“Yeah, that’s right. I need to get some background info on someone and you come recommended.”
“Okay. Who is the person in question and what sort of information do you want?”
“His name is Anthony Sheldon. He’s that tramp who was supposed to have won the Lotto. I want to know everything about his past and where he’s living now.”
Phil Jones’ heart skips a beat – he’s read about James, or Anthony as the papers had it, winning the Lotto. Still, a job is a job and helps pay the bills.
Phil pretends he doesn’t know him. “Do you have anything I can go on?”
“I have a newspaper cutting, but that’s about it. Listen, this man stole my Lotto ticket and has claimed money which is rightfully mine. I want to get background on him for my lawyer, Mark Jackson. He recommended you.”
“Okay. My fees for this type of work are four hundred pounds a day plus expenses. I can probably get all the info you need by tomorrow, depending on my initial findings. If that’s acceptable, then subject to upfront payment I can get started today.
“That’s agreed then. I can send you the newspaper cutting and then I’ll wait to hear from you. Remember – I want everything on this guy. All about his past.”
Phil asks him to email over a copy of what he has but Dave explains he’s not sure how to do this as he doesn’t use computers much. He will get one of his taxi drivers to deliver a copy of the newspaper article to Phil’s office address within the next hour, together with the agreed fee.
Armed with the details sent to him, Phil starts work.
Like most private investigators, he doesn’t carry out this work himself. Within the PI industry, small companies undertake this sort of work for a fee. Phil will then charge his client twice the price and pocket the difference.
The next day, Phil contacts his client armed with a dossier of background information. He arranges to go and see Dave at his home.
Arriving on time, he is hoping to be offered a cup of coffee but nothing is forthcoming. Instead he can see his client is anxious to learn what he has discovered. “Okay, so this is what we have so far: Born James Anthony Sheldon on seventh of July 1982 in Surbiton, Surrey. When he was four his parents moved to Trentbridge. He seemed to do well at school and achieved good grades, gaining a place at Manchester University to study law. It seems he was always interested in joining the police force and did so shortly after leaving university.”
“What!” exclaims Dave loudly. “So he’s a bloody rozzer and he steals my money? You can’t trust anyone these days.”
Phil Jones continues. “He married Miriam Shepherd when he was twenty-six and she was twenty-five. They had two children, a son called Jack and a daughter, Abigail. His career in the police seemed to have been going well. He was promoted to detective inspector in March last year and then on May fourteenth, his wife and two children were killed in a hit and run.”
Dave suddenly sits straight up. “Hang on a minute. What did you say this guy’s name was?”
“James Sheldon.” Jones wonders why Dave has gone pale.
“But the papers called him Anthony?”
“Yes, but they got that fact wrong.”
“And he was in the police, you say?”
“Yes, as I was explaining, he’d just been made Detective Inspector.”
Dave sits back in his chair, shaking his head and muttering. “That guy, of all the bums it could have been – that guy.”
Jones decides to continue. “It appears he went to pieces after his wife and kids were killed. His house was repossessed and he became homeless. He just disappeared from sight until a couple of weeks ago and seems to have been living rough until then. He doesn’t have any living family. His parents are both deceased and he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. By all accounts, he was a good police officer. No reports or complaints have been made against him. People I have spoken to say the experience seems to have turned him to religion and he has been a regular at St Matthew’s Church. That’s what I’ve found out so far. Do you want me to keep digging, although I’m not sure what more would be of interest to you?”
“No, that’s enough of his past. Do you have a current address for him?”
“Yes, he’s staying at the Premier Inn on Newmarket Road.”
“Okay. You’ve done a good job.”
Dave shows Phil Jones to the door and watches as he walks to his car and drives out the front gates, although he is not really taking much in. He is deep in thought. What revenge can he take and how will he get his money back? Try as he might, he cannot seem to come up with the perfect answer. He hopes his lawyer is making progress and has some ideas.
The receptionist at Curtis, Jackson & Dean recognises Dave’s voice. “I’m sorry, Mr Rex, but Mr Jackson won’t be in today. He’s attending the funeral of an ex-partner of the firm.”
Dave slams down the phone and shouts at the wall.
Having given his report to Dave and seeing it probably won’t lead to any further business, Phil Jones searches the directory on his iPhone.
He finds the number for Detective Inspector Howard Neave and presses connect.
“Hello, Phil. Haven’t heard from you recently. Are you after another favour already?”
“Hi, Simon. No, I’m not after a favour this time. I just wanted to pass something onto you in confidence. I was recently hired by someone we both know from a few years back. Do you remember Dave Rex?”
“Gosh, you’re going back a bit. Yes, I recall that little toe rag. As far as we’re aware he hasn’t been active for years. Is he up to something?”
“He asked me to get background on someone we both know – James Anthony Sheldon.”
“Blimey. Why would he want info on James? I
