'He was wearing women's clothing and hanging from the banisters in his home. The police think it was an accident,' Alexis said. I was content to sit back. Cassie was her contact, and she knew how to play her.
'Do I take it that you don't agree with them?' Cassie asked, moving her glance from one to the other of us.
'Oh, I think they're probably right. It's just that he ripped me off to the tune of five grand a few weeks ago, and I'm trying to get it back. Which means trying to untangle what he was up to, and who with,' Alexis said determinedly.
“Five thousand pounds? My God, Alexis, no wonder you're working with Kate.' Cassie smiled, then sighed. 'Yes, I knew Martin Cheetham. He bought a lot of stuff from Trances, and he was a regular at our monthly Readers' Socials. Martina, he called himself. Not terribly original. And before you ask, I don't think he had any particular friends among the group. Certainly, I don't know of anyone he saw socially between meetings. He wasn't someone who appeared to find it easy to open up. A lot of men really blossom when they're cross-dressing, as if they've suddenly become themselves. Martina wasn't like that. It was almost as if it was an obsession that he had to indulge rather than a release. Does that make any sense to you?'
I nodded. 'It fits the picture I have in my mind, certainly. Tell me, was he a particularly effective woman? I mean, without wishing to be offensive, some men are never going to look like anything other than a man in women's clothes. On the other hand, it's hard to imagine that you were ever anything other than a woman. Where on the spectrum did Cheetham fall?'
'Thank you,' Cassie said. 'Martina was actually superb. He had a lot of natural advantages - he wasn't particularly tall, he had small hands and feet, quite fine bones and good skin. But the real clincher was his clothes. He could get into a standard size sixteen, and he didn't seem to care how much he spent on clothes. In fact ...' Cassie got up and went over to one of the filing cabinets. She returned a moment later with a photograph album.
She started flicking through the pages. 'I'm sure he's on a couple of these. I took a couple of rolls of film at the Christmas Social.' She stopped at a photograph of a couple of women leaning against a bar, laughing. 'There, on the left. That's Martina.'
I studied the picture and realized where I'd seen Martina Cheetham before.
20
I sat in the Ford Fiesta listening to Coronation Street on headphones. Mary Wright had returned to the house I was bugging, her appetite for soap opera unabated. The mysterious Brian was still nowhere to be seen or heard, however. Perhaps he didn't exist. At least his absence freed me from having to listen to domestic chitchat, which meant I could concentrate on trying to crack the password that would let me into Martin Cheetham's secret directory.
Alexis had been as puzzled as me when I revealed where I'd seen Martin Cheetham in his drag before. The photograph had jogged my memory as the distorted face of the corpse could never have done. But there was no mistaking it. The elegant woman who'd been looking at cheap terraced houses in DKL Estates was Martin Cheetham. No wonder he'd taken off like a bat out of hell at the sight of me. Whatever their little game was, he must have thought I was on to him, which also explained why he'd gone into panic mode when I paid my second visit to his office. If I'd needed proof that Cheetham and Lomax were up to something a lot more significant than the land fiddle, I had it now. The only question was, what?
As the familiar theme music from Coronation Street died away, a Vauxhall Cavalier drove slowly past me and pulled up outside my target. When I saw Ted's favourite salesman was driving it, I couldn't help myself. I punched the air and shouted 'Yo!' just like some zitty adolescent watching the American football on Channel 4. Luckily, Jack McCafferty wasn't interested in anything other than the house where he intended to sell a state-of-the-art Colonial Conservatory. I'd been right! The pattern was working out, just as I'd anticipated.
