Short Stories

Over the months since my case with the missing amulet I have been fortunate to have picked up quite a lot of work, the paying kind as well. So, when an office became vacant near to my favourite café, I decided that this was a good time to become more professional. Once I had it the way I wanted it, I found myself spending a lot of time there, even chilling out in the evening listening to the sounds of the saxophone drifting across from a jazz bar across the road. One evening the peace was shattered by what I took to be a gunshot. I know that London and its surrounding area have become more violent in recent years, what with the cutbacks to the police etc., but I hadn"t heard of any shootings locally. Soon after the noise, police sirens filled the air, and I knew my guess had been right. I learned the following day that it was the sax player in the jazz bar that had been shot and killed. Although I didn"t know him, I would certainly miss his music. But why had such violence come to our once peaceful corner of the capital?

A few days later, a knock on my office door heralded a new client.

"Hello," she said as she came in. "My name is Judy, and I would like you to find out who killed my father."

I was about to suggest the police were the people to talk to when she continued. "The police think it was a drug gang thing, and they are not giving it the attention they should be."

"And you don't think he was into drugs?"

"I know he wasn't. He had been blinded in a crash involving a drugged-up driver and nothing was going to stop him hating the damned stuff. All he lived for was his saxophone. It brought him some peace."

I realised then that it must have been her father that had been shot the other night across the road. "Why do you think I can do anything if the police, with all their resources, aren't getting anywhere? Apart from the fact that they might not really be trying?"

"That's it," Judy replied. "I believe you will put in the energy that is needed. And you can perhaps ask questions the police might not be able to."

I agreed to at least have an ask around to see if I could come up with anything that could be a lead. I warned Judy that I would have to keep the police informed if I discovered anything and she agreed, although I knew I would be careful who I passed on the info to, not everyone can be trusted. She also filled me in with some details about her father who was called Jack Brannon. Apparently, she had lost touch with him some years ago after an argument and had been living in America for the past few years. She had only arrived in the UK on the day her father was shot, and she hadn't been able to repair the damage the row had caused all those years ago. She told me that he actually owned the bar where he played and that he had lived in a flat above it. But that was about all she knew of his more recent past.

"Today's Friday," I said. "Come and see me again on Wednesday and we will see where I have got to. Or call me if you prefer." I gave her my card with my phone number on it and she left.

I sat and thought for a while before picking up the phone and calling my friend in the police. I let him know I had been instructed to look into his death and that I would keep him up to date with anything I found. He wasn't over happy but accepted that the case was not receiving the priority it should as the higher ups were sure it was a drug gang incident. He did tell me, however, that the killing had been done by a professional. They had simply walked into the bar, gone up to where he was playing and shot him twice before calmly walking out again and getting into a car that drove off at speed. The car had been stolen earlier in the day and was found the following day, burnt out, a few miles away. Strangely, I thought, very little was known about the man by the police. Surely if they thought it was a drug gang, they would have some evidence that drugs were being sold at the bar, and maybe have raided it in the past. But no, apart from a few noise complaints over the years, it had stayed out of the police radar completely. So why decide it was a drug war incident?

I then made a few phone calls to some low-level criminals I had come in contact with since becoming a private detective. Nothing. The few who knew who he was just knew him from his sax playing. When the bar opened that evening, I went over and had a chat with the rest of the band who were there. I explained that I was trying to find out why he had been shot and explained about his daughter. One of them, Patrick, had heard of Judy from Jack. Apparently, he always carried a photo of her in his pocket, even though he was blind. He had shown it to Patrick once, saying how he wished he had never had the row that had caused the rift between them.

"Do you have any idea what the argument had been about?" I asked him. "Did he ever tell you?"

"No, just that there had been one."

One of the other band members chipped in then. "I believe he said something about his daughter trying to go after the drugged driver that had caused the crash. Jack had been afraid for her."

"Any idea who gets the bar now he has gone?" I asked them.

"I guess it will be his daughter, but she is in America as far as I know," one of them replied. I decided not to let them know she was here in the UK so I thanked them, finished my drink, and left. Clearly there was little more to learn there right now. They didn't seem to know any more than I did.

The following day, Saturday, Judy called me. "I received a package this morning in the post," she told me. "I had told my father I was coming over and where I would be staying and he has sent me this box with just a book and a key in it."

"What is the book?" I asked her.

"It's one I had as a child, it was always one of my favourites. I thought perhaps there would be a note in it somewhere but there is nothing as far as I can see."

I suggested she brought it over that afternoon, and we agreed a time. Right on the dot she was at my office. She had brought the complete package with her, and I studied the wrapping as well as the box and its contents. The key was a typical Yale type, the book a child's story book. Apart from a few pencil marks in some of the pages, and the phrase "One Over The Yard Arm" written in the back cover, there was nothing to indicate what the book was supposed to mean. I looked more closely at the key and saw there were some numbers engraved on it on one side, and a crest on the other. I showed the phrase and the key engraving to Judy.

"Sorry, no idea," she said.

I scanned the crest and did an internet search. "Ever heard of Connell's Bank" I held my tablet so Judy could see the screen of results. I dug a little deeper and found they had a head office in the city, so I decided to pay them a visit but that would have to wait until Monday.

"You said this was a favourite book when you were small?" I asked her.

