney decided to stow the money in the garage while he went to find a replacement for the truck. He told me to dump the van. The lousy bastard wouldn't even give me my share. Ten grand, that's all he gave me. Ten measly grand out of more than a quarter of a million.

"I started to drive away, but there were tears in my eyes, and I couldn't see to drive. I had to stop as soon as I pulled onto the road. There was an off-licence nearby, and I went in and bought a bottle of whiskey. I intended to go home and drown my sorrows, but as I came back to the van I saw Rodney leaving, and that gave me another idea. I thought I could work on Ian to help me and Harry leave the country, and I wanted to get my hands on more of the money.

"As soon as Rodney was out of sight, I drove the van back to the garage. I had noticed that on the other side of the alley a couple of shops had put out several cartons of waste paper and cardboard. On my way to the garage I put them in the van. I tapped on the garage door and Ian let me in.

"I softened him up with a few drinks, then I asked him to get papers for me and Harry. I kept plying him with drink, making sure I didn't drink much myself. I got him to light the stove, partly to get him drowsy and partly for what I planned next. After a little while he nodded off.

"When I was sure he was asleep, I moved the money up to the garage door. I opened the door and as quickly as I could I switched the money boxes for the boxes of waste paper. When the money was all in the van, and the waste paper was all in the garage, I closed the garage door and moved the waste paper to the back of the garage.

"I checked that Ian was still asleep, then I poured the can of paraffin over the waste paper. I found a can of thinners, and threw that on too. I moved the stove nearer the paper, got a long bar of iron from the bench, and pushed the stove over. The paper caught light and started to burn.

"When I was sure it was too far gone to be put out, I woke Ian up. He tried to put the fire out but it was no use. I reminded him of his promise to get papers for me and Harry, and drove off in the van."

Julia turned the car through the gates of a girls' prep school and parked it. "Then I drove home, unloaded the money, and dumped the van."

"Weren't you afraid the van would be spotted by the police?"

"I didn't care. Whether I was caught or not, either way Rodney would be screwed. It turned out that the police had conflicting witness accounts of the van outside the bank, and they were looking for the wrong make and colour."

Harriet

Girls in school uniform began to emerge from the buildings. Julia and Ellen alighted and stood by the car. Julia said, "A few days later Ian got in touch and gave me the false papers for me and Harry, though of course by then poor Harry had been arrested."

One of the girls skipped across to the car, shouting, "Mummy!"

"Hello, darling!" Julia replied. "Harriet, this is my friend Ellen. She's a reporter. Ellen, this is my daughter Harriet."

Harriet solemnly offered her hand to Ellen. "How do you do, Miss."

Ellen replied, "Hello, Harriet. It's nice to meet you."

Julia interrupted these formalities with a brisk "Well, come on. No time to waste."

On the drive back to the house, Harriet sat in the front alongside Julia. In the back Ellen was impressed by the obvious rapport between mother and daughter as they chatted.

As soon as they arrived Harriet jumped out of the car and ran into the house. Ellen alighted and walked to her own car. Julia followed her and gestured towards the house. "I had enough to buy this and have some left over to live on."

"Wasn't it a problem to launder the money?"

"I was lucky there. The chap who was selling this place was no angel himself. He twigged there was something dodgy, but in return for my paying a bit on top that didn't appear in the paper-work, he took cash and helped me invest the rest. He was looking to raise capital for some dodgy scheme he had on -- something to do with buying shares cheap and then bribing a financial columnist to puff them in his paper to force the price up before selling them. He was into what they call 'white collar' crime. I let him use my cash, and I went to some meetings with him. I was ten years younger then, and knew how to flutter my eyelashes. I helped him make some of his deals. That only lasted a few months, but by then he had doubled my money for me."

They watched Harriet emerge from the house in riding gear and get into the S.U.V. Ellen asked Julia, "How old is Harriet?"

"She's ten, nearly eleven."

"I expected her to be younger."

"How could she be? Oh, my goodness, the penny hasn't dropped, has it? She's Harry's daughter. Don't look so surprised! There's a lot more to Harry than meets the eye, you know. I found out I was pregnant the day of the robbery. I suppose that was what gave me the courage to do what I did. I really did love him. Still do."

"I must go. There are things to do. I could bring Harry to see you this evening if you like."

"I'd love that. Are you sure that he..."

"Still loves you? Yes, I'm sure. Well, so long."

Ellen proffered her hand. Julia was about to take it, but changed her mind and gave Ellen a warm hug instead. Ellen got into her car and drove away.

Ellen Calls on Big Mac

Ellen drove straight to The Black Macaw Club. In the vestibule she was stopped by a doorman. He was big and black.

"We ain't open yet. We don't open till eight."

"I've come to see Big Mac."

"Mister McIntyre don't see no-one wivout an appointment."

Ellen glanced around and spotted a CCTV camera pointing towards her. She handed the doorman her card.

