I had my drink and muffin, and I was just about to take a seat at another table when Daze spotted me. “Jill, come and join us.”
“Are you sure? You look busy.”
“We’re busy alright.” She sighed. “But never too busy to talk to you. Come and sit down.”
“Okay, thanks. You both look stressed out. What’s going on?”
“You might well ask,” Blaze said. “Things have gone from crazy to ridiculous.”
“We’re working on the Romeo case,” Daze said.
“Romeo? Who’s that?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. He’s a wizard, and a thoroughly nasty piece of work. They call him Romeo because he’s a bit of a ladies’ man, or at least he thinks he is.” She took a photo out of her pocket and passed it to me.
“Romeo? Seriously? He’s no oil painting, is he? Why are you after him?”
“He’s been in and out of prison in Candlefield for as long as I can remember. He’s supposed to be out on licence at the moment, but he’s gone missing.”
“What was he in prison for?”
“Bank robberies. Dozens of them. He has the unusual distinction of being loathed equally by the authorities and his fellow criminals.”
“Why would his fellow criminals loathe him?”
“He works with a different accomplice every time, and he thinks nothing of doing the dirty on his partner-in-crime.”
“How do you mean?”
“They commit the crime together, and then he disappears with the money, leaving his unwitting accomplice to carry the can.”
“Are you saying he plans for that to happen?”
“Definitely. It’s happened too often for it to be a coincidence. There’s no sign of him in Candlefield, and my bosses believe he may have moved his operation to the human world.”
“Is that likely?”
“It’s possible. He probably can’t find anyone who’ll work with him here because of his reputation.”
“Which of course no one would be aware of in the human world?”
“Correct.”
I held out the photograph.
“Hang onto it, just in case. I’ve got plenty more.”
“That’s not the only case we’re working on,” Blaze blurted out. “The black market for A-Juice has gone crazy as well.”
“A-Juice?”
Before either of them could elaborate, Daze’s phone rang. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She spat the words into the phone. “Why does that involve us? Okay. Okay. Yes, yes, we’ll come in now.”
“What was all that about?” Blaze said when she’d finished on the call.
“We’ve got to go to HQ straight away.”
“Why? What’s happened now?”
“Apparently, there have been numerous missing person reports.”
“What do they expect us to do? We’re busy enough already.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Daze stood up, her face red with rage. “But you know what they say. If you want something doing, ask a busy woman. Sorry, Jill, we have to go.”
“Good luck with everything.”
***
I’d no sooner magicked myself back to Washbridge, than my phone rang. I didn’t recognise the caller ID; that usually meant it was either a personal injury lawyer touting for business, or someone peddling an unmissable investment opportunity. I was all set to tell them where to shove it when the female caller said, “Jill Maxwell? This is Freda Pearldiver.”
Although Freda’s situation wasn’t exactly the same as mine, I still believed her experience might inform my decisions regarding Florence. And, hopefully, she would give me permission to speak to her daughter, Maxine.
“Freda? Thanks for calling. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“The headmistress at CASS told me that you’d spoken to her. She said you thought it would help to talk to me.”
“That’s right. I’d like to come and see you if you can spare me the time.”
“I’d be more than happy to talk to you, Jill, but I have plans for the rest of the day. How about tomorrow afternoon? Does that work for you?”
“That would be great.”
“Okay. I’ll text you my address now. Shall we say one o’clock?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
It was clear that the police had dismissed Rusty’s report of a shooting as no more than the fanciful imagination of someone they considered to be a time-wasting nuisance.
I wanted to take a look at the properties on the other side of the park, where the alleged shooting had taken place. As it was such a lovely day, I left my car on the street where Rusty lived and took a walk through the park. It was very quiet in there. In fact, I only encountered two people: The first, a middle-aged jogger who was running so slowly that I overtook him, even though I was only walking. The second, a woman in her mid-fifties, was walking five poodles. Surely five poodles were too many poodles for anyone.
Even from the rear of the properties, I could tell that the houses were very similar to the one in which Rusty lived. The tall fence and streetlights that bordered the park would have made it very difficult for anyone to gain access to those houses without being noticed. I followed the fence until I came to another gate.
I didn’t plan on calling at the house where the alleged shooting had taken place because by all accounts, the occupants had been rather upset when the police had called on them to discuss the so-called incident. I figured if I turned up on their doorstep, that would only stir up even more ill feeling towards Rusty. Instead, I intended to focus on the properties on either side.
I started with the house to the left. I’d no sooner pressed the bell, than the door flew open. A young boy, no more than eight years old, was standing there. He had chocolate all around his mouth and even on his nose.
“Hello?” he said. “I’m Roger.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Roger. Is your mummy or daddy in?”
“Daddy’s at work. He’s
