The clients a firm of monumental masons, I said. Theyre the biggest provider of stone memorials in South Manchester. They came to us because theyve been getting a string of complaints from people saying theyve paid for gravestones that havent turned up.
Somebodys been nicking gravestones?
Worse than that, I said, meaning it. Far as I was concerned, I was dealing with total scumbags on this one. My clients are the incidental victims of a really nasty scam. From what Ive managed to find out so far, there are at least two people involved, a man and a woman. They turn up on the doorsteps of the recently bereaved and claim to be representing my clients firm. They produce these business cards which have the name of my clients, complete with address and phone number, all absolutely kosher. The only thing wrong with them is that the names on the cards are completely unknown to my client. Theyre not using the names of his staff. But this pair are smart. They always come in the evening, out of business hours, so anyone whos a bit suspicious cant ring my clients office and check up on them. And they come single-handed. Nothing heavy. Where its a woman whos died, its the woman who shows up. Where its a man, its the bloke.
So whats the pitch? Alexis asked.
They do the tea-and-sympathy routine, then they explain that theyre adopting the new practice of visiting people in their homes because its a more personal approach to choosing an appropriate memorial. Then they go into a special-offer routine, just like they were selling double glazing or something. You know the sort of thing unique opportunity, special shipment of Italian marble or Aberdeen granite, you could be one of the people we use for testimonial purposes, limited period offer.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Alexis groaned. And if they dont sign up tonight, theyve lost the opportunity, am I right, or am I right?
Youre right. So these poor sods whose lives are already in bits because theyve just lost their partner or husband or wife, or mother or father, or son or daughter get done up like a kipper just so some smart bastard can go out and buy another designer suit or a mobile bloody phone, I said angrily. I know all the rules about never letting yourself get emotionally involved with the jobs, but there are times when staying cool and disinterested would be the mark of inhumanity rather than good sense. This was one of them.
Alexis lit another cigarette, shaking her head. Pure gobshites, she said in disgust. Twenty-four-carat shysters. So they take the cash and disappear into the night, leaving your clients to pick up the pieces when the headstone remains a ghostly presence?
Something like that. They really are a pair of unscrupulous bastards. Ive been interviewing some of the people who have been had over, and a couple of them have told me the woman has actually driven them to holes in the wall to get money for a cash deposit. I shook my head, remembering the faces of the victims again. They showed a procession of emotions, each more painful to watch than the last. There was grief revisited in the setting of the scene for me, then anger as they recalled how theyd been stung, then a mixture of shame and resentment that theyd fallen for it. And theres no point in me telling them that in their shoes even a streetwise old cynic like me would probably have fallen for it. Because I probably would have done, thats the worst of it, I added bitterly.
Grief gets you like that, Alexis agreed. The last thing youre expecting is to be taken for a ride. Look at how many families end up not speaking to each other for years because someone has done something outrageous in the immediate aftermath of death, when everyones staggering round feeling like their brains in the food processor along with their emotions. After my Uncle Joss second wife Theresa wore my grans fur coat to the old dears funeral, she might as well have been dead too. My dad wouldnt even let my mum send them a Christmas card for about ten years. Until Uncle Jos got cancer himself, poor sod.
Yeah, well, us knowing these people havent been particularly gullible doesnt make it any easier for them. The only thing that might help them would be for me to nail the bastards responsible.
What about the bizzies? Havent they reported it to them?
I shrugged. Only one or two of them. Most of them left it at phoning my client. Its pride, isnt it? People dont want everybody thinking they cant cope just because theyve lost somebody. Especially if theyre getting on a bit. So all Officer Dibble has to go on is a few isolated incidents. I didnt need to tell a crime correspondent that it wasnt something that was going to assume a high priority for a police force struggling to deal with an epidemic of crack and guns that seemed to claim fresh victims every week in spite of an alleged truce between the gangs.
Alexis gave a cynical smile. Not exactly the kind of glamorous case the CIDs glory boys are dying to take on, either. The only way theyd have started to take proper notice would have been if some journo like me had stumbled across the story and given it some headlines. Then theyd have had to get their finger out.
Too late for that now, I said firmly.
Toerags, Alexis said. So youve put Richards death notice in to try and flush them out?