What I hadn't expected was Jack's passenger. Unfolding himself from the passenger seat came a sight to quicken Shelley's pulse. Ted Barlow stretched himself to his full height, then held a quick conference with his ace salesman. Tonight, Jack McCafferty's designer suit looked almost black under the street lights, his flamboyant silk tie like a flag of success. His brown curls had the glossy sheen of a well-groomed setter. Beside him, Ted looked more like the assistant than the boss. He wore the only suit I'd ever seen him in, and the tight knot of his striped tie was askew. Shelley would never have let one of her kids out of the door looking like that. I didn't need to be Gipsy Rose Lee to predict big changes for Ted Barlow in the months to come.
The two men marched up the path. As Jack's hand reached out for the bell, I experienced the strange sensation of hearing it ring in my ears. The television was abruptly turned off, just as I was getting interested in the latest episode in the steamy series of instant coffee adverts. Unfortunately, because there was a wall between the bug and the door, all I could hear of the doorstep exchange was the murmur of voices, but it became clear as the three of them entered the living room.
'What a delightful room!' I heard Jack exclaim.
'Isn't it?' Ted echoed, with as much conviction as a famous actress endorsing the rejuvenating powers of a brand of soap.
'We like it,' the woman's voice said.
'Well, Mrs. Wright, if I might introduce ourselves to you, my name is Jack McCafferty and I'm the chief sales executive of Colonial Conservatories, which is why your telephone inquiry about our range was passed on to me. And you are very privileged tonight to have with you my colleague Ted Barlow, who is the managing director of our company Ted likes to take a personal interest in selected customers, so he can keep his finger on the pulse of what you, the public, actually want from a conservatory, so that Colonial Conservatories can maintain its position as a market leader in the field.' It flowed virtually without a pause. In spite of myself, I was impressed. I could picture Ted standing there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, failing dismally in his attempt to look like a Colossus of Commerce.
'I see,' said Mary Wright. 'Won't you sit down, gentlemen?'
As soon as his backside hit the chair, Jack was off and running, his pitch fluent and flawless as he sucked Mary Wright into the purchase of a conservatory she didn't need at a price she couldn't afford for a house that wasn't hers. Every now and again, he sought a response from her, and she chimed in as obediently as the triangle player in the orchestra counting the bars till the next tinkling note. They established that her husband was working abroad, what kind of conservatory she favoured, her monthly incomings and outgoings. Jack conducted the whole exposition as if it were a symphony.
Eventually, Ted was dispatched out the back with a tape measure and notebook. That was when it really got interesting. 'Slight problem,' Jack said in a low voice. 'Ted's having aggravation with the bank.'
'You mean, because of us?' Mary Wright asked.
'Probably Anyway, bottom line is, I can't get a finance deal through the usual channels. We're going to have to arrange the finance ourselves, but that shouldn't be too hard. I've got the names of a couple of brokerages where they don't ask too many questions. The only thing we'll lose out on is the finance company kick back to me, but we'll just have to live with that. I'm only warning you, because the close will be a bit different. OK?' he said, as laid back as if he was asking for a second cup of tea.
'Sure, I'll busk it. But listen, Jack, if the bank's being difficult, maybe we should pack it in before it starts getting dangerous,' the woman said.
'Look, Liz, there's no way they could trace it back to us. We've covered our tracks perfectly. I agree, we should quit while we're ahead. But we've already got the next two up and running. Let's see them through, then we'll take a break, OK? Go off to the sun and spend some of the loot?' Jack said reassuringly. If I'd have been her, I'd probably have fallen for it too. He had the real salesman's voice, all honey and reassurance. If he'd become a surgeon, he'd have had sacks of mail every Christmas from adoring patients.
'OK. Are you com
ing back here tonight?' she asked.
'How could I stay away?' he parried.
Then we'll talk about it later.' Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by the return of Ted.
'If you'll just give me a minute with the old pocket calculator, I'll give you a price on the unit you'd decided on,” Ted said. The presumptive close.
The price Ted quoted made my eyes cross. Of course, Liz/Mary didn't turn a hair. 'I see.” she said.
