Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (35 page)

Hobbes
turned to the girl. ‘Really, miss, wouldn’t it be much easier if you just
showed us into Mr King’s office?’

She
gulped, nodded and scuttled out like a nervous rabbit, while Hobbes busied
himself with picking up the shattered glass and placing it in a bin.

‘Did
you have to do that?’ I asked, feeling a certain sympathy for the security men,
who’d only been trying to carry out their duties.

‘Do
what?’

‘Umm
… whatever you just did.’

‘I
didn’t do anything, did I?’

‘No
… I know but … umm … couldn’t you have not done it differently?’

‘If
I hadn’t wanted to not do it in my own way.’

The
conversation becoming tangled, I shook my head, giving up, sitting on the edge
of the table, listening to the tall guard’s incoherent cursing as a trickle of
blood meandered down the side of his face into the shaven hair of his temple.
The other guard paced up and down, rubbing and shaking his hand, avoiding eye
contact.

Felix
appeared at the door in a cloud of aftershave, the poodle-haired girl bobbing
nervously behind him. I felt a little sorry for her, though not a lot, being
unable to waste too much sympathy on anyone who would choose such a hairstyle.

‘Andy,
what a pleasant surprise,’ said Felix, stepping forward, shaking my hand like a
friend. Though his mouth smiled, there was no smile in his eyes, especially
when they lighted on his two stricken guards. ‘And this must be Inspector
Hobbes.’

Hobbes
nodded.

Felix,
stepping forward, shook his hand without flinching. ‘I’m delighted Andy has
brought you to see me and I’m dreadfully sorry about the mix up. Had I known
you were here I would, of course, have invited you straight in. It’s not often
I receive such a distinguished guest, but it’s my secretary Linda’s first day
and she wasn’t to know. She knows now of course and I trust she will prove more
reliable than Carol, who let me down rather badly.’ He glanced at me.

Though
I felt incredibly guilty about Carol, I hoped she’d soon find a better
employer.

‘But
enough of my business,’ said Felix, ‘let’s go to my office.’ He glanced towards
his men. ‘Get this place sorted out. I’ll speak to you later.’

He
took us from the side room, along a glass-walled corridor, past a rubber plant,
a water dispenser and a number of cringe-worthy inspirational pictures, to his
office. Full of daylight and gleaming metal, it dwarfed the reception and might
have been considered a pleasant, airy room had his aftershave, or cologne, or
whatever it was, not been so overpowering. Inviting us to sit on a soft, white
leather sofa, he pulled up a matching chair for himself as we made ourselves
comfortable.

Touching
his fingertips together, Felix leaned back. ‘It’s very good of you to come. I
appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedules to visit.’

I
assumed he was having a dig at me.

‘It’s
no trouble at all,’ said Hobbes. ‘I’m always glad to make the acquaintance of a
fellow wine buff, and Andy reckons you are something of an expert.’

‘Well,
hardly an expert,’ said Felix with a modest smile, ‘merely an enthusiastic
amateur.’

‘If
you say so,’ said Hobbes. ‘I thought you’d appreciate these. The ’63 is
reckoned to be an especially fine vintage. Andy, have you got the bottles?’

I
placed them on the table in front of Felix.

Picking
them up, he studied the labels. ‘I expect he told you how much I’d like to get
hold of a few crates of this. The thing is, I’m planning a celebration for when
my current project is completed. In addition, I thought I’d like to market it.
There would be, I’m sure, a great demand for a wine of such quality. We would,
of course, split the profits equitably and, if it’s all as fine as the bottle
we enjoyed at the picnic, I think we would be in for a tidy sum. We’d have to
make the label snazzier, of course, but, with a little advertising in select
magazines we’d be onto a winner.’

Hobbes,
shaking his head, looked sorrowful. ‘Sorry but the wine is a gift from a friend
and is not for sale.’

‘But
think of the money.’

‘My
friend has more than sufficient for his needs. He produces just enough wine to
meet his own requirements and has no desire to expand his hobby.’

Felix
sighed. ‘A shame, but no matter, I respect his restraint. There are far too
many people in my line of work who are only interested in accumulating money,
even when they already possess far more than they could run through in a
lifetime.’

‘So,
what is your motivation?’ asked Hobbes.

‘I
can’t deny that property development is a lucrative business, and I’ve made
many killings over the years. Though I am a wealthy man, money is merely a
means to an end.’

‘And
what is the end?’

‘A
better world, Inspector. I intend to play a role in the eradication of certain
evils, evils that have plagued mankind since the dawn of time. That’s my
motivation.’

‘What
sort of evils?’

Felix’s
eyes gleamed. ‘I intend to use my money to eliminate genetic mishaps.’

‘That’s
a massive task.’