"Will you ask Mr McIntyre if he will see me?"

The doorman read the card. It didn't seem to impress him. "Mr McIntyre especially don't see no reporters. Mr McIntyre don't give no interviews."

Ellen turned and looked directly into the CCTV camera. "Oh, I don't want to interview Mr McIntyre. I want his reactions to an interview I've already had, an interview with Mr Rodney Garside. Mr Garside was most forthcoming about his business arrangements. Mr McIntyre's name came up."

The doorman's phone buzzed. He picked it up and listened. Replacing the phone he turned an unabashed face to Ellen. "Mr McIntyre will see you. If you will wait, someone will be here shortly to take you to him."

Ellen smiled forgivingly at him.

A young white man with a high forehead and rimless spectacles entered the vestibule. The doorman handed him Ellen's card. He glanced at it briefly and addressed Ellen. "Good afternoon, Miss Loveday. I am Mr McIntyre's secretary. If you will just follow me, I shall take you to him."

He led her into a short side corridor which appeared to be a dead end. He pressed a button on the wall and lift doors slid silently open. The lift was as large as a service lift, but that was obviously not its function. It was luxuriously appointed, with carpet on the floor, subdued tinted lighting, and fold up seats let into the walls. Ellen had not recovered from her surprise when the lift stopped after a smooth and silent ascent, and the doors glided open.

A bigger surprise awaited her as she stepped out into what appeared at first sight to be a hospital ward. To her right was a fully adjustable hospital bed, unoccupied and neatly made up. Beyond it was an open door through which she could see the white enamel fixtures of a bathroom. In front of her was a wheelchair in which an elderly black man sat. His emaciated frame was clad in a gaudy dressing gown, and a tartan travelling rug was spread across his knees.

Next to the chair stood a stout middle-aged white female in a long white coat to the breast of which was pinned an upside-down fob watch, in the manner favoured by ward sisters. At the seated man's feet a young black woman squatted on a low stool, trimming his toenails with a hand-held electrically powered tool. She was wearing black leggings and a dark blue tabard.

Turning to her left from this unexpected scene, Ellen saw that the room extended into a comfortably furnished sitting room. A settee faced a large television set, armchairs flanked a bookcase and a sideboard on which there were a number of bottles and glasses, and a low coffee table stood in the middle of the carpeted floor. The secretary went to a desk in the far corner and sat at a computer.

The wheelchair occupant spoke. His voice was dry and rasping. "I am Mr McIntyre. I am told you wish to see me. What is it you want?"

Ellen was non-plussed. She had imagined that Big Mac would be an over confident braggadocio, and she had intended to act the part of an impressionable ingénue. Mistaken though her supposition now turned out to be, she heard herself proceeding on the false premise regardless.

"Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr McIntyre. I know you must be a busy man, and I promise not to take up too much of your valuable time. It's like this, Mr McIntyre. Some used-car salesman named Rodney Garside has given my paper a story, well, you'd hardly credit some of the things he says, has he got an imagination or what?"

At the mention of Garside's name the young woman tending McIntyre's feet looked towards the secretary. Out of the corner of her eye Ellen saw him consult the computer and give a slight confirmatory nod.

Ellen continued, "Well, my editor said, before we bin it, better just check in case any of it is true. As if it could be, I mean. Anyway, here goes. This Rodney Garside, he says that you operate a sort of protection racket -- I ask you, protection racket! Has he been seeing too many James Cagney movies or what? He says he has to pay you sixty percent of all his takings, sixty percent, honestly, and he's not too pleased about it. He says that you run all the rackets around these parts, the dealers, the girls, and everything. And he says that if anyone complains, they get beaten up. Well, honestly, I'm ashamed to have to ask you this, Mr McIntyre, but, just for the record, none of that is true, is it?"

The woman in the blue tabard rose to her feet and softly clapped her hands in mock applause. "Oh, well done," she enthused ironically. "You should be on the stage, Miss Loveday. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Maxine McIntyre, the current holder of the appellation 'Big Mac.' My grandfather here relinquished the title a while ago."

She led Ellen to the other end of the room, and continued, "We are well aware of your reputation as a reporter. I don't know what your purpose was in coming here, but you have provided us with some useful information, and we don't let our helpers go unrecompensed." She took a small packet of money from the desk, and offered it to Ellen. "Will a hundred pounds cover it?"

More amused than offended by this effrontery Ellen replied, "No thank you. Any assistance I rendered you was entirely unintended, I assure you, and certainly undeserving of remuneration."

"As you wish," Maxine replied. "I would not like to offend your sensibilities. But if you ever feel that you would like to change to a more remunerative career, do get in touch. Our organisation is always ready to take on new talent of your calibre."

"Thank you. Don't call me, and I won't call you. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to return to my ill paid drudgery."

When the secretary had escorted Ellen into the lift, Maxine picked up the phone. "Tell Bruce and Lenny to get up here pronto."

