Wendy and Bridget had been in Spain for a short break earlier in the year, and the Uber from the airport to their hotel had got lost twice, or maybe he was padding the bill. They were never sure which was correct, but regardless, Wendy had complained vigorously to the man who had pretended not to understand English, not even Spanish when the local police had arrived. Wendy had produced her warrant card – she wasn’t giving up without a fight. The stern faces of the local police, ready to deal with another belligerent English tourist, changed in an instance. The driver hadn’t had a chance, and the police had checked his permit to be in the country, found it to be invalid. In the end, the driver had been hauled off to the police station, and the local police had helped Wendy and Bridget into the hotel with their bags.
‘They’ve been given a temporary licence,’ Larry said.
‘The Ubers? I know, but it won’t last long. They don’t have the discipline nor the drivers. With our company, you can be sure of arriving at your destination. You’ll want a copy of the data, is that it? Young Douglas over there is the guru, not me. I can barely manage an email, and as for typing, I’m woeful.’
A man she could identify with, Wendy thought. Another one-fingered typist.
The three walked across the scrupulously clean room to where young Douglas sat. ‘Young’ was subjective as he was in his forties. He was a thin man with red hair down to his shoulders, he stood up and warmly shook the two police officers’ hands.
Over in another part of the room, two women sat behind computer screens.
‘The blonde is Maisie, the lady with the tattoos, that’s Hannah. They run the place,’ Gleeson said. ‘I wouldn’t know how we’d manage without them.’
‘Their jobs?’ Larry asked. Maisie, he could see, was a woman of advancing years; she wore horn-rimmed glasses, her hair neat and tidy. A pleasant woman, he decided, although they did not go over and talk to her. Hannah was a fright to look at, with tattoos covering both arms, a spiralling design of some description on one side of her neck. She had a ring in her nose and pendulous earrings that drooped down.
‘I’ll introduce you later. Don’t let appearances deceive you. Maisie checks the records, follows up on any payment discrepancies, not that we get many these days, everyone flashes the plastic for payment, very little cash. Hannah, an ace with the payroll, ensures the drivers are paid on time, their insurances are up to date.’
‘You were saying?’ young Douglas reminded Larry and Wendy.
‘We have a time, a date, and a place.’
‘Registration number?’
‘LD08 CYP.’
‘That makes it easy. Time, date, where?’
‘The corner of Praed and Spring Streets, Paddington. 11.46 a.m. on the twenty-third of this month.’
‘The Pride of Paddington on the corner. They serve a decent beer, a good pub lunch.’
‘You know your London,’ Wendy said.
‘I did “the Knowledge”. I drove for a couple of years. After that I found an affinity with technology, and I’ve been in the office ever since. It suits me fine, although Patrick is still nostalgic for the old days,’ Douglas said. ‘We get the occasional person trying to check up on a loved one, or they’ve left a handbag in the taxi.’
‘You help?’
‘The police if they’ve got the right accreditation, the general public with lost articles. We’re not getting involved in domestics, more than our licence is worth.’
Larry and Wendy along with Douglas looked at the computer screen; the manager had moved over to talk to Maisie and Hannah.
‘Here you are,’ Douglas said. ‘The cab was hailed off the street, the corner of Pembridge Villas and Chepstow Crescent, four blocks from Portobello Road. There are some expensive properties around there, out of my price range.’
‘Out of ours,’ Larry said.
‘How many passengers?’ Wendy asked.
‘Two.’
‘Would the driver know who they were, recognise them?’
‘Not unless they were regulars, or they were getting friendly on the back seat.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘Not at midday. Late night after a few drinks, maybe. Not that the drivers complain as long as it doesn’t get out of hand.’
‘Let’s assume no hanky-panky,’ Larry said. ‘What else do you have?’
‘He dropped them off outside Harrods in Brompton Road, Knightsbridge. That won’t help you, will it?’
‘Unless they were shopping, used a credit card.’
‘The taxi was paid with a card. I’ve got the details.’
‘Can you email it to this address,’ Wendy said as she handed over Bridget’s details.
‘The name on the credit card?’ Larry asked.
‘Matilda Montgomery.’
‘Our man likes to live dangerously. The chances of being seen were too easy. You’d think if he were playing the field, he’d keep his women separated by more than a few miles,’ Wendy said.
‘It could be innocent,’ Larry said.
‘Not with Colin Young.’
‘Did you get what you wanted?’ the manager asked as Larry and Wendy said goodbye.
‘Young Douglas is worth more money,’ Wendy said.
‘He tells me often enough to become irritating. I let him marry my youngest daughter. I reckon that’s got to be worth something,’ the man said with a smile, looking over at Douglas and the two women in the far corner, all three enjoying the joke.
Chapter 10
Bridget was excited as Larry and Wendy walked back into Homicide. ‘I’ve got it,’ she said. Isaac was not in the office; he was upstairs with Chief Superintendent Goddard.
‘Got what?’ Wendy asked. She knew that her friend was excitable, especially when she had hitherto unknown information, the result of her computer skills.
‘An address.’
‘Matilda Montgomery’s?’
‘Yes. The woman exists, and the credit card’s valid. I pulled in a few favours, and the bank helped out.’
‘Near