Felix
nodded. ‘I know. It’s too much for one individual. I can’t possibly rid the
world of all its evils, but I might be able to make an impression on one or two
of them. And, of course, it’s not just me. A corporation such as this can
achieve so much more, though it won’t happen overnight. I’ll have to see what I
can do over the weekend.’ He laughed, the gleam fading from his eyes.

‘Philanthropy
is a marvellous way to use your money,’ said Hobbes, with great approval. ‘I
wonder …’ he paused, ‘… if it’s not a bit cheeky, whether you might be able to
do me a favour this weekend?’

‘A
favour?’

‘Yes.
You may be aware that there’s to be a music festival? Well, a charity I’m
involved with looks after underprivileged nippers, and I was wondering whether
you might spare a car and driver to deliver them in the mornings and take them
home afterwards. Andy mentioned that you have a driver … Mike was it?’

It
was the first I’d heard of any charity.

Felix
shook his head. ‘Alas, I can’t help. Any other weekend, maybe, but I’m going to
be busy.’

‘You
don’t need to be involved at all,’ Hobbes pointed out, ‘other than by lending
us a car and Mike – assuming he’s willing, that is.’

‘I’m
afraid Mike Rook is no longer in my employment. I gather he inherited a
plantation in Borneo, or some such place. He’d worked his notice, and was
planning to fly out there last Saturday. I imagine he’s there by now. It means,
alas, that I am currently without a driver, which is inconvenient.’

‘Not
to worry,’ said Hobbes. ‘I can make other arrangements.’ He glanced at a clock
on the wall by Felix’s desk. ‘I say, is that the time? I’m afraid I have police
business to attend to. I do hope you enjoy the wine and, if you do, I can let
you have a crate for your party: as a gift of course.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Nice
to meet you Mr King, but time and criminals wait for no man. Come along, Andy.’

Felix
stood up and, to my regret, shook my hand again. ‘Delighted you could visit. I
hope we will meet again.’

‘So
long as it’s not in my professional capacity,’ said Hobbes with a pleasant
laugh. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye,
Inspector … Andy.’

As Hobbes
and I walked back to the car, a small grey cat shot past, ears flat against its
skull. It was lucky to escape the wheels of a reversing van.

‘Stupid
animal,’ I muttered.

‘No
doubt she had a reason for her behaviour,’ said Hobbes, opening the door.

‘So,’
I asked, ‘what do you make of Felix?’

Resting
his arm on the car’s roof, he thought for a moment. ‘Mr King struck me as a
good man. He’s obviously an intelligent businessman with a laudable vision of
what he wishes to achieve and it’s clear he has nothing to do with any of the
recent funny business. Of course, I never thought it likely that he had.
Sorenchester could do with more like him.’

As
we got into the car, I was annoyed how Felix had fooled him so easily. Yet,
when we were driving away he chuckled.

‘What’s
so funny?’

‘Mr
King is. I hope I didn’t overdo it, but flattery is like cream on a trifle; you
can never lay it on too thickly.’

‘What
d’you mean?’ I asked, confused.

‘Mr
King is not quite what he appears to be. I don’t suppose you noticed him hiding
in the shrubbery as we left? He got there extremely quickly and gave the cat a
fright – it’s lucky she wasn’t squashed. I thought, since he was listening, I’d
say something flattering.’

‘He
was listening? How? We weren’t talking very loud.’

‘He’s
got sharp ears.’

‘Do
you mean they’re a bit pointed?’

‘You
noticed that did you? But I mean he has acute hearing.’

‘Has
he? … Umm …. How did you know he was behind the bush?’

Hobbes’s
nose twitched. ‘His aftershave is distinctive.’

‘So,
do you … umm … think Felix is actually involved in … umm … funny business? Did
he attack Mike the driver?’

He
shrugged. ‘I don’t know, yet, but I do know that he lied when he claimed Mr
Rook was planning to leave; his name was still on the duty roster for next
month.’

‘What
duty roster?’

‘The
one on the wall by his desk.’

‘I
didn’t notice.’

‘No,
but I observe my surroundings. By the way, Miss King is now staying in London
but will be returning on Friday.’

‘How
can you possibly know that?’

‘There
was a sticky note on his desk. But enough of that. Mr King worries me.’

‘Me
too.’

‘There’s
something odd about him. Did you notice his scent?’

‘I
could hardly miss it.’

‘No,’
he said, shaking his head and slotting us into a minuscule gap between two cars,
‘I don’t mean his aftershave, I mean his own scent.’

‘Are
you saying he’s smelly? I didn’t notice but I think I know what you mean. One
of my mother’s larger friends didn’t shower too often but slapped stuff on to
cover it. The combination of perfume and stale sweat was overwhelming.’