"Yes, I think it was my favourite although I did have others I liked."

"Could this be the actual book you had? Or another copy?"

"I still have the one I had as a child, but of course it's in my apartment in New York right now."

I studied the pencil markings in the book more closely. They were against several words but when I copied them out, I could make no sense of them. I had hoped I might be able to rearrange them to give us some kind of clue.

"I think that we will have to wait until Monday and see if we can get an appointment at the bank, or maybe just go there and hope for the best?" I suggested after putting the paper down. "Perhaps just go there, we might be able to see at least a clerk, if we can't get to see the manager?"

"I'll be here at 9am on Monday," Judy agreed.

"Make it 8:30 in the café down below here," I suggested. "They do a great breakfast." She agreed and at my suggestion, she left the key and book with me and made her way home.

I struggled on for a while, trying to make sense of the markings in the book before having another look at the key. I had never had dealings with safety deposit boxes, but I did wonder if the key could be to one of them at this Connell's Bank. Perhaps we might learn something from there if I was right. But there really was nothing more to do until Monday so I put the problem out of my conscious mind. I knew that my subconscious would carry on working behind the scenes.

Monday arrived at last, the remains of the weekend had progressed so slowly. Judy was at the café at 8:30 as promised and enjoyed a 'Full English' as I did. We made our way to the train station and on into Central London and the bank. It was easy to find but the door was locked when we tried it. A doorbell was on the right of the door and after pressing it a doorman arrived and allowed us in.

"Do you have an account here?" he asked us. "Or an appointment perhaps?" We explained our mission and he told us to take a seat and he would find someone to talk to us. In less than five minutes we were in an office with a Mr Jenkins who described himself as an under manager.

"How can I help you?" he asked us. "I believe you may have inherited one of our security boxes, is that correct?" Judy replied and showed him the key.

"Indeed, this is a key to one of our security boxes, but it is not here I am afraid, it is in a town called Freiburg in Germany."

We looked at each other. Judy spoke first. "Is there any way whatever is in the box can be brought here to London?" she asked him.

"I am sorry, but for security purposes that would not be possible, you will have to go to Freiburg in person." He paused before continuing. "As well as the key, you will also need to know a key phrase. This was introduced a couple of years back to increase security. Do you know the phrase?"

"I think we do," Judy replied, hoping it was what was written in the back of her book.

Mr Jenkins gave us the details we would need to arrange a meeting in Germany, and we left the bank to find a cafe where we could discuss our next move.

"I'm up for a trip to Germany," I told Judy, "But it is adding to the costs, and I don't know if you would prefer to go on your own?"

"Definitely not," she replied. "I would be grateful if you could come with me."

We headed back to my office, and I made the call to the bank in Germany and made the appointment for the coming Thursday. "That should give us time to organise flights and a hotel in Freiburg," I said, opening up the computer to book us some flights and find a hotel. Soon flights were booked for the Tuesday and two rooms booked in a hotel nearby. At Judy's suggestion, I had taken an option to stay for longer than we needed to. "At least," she had said, "If it turns out to be a waste of time, we can have a holiday. And I don't mind paying," she smiled.

The journey to Freiburg was not straight forward. We had to fly to Basel in Switzerland, then get a train to Freiburg. At least it was before the chaos of Brexit and we didn't have to worry about that. We arrived at the hotel in the early evening, booked in and then found our way to a restaurant for dinner. It had been a long journey and aeroplane food is not the best in the world. By 10pm we were back in the hotel and off to our rooms for the night having agreed to meet in the morning at 9 for breakfast followed by some sightseeing. We enjoyed our day looking around the town and found where the bank was located, ready for our visit on Thursday.

We arrived at the bank at the appointed time on the Thursday and found it was much like the one in London. The man who answered our ring on the door could almost have been the brother of the doorman in London. Soon we were taken to the room where the security boxes were kept and the bank official entered his key in the lock and left us to it. "When you are finished, please press this button," he told us, "And I will come and get you." With that he left the room.

Judy inserted her key and turned it. A screen lit up and we were asked to enter the phrase.

"The phrase is incorrect," appeared on the screen. "Stupid me," Judy said, "I forgot the capitals." This time it worked, and a click indicated the box was unlocked. Slowly, not knowing what to expect, Judy opened the box lid to reveal some money, about two or three thousand pounds, and another book. Judy took the book out along with the money and opened it on the desk. It was a book filled with strange shapes that looked like words but were severely distorted. A paper fell from the book and Judy saw it was a letter from her father. She read it out.

"If you are reading this then I guess I am dead. For many years before I was blinded, I had been trying to track down a drugs gang that led to the death of a friend of mine. Once I was blinded it proved impossible to do much, but I have been funding some groups who have been carrying on the work for me. I am hoping you might see your way to helping them continue, although I am aware that my death might have been as a result of what I have been doing, so it could be dangerous.

"If you are willing to help, then you need to make another journey I am afraid, to the place we went when you were a child. Do you remember the trains? There was one special one you loved. If you can find this it will give you the clues you need. I am sorry to be so cryptic but it is to try to protect everyone. In the same town, see if Janice Workington is still the bank manager at Barclays bank. It doesn't really matter, but she knew me well and could be of help to you. You have an account there, the account number is on a separate paper in the book. There is a box they are holding for me and if you show them this letter they will give it to you. Good luck and God protect you."

