I'd swung by the station at seven. Dropped off the fake finger, wrote up a brief report.
I hadn't slept much. I suspected Mrs Wilson wouldn't have slept much either. I was right. She answered the door wearing the same clothes she'd had on last night. Most likely she hadn't even gone to bed.
She looked rough, but then I'd never seen her look anything but.
'Have a few things to check out,' I said. 'Can't stay.'
'Who is it?' Les's voice in the distance.
'Heard anything from the kidnapper?' I asked Mrs Wilson.
She winked at me, then shook her head.
'When you do, call me,' I said. 'Right away.'
'Okay.'
'It's important. That business with the finger,' I said. 'We can't be too careful.'
Les appeared behind her. He was dressed too, twirling his keys on the end of his crooked index finger. He gave me a look and said, 'Still don't trust me?'
I wasn't sure what he meant.
'Then tag along,' he said.
22
I followed them to the bank. One of those private banks in the West End. Went inside with them and had a seat in a posh waiting room. Then got taken to a private room the size of our CID office where we were offered tea and coffee.
We all refused.
The manager arrived and shook hands with everyone. His face was scrubbed clean and he stank of aftershave. Reminded me of a pimp I'd once arrested.
'Is my money ready?' Mrs Wilson asked.
'On its way.' He rubbed his hands together. 'Now, are you sure I can't invite you to take a cheque instead?'
'Don't bother,' I said and showed him my warrant card.
'Ah, okay.' He took an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket, opened it, and gave Mrs Wilson a form to fill in.
We tried to make small-talk while we waited for the cash. But nobody felt like saying much and after a bit the conversation stopped and we sat in silence.
The money arrived in a charcoal-grey briefcase with the bank's logo stamped in gold on the front. A couple of security guards flanked the clerk who brought the money.
'Thanks.' Mrs Wilson got to her feet. 'Can we leave now?'
'Goodness, no,' the manager said. 'We have to count it to show you it's all there.'
'That's not necessary.' Mrs Wilson turned to the clerk and held out her hand.
'I'm afraid it is.' He took the briefcase from the clerk. 'With a sum this large, we have to insist on it. Mistakes can easily be made.'
'I suppose that's going to take a little while,' Les said.
'I'll get some help.' The manager opened the case and started taking out bricks of fifty-pound notes. 'But, yes, we're probably talking thirty minutes or so.'
'See that coffee we were offered?' Les said, steering Mrs Wilson back to her seat. 'We'll maybe have some after all.'
23
As it happened, the coffee no sooner arrived than I had my uncle on the radio.
'Sounds like you had a wild night,' he said.
I gave him a quick run-down of recent events.
'You on top of it, sunshine? Need any help?'
'Don't suppose Erica's changed her mind and come back?'
'She's gone. Forget about her.'
'Then I'm fine,' I said.
'Super. That's what I like to fucking hear.'
'I'd planned on checking a few things out.' I was flattered he trusted me to handle this on my own. 'Don't want to leave the boyfriend alone with Mrs Wilson, though. Not when he could just walk off with the money.'
'Think he will?'
'Actually, no. I don't think so.'
'Then go check out the things you wanted to check out. If he fucks off with the money, we've got our man. I kind of hope he does. See how far he gets before we nail his hairy hole.'
'But… ' But my uncle was right. I could leave them for a few hours. The drop wasn't taking place till this evening. And if Les was behind all this, then I couldn't read people at all. 'Any chance you could get some uniforms to ask around, see if any of the neighbours saw someone hanging about Mrs Wilson's last night?'
'Who would be hanging about?'
'The guy who put the finger through the letterbox.'
'Surely he'd have dumped it and buggered off.'
'Maybe, but it's worth checking, don't you think?' I said.
'Thought you already did, sunshine. Last night.'
'Nah, just dropped by a couple of houses where the lights were still on.'
'So you definitely think someone stuck this finger through Mrs Wilson's letterbox? You don't think she bought the finger herself and made all this shit up?'
'It's possible,' I said. 'We won't know that till we find out who picks up the money. If anybody.'
'Tonight's going to be fun,' my uncle said. 'Want some company?'
24
I spent the morning checking out the local joke shops to see if anyone sold the type of fake finger Mrs Wilson had received. Turned out they all did. None had sold any recently, though. I'd need to widen the search.
I was on my way to grab a sandwich when my mobile rang. It was Les.
'Clare's gone,' he said.
'The hell do you mean?'
'She told me she was hungry, wanted some beans on toast with cheese. About all I can cook. So I went to make it. When I came back, she wasn't here.'
I waited a second. 'And the money?'
'Gone too. She's taken it with her.'
25
I was staring at the plate of toasted cheese and beans on Mrs Wilson's sitting room table, wondering if it was too cold to eat, when Control called to tell me Mrs Wilson's Range Rover had been found. Abandoned, less than five