'Normally, we could offer you our own financial package, sponsored by one of the major clearing banks.” Jack said. 'Unfortunately, we at Colonial Conservatories are the victims of our own success, and we have surpassed our target figures for this quarter. As a result, the finance company aren't in a position to supply any more cash to our customers, because of course they have limits themselves and, unlike us, they have people looking over their shoulders to make sure they don't exceed those limits. But what I would suggest is that you consult a mortgage broker and arrange to remortgage for an amount that will cover the installation of your conservatory,” he added persuasively. 'It's the most effective way of utilizing the equity you have tied up in your home.'
'What about a second mortgage? Wouldn't that do just as well?' Liz/Mary asked.
Ted cleared his throat. 'I think you'll find, Mrs. Wright, that most lenders prefer a remortgage, especially bearing in mind that our house prices up here in the North West have started dropping a tad. You see, if there were to be any problems in the future and the house had to be sold, sometimes it happens that there isn't enough money left in the pot for the lender of the second mortgage after the first lender has been paid off, if you see what I mean. And then the holder of the second charge doesn't have any way of getting his money back, if you follow me. And lenders are very keen on knowing they could get their cash back if push comes to shove, so they mostly prefer you to get a remortgage that pays off the first mortgage and leaves you with a few bob left over.' I couldn't see Ted getting a job presenting The Money Programme, but he'd put it clearly enough. What a pity he'd wasted it on a pair of crooks who'd forgotten more than he ever knew about property loans and how to exploit them.
'So what happens now?' the woman asked.
'Well, you have to talk to a mortgage broker and arrange this remortgage. And of course, if you need any advice filling in the forms, don't hesitate to call me. I could fill these things in in my sleep. Then, as soon as you get confirmation of the remortgage, let us know and we'll have your conservatory installed within the week,' Jack said confidently.
'As quickly as that? Oh, that's wonderful! It'll be in when my husband comes home for Christmas,' she exclaimed. Shame, really. She could have been earning an honest living treading the boards.
'No problem,' Jack said.
Ten minutes later, Jack and Ted were walking back to the car, slapping each other on the back. Poor sod, I thought. I wasn't relishing the revelation that the person responsible for the wrecking of his business was his good buddy Jack. The whole thing had taken just over an hour. I reckoned that in a dozen of those hours spread over the last year, Liz and Jack must have cleared the best part of half a million quid. It was gobsmacking. The most gobsmacking thing about it was how simple it all was. I still had a few loose ends to tie up, but I had a pretty clear picture now of how they had scammed their way to a fortune.
Since Jack had promised he'd be back later, I decided to stay put. It was a freezing cold night, frost forming on the roofs of the parked cars, and my feet were like ice. I knew I couldn't endure a couple more hours of that, so I nipped back to the van swapped my thin-soled court shoes for a pair of thick sports socks and my Reeboks. The feeling returned to my feet almost as soon as I tied my laces. Wonderful invention, trainers. The only problem comes when you go striding into an important business meeting, done up to the nines in your best suit, then you look down and realize that instead of your chic Italian shoes, you're still wearing the Reeboks you drove there in. I know, I was that soldier.
Left to her own devices, Liz was clearly lost without the box. We caught the tail-end of the nine o'clock news, the weather (the usual tidings of comfort and joy; freezing fog in the Midlands, ground frost in the north, rain tomorrow), then a dire American mini-series started. I wished I could change channels. Instead, I turned the receiver volume down low enough to tune out anything other than phone calls or conversations and opened up the laptop.
I'd tried all the obvious ones. Martin, Martina, Cheetham, Tamarind, Lomax, Nell, Harris, scam, land, deeds, titles, secret, locked, private, drag, Dietrich, Bassey, Garland, Marilyn, password. No joy. I was running out of inspiration when my phone rang. 'Hello?' I said.
'Kate? Alexis.' As if she needed to tell me. 'Listen, I had a brainwave.'
My heart sank. 'What?' I asked.