It was signed Dad. Judy found the other paper and saw the account number. She turned to me. "Well?" she said.

"Looks like we head back to wherever it was you used to go on holiday when you were small."

"Yes, I guess it does. That was in a place called Swanage, near to Poole in Dorset." She smiled, remembering happier times. “I remember the B&B we used to stay in, it had a strange name as well.” She paused. “Yes, it was the Jack and Jill Guest House. I remember the room I had was in the attic and you could look out and see for miles. Oh, and I remember there was a loose floor board under which I used to hide things and pretend I was a spy.” For a while, she was lost in her memories, wishing she had been able to see her dad before he was killed, but determined to do as he asked, and follow the clues he had left.

After placing the book, the papers, and the money in the briefcase we had brought with us, we closed the box and pressed the button for the bank official.

Once back in the hotel the manager placed the briefcase in the hotel safe for us and we started to make arrangements to return to the UK. The earliest flight was on Saturday so at least we had some time to explore a little more. Frieburgh was a pleasant town, nestled in the Black Forest region of southern Germany, with shops that looked like they had been there since the Middle Ages right next to modern shopping malls. The weather was kind as well so our extra day of sightseeing was very welcome before we started back on what was becoming a lot more interesting than I had dreamed it would be when Judy had first knocked on my office door.

“Why do you think your dad has made things so cryptic?” I asked Judy when we were sat in a café. “He could have just told us surely.”

“Dad was always into ciphers and things like that,” she told me. “I think it was what he did for a living in the old days, but he never spoke about his job He taught me a lot about ciphers though as I was always interested. But I think, in this case, it was more because he knew I could understand them and others would not be able to.”

I raised my glass, just a coke in it, and said “Well here’s to your father, and success in our journey to follow his trail.”



We decided to travel back to London first and then head down to Swanage a day or so later, so as to give us both time to get things we might need for a longer trip than we had originally planned, and also to let people know we wouldn’t be around for a while. It also allowed us to go down by car, rather than having to rent one when we arrived. Judy suggested hers as it was far better than mine.

Tuesday saw us driving into Swanage. To Judy’s delight, we had been able to secure two rooms in the same guest house where she had stayed as a child, and the attic room was still there and also vacant. My room was on the floor below. The owners had changed since Judy’s childhood, but they were friendly and welcoming. Once we had settled in, we went to find them and enjoyed a drink at the bar.

Judy asked them if there was still a Barclays Bank there in Swanage.

‘No, sorry,’ Mary the landlady replied. ‘The branch closed a few years back. It was only a tiny one anyway, and then only open a few days a week. The nearest one is in Poole I think.’

‘Maybe we will take a trip there tomorrow,’ I suggested. ‘Although you wanted to see the railway museum as well I think?’

‘Dad did suggest I took a nostalgia trip to the steam railway,’ Judy agreed. ‘But we have plenty of time, perhaps we should go to the bank first and see if we can sort that out.’

So it was agreed, we would head into Poole in the morning and see if we could get an appointment with the manager. Whether it was Janice Workington or not remained to be seen.

The guest house was really more of a hotel now with a dining room where they were able to enjoy an evening meal before heading out for a walk before bed. The train station where Judy had spent a lot of her time when she had been there before was only a short distance so they made their way there. Being late and not in peak season, everything was closed up, but they could see the engines and carriages gleaming behind the fences.

I could see Judy’s face light up at the sight of them. ‘They are special to you aren’t they?’ I asked her.

‘I think it’s more the memories they are bringing back. Thoughts of dad, even mum before she died.’ She looked at me. ‘She died when I was only about 15. I do miss her still.’

We were quiet for a while then, as we walked past the station and on down to the beach where we watched the waves as the moon rose over the horizon.

‘This is really a special place,’ she said after a while. ‘I don’t know why. I know a lot is just nostalgia for a time long gone. But there is something else here that just gets into me. I wish dad was here.’

We headed back up to the guest house and turned in for the night.

Both of us woke early in the morning and we headed down for breakfast. Much to my delight a Full English was on the menu, and anyone who knows me will know I love them. After breakfast I phoned the bank in Poole and managed to get an appointment with the manager at 11:30. We decided to head in early to give us time to park and find the bank. Any spare time could be used being tourists.

As we got near to Poole, Judy suddenly stopped the car, pulling it over onto the verge to avoid blocking the road. She pointed across the bay. ‘See that house there?’ she asked. ‘The one nestled into the cliffs.

‘My dad always used to say, “One day I am going to own that house”. He’s not going to now.’

We drove on then, both a little quiet and lost in our thoughts. The bank was easy to find, prominently placed in the middle of the high street. A small car park was just a little further on and there were spaces so we took the opportunity to get parked.

‘Do you fancy a coffee?’ I asked Judy. ‘We have half an hour before we see the bank manager and this place looks nice.’ I pointed to the café we were passing.

‘I wonder how much money is in this account that I apparently have,’ Judy said as our coffees were brought over to us. ‘It seems strange to think he would have set one up for me at all. I so wish I had taken the chance to meet up with him. But then I guess hindsight does have all the answers.’

‘You’ll know soon enough. Do you want me to come in with you? Or would you prefer to be on your own?’

