Strike a Match (Book 1): Serious Crimes (17 page)

“Oh, we do. Downstairs. But the ink is delivered once a week. We only receive what we need, and we always use it all.”

“It’s delivered on Fridays,” Mrs Standage said, almost automatically.

“Can’t you just recall all the twenty-pound notes?” Ruth asked. “I mean, that was all they seemed to be printing.”

“We can’t do that,” Grammick said. “People will ask questions, and we won’t be able to give them an answer that won’t result in them trading the money for goods. Without confidence, the currency will collapse, and so will this trade deal. That is critical. I can’t say any more than that.”

“I see. Well, I think that covers it,” Mitchell said. “For now. Thank you for your time, and the coffee. If you’ve more questions about the investigation I suggest you ask Captain Weaver. If we have any more, rest assured, we’ll be in touch.”

He stood and held out his hand.

“I… but…” Grammick began, the smile slipping from his lips for a fraction of a second. “Of course,” he said, standing. He shook Mitchell’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Not a word,” Mitchell said as they left the Mint. “Not yet.”

He peered at the doors for a moment, then at the buildings on the other side of the increasingly busy street. “This way.”

He led her down the road that led along the south side of the Mint. They followed the wall until they reached a wide iron gate at the back of the building. Inside was a loading bay from when it had been a supermarket. Outside, watching them with bored interest, were two armed Marines.

“Morning,” Mitchell said. “Are you usually on duty here?”

The two sentries looked at one another.

“Let me rephrase that,” Mitchell said. “Were you deployed here yesterday? You can just nod if you like.”

The Marines exchanged another look. Finally, one answered. “Yes. There’s someone on duty night and day.”

“And inside as well? I thought so. Do the staff use this door?”

“If they did, they don’t anymore,” the sentry said.

“They just use the front, the one for the bank?” Mitchell asked.

The Marine gave another nod.

“Interesting. Interesting,” Mitchell muttered. “Thank you for your time.” He continued walking, and Ruth continued biting down on the growing number of questions until they’d looped the building and were back on the main road.

“The market,” Mitchell said, and then proceeded to lead her through it to a doorway between two stalls, both selling nearly identical cuts of venison. The door led to a branch of the National Store, this one selling nothing but crockery in every colour of the rainbow, alongside a few that weren’t.

“Dmitri,” Mitchell said, addressing the stout man behind the counter. He glanced around the shop, checking it was empty. “Do you still keep that room upstairs?”

“It’s only temporary,” Dmitri said. “There’s a problem with the drains at—”

“Don’t care. We need the room. No questions.” Mitchell pulled a one-pound note from his pocket and placed it on the counter. It disappeared immediately and was replaced by a key.

“This way.” Mitchell led Ruth up a rickety staircase and along a dark corridor to a chipped door. He unlocked it, and they stepped into a surprisingly large and well-furnished room.

“Dmitri’s been living here since they got electricity in the shop,” Mitchell said, by way of explanation. He dragged an armchair close to the window and pulled back the curtain. “That’s got to be at least eight years ago, but it’s always only temporary, until some emergency repair is finished on his house. Yes, there’s a good view of the Mint from here. You can see the door, and anyone who comes out. Good. All right, cadet, tell me what you made of that little meeting.”

“Um, well, Mr Grammick didn’t seem to know very much.”

“No. Maybe he’s very good at something, but it isn’t paying attention to the fine details. What else?”

“I don’t think they know where the paper or ink went missing from.”

“It’s probably been stolen from right under their noses. I doubt Grammick’s ever heard of stock control. Anything else?”

Ruth thought. “You suspect someone there of being involved, don’t you?”

“I know it,” Mitchell said.

“It’s Mrs Standage, isn’t it?” Ruth said.

“Why do you say that?”

Partly it was because Ruth didn’t think it was Grammick, and that didn’t leave many other people for Mitchell to have become so suddenly suspicious of.

“It’s the clothes,” she said, “specifically the shoes. They’re the same odd pair she wore yesterday, and that means she didn’t go home.”

