“What am I paying you for, then?”
“You aren’t paying me. The government is. And there’s no way an armed bank robber is going to be allowed out on bail, so you can forget about that.”
“What are you doing here, then?”
“I may have a way for you to get your sentence reduced.”
“Hold on.” He sat up. “I’ve not been found guilty yet.”
“Come on, Darren, let’s get real. They’ve got you on CCTV in the bank with a gun in your hand. And then there are all the witnesses in the coffee shop. Your only chance is to plead guilty and do whatever it takes to get a reduced sentence.”
“Like what?”
“Give up the identity of your accomplice.”
“You want me to be a snitch?” He scoffed. “No way Darren Black is going to grass on anyone.”
“That’s all very admirable, Darren. Honour among thieves and all that. But the man you’re protecting left you to carry the can.”
“That’s just the way things played out. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Are you really that naive?”
“The getaway car was supposed to be on the street at the side of the bank, but it wasn’t there. That’s why I made a break for the coffee shop.”
“And where was your accomplice when all this was happening?”
“He was behind me when we left the bank, but then I just kind of lost him. I don’t know where he went.”
“There never was a getaway car, Darren. Your accomplice’s plan was always to leave you to face the music while he got away with the money.”
“Says you.”
“This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He has a track record of doing exactly the same thing, time after time. He uses mugs like you to—”
“Hang on. Who are you calling a mug?”
“Think about it for a minute. You’re in prison while he’s walking around with a bag full of money. In my book, that makes you the mug. As I was saying, he’s done this several times before. He finds himself a partner, they carry out the job together, and he gets away, scot-free, leaving his partner-in-crime to carry the can.”
“If that’s true, I’ll kill him.”
“It is true, but you aren’t going to get the chance to kill him. By the time you get out, you’ll be too old and frail to hurt anyone. Unless you wise up and tell me who he is, and where I can find him.”
“I don’t know his real name; he just called himself Romeo. And how am I supposed to know where he is if the police can’t find him?”
“Is this the guy?” I handed him the photo that Daze had given me.
Even before he answered, I saw the recognition in his face. “Where did you get this photo from?”
“Never mind that. Is it the guy?”
“Yeah, that’s Romeo.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing much. He first approached me in the Gardeners’ Arms. He obviously knew about my record because he asked if I’d be interested in us doing a bank job together. I was a bit suspicious of him at first; I thought he might be the Old Bill. I told him no, but he kept coming back. In the end, he convinced me that it would be worth my while.”
“Did you ever go to his place?”
“No, I have no idea where he lives. We always met in pubs while we were planning the job.”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
“Not much really, except that—err—it’s probably not important.”
“What were you going to say?”
“It’s just that, every time I met him, he was with a different woman. The guy’s not bad looking, as you can see from his photograph, but he’s nothing special.”
“Do you know the women’s names?”
“No. As soon as I turned up, he sent them packing so that we could talk business. One day, I asked him how he kept pulling all these birds. Turns out, he used some kind of dating agency.”
“An app, you mean?”
“No, I don’t think so. It was some place in Washbridge, I reckon.”
Chapter 16
My visit to see Darren Black had certainly given me food for thought. Speaking of food, I was feeling rather peckish, and I knew exactly what would hit the mark. No, not a blueberry muffin. What I really fancied was a cupcake, so I magicked myself over to Cuppy C where Pearl was behind the counter.
“Thanks for checking on Mum, Jill. I can’t believe what those vandals did to her garden. What kind of person would do something like that?”
“I don’t know, but if I find out who it was, they’ll be sorry.” I glanced down at the display of cakes. “I’m not sure whether to have a strawberry or a lemon cupcake.”
“Come on, Jill, it really shouldn’t be that difficult to decide.”
“Stop pressuring me. These things can’t be rushed. Okay, I’ll take the lemon. No, the strawberry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I’d just paid for my cupcake and coffee when I heard someone crying. Sitting at a table, at the far side of the room, were five elves, two of whom were in tears. The other three looked upset too, but it was none of my business.
I was just about to take a seat by the window when one of the elves spotted me.
“Excuse me!” he shouted. “Aren’t you Jill Maxwell?”
“Yes, I am.”
“She might be able to help us,” he said to the others around the table. “I’ve heard she’s brilliant.”
Which of course was absolutely true.
“Help you how?”
“Would you come and join us? Please.”
“Sure.” I took a seat at the table next to theirs. “What’s wrong?”
“Some of our friends have gone missing,” said the elf who had called me over.
“Some? More than one?”
“Yes. We’ve all lost