‘I think I might like to do this on my own if you don’t mind,’ she replied. ‘It just seems right somehow.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Do you want to stay here while I go? I don’t expect to be very long.’

She was gone a little over an hour, during which I had enjoyed two more coffees, they did make a good cup here. When she came in to the café she looked quite different to how she had when she had left. She sat down and I ordered her another coffee.

She just sat for a few minutes before she spoke. ‘It would appear that I am now a millionaire,’ she said. ‘A little over ten million in fact.’ She sat staring at me for a minute and then added. ‘And that house I showed you, it would seem that it is mine as well.’

For once in my life I was speechless, what do you say to someone who has just found out that she is rich beyond anything she might ever have thought.

‘The bank manager, it wasn’t Janice by the way, had a letter for me as well.’

She handed it to me. In it, her dad had explained that his sax playing in the pub he owned was just a cover, and as he had explained in the letter we got in Freiburgh, his life’s work was to track down the drug dealers who had caused his accident and his subsequent blindness. But this letter spelled out a lot more of what he had been doing. It also told us that we would discover more once we had visited the house and also the steam railway.

I suddenly had a rush of mixed feelings. Judy was now in a position where she could simply spend the rest of her life idling in whatever occupation she fancied. But I knew she would carry on her father’s work, and I also knew that I wanted to help her. Yes, I had grown fond of her, but as a friend, nothing more, her circles were a long way from mine. But she was going to need help if she was to stay alive. I said as much to her.

‘I was hoping you might say that,’ she replied. ‘I truly can’t think of anyone I would prefer by my side in this. But it is going to take me a while to come to terms with it all.’

‘Do you have the keys to the house?’ I asked her.

‘Yes, shall we take a trip out there? The manager gave me directions.’

It took about half an hour to get there, the last part of the drive along a single lane track and across an ungated level crossing. As we approached it was clear that someone was keeping the gardens neat and tidy, ‘The manager told me that there was a local gardening firm who look after the grounds,’ Judy told me as we pulled up by the front door. ‘But the inside has been shut up for years so it will be a bit musty I expect.’

After a few tries, Judy found the right key and the door swung open to reveal a magnificent entrance hall, a wide sweeping staircase visible leading to the upper floor. Oil paintings filled the walls and what looked like expensive rugs adorned the highly polished solid wood floor. We went in, shutting the door behind us, and started to explore.

Each room had the same elegance, and, surprisingly, there was none of the mustiness I was expecting. The reason eventually became clear when we discovered an air conditioning system built in to the house which was running almost silently in the background, ensuring that the air remained dry enough to preserve everything.

‘We could stay here instead of the guest house if you wished?’ I suggested.

‘I’d rather stay at the guest house I think,’ Judy replied. ‘At least at first. It is more convenient for the steam trains, which we have to visit, and I must admit, I quite like it there.’

‘Why don’t we lock up here and head down to the train station?’ I suggested. ‘You have the rest of your life to enjoy this house, and your dad did tell you to go and find the train you used to see when you were a child.’

So we left and headed back into Swanage and down to the train station. It was still early afternoon and there were quite a few tourists there, but Judy led us through the entrance and straight to a large and gleaming locomotive that was in steam at the platform.

‘This is the engine,’ she said as I caught up, but they’re not the right coaches.’ I looked at her quizzically and she continued. ‘This was why I loved the train so much,’ she told me. ‘The engine has those lines running along the side,’ she pointed to two gold lines running along just above the wheels. ‘The carriages have them as well. There are three carriages I think and the lines curve upwards as they travel along the side of the train.’

‘You are quite right,’ a voice spoke behind them and they turned to see a gentleman dressed as a stationmaster. ‘The carriages are off having a refit,’ he explained. ‘The engine was overhauled first and the carriages only went off to the works last week.’

‘I would love to be able to see them all together,’ I said. ‘It must surely be quite a sight.’

‘Indeed they are but I am afraid it will be a few weeks before they are back with us here. Right now they are in our workshops near Corfe Castle. You could go and see the carriages there if you wish, there is a viewing area and I think the carriages are right there. Not the same as seeing the whole thing, but if my guess is right, there is some nostalgia going on here?’

Judy explained how she had visited the station almost every year as a child, and now her father has died, she wanted to come back, get some of the past memories back.

‘You are best to go in the morning, about 9 or 9:30,’ he said. ‘It is quiet then and you will see more. If you go tomorrow, ask for a man called Jackson, he will see you right.’ And the man walked off along the side of the train to check all was well.

‘So that’s our plan for tomorrow,’ I said. ‘But how about we take a ride on this train? I don’t remember the last time I went on a steam train.’

The afternoon passed pleasantly as the train made its way along the country line and past old buildings. At one place, Judy pointed out the railway workshop and I could see the carriages she wanted to see. The ride was over too soon and we were back at the station again.

‘Do you have any idea why we are to look at the train you used to visit as a child?’ I asked Judy as we were walking away from the train.

‘I can only imagine it is to do with the carriage numbers. Codes and ciphers all make use of numbers, maybe there is something we need from the them. Oh, we might need the engine number as well.’

We headed back to the engine and she took out her phone and took a photo of the engine, its number clearly shown on the side.

‘But what we need the numbers for I have no idea, unless there is something at the house perhaps,’ Judy said.