“She has a six-year-old son,” Mitchell said. “I could believe that she hasn’t had much sleep, but she has to have slept somewhere, if only for a few hours. Yet she didn’t go home. While there are plenty of innocent explanations for that, the truly villainous one is more believable. Forget the paper and ink. Those could have been stolen by one of a hundred different people, perhaps someone who took the job purely for that purpose. Think about the designs, and the image on the computer back in that house. Someone stole that. Now think about how they discovered those notes were forged. The serial numbers had yet to be issued. Someone with access to the designs should have realised that. Had they used old numbers no one would have known unless they had the original and forgery side-by-side. No, I think that the insider wanted the forgery to be discovered. I fear this crime has taken a sudden dark twist, so I will sit and watch and wait, and then I will follow. If Mrs Standage didn’t go home last night, perhaps she won’t tonight.” He took out his pad and scrawled a note. “This is Riley’s address. If she’s not there try Police House. Bring her back here, but I want you both out of uniform.”

“Sir, the commissioner said I should keep him informed.”

“Yes, but at the moment there is nothing to tell him. When we do have something, rest assured, I will send you for his Marines. But not yet.”

Chapter 8

Self-defence

“Scone?” Riley asked, offering the bag to Ruth. She shook her head and kept her eyes fixed on the door to the Mint. Almost as soon as she and Riley had arrived at the small apartment opposite the Mint, Mitchell had disappeared on an errand of his own. That had been… she glanced at her watch. Two hours ago. In that time, along with customers coming and going to the bank, some employees had left the Mint, but Standage wasn’t among them.

Ruth wondered if she’d made the right decision. Time would tell, and that was what was worrying her. Riley’s address in hand, she’d left Mitchell, but she’d not gone to the constable’s home. She’d returned to Police House and gone to speak to the commissioner. He’d been surprised to see her. She couldn’t tell how much of that was due to how quickly she’d returned and how much to that she’d returned at all. He’d asked she keep him informed, and barely two minutes after she’d stepped into his office, she was out again, finally heading towards Riley’s home.

The constable lived in a small cottage on the far side of the old priory. From what Ruth could see, she had the entirety of it to herself. Riley had taken the message in her stride. She’d made coffee – the ersatz kind – washed, dressed, and packed a bag with food almost before Ruth had changed into the set of borrowed clothes.

Ruth shifted in her seat, trying to find a position where her revolver, now holstered at her back and hidden under a calf-length coat, didn’t dig into her spine. The borrowed clothes seemed to be both too large and too small at the same time. She supposed that was a blessing, or she would have fallen asleep long before.

“It’s important to eat,” Riley said, pushing the paper bag almost under Ruth’s nose.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a scone. “They’re very nice,” she added after taking a bite. They tasted identical to every scone she’d ever had. “Did you make them yourself?”

“A gift from the baker. I don’t have time to cook. Don’t see the point. Not when there are people who spend their lives learning how to do it properly.”

Ruth nodded, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t have questions – like how a detective constable could afford a cottage that had both mains water
and
electric lights – but those didn’t matter.

Had she done the right thing in going to the commissioner? Ruth wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything except that a year of training had in no way prepared her for the job she was now doing. What she wanted was some simple, mundane task that would keep her hands busy while her brain could focus on her future.

“You all right?” Riley asked.

“I was thinking about yesterday,” Ruth said, and it was a quarter true.

“Try not to.”

“How’s your head?” Ruth asked. Riley was wearing a baggy cap, the edge of a thin bandage visible underneath.

“I’ve had worse.”

Silence returned.

“Did you find anything at the pub? The Marquis?” Ruth asked after another tedious hour had passed.

“Possibly,” Riley said. A minute went by. Just as Ruth had decided to give up on any further attempts at conversation, Riley continued. “There are between twelve and fourteen criminals who haven’t been seen in over a month. They’re the casual, do-any-job-for-the-right-price type who could be involved in anything. Or they could have gone straight. Depending on whether Lefty Johnson is a different person from Two-Fingers Johnson, one or two people were last seen heading to Kent to pick apples. To find out where the rest of them went will take a week, maybe two.”