* * *

Immediately upon leaving the Black Macaw, Ellen rang Gilbert. "Hi, Gil. You know I promised to let you know if anything developed in the escaped convict case? Well, perhaps you'd like to cover an assault -- victim is Rodney Garside, one of the suspects in the bank robbery. The assault may be connected with the robbery."

"When did this assault happen?"

"Any minute now. If you hurry, you may be in time to see the curtain go up."

Rodney Has Visitors

From her desk in the car saleroom Sandra saw a large black car with smoke-tinted windows draw up on the forecourt, and phoned the information to Rodney. In answer to his shout, Bill and Sid entered the office from the rear. Bill was carrying a fifteen inch wrench, while Sid toted an equally impressive tyre iron. They stood either side of the desk, expectantly smacking the weapons of their choice into the palm of their free hand. Rodney strode confidently into the saleroom.

Across the road Gilbert too had seen the arrivals. He was parked unobtrusively, and had a camera discreetly poking out of a corner of his car window. He saw two large black men descend from their car and pull on leather gloves before strolling casually into the showroom.

Rodney greeted his visitors affably. "Ah, gentlemen, welcome! I've been expecting you. Please come into my office. I'd like you to meet two of my associates." Turning to Sandra he added, "Don't let anyone else in. And any noises you hear, you haven't heard. Got me?"

The newcomers ignored the greeting. Without breaking step they walked either side of Rodney, each catching him under the armpit as they passed, lifting him off the floor and carrying him into his office backwards. In one smooth movement they threw him at Bill, knocking him to the floor with Rodney's limp body on top of him. Without pausing they each took hold of Sid's wrists and pulled his arms forward and upward. They hooked their free arms behind Sid's shoulders and pulled. Sid's shoulder joints dislocated with audible cracks.

Bill had started to extricate himself from under Rodney's inert body, but as he struggled to get to his feet he was kicked in the face and subsided once more. The assailants then turned their attention to the furniture. They pulled over a steel filing cabinet, its drawers sliding open and spilling their contents. Sid was leaning against the desk sobbing with pain. He was thrown onto the fallen filing cabinet, landing on some of its sharper corners. The desk was then upended. As Bill valiantly attempted once more to get to his feet, a drawer from the desk was smashed over his head with enough force to shatter the bottom of the drawer, leaving its sides pinioning his arms. Thus encumbered, he found himself thrown across the room to join Sid on the filing cabinet.

Rodney was lifted onto the remains of the desk and belaboured with the bentwood chair until it splintered into fragments too small to be used as clubs.

Surveying the scene, the two visitors were satisfied with the results of their efforts, although 'efforts' might be too strong a term, neither of them evincing any increase in his rate of breathing or alteration in his impassive facial expression. Their jackets had however become slightly disarrayed, and they pulled them straight before walking sedately to their car and driving away.

Sandra

Throughout these events Sandra sat unmoved at her desk, serenely buffing her nails. She ignored the sound of the fracas, even when the thin partition walls of the office swayed alarmingly, threatening to collapse completely.

Once he had seen the visitors drive away, Gilbert left his car and entered the showroom. He looked into the office and shuddered at what he saw. His distaste did not deter him from taking several photographs of the mayhem which had been wrought.

He then approached the receptionist. "Hello, my love. Any idea what that was all about?"

"I don't know. I was told to be Mutt and Jeff, so I just ignored it."

"So you don't know who those two men were then, or what they wanted?"

"No, I've no idea. You the fuzz?"

"No, I'm a reporter." Gilbert produced his card and gave it to her.

"Oh, you're the press!" Her reaction made it clear that this information had raised Gilbert in her esteem. "Am I going to get my photo in the papers then?"

"I think that can be arranged."

Sandra immediately came out from behind her desk, and after some work with a powder compact, sat on the front of the desk with her legs crossed. "Go on then. Snap away."

Gilbert aimed the camera at her and snapped away as requested. "I'll need your name, you know."

"Of course. I want to do it properly, interviews and all that. My name's Sandra Bottomley, but I think I ought to change it, don't you? I mean, you can't be famous with a name like that, can you? I fancy 'Lavinia Laverne.' What do you think?"

"I think that it is very apt, my dear."

"Aren't you going to ask me what my ambition is? They usually ask that, don't they?"

"Of course. What is your ambition, Sandra? Sorry, I mean Lavinia."

"Well, I'd really like to work with poor orphans in Africa, or be a TV presenter. Or I could become a top model, don't you think?" Sandra hitched her skirt higher with this suggestion, and leaned back against the desk, lest any of her qualifications be overlooked.

Gilbert obligingly took several more photographs. "Thank you, dear, for a most interesting interview. I must go now and get these developed, mustn't I? In the meantime, I think it might be a good idea if you phoned the police and told them what has happened here, and perhaps ask for an ambulance too. Your employer and his companions looked to me as if they might appreciate some medical attention."