We did lose by three goals to one in the end, and had to bear the ignominy of being the only team in any league not have any points on the board. Less than a month into the season and we were already well behind the clubs that we had considered no hopers before the season began. We needed three points from our next home game against Tottenham.
While we were at the match I had received a message on my BlackBerry from Inspector Boniface. He wanted to talk to me as soon as possible, and so as soon as we got back to the flat I called the number he had left. The first twice I called I was diverted to voice mail, but the third time I called I spoke to the Inspector. For my own peace of mind I soon wished that I hadn’t.
I laid my BlackBerry on the table and switched it onto loudspeaker so that Dee could listen too as the inspector explained that the Citysafe Depository had been robbed and a number of boxes had been cleaned out, one of which was the sealed box of Lord Hickstead. Boniface tried to play down the importance of the robbery by insisting that it changed nothing and that Hickstead would still be tried and convicted. But we all knew that with the money and the painting the case would have been a slam dunk, whereas now Hickstead would be looking for a deal.
I sympathised with him for being called out to deal with the robbery in the middle of a family event, and asked him to pass my regards to DCI Coombes, who had eventually turned up and who was growing on me.
***
Dee had promised me that she had something planned that would cheer me up, and she did. It perked me up in every sense. I had seen a gaudy purple bag with gold coloured 1960s style writing on it on the bedroom floor earlier that day, and I had been curious. The logo on the carrier bag read Retro City, an odd shop run by a fifty something couple who had been flower children in the 1960s and still dressed as if they were. I had been in the shop a few times, as it was close to where I lived on the High Street, and I had thought it strange. Stepping inside felt rather like going back in time. There were clothes made in the iconic styles of the period, Herman’s Hermits singles, LP’s and CD’s and hippy paraphernalia all around. If anyone ever asked me if I knew where to buy fragrant joss sticks, I would direct them to Retro City without a moment’s hesitation.
I had visions of Dee emerging from the bedroom in a flowing Kaftan with a beaded headband holding her auburn locks in place. I was wrong. Dead wrong. Wonderfully wrong.
Dee shouted for me to close my eyes, I did as I had been instructed. I could hear her walking across the room, and I sensed her standing in front of me. She said I could open my eyes, I did.
For a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. I had often used the expression ‘I was left speechless’, but only now did I understand what it actually meant. I began to talk but just croaked. I tried again but nothing came out. I concentrated and eventually managed to kick start my vocal chords, but only to stutter like an idiot.
“That’s, I mean it’s, the way it fits. Wow.”
“So you like it, then?”
If I could have connected my brain and voice box I would have told her that there was not a man in the known universe that wouldn’t have liked it. I stared at her again. With her hair swept back and turned up at the ends and her face lightly made up, she glowed. At her neck was a buckled collar which topped out the figure hugging shiny black leather catsuit which had a zipper running down the front. I am quite certain it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life.
I was immediately transported back to the 1980s when my dad used to sit next to me on the sofa and we would watch reruns of the 1960s cult TV show, The Avengers. My dad was in love with Emma Peel - he probably still is - and now he owns a complete boxed set, which contains all one hundred and eight episodes starring Diana Rigg. Mum doesn’t seem to enjoy them quite as much, for some reason.
I guessed that the catsuit I was looking at was styled after the Diana Rigg costume, as it had definite 60’s styling, although it could just as easily have been based on the Catwoman suit Julie Newmar wore in the Batman TV series of the same era.
Dee spun around on her patent leather boots.
“It’s actually quite comfortable, and flexible.” She ran through a few martial arts moves, including high kicking, but stopped when she noticed I was sweating.
“Get you shoes on and go and order the takeaway,” she instructed. “I’ll have a Chicken Korma with plain white rice and nan bread.”
“But the Indian Restaurant is almost a mile away,” I complained, knowing that I would pass two Chinese takeaways, a kebab shop and the Pizza & Pasta Palace before reaching the Spice Island Restaurant. Although, I had to concede that the food from there was wonderful.
“What? Don’t you think I’m worth it, then?” Dee pouted as she started to unzip her catsuit.
“OK,” I conceded. “I’m on my way. I’ll be back soon.”
It was beginning to get dark outside, and so I cut through the back garden and climbed over the small fence into Mrs Catterpole’s garden before walking silently beside her house onto her driveway and onto the main road. Mrs Catterpole was a feisty white haired old lady who had scolded me more than once for using this shortcut. I vividly remembered one occasion when I thought I had got away with it. I was just exiting through her gate and she called me back.
“Joshua Hammond!” she called out, and like a naughty schoolchild I went to her and took the rebuke with head bowed. I might have been a man of thirty, but she was seventy and she made me feel like a kid again. She doesn’t hold grudges, though, because when my downstairs neighbour told her I was in bed with the flu, she came around with a casserole, and by the time she left my flat was as clean as it had ever been.
On this occasion I made it without being caught and, having saved myself three hundred yards, I set off in the direction of Spice Island.
***
The Lexus circled the area for a second time and all was quiet. It came to a stop outside the townhouse. The light was on, as they had hoped. It suggested that their journey hadn’t been wasted. The three men in the car were tired; it had been a long couple of days. They had left Amsterdam yesterday evening and driven to the Channel Tunnel to avoid as much customs interest as possible. They had expected a thorough search of their SUV, and so they hadn’t carried anything illegal with them. That meant, of course, that they had to rely on Mr Van Aart’s good friend Mr Holloway, the owner of the printing press, receiver of stolen goods and seller of humans trafficked from Eastern Europe, the Middle East, the Far East and Africa. Van Aart and Holloway had what they called a framework agreement. In Western Europe Van Aart would provide anything Holloway needed, and in the UK Holloway was the provider. If the balance swayed too far in one direction, a financial settlement was agreed. It was all very business-like, and very grubby.
The counterfeit Kazakh Ambassador, better known to his friends as Rik, sat beside Gregor in the back seat. Piet, now without his chauffeur uniform, was again in the driving seat.
“How long to open the front door?” Rik asked Gregor.
“A few seconds, that’s all. It’s on a movable latch that can be operated from the flats.”
The three men exited the car and walked to the front door. Gregor took what looked like a wallpaper stripper bent halfway down the blade. The big man placed his weight on the centre of the glazed door until it flexed, then he forced the thin blade between the door and the frame exactly where the Yale lock was located. The door sprang open. They entered and closed the door behind them, allowing the lock to engage.
***
Dee decided that in ten minutes she would go to the kitchen and find some plates and cutlery, ready for the take away meal Josh was bringing home. She would just wait until this episode of Friends had finished. Dee had surprised herself this last week. She had always considered herself to be a strong, independent woman who could live happily without a man. In her teenage years the closest she came to the boys was when she was throwing them around, kicking them or punching them in martial arts classes. Her sacrifice had seemed to be worthwhile when Dee had qualified to compete in the Commonwealth Games, held in Manchester, but she had been injured in training and lost her place. So, rather depressingly, she spent the duration of the Games in the arena seating, watching her ‘Team GB’ teammates.