Seemed like the only way to get a fix on them, I said. Its clear from what the victims have said that they operate by using the deaths column. Richards out of town on the road with some band, so I thought Id get it done and dusted while hes not around to object to having his name taken in vain. If everything goes according to plan, someone should be here within the next half-hour.
Nice thinking, Alexis said approvingly. Hope it works. So why didnt you use Bills name and address? Hes still in Australia, isnt he?
I shook my head. I would have done, except he was flying in this afternoon. Bill Mortensen, the senior partner of Mortensen and Brannigan, Private Investigators and Security Consultants, had been in Australia for the last three weeks, his second trip Down Under in the past six months, an occurrence that was starting to feel a lot like double trouble to me. Hell be using his house as a jet-lag recovery zone. So that left Richard. Sorry you had a wasted journey of condolence. And Im sorry if it upset you, I added.
Youre all right. I dont think I really believed he was dead, you know? I figured it must be some sick puppys idea of a joke, on account of I couldnt work out how come you hadnt told me hed kicked it. If you see what I mean. Anyway, it wasnt a wasted journey. I was coming round anyway. Theres something I wanted to tell you.
For some reason, Alexis had suddenly stopped meeting my eye. She was looking vaguely round the room, as if Richards walls were the source of all inspiration. Then she dragged her eyes away from the no longer brilliant white emulsion and started rootling round in a handbag so vast it makes mine look like an evening purse. So tell me, I said impatiently after a silence long enough for Alexis to unearth a fresh packet of cigarettes, unwrap them and light one.
Its Chris, she exhaled ominously. More silence. Chris, Alexiss partner, is an architect in a community practice. It feels like theyve been together longer than Mickey and Minnie. The pair of them had just finished building their dream home beyond the borders of civilization as we know it, part of a self-build scheme. And now Alexis was using the tone of voice that BBC announcers adopt when a member of the Royal family has died or separated from a spouse.
What about Chris? I asked nervously.
Alexis ran a hand through her hair then looked up at me from under her eyebrows. Shes pregnant.
Before I could say anything, the doorbell blasted out the riff from Layla again.
Chapter 2
I looked at her and she looked at me. What I saw was genuine happiness accompanied by a faint flicker of apprehension. What Alexis saw, I suspect, was every piece of dental work Ive ever had done. Before I could get my vocal cords unjammed Alexis was on her feet and heading for the conservatory. Thatll be your scam merchant. Id better leg it, she said. Ill let myself out through your house. Give me a bell later, she added to her slipstream.
Feeling stunned enough to resemble someone whose entire family has been wiped out by a freak accident, I walked to the front door in a bewildered daze. The guy on the other side of it looked like a high-class undertakers apprentice. Dark suit, white shirt that gleamed in the streetlights like an advert for soap powder, plain dark tie. Even his hair was a gleaming black that matched his shoeshine. The only incongruity was that instead of a graveyard pallor, his skin had the kind of light tan most of us cant afford in April. Mrs Barclay? he asked, his voice deep and dignified.
Thats right, I said, trying for tremulous.
A hand snaked into his top pocket and came out with a business card. Will Allen, Mrs Barclay. Im very sorry for your loss, he said, not yet offering the card.
Are you a friend of Richards? Someone he worksworkedwith?
Im afraid not, Mrs Barclay. I didnt have the good fortune to know your late husband. No, Im with Greenhalgh and Edwards. He handed the card over with a small flourish. I wonder if I might have a quiet word with you?
I looked at the card. I recognized it right away as one of the ones that come out of machines at the motorway-service areas. The ones on the M6 at Hilton Park are the best; theyve got really smart textured card. Drop three quid in the slot, choose a logo, type in the text and you get sixty instant business cards. No questions asked. One of the great mysteries of the universe is how villains catch on to the potential of new technology way ahead of the straight community. While most punters were still eyeing the business card machines warily on their way to the toilets, the bad guys were queuing up to arm themselves with bullshit IDs. This particular piece of fiction told me Will Allen was Senior Bereavement Consultant with Greenhalgh and Edwards, Monumental Masons, The Garth, Cheadle Hulme. Youd better come in, I said tonelessly and stepped back to let him pass me. As I closed the door, I noticed Alexis emerging from my house with a cheery wave in my direction.