'Aubrey Bingham Cakebread?'
'That's the man. His wife's supposed to be an ex-beauty queen, and she breeds dogs as a pastime.'
'Dogs? What sort of dogs?'
'Some fancy little foreign things. Shites-something-or-other.'
'Shites-on-the-carpet?'
'Not quite, sir, but something like that,' he chuckled.
'How about shih-tzu?'
'That's it, sir! Shih-tzu.'
'Thanks, pal, you've been a big help. I'll keep you informed.'
I went home. The reasonable day had turned into a good one, and I had discovered that wrestling with a nubile schoolgirl was no big turn-on.
I was pleased about that, too.
Mad Maggie announced that she had a copy of the incriminating video set up in the conference room, and would show it to us if we cared to proceed there forthwith. I was delayed on the telephone, and when I reached the conference room it was heaving with bodies. I was amazed by the interest she had drummed up. Everybody, from the canteen ladies to the SDO, seemed eager to view the evidence.
It was a superb piece of camera work. First there were wide-angle shots, showing the overall scene, then close-ups of each of the three girls' faces. I'd seen the next bit, where the umbrella neatly hooked the handbag. It was all done without breaks, joints or patches; as evidence it couldn't be faulted. When I thought it had ended I stood up to leave, but somebody said: 'Wait, there's some more.' After a few seconds of snowstorm an overall view of the restaurant came into view.
A couple were just taking their places at a table in the middle. The male was being very attentive. The hairs on the back of my neck were already prickling like a bilious porcupine when the camera zoomed in.
'It's Mr. Priest!' somebody exclaimed.
A cheer went up all round the room as they recognised me, followed by wolf whistles when they saw Annabelle.
'Never mind him! Who's she?'
'The jam my sod, nabs the villains and gets the woman!'
I was due in court at ten o' clock, but before that I had arranged for one of the Traffic drivers who had been on the Art Aid convoy to come to see me. I knew him reasonably well, and he had a reputation as a no-nonsense officer.
'Cast your mind back about six months,' I asked him, after I'd given him his compulsory mug of coffee, 'to the time you escorted the paintings for the Art Aid exhibition. What can you tell me about the job?'
He thought for a moment, then said: 'Not much to tell, really. It started out pretty routine; we thought there was a touch of overkill, but I suppose you can't be too careful with money like that involved.
We waited in the big lay-by on the Lancashire side of the border and took over from the West Pennine boys. Then, coming down this side, the armoured van broke down. We were suspicious, but not worried enough to sign out the gun we were carrying. The chopper had been standing by, so we whistled it up for extra cover. We hung around for two hours until a breakdown truck arrived, then towed the lot straight to the Leeds Art Gallery. It was a bit ball-aching: we were only doing twenty miles per hour, and trying to watch every which way at once. The pictures weren't transferred to another vehicle or anything like that.
They stayed in the armoured van throughout.'
'This was an ABC Security armoured van?' 'That's right,' he replied.
'Up to breaking down they'd been very impressive. Well drilled everybody seemed to know what they were doing. The breakdown cocked it up, though. We were about three hours late when we finally arrived.'
'Did anybody try to find what the trouble was?' 'Yeah, I'd forgotten that. The driver had a look under the bonnet. The oil filter had fallen off and wrecked the engine. He was well watched. I can guarantee that he didn't squirm down the prop shaft, up through a hole in the van floor and swipe a couple of paintings. He just pronounced the vehicle un repairable and radioed for help.' He shrugged his shoulders as if he had nothing further to offer. 'What's the problem, Mr. Priest? Has a picture gone missing?'
'I'm not sure,' I replied. 'I think there may have been a switch, but so far I'm crying in the wilderness. I take it someone rode in the back of the armoured van.'
'That's right. Two ABC guards. I saw them when they unloaded.'
'Can you remember what they looked like?'
'No. They were wearing helmets and visors. One was fairly small, though, and the other was about my size. We were keeping our eyes on the cargo.'
'Mmm. Well, thanks for what you've told me. Sorry to keep you away from swarming up and down the motorway. If you think of anything else I'd be glad if you'd let me know.'
He thought for a few seconds. 'Just one small point,' he said. 'The two in the back liked country and western music. Played loud. All the time we were waiting it was coming out through the ventilators. Nearly sent me barmy.'
I drove down to the courthouse and parked in the reserved parking. I was early, but I'd wanted to escape the distractions of the office. I sat in the car and took stock of what I knew so far. It didn't amount to a shoe box full of polystyrene beads. Truscott was linked to the paintings, and ABC had moved them.
I'd always imagined Truscott to be a non-smoker, he was so fastidious in other ways, but he'd had a small cigar when I saw him at Beamish, so he could have set fire to his own armchair. True, he was small, like the security guard, but lots of men were small. Small people weren't usually attracted into the security industry, though. He definitely wasn't a country and western lover: he probably thought the term referred to Cornish folk dances. String quartets were more his style.
I thought about our meeting at Beamish and went through it, step by step, word by word. Something didn't gel, and eventually I thought I knew what it was.
I'd left the rest of the day free for the trial, but I'd been given an inkling that it wouldn't take long. At the last minute the accused changed his plea to guilty, so there was no need for me to tell the court how I'd arrested him with the left halves of ninety-six pairs of expensive training shoes in his car boot. I came out and gunned my car over the hill into Lancashire. It was time to have a look at Mr.
Breadcake on his own territory.
Forty minutes later I was sitting outside ABC House, nerve centre of the Cakebread empire. The building was an old warehouse, the side of which gave directly on to the pavement of a narrow cobbled alley. There was a big sliding door, with a small door let into it, otherwise it was just a huge, blank brick wall. The small door had a Yale lock and a deadlock. Round the front it was much more open. The building was set well back from the main road, with a tall mesh fence enclosing the area to the front and other side. At the side were parked several security vans with the ABC logo on them. In front were presumably the staff's cars. The entrance to the compound was protected by a lowered barrier controlled by a gatehouse. Prominently situated, as close to the door as it was possible to park, was the familiar Rolls Royce with the personal registration number.
I'd no plan. I just wanted to get the feel of the place, so that if I ever came back it wouldn't be a surprise to me. I'd hang around a while, then maybe look for his home, The Ponderosa. What other names could he have chosen for his mansion, I wondered? A combination of their respective mo nickers would be about right. Eunaub had a certain style to it. Or maybe they'd prefer something a little more up-market, like… The Summer Palace.
Suddenly he was there, getting into the Roller. He was even fatter than I remembered him. The gate man came out of his little office and raised the barrier and the Rolls swept imperiously through, the way that Rollses do.
He could have forgotten his cigar clipper and come back for it, so I waited ten minutes before driving up to the little gatehouse that stood between me and the secrets of the Cakebread empire.
'I've come to see Mr. Cakebread; he is expecting me,' I told the gate man 'I'm afraid you've just missed him, sir, he left a few minutes ago.'
'Oh dear. I've a rather important message for him.' I tried to look suitably downcast and waved my ID card in his direction. 'Do you think I could have a word with his secretary?'
'Certainly, sir. Do you know where to find her?'
'Yes, I think so, thanks.'