‘I
don’t mean that at all. The opposite rather … I couldn’t pick up any scent from
him. That stuff he wears seems to block everything.’

‘Perhaps
it’s deodorant?’ I suggested, having learned not to question his sense of smell,
his nose seeming to match Dregs’s.

‘If
so, it’s a very effective one and he must use it all over, even on his hair. I
wonder what he’s hiding?’

‘Perhaps
he’s embarrassed by body odours. Some people are.’

‘Perhaps,
but that’s enough speculation. Hold tight.’ He steered onto the dual
carriageway, overtaking a convoy of lorries by driving along the verge.

I
held my seat as tightly as I could, teeth rattling, until, having passed them all,
we veered onto the road. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To
have a word with Skeleton Bob, to tell him to be much more careful where he
sets his snares. He might have hurt someone last night.’

‘Some
werewolf, you mean?’

‘Werewolves
are someone, too. Here we go.’

As
he spun the wheel to the right, the car skipped through a gap in the crash
barrier, straight across the opposite carriageway, dodging a petrol tanker
bearing down on us. We made it, pursued by the discordant blaring of horns.
Hobbes had once told me that if someone had time to sound the horn, he’d
already decided there was no danger and was merely giving vent to his temper. I
almost believed him.

We
bumped off the carriageway onto the verge, up a steep slope, the engine
straining and whining, across a patch of scrub and into the lane leading to Bob’s
place. The spherical Mrs Nibblet, glowing in a bright orange shell suit, reminding
me of the space-hopper I’d had as a boy, was apparently picking nettles. She straightened
up and frowned as we stopped.

‘Oh,
it’s you again is it? What d’you want this time? Can’t you go and arrest some
real criminals instead of hassling us poor folk as is only trying to make a
living?’

Hobbes,
climbing from the car, bowed. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Nibblet. I’m not here to
cause any unpleasantness; I just need a word with your husband.’

‘Well,
you can’t. He’s out. Goodbye.’

‘Out
you say? Then, that must be his identical twin peeking from the shed.’

‘Oh,
you bloody fool,’ said Mrs Nibblet, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. ‘You
might as well come out now, why don’t you?’

Skeleton
Bob, emerging from the lopsided wooden shed by the house, scratched his head,
smiling, displaying a set of coloured and disfigured teeth that even Mrs
Goodfellow couldn’t love. I wondered whether he’d ever visited a dentist.

‘Hello,
Bob,’ said Hobbes.

Bob
nodded, his eyes as wary as those of a hunted animal. ‘What d’you want?’

‘Just
a pleasant little chat.’

Hobbes’s
smile didn’t seem to reassure him.

Mrs
Nibblet scowled. ‘He’s hardly left the house this last week. Don’t you go
nicking him for no good reason.’

Hobbes’s
eyebrows expressed shock. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, madam. I’m not going to nick
him, I’m here to offer a little friendly advice.’

Bob,
his trousers heaving and writhing, as if containing a ferret, looked both
suspicious and hopeful. Yelping, twitching, doubling up as if in pain, he
reached into his pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, pulling out a wriggling ferret
by the scruff of the neck, walking towards the cage and dropping it inside. He
turned back to face Hobbes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘All
I want to do is to warn you …’

Mrs
Nibblet sniffed. ‘Threaten, more like.’

Hobbes
beamed. ‘I want to warn … no … encourage Bob, to take more care where he sets
his snares.’

‘They’re
nothing to do with me,’ said Bob, trying to look innocent.

‘Well
you know best,’ said Hobbes, raising his hands in mollification. ‘I’ll just say
that one of those snares of yours might have caused a serious injury to a rare
animal last night.’

‘How
do you know it was one of mine?’

‘Oh,
you fool!’ Mrs Nibblet groaned. ‘Just admit everything, why don’t you?’

Hobbes
tapped the side of his nose. ‘I know many things. What do you set them for?
Pheasants?’

Bob,
with a glance at his wife, shook his head. ‘No, I only set them for rabbits.
When I want pheasants, I dazzle ’em with my lamp and catch ’em in my net.’

Mrs
Nibblet slapped her forehead. ‘Bob!’

‘Oh,
lawks,’ said Bob. ‘Now you’ve gone and snared me with all your clever words.’

Mrs
Nibblet looked on the verge of tearing her hair out or punching her husband.

Hobbes,
noticing my incredulous look, rolled his eyes. Skeleton Bob would never make it
into Mensa. His name was on a long and varied criminal record, though he’d
never been jailed, partly on account of the pettiness of his misdeeds, but
mostly because the fines he paid far exceeded any harm he did. Though Hobbes
tolerated his activities with just the occasional chat if he ever pushed his
luck, more ambitious police officers, interested in meeting targets, took a
less liberal view, with the result that Bob appeared in court every couple of
months. It wasn’t difficult to catch him or to get a confession.