“It’s a lead though,” Ruth said.

“Maybe. It won’t tell us where they are now, and I think anyone involved in this crime is destined for nothing more than a shallow grave. Remember what happened to Hailey Lyons?”

Ruth couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried.

“It’s definitely Standage,” Mitchell said before the door to the room had closed behind him. “Her house is dark, and no one’s been there for at least the last two nights. Possibly longer, depending on which neighbour you ask.”

“Any sign of a struggle?” Riley asked.

“No. But someone did go inside and look around. I’d say it was more a mission of curiosity than a thorough search.”

“Could it be a marital dispute?” Riley asked.

“You mean that her husband could have taken their son away, and she hasn’t reported it? I don’t think so,” Mitchell said. “Abduction is more likely. Specifically, I suspect she was blackmailed into giving them the designs, and perhaps access to the ink and paper, and then pressured into providing information about the case. Either because of Anderson’s death, or because of whatever event triggered Anderson to steal that money in the first place, extra leverage was needed. Her child was kidnapped, the husband taken to look after the boy. Of course, this means that all three are likely to be killed as soon as she’s no longer useful. That will be soon.”

“Isn’t that a leap, sir,” Ruth said. “I mean…”

“Go on, say it,” Mitchell said.

“Well, it seems like you’re trying to get the facts to fit your theory,” Ruth said. “She could have been having an affair and the husband could have had enough and gone to stay with family in Wales or somewhere. Or maybe she’s the one orchestrating the whole thing.”

“If it was the second, it’s unlikely she would have come in to work,” Mitchell said. “And it’s even more unlikely she would have used serial numbers that had yet to be issued. As to your first point, Mr Standage is a surveyor for the Electric Company, and hasn’t been seen at work. He would have told them if he was going away, or written to them after he’d left. We have someone who works at the Electric Company, and another who works at the Mint. That fills in some of the gaps that Turnbull couldn’t. And that,” he added as Ruth opened her mouth to utter another protest, “brings me to the last piece of news. Turnbull is dead.”

“How?” Riley asked.

“Suicide. Poison. A capsule he had hidden in a button on his coat. That is the story being told in Police House. I don’t buy it.”

“But he was in custody,” Ruth said.

“Exactly,” Mitchell said. “Which means that if it wasn’t suicide, they have someone on the inside.”

“In the police?” Ruth couldn’t believe it.

“Why not?” Mitchell replied. “If there can be an insider in the Mint, then why not the police?” He peered out the window. “The work day will finish soon. Standage will come out. We’ll follow her. We’ll question her, and then… I don’t know. We’ve only got a handful of pieces, and that isn’t enough to even tell what game is being played.”

At half-past four, the door to the bank was closed. The last few customers trickled out until, at a few minutes after five, the employees began leaving, mingling with workers from the other offices nearby.

“No. Not yet. That’s not her,” Mitchell muttered. The flood slowed, until, by half past, the road was almost empty. “There,” he said. “That’s her.”

But Ruth had already seen her. Standage stood by the door, looking up and down the street.

“Is she waiting for someone?” Ruth asked.

“I’m not— No, there she goes,” Mitchell said. “She’s heading south. Riley?”

The constable left.

“Now you,” Mitchell said. “And remember what I told you.”

Ruth nodded and hurried from the room. Mitchell’s instructions had been brief. Riley, who Standage had never met, would follow the woman. Ruth, who Standage probably wouldn’t recognise, would follow Riley from a distance of no closer than fifty yards. Mitchell would follow Ruth. Beyond that, the sergeant had told her to try to look as if she was heading home after a long, tedious day. That, at least, wasn’t hard.