“I remembered that the Sunday Star's got a reporter called Gerry Carter who lives in Buxton. Now, I've never actually met the guy, on account of the Sundays don't usually hang out with the pack, but I dug his number out of a mate of his and gave him a call, hack to hack.'
I was interested now I realized her brainwave didn't involve me in anything illegal or life-threatening. 'And did he have anything useful to say?'
'He knows Brian Lomax. In fact, he lives about five houses down from Lomax.' Alexis paused to let that sink in.
'And?' I asked.
'I think I know who the mystery woman is.'
'Alexis, you already have one hundred per cent of my attention. Stop tantalizing me as if I was a bloody-minded news editor. Cough it!' I demanded, frustrated.
'Right. You remember we saw two names on the electoral roll? And we assumed the other one was his wife? Well, it's not. According to Gerry, Lomax's wife left him a couple of years ago. In his words, "Once she'd installed flounced Austrian blinds at every window and redecorated the place from top to bottom, there was nothing else for her to do. So she shagged Lomax's brickie and ran off to some Greek island with him."
Unquote.' Alexis chuckled. 'Where presumably she is complaining about the shortage of windows to clothe in frilly chintz, always assuming Laura Ashley's opened a branch on Lesbos. Anyway, once the pair of them had done their disappearing act, Lomax's sister moved in with him, on account of if s a bloody big house for one bloke on his own, and she'd just sold her own house to raise the capital to start her own business.' I could hear the sound of Alexis dragging smoke into her long-suffering respiratory tract.
'Carry on, I'm fascinated,' I said.
'D’you remember the second name on the electoral roll?'
'Not off the top of my head,' I confessed. Embarrassing, isn't it? The short-term memory's going already, and me only twenty-seven.
'Eleanor. And what's Nell short for?'
'Lomax's sister,' I breathed. 'Of course. Which would explain how they met in the first place. It would even explain why Martin Cheetham needed more money. She's an expensive looking woman; I can't see her settling for suburbia with a fortnight on the Costa Brava once a year. This business of hers -did your mate say what it was?'
'He did. She owns one of those small, select boutiques where the assistants sneer at you if you're more than a size eight and you've got less than five hundred pounds to spend. It's in the main shopping arcade, apparently. Called Enchantments, would you believe?'
'I would. Great work, Alexis. If they ever get round to firing you, I'm sure Mortensen and Brannigan could put the odd day's work your way,” I said.
'So what now?' she demanded.
I sighed. 'Can you leave it with me? I know that doesn't sound very helpful, but something I've been working on for a week now is about to come on top. With a bit of luck, I'll have it all wrapped up by tomorrow afternoon, and I promise that as soon as I'm clear I'll follow this up. How's that?'
'I suppose it'll have to do,' Alexis said. 'It's OK, Kate, I knew you were tight for time when I asked you to take this on. I can't start complaining now. You get to it when you can, and I'll try to be patient.'
That I
really wanted to see. We chatted for a few minutes about the stories Alexis was currently working on, then she signed off for the night. I turned my attention back to the computer. At least Alexis had given me a couple of fresh ideas. I typed in ELEANOR, and the screen filled magically with a list of file names. Some days you eat the bear.
I'd only just started working through the files when the Cavalier returned. Jack drove straight into the garage, and closed the door behind him. I turned up the volume control, and a couple of minutes later he and Liz were doing the kind of kissing, fondling and greeting that brings a blush to the cheeks of even the most hard-nosed private eye. Unless, of course, you're the kind who gets off on aural sex.
However, it soon became clear that Jack and Liz had different things on their minds. While he seemed intent on making the earth move, she was more concerned about where the next fifty grand was coming from. 'Jack, cut it out, wait a minute, I want to talk to you,' she said. And all the rest. Eventually, it sounded like she broke free from the clinch, judging by the fact that her voice was noticeably fainter than his. 'Listen, we need to talk about this finance problem. What's gone wrong?'