‘It’s a bit like the key we had at the start,’ I replied. ‘We might be getting a numerical key, just not know what it is to unlock.’

We headed back to the car and decided to pay another brief trip to the house to actually look at what was there. The last time we were too shocked by the revelation that Judy actually owned it to look very closely at what was there. We didn’t have a lot of the day left, but who knows, we could strike lucky and once we had the numbers from the carriages we could get started on the unravelling of the mystery.

We reached the house around 5pm and decided to look for an office, or a study, that being the most likely place to find anything relevant. Or at least, that was what we thought. There was a room on the first floor which clearly fitted the description of study, but there was no safe, at least none they could find. The desk drawers were more or less empty, apart from another copy of the book Judy had been given at the start. We opened it on the desk and apart from different notes and scribbles on the pages, it was the same book. So if the clue was in the book, it had to be in the scribbles.

‘There’s no computer,’ Judy said at last. ‘I would have expected a computer of some sort.’

‘Maybe he took it with him to the pub he lived in.’

‘Maybe.’ Judy was still looking around the room. ‘Or maybe there is one after all.’ She had opened a wardrobe and was rummaging inside. ‘Look, it’s like the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,’ she said as she showed me the door that had been built in the back of the wardrobe. It opened easily and she looked inside. ‘It’s not a cupboard,’ she said after a second, ‘it’s a small room.’

Clearing space in the wardrobe, we were able to get through the inner door and found ourselves in a very sophisticated office. Two computer screens lined one of the walls, with a keyboard beneath them.

‘I knew there had to be something special here,’ Judy said, her face brightening as she knew we were onto something at last.

Judy turned on the computer and after a few minutes the screen lit up with the normal Windows log in screen. She typed something into the password and pressed Enter.

‘That was a stroke of luck,’ she said. ‘It was the same password as the phrase we used in Germany at the bank. A lucky first guess.’

‘So now what?’ I asked her.

‘Now, I start looking for anything interesting stored here.’

‘I’m going to take a look around,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much I can do here to help you.’

I went back out of the office, through the wardrobe and headed downstairs. Being naturally security conscious, I wanted to know how secure this house was. The rear of the house let onto a large lawn, no cover for anyone who wanted to enter that way, but then not overlooked by anyone either. The lounge had patio doors that opened onto a decked area with steps down to the lawn. I checked the doors and they were of the highest security rating.

The more I looked round the downstairs, the more the house looked like a fortress. Every window was as secure as a brick wall, I could also see where an alarm system was connected to them as well, but I had no idea where the alarm control itself was and was it even on? Nothing had happened when we had entered by the front door. I decided to leave all the doors and windows shut in case the alarm was linked to a security company somewhere.

Moving back to the front of the house, I was startled to glimpse what looked like a car driving away from the house. It was too far away to see it properly, and it could well have been a tourist looking for a way to the beach. But it could be far more serious. I went back upstairs to Judy.

‘Did you see that car drive away?’ she asked me.

‘I did, but how did you see it?’

There are cameras everywhere outside the house and they all show up on that second screen there.’ She entered something into the computer and the screen showed the car come down the road and stop just beside Judy’s car. A man got out and bent down, but we couldn’t see what he had done as he was hidden by Judy’s car. He then walked over to the front door, tried the handle, walked back to his own car and drove away again.

I took out my phone and called my police friend. ‘Any chance on looking up a car number plate?’ I asked him. ‘It’s to do with the shooting of the sax player I think.’

A few seconds passed and he told me it was just an ordinary car, not related to any known criminal. I told Judy.

‘But even so,’ she said. ‘I think we need to see what he did to my car before we try to drive anywhere. He wasn’t tying his shoe lace!’

‘I’ll go and check,’ I said. ‘Can you keep an eye on the screens in case he returns. If you spot anything, call me on my mobile.’

I was soon outside and checking the far side of Judy’s car. There was nothing obvious visible so I used my phone to photograph the underside of the car. Looking at the image, there was clearly something attached to the underside of the floor. There was no way of knowing what it was. It could be a simple tracker, although it looked too big for that, or it could be an explosive device. There was only one thing I could do, I called my friend in the police again and told him.

‘I will get a team down there,’ he told me. ‘Give me the exact address.’

I had been playing with the app what3words recently so I gave him that. ‘They will be with you as soon as possible. In the meantime, go back indoors and keep as far from the car as you can, just in case,’ he told me before ringing off.

I went back in and up to Judy at the computer and told her what I had found and that a team of experts were coming to check it out for us.

‘We might as well see if there is anything in the kitchen then I guess,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I am getting hungry.’

The kitchen was well stocked with tins, all of them still in date, and there was a large chest freezer with enough food in it for a small army. And in one of the cupboards we found a duplicate of the monitor screens we had found in the office. The door was a tambour type that slid up and rolled out of the way so we could easily leave it open and keep an eye out for the arrival of the experts.

After about half an hour, we saw two army Land Rovers coming down the lane to the house. They stopped a short distance away and some people got out, dressed in what looked like armoured clothing. We jumped when my phone rang and we could see on the monitor, one of the soldiers making a call on his phone. I answered it.

‘Major Smith,’ the voice said. ‘Come to sort out your possible bomb. Stay inside the house and preferably at the rear could you, just in case.’

I told him we were at the back of the house and wished him luck. We then watched as a robot device crawled across to the car and went underneath. My phone rang again.

‘Major Smith here again. Sorry to have to tell you, but I think it’s unlikely your car will come out of this unscathed. At a guess, the device will have contacts made to the car body, or a pressure switch, so any attempt to remove it will set it off. We will do what we can to mitigate things, but just wanted to warn you. You might hear a loud bang soon as we try to carry out a controlled explosion in situ. Would have preferred to have the device away from the car though.’ He rang off and I told Judy what he had said.

We watched then, as what looked like concrete blocks were hoisted from a third vehicle that had just arrived and a wall was built around the car.

Suddenly, with no warning the camera high on the front of the house showed us a bright flash and the house shook as the car blew up. No one was hurt as the soldiers were still away behind their shelter, but we had had a lucky escape.



Judy and I looked at each other. "Good job we saw the car on the CCTV," Judy said, surprisingly calmly. "We could have been in that."

The next few hours were spent with police and bomb disposal officers crawling all over the remains of the car and also, fairly naturally, interviewing us. The army knew about us, having been primed by my friend in the police, so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been.

We had talked about whether we wanted to stay in the house after all that night. Both of us had mixed feelings. The house was probably the safest place we had, but we knew that whoever they were, they knew where we were. The guest house would be fine, if they didn’t know about it, but we had to assume that they did and it would not be fair to put the owners in danger, as well as ourselves.

In the end, I phoned the guest house and explained that circumstances had changed and we would not be back but please feel free to re-let the rooms and also, of course, keep the payments we had made.

The police agreed that the security at the house was probably the best option we had and a plain clothed constable was sent to fetch our things from the guest house. The rest of the police left then. The army had brought a low loader and the car was winched onto it to be taken away for the forensic team to examine. All that remained was a badly burnt patch of driveway.

After about an hour, the constable returned with our cases. We saw him arrive on the CCTV and could verify it was the same man as the one who had left. We let him in and he apologised profusely that his packing wasn’t very good; he was very young and was clearly embarrassed at having to pack Judy’s things for her.

He left then, and we were left to our own devices. ‘I don’t know about you,’ I said. ‘But we never did get that food, and I think I am even more hungry now than I was before.’

We made our way back into the kitchen and Judy went to the screen showing the cameras around the outside of the building. After studying the controls for a few minutes she said, ‘There’s an alarm system by the looks of it, that can alert us if anything moves outside the house. It’s not on so I will change that, might prove useful, although I don’t know how it will alert us if something does move out there.’

‘When it’s on, I will go outside and we will find out,’ I suggested. When I returned, Judy showed me two small devices which I had thought were phones, or remotes for something, were flashing and making low pitched bongs, a bit like a clock, but at a frequency you just couldn’t ignore. Judy pressed a button on the top of each of them and the noise stopped.

‘Hang on,’ I said, looking at the monitor screen. ‘It’s dark outside and although there are lights near the house, how come we can see right down to the bottom of the garden?’

;I think it’s using infra red cameras,’ Judy replied. ‘The images were in colour before, when it was daylight, but colours are lost when using the infra red cameras.’

I was becoming more and more impressed by her father as each minute passed. The microwave pinged then, making me jump.

‘While you were outside, I put some steaks in to defrost,’ Judy explained as she took them from the microwave and placed them under the grill. ‘There’s some oven chips in the oven as well.’

It is strange how events as dramatic as the blowing up of Judy’s car can be put to one side like this, but I find they can, and surprisingly, so could Judy.

‘I think we have no choice but to find who these people are and get them stopped quickly,’ I said after we had finished eating. ‘We need to get to see those carriages and at least get their numbers. But then what?’

‘Then we explore the computer upstairs and see what we can find, but right now, suddenly, I am very tired. I think I need to sleep, if I can.’

We found some bed linen and aired it off in the tumble drier. Then made up beds in two of the bedrooms and got ourselves ready for bed. Each of us took one of the alarm monitors in case our friends decided to return during the night.

Morning came and the sun shining through the curtains woke me. My watch told me it was 7am. Only about 5 hours sleep but I knew I wouldn’t get any more even if I stayed in bed, so I showered and then headed down to the kitchen. Judy was already there and looked up as I entered. ‘There’s coffee made,’ she said, ‘But no milk of course, although there is coffee-mate in the cupboard.’

Two cups of black coffee and I began to feel more like myself. ‘I had a thought last night,’ I said. ‘These carriages, surely there must be photos of them somewhere to save us going down to the workshops.?’

‘There will be plenty, but the problem is their numbers will be on the front and rear of the carriages, so photos showing the train will not show them. We will need to go I am afraid. And we will need some transport,’ Judy replied. ‘I haven’t decided whether to buy a new car, rent one or just use a taxi for now.’

‘Taxis might be safest for now,’ I suggested. ‘I’ll phone that inspector and see which company he recommends as safest. He gave you his card didn’t he?’

The number on the card was for the police station where the inspector was based. I asked the sergeant who answered the phone if the inspector was there but sadly he was not, so I asked the sergeant for his recommendations for a taxi company. After ringing off, I called the number he had given me and booked a taxi for 9am so as to get to the workshops before any tourists. I was unsure if a crowd of people would make it safer or less safe.

