‘Well, that would be good,’ Victor agreed. ‘I’ll probably do that.’
His breakfast was six feet away and closing. ‘I must go, Victor. I am in your café about to enjoy some breakfast. Let me know when you are done with the police.’
‘You’re at the café?’ Victor expressed his surprise. ‘Is everything okay there? I mean, they are a few hands short now without Kate or me or … did April come in today do you know?’
The breakfast tray was set on his table so that Meredith could set out his plates and arrange his pot of tea. He ignored his phone so he could thank her and politely pay attention while she served. Only when she turned away did he answer Victor’s question, ‘No, she is absent, as is her grandniece, Shannon.’
‘Shannon’s not there?’ questioned Victor. ‘That is surprising.’
‘Is it?’ asked Albert. ‘I got the impression April rules her life.’
Victor couldn’t argue with that. ‘I guess she does, but even so, poor Shannon has a baby and is flat broke more often than not. I’m not sure how she gets by on what she get’s paid working part-time hours so taking time off makes no sense.’
The statement startled Albert. Or rather, the realisation that followed it did. He ended the call quickly thereafter, excusing himself so his long-awaited breakfast wouldn’t go cold, but as he tucked into a juicy piece of sausage, he wondered if he’d just been given the answer to another small part of the mess.
Nonsensical
His breakfast was sumptuous, just as expected, and a heaping plateful it was too. Beneath the table, Rex and Hans licked their lips and rejoiced in getting a second breakfast; a rare event if ever there was one. The animal services people had been kind to them, fussing them and making sure they were clean and dry. They tended to Hans’ injured paw but the kibble they served left a lot to be desired. Not that it was inedible, it just wasn’t very tasty. They ate it because it was food, but to get a tasty treat split sixty: forty in Rex’s favour by his human was something neither dog had expected.
Hans saw that he got the smaller piece, but he didn’t make a snarky comment which he would have to any other dog. His piece was more than big enough to fill his belly. ‘That was good,’ he mumbled around a satisfied burp.
Rex licked the carpet to get the last few crumbs. ‘It sure was. Yet, I cannot help thinking that we ought to be out trying to catch the man from last night.’
Hans frowned. ‘I thought your human said he would be miles away by now.’
Rex thought about that. ‘He did, but you and I both smelled him on the man at the police station. If I understood him correctly, the man is still here.’
Above the table, Albert was thinking the same thing, but his thoughts were a little more complicated than the dogs’. His breakfast plate was empty, pushed aside so he could bring his teacup to rest between his hands. None of it made sense. That was what bothered him more than anything. If they were truly trying to kidnap Victor because he could bake a clanger, then it was the strangest motive for a crime he had ever heard of. What was worse though was that the man who escaped, seemed to have found a way to evade the police and leave Biggleswade, only to return here almost immediately. Then, in a sloppy way if he didn’t want to get caught, he let Eric Simpson live. What could possibly motivate him to come back to the very place where the police were looking for him?
Albert sipped his tea and pondered that question.
Clanger Lover
‘The police sent a taxi for you, Mr Harris,’ said the nurse.
Victor had been allowed just enough painkillers to make his headache recede into the background but not enough to make it go away. The doctor seemed unreasonably concerned that Victor might develop a painkiller addiction. Personally, he doubted that would happen and couldn’t work out where he would be able to obtain such strong painkillers anyway. Nevertheless, he was dressed, discharged and ready to go. A Detective Sergeant called Craig had left a message with the nurses’ station to call him when Victor was awake, but before they had the chance to call, a taxi driver arrived to collect him.
‘I guess they arranged for someone else to take my statement,’ he commented to the nurse.
‘Do you have everything you came in with?’ she asked, checking about his bed to make sure the outgoing patient didn’t need to make a return trip.
Victor chuckled. ‘I was unconscious when I arrived. I’m not sure what I came in with.’ Switching to serious when she gave him a puzzled look, he said, ‘I’m sure I haven’t left anything behind. I have my wallet, phone, and house keys.’
She escorted him back to the nurses’ station where the taxi driver stood reading a poster and looking bored.
‘This is Mr Harris?’ the man sought to confirm.
Though the man hadn’t addressed him, Victor extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ There was something familiar about the man, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He saw so many people coming in and out of the café that he was probably just another customer.
The taxi driver, a large man wearing a casual but smart jacket – one too smart for the average taxi driver - shook his hand lightly and began meandering back toward the entrance. ‘I got a spot right out front,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Did they say who I need to speak to when I get there?’