Keeping the constable just in view, Ruth followed her through the centre of town, past market stalls and shops thrumming with after-work passing trade. At first, she thought they were heading towards the old priory, but the constable made an abrupt right turn into a compact terraced street. Another turn, another road, another dirt-trodden street. Large homes were replaced by smaller ones, and then by a row of boarding houses. The roads grew steadily worse as they left the old town of Christchurch behind and headed towards the ruined city of Bournemouth.

No one wanted to live near the glassy crater at the centre of the old city, and even four miles away, houses showed signs of blast damage. There were rough repairs to roofs, and some walls had been propped up, but no one had bothered removing the rubble from where buildings had collapsed. It was home to those people who’d never adjusted to life after The Blackout, yet who’d not given into death even twenty years on. Those lost souls kept their heads down as they tracked a path through the drifts of decaying leaves, their eyes fixed on some distant memory now forever gone.

Riley stopped. Ruth did the same until she saw the constable wave her on.

“She disappeared,” Riley said. “Keep walking.”

“Do you know where she went?” Ruth asked.

“Down one of the streets we just passed. I don’t know which,” Riley said.

They kept walking until they reached another junction and found Mitchell waiting there.

“You did a good job, cadet,” Mitchell said.

“I did?”

“Yes, you were perfectly conspicuous. If there
had
been anyone keeping an eye on Mrs Standage they would certainly have seen you. There wasn’t.”

“I was bait?” she asked.

“Don’t say it like that,” Mitchell said. “You did the job perfectly. Now, we need to find her. It’ll be a building nearby. Eyes open. You two take the west. I’ll check the east.”

A battered sign pinned to the side of an equally battered shop said that they were on Autumn Road. Something jolted in Ruth’s memory. She looked around.

“No,” Riley hissed. “Eyes down, shoulders slumped. Let your feet drag. Look up every fifth step, then down again, and use that time to think about what you saw.”

Ruth thought the almost rhythmic bobbing of her head would have been more noticeable than had she gawked at every building. The more she saw of the district, the more she decided it didn’t matter. They passed a shop she thought must have been closed since The Blackout just as a woman shuffled outside, a greasy package under her arm. Across the road was a far larger shop. The chipped paint and plastic sign proclaimed it to be ‘Sandy Weathers. Electrical Repairs’. Underneath, though not quite as faded, was another sign in almost the same shade of red. ‘And Her Sons’. There was no smoke coming from the chimney. That struck Ruth as odd since the windows were newly boarded up and the building was in better repair than the rest of the street. Then she realised.

“Keep walking,” she said.

“What? You’ve seen it?” Riley asked.

“I think so,” Ruth said, and led the constable into the first narrow alley they came to.

“Which one?” Riley asked.

“That shop with the black and red sign out front.”

“You sure?” Riley looked up and down the alley, flattened herself against the wall, and then peered around the corner for a fraction of a second. “Why?”

“The sign,” Ruth said. “Did you see the sign?”

“Sandy Weathers. Electrical Repairs,” Riley said.

“And the other sign. ‘And her sons’. Sandy
and her sons
. Andy Anderson. There’s no way that can be a coincidence.”

Riley took another look.

“Maybe. You stay here. Don’t be seen. I’ll get Mister Mitchell. No, not like that. Lean against the wall like you’ve nowhere in the world to go. Hands in your pockets. Slump your shoulders. Better. Stay out of sight.”

Ruth did, for about a minute, but she couldn’t resist peering around the corner. It looked more like a warehouse than a shop and seemed out of place. From what she could tell from a street where there was more rubble than roofs, most of the properties had been houses.

She pulled her head back from view and checked the time. It had been five minutes. Where were Mitchell and Riley? She peered round the corner again.

The door to the shop opened. She thought she heard something coming from inside. A man stepped out onto the street and closed the door behind him. Ruth wasn’t sure, but that sound might have been a child’s cry. She told herself not to jump to conclusions, yet she was certain that this was the building into which Standage must have gone.

The man was heading towards her. Ruth ducked out of view and weighed her options. Certainly there