Tired, disheartened and hungry, Peter dragged his weary bones towards the bus stop. It was time for him to return home. His search had been fruitless. His bright hopes had been dashed. Perhaps detective work wasn’t as satisfying as he thought it would be. It was a little devil of a thought and he quelled it. You need perseverance and determination to succeed as a private investigator, he told himself firmly. You don’t give up if at first you don’t succeed. He knew this was true but it was hard to accept when his feet hurt and his tummy rumbled.
‘Perseverance and determination,’ he muttered, almost as a mantra. ‘Perseverance and determination. And luck,’ he added as an afterthought. Yes, luck was what he had lacked today. ‘If only I’d had a bit of luck…’
And then he did. It came out of nowhere and pinned him to the spot. He froze like a statue as he observed a tall thin man turn the corner, walking in a slow awkward fashion towards him. Peter could not see his face clearly because it was shielded by a large grey felt hat.
His heart almost stopped at the excitement of this encounter. Surely, here was the man himself. The one that he’d been searching for. He rubbed his eyes to make sure this wasn’t an hallucination. It wasn’t. Here was Bruce Horsefield. In the flesh. He was sure of it. He stared at him as he walked past and noticed that there was a dark stain on one of his trouser legs below the knee – the leg that seemed to be giving him some discomfort.
The man was injured – that explained his rather clumsy gait.
Horsefield took no notice of Peter as he slipped past him, making slow but steady progress along the pavement. Peter waited only a few seconds before turning and following the man.
After some ten minutes when Horsefield had led Peter into the maze of small streets lying behind Middlesex Road, he reached a row of down at heel terrace houses. Here Horsefield paused and gazed around him as though he was checking he hadn’t been followed. Peter had the presence of mind to push his body into the tangle of an overgrown privet hedge, some of the prickly branches getting up his nose.
Believing himself safe from shadows, Horsefield mounted the steps of one house and disappeared inside.
Peter gazed at the gaunt shabby building, its mildewed façade and blank windows darkened by the blackout shutters which were still in place, and smiled. The villain’s hideout, he thought. He had found it. All on his own.
He must inform Johnny and how proud he would be in doing so. He remembered passing a telephone box a few streets away and sprinting he retraced his way there. Frustratingly, it was occupied by a young woman with a brightly coloured turban and large dangly earrings. She was in full flow. He could hear her voice in high-pitched moaning mode as her left hand fluttered wildly like a trapped bat. He couldn’t catch her words but one didn’t have to in order to know she was expressing some grievance in a grumpy tirade.
‘Come on, come on,’ murmured Peter in frustration, glancing at his watch. He was well aware that it was quite possible that Horsefield would only stay in the house a short time before moving on. The woman in the box sensing his presence and his impatience glowered at him and then turned her back without a pause in her diatribe.
Seconds ticked by into minutes. Then to his great dismay, he saw the woman put more coins into the slot. God, she was going to tell all the world about her grievance.
Peter was joined by a tall smartly dressed man outside the box. A queue was forming.
‘Has she been in long?’ he asked.
‘Forever,’ said Peter.
The man leaned forward and tapped on the glass of the telephone box. The woman turned abruptly, scowled and mouthed some obscenity at him.
‘Charming,’ he said.
At last, the woman put the phone down, but made no real effort to leave the box.
The man pulled the door open. ‘Have you done?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she returned scowling. ‘This is private in here. You should wait.’
‘I have been waiting. I have an important call to make.’
With a belligerent shove, she brushed past him. ‘It’s all yours,’ she said.
The man turned to Peter. ‘It is rather important, sonny. I hope you don’t mind if I go before you.’
Peter’s nerves along with his temper were somewhat frayed by now and he wasn’t going to have this. He had waited his turn and his turn it was.
‘Yes, I bloody do mind,’ he found himself saying, swearing out loud in front of a grown up for the first time in his life. Without waiting for a reaction, he yanked the door from the man’s grasp and entered the box.
As his nervous fingers pressed the coins into the slot, he prayed that Johnny would be in his office. It was teatime. Surely, whatever he’d been dong all day, he’d be back for a cuppa and his usual makeshift evening meal.
But the phone kept on ringing.
In his mind’s eye, Peter saw the lonely instrument on Johnny’s desk, the dim shadows of evening falling softly onto it as it vibrated gently in the gloom, but there was no arm there to reach out and pick up the receiver. Eventually, he gave up and pressed button B.
With a sigh, he dialled another number. This time the call was answered.
‘Hello,’ said a voice in a tone that intimated that the caller had interrupted something of vital importance.
‘Benny. It’s Peter.’
‘Oh, Peter, hello, my boy. What a pleasure to hear from you.’ The voice was sweeter, friendlier now, rich in warmth.
‘Benny, is Johnny there at the café?’
‘Not unless he’s the invisible man. He doesn’t come here as often as he used to… not since…’ The voice trailed away.
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘How should I? Trailing some hoodlum maybe or taking a drink at the Velvet Cage. Your guess is as good as mine.’
Peter ruffled his hair with his free hand. ‘Look, Benny, it’s important I get a message to him. It’s about his latest case.’
‘What message?’
‘I’ve tracked Horsefield to his lair. It’s 23 Commercial Street, Houndsditch.’
‘Let me write this down. Hey, wait a minute, what do you mean you tracked this horseperson to his lair. Are you in danger? What’s going on?’
‘No, no, I’m safe but I don’t know how long Horsefield will stay there. Johnny needs to get here fast.’
‘Are you sure you’re safe? You shouldn’t be involving yourself in such activities.’
‘I’m fine, Benny; don’t worry about me.’
‘Of course I worry. No more funerals do I want to go to this year.’
‘Look this is urgent. Please try and get in touch with Johnny. I’ve rung his office but he’s not there. Maybe you could try the Velvet Cage.’
‘Very well.’
‘Oh, and could you ring Aunt Edith and Aunt Martha with some excuse of why I won’t be home for tea. I don’t want them to worry.’
‘A web of lies.’
‘Just a little fib. I’d better go I don’t want to leave Horsefield for too long.’
‘Be careful, my boy. Be very careful.’
Peter replaced the receiver quickly and exited the phone box. The man waiting outside glared at him, but Peter had other things on his mind and did not notice. Breaking into a sprint, he headed back to 23 Commercial Street.