‘It
doesn’t matter, madam,’ said Hobbes smiling. ‘I know he’s a poacher. You know
he’s a poacher. Even Andy knows he’s a poacher. We also know he’s not good at
holding onto gainful employment and that money and food would be in short
supply without his evening job. I also happen to know that he sells game to the
milkman, who cheats him, and to the curate, who doesn’t. Bob’s not greedy,
though, and doesn’t take more than he needs.’

‘That’s
true enough,’ said Mrs Nibblet. ‘He’s soft in the head and I must be, too, for
marrying him.’ She smiled at her skinny spouse, who was hitching up his
trousers again.

‘No
matter,’ Hobbes continued. ‘We were having a stroll through Loop Woods last
night.’

‘Did
you see them?’ asked Bob, looking as excited as his ferret, which was running
bounding circuits of its cage.

‘See
what?’

‘The
big black cats. They were out.’

‘Yes,
we saw them.’

‘I
reckon,’ said Bob, ‘they may be dangerous, but they weren’t the only things
out. There was something else.’

‘Bob!’
cautioned Mrs Nibblet, shaking her head.

‘I
know there was,’ said Hobbes, ‘because it was that something else that got
caught in your snare. I’m glad to say, it wasn’t much hurt.’

‘You
see, Fenella?’ Bob grinned. ‘It’s not just me. Mr Hobbes saw them as well and
he’s a policeman. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘That
would be nice,’ said Hobbes.

‘We’ve
only got nettle tea,’ said Mrs Nibblet, ‘we can’t afford the shop stuff at the
moment.’

‘You
can’t beat a cup of nettle tea,’ said Hobbes, smacking his lips.

I
wasn’t so sanguine. Nettles in my experience were horrible, nasty, vicious
weeds that inflicted pain on the unwary. My worst memories came from a boiling
hot day in the school holidays when, having sneaked from the garden I was meant
to be weeding, I visited a little stream at the back of the playing fields. Since
no one was around and since I was hidden by the weeping willows fringing the
stream, I stripped to my pants for a paddle, making strenuous attempts at catching
the wildlife that wiggled and darted through the muddy waters. I’d come close
to landing some tadpoles and a stickleback when the sun’s going in forced the
goosebumps out. While trotting up and down the bank to dry off and warm up, a
brilliant idea occurred: I could become Tarzandy, King of the Jungle. Though I
had to contend with a scarcity of lions and a lack of creepers, it seemed to me
that if I grasped a handful of the weepier branches, I could swing over the
water and return safely to dry land.

It
all worked beautifully, apart from the return safely to dry land part. Though I
swung out in fine style, I’d failed to appreciate that my weight would bend the
branches down. Despite my best efforts, my feet splashed up the water while my
momentum was hurling me, at increasing pace, into the bank but not onto the
bank. Raising my legs in desperation, I slid onto solid ground, cutting a path
into the centre of a patch of stinging nettles. The more I struggled to get clear,
the more they stung my bare skin, and by the time I got out, running home,
howling and crying, I looked like a smallpox victim. I went off Tarzan after
that.

When
I came back to the present, Hobbes, seeming to know a great deal about the
subject, was advising Bob how to set humane snares in rabbit runs where they
would only be a danger to rabbits, thus sparing less-edible wildlife. They’d
perched on a pair of discarded beer kegs that served as stools in the rickety,
bramble-infested lean-to that pretended to be a porch. I joined them.

‘I’ll
strive to be more careful in future,’ said Bob.

Fenella
waddled from the cottage bearing four non-too-clean mugs of nettle tea on a
rusty tray. ‘Here you go, lads,’ she said, handing them round, lifting her
ample backside onto a keg, which, being solidly made, groaned, but did not
buckle.

My
tea was in a cracked mug celebrating the coronation of Edward VIII, which
seemed wrong somehow, though I couldn’t work out why. Half thinking it might be
a joke the others were in on and of which I was the butt, I sniffed the
steaming liquid, a strange aroma reminding me of cut grass. Yet, as the others
appeared to be drinking it, I risked a sip, finding it scalding hot, though not
at all stingy, with an earthy, robust flavour that was quite pleasant.

Hobbes,
taking a gulp, turned to Bob. ‘So tell me about the other thing you saw in the
woods?’

‘Promise
you won’t laugh?’

‘I
promise.’

‘Well,
I’m not sure, but I think I saw … something I haven’t seen before.’

‘Go
on.’

‘Look,
I’ve kind of felt something out there before, but last night was the first time
I saw it proper. I was out setting my traps, trying to get ’em done before the
rain came down, ’cause I could see we was in for a stinker.’