We arrived at the workshops at 9:30 and made our way in. There was a viewing area and we could see the carriages but not all their numbers. Judy asked one of the workmen if Jackson was there and he went off to find him. When the man called Jackson arrived, we were both surprised when he offered to take us for a close up look. ‘Frank at the station said you might be coming over and you have a soft spot for this train,’ he explained. ‘She is one of my favourites as well.’

Soon the numbers were written in Judy’s notebook, carefully adding the order in which the carriages would be when properly lined up.

‘I think I will get a rental from that place we saw as we drove in,’ Judy said. ‘Taxis might be safer, but they can be a pain if you want one in a hurry.’

Judy’s new gold credit card smoothed the wheels and we were soon heading back to the house in her rented Mercedes. As we approached the house, we saw a Land Rover parked not far from the door. Judy slowed the car. ‘Let’s hope it’s the gardeners,’ she said but she stopped the car and took out her phone. ‘I’ll ask the bank manager what day the gardeners are supposed to come,’ she said. ‘They have been organising it for years.’

When she rang off she looked at me. ‘They should come on Friday,’ she told me. ‘And today’s Thursday. They might have come early for some reason, but then it might not be the gardeners.’

The bank had given her the gardener’s phone number so she called them and to her relief, they confirmed they were at the house a day early because of a wedding on Friday they were going to be at.

Once back in the house, we made our way straight to the office we had found. ‘What do we have to work with?’ I asked Judy.

‘We have the strange shapes in the book we got in Germany,’ she replied, taking the book from the case and placing it on the desk. ‘And we have the two copies of my childhood book, and we now have this very long number, or set of numbers from the train. And we have dad’s computer and whatever we might find on that.’

She turned the computer on and logged in. ‘I wish I knew where to start,’ she said as the screen lit up. ‘I am sure there is something in these two children’s books, but I’m damned if I can think what it might be.’

‘I don’t think I am much help in this,’ I said. ‘I think I might rustle us up some coffee.’ And I left Judy to her work, sure that I would only be in the way if I stayed. When I returned, she had a program open on the screen and was entering the numbers from the train into a box. She pressed enter when she had finished but nothing happened. No Error message, nothing.

‘I must be doing something wrong,’ she said. ‘But I am sure these will be the key that is needed.’

‘Have you included the engine number as well?’ I asked. ‘There doesn’t seem to be enough digits.’

‘Blast, you’re right.’ Judy added the engine numbers at the start of the long number and pressed enter again. This time another screen appeared, obviously wanting some more input, but what?

‘Think logically,’ I said. ‘What else do we have that could possibly be used?’

‘We have the children’s books with the notes in them, and we have the book we got from Germany with the strange shapes in it. I can’t think of anything else unless it is something here in the house.’

I picked up the book with the shapes in it and took it over to the table, opening it at the first picture. A memory from my childhood came back to me then and I looked around to see if I could find a shiny cylinder of any kind. I soon spotted what I was looking for on the filing cabinet and brought it over and placed it in the circle in the middle of the strange shape. Looking at the reflection of the lines on the page in the cylinder, I could see they were more like words, but still not legible.

‘See if you can find any more cylinders anywhere,’ I asked Judy. Soon we had six of them, all different shapes and sizes and we tried each one in turn in the centre of the shape. The third one worked and we could see there were definite words visible, their distortion removed by the reflection in the curved surface of the cylinder.

The same process was repeated on each of the pages in the book and gradually we began to piece things together into what appeared to be a set of instructions. What they said to do was not in my vocabulary and I hoped Judy would understand. She did, and took the notes we had made over to the computer.

I decided to take my coffee into the garden for some fresh air. As I have said before, these things are not really where I excel. Half way down the stairs I remembered I had left my jacket behind and started back up to get it. As I neared the room where Judy was I could hear voices and stopped to listen. I heard what sounded like Judy, telling someone that “He doesn’t suspect, hasn’t got a clue. I think he fancies me a bit.”

This threw me a bit and I decided my jacket could wait and I needed to think. I made my way back down the stairs and out into the garden where I sat on the bench overlooking the lawns at the rear of the house. I had to assume she was talking about me, but what didn’t I suspect? I thought back across the time I had known her. Not really very long at all. Was she who she said she was even?

I had a brainwave, not something I do very often, and phoned my friend in the police in London. ‘That guy who was shot in the pub,’ I said when he came to the phone. ‘One of the band members said he always had a photo of his daughter in his wallet. Would you be able to scan and send me a copy?’ I explained what I had just overheard.

‘Consider it done,’ he told me. ‘It will take a few minutes as I will have to go and retrieve it from the evidence room. Can you receive it on your phone OK?’ I told him I could and waited impatiently for the email to come through. About ten minutes later the email came, along with three attached photos. The first was of a younger woman, early 20s I would have guessed, and I presumed this would be his daughter when she was younger. The other two were taken more recently and looked like they were taken in New York. They showed a woman with the now dead saxophone player. The email told me that on the back of the second two photos was written “Holiday with Judy in New York” and it was dated just a couple of years ago.

My doubts were now fully alerted. Judy had said she hadn’t seen her father in years, I looked more closely at the photo. It certainly had a resemblance to the woman upstairs, but was not the same. Her nose was larger in the photo, her face rounder. Whoever this was in the house, I felt sure it wasn’t Judy. Whoever it was they had done their homework and they were a good enough resemblance to fool anyone who had never met her, but not these photos. I replied to the email, telling my friend that this was not who she pretends to be. I knew I would be in a difficult position if she found out that I had discovered the deception so I had to keep calm.

Another email came. ‘Any chance you can get some fingerprints or DNA?’ it said. I guessed this would be possible. Perhaps a cup might produce both, but hard to post off for analysis. Then I thought, she chewed her pen top when she was working. I needed to get one of those pens. There were plenty on the desk where she had flitted between them in her concentration. I needed to go back up.

She looked up as I entered the room, I don’t think she had really noticed me gone.

‘How have you got on?’ I managed to keep my voice normal.

‘I think I have quite a lot of information, but I still haven’t discovered who the gang might be who shot dad,’ she told me. She showed me pages of notes, none of which made much sense to me.

‘Do you fancy a trip out?’ I asked her. ‘I know I would love a coffee made with real milk, or even better, a cup of tea.’

‘Sounds good,’ she replied. ‘I could do with a break, and we could pick up some bits like tea and milk.’ She stood up and stretched, heading out of the door before me, I followed but then went back for my jacket, giving me the chance to pick up one of the discarded ball points from the desk and slip it in a pocket, hopefully without smudging any prints there might be. Now I just needed a way to get it to my friend.

In the end this proved easier than I expected. We had arrived in Poole, parked the car and were walking to find a cafe when a beep on my phone alerted me to an email. It told me to drop anything I had off at the local police station in Poole. They had set up a dummy appointment for 5 o’clock that day if I could make it, and they were aware of the situation. So now I needed to find a way of going there on my own, or at least getting the pen to them without it being seen.

Fortune smiled on me again when Judy, or whoever she really was, suddenly said, "I think I would like to be pampered for a bit. There’s a hairdressers there, I wonder if they could fit me in." We crossed the road and they said they could see her at 4:30. It was 3 o’clock so we found a local cafe and settled in for a welcome cup or two of decent tea and some cakes. A prefect afternoon tea had it not been for the turmoil in my stomach at the thought of what could be next.

The time came for her appointment and we agreed to meet back at the cafe at 6pm, it was open into the evening so we could even eat dinner there later if we felt like it. I told her I was going for a walk on the beach, maybe look at the boats. I went with her to the hairdressers and saw her in, then continued my walk towards the beach. The police station was also along the same road. I felt a great weight of my mind when I had given them the pen. They told me that they had a lab there at the station, so the analysis could be done quickly. I would find out as soon as they knew anything, probably that evening or in the morning.

I did have a walk along the beach and down to the harbour to look at the boats, I needed to have the knowledge in case she asked me what it was like there. Six o’clock came and we met as arranged at the cafe. I made what I hoped were the correct flattering comments about how she looked, but my mind was racing and I hoped it didn’t show. But she was so confident that her cover was complete that she didn’t notice any hesitation there might have been in my voice.

It was still a little early to eat, especially after the cakes we had had earlier so I suggested we walked down to the harbour so I could show her the boats I had seen earlier. Walking was easier to hide any oddness I might be showing.

When we arrived, she said, "Are you OK? You look worried."

"I am," I admitted, "I think it’s that bomb last night. I keep thinking there might be someone following us, or someone with a gun somewhere. I admit it is making me a bit nervous. And I am not usually the nervous type." I smiled at her, hoping to back up her thinking I was fancying her.

She smiled back. "I think I must have buried it somewhere in my mind," she replied. "I am half expecting panic to set in when I least expect it." The tension was broken and we walked along companionably by the water side.

As evening fell, we found a nice restaurant overlooking the water and I almost began to relax and let my guard down. Either she was very convincing, or I had got it all wrong and she was the genuine Judy.

The email came at close to midnight. My phone was on silent, but the vibration woke me up, I’m not sure I was really asleep anyway. I read its content.

“She is not Judy Cummerton but a well known crook from the USA. Known to be dangerous so I would suggest you find any way you can to get away from her tomorrow and let us arrest her.”

I didn’t sleep much more that night and the morning saw me with bleary eyes and a muzzy head. I made my way downstairs for a coffee or two. She was already in the kitchen and the smell of the fresh coffee was very welcome.

"You look rough," she said as I peered round the door.

"I’m not sure I haven’t caught something," I replied. "I feel like rubbish this morning."

"Do you need a doctor?" she asked me. Either she did care, or she was a really good actor. "I will see if I can get you an appointment today." And she picked up her phone and called the number of local surgery she found on a note by the landline phone. "12 o’clock," she said as she rang off. "Get back to bed with your coffee and I will take you down in the car."

Back in my bed, I emailed my police friend and told them when and where. By 12:30 it was all over. The fake Judy was locked away out of harm and I was back in the police station, this time with a group of very senior policemen. A team of scientists were in the house and were pouring over everything that the fake Judy had discovered and I was told how it was going to lead to the closure of at least two major drug cartels. One of them the people who had blown up the car, the other one was run by the fake Judy in the USA and the UK.

Me? I decided to spend a few days in Swanage. The Jack and Jill guest house still had a vacancy, and I was going to fill it. And I had another job to do. Somewhere the real Judy was possibly unaware of her father's death, and she should be told. Maybe a trip to America on the money that the fake Judy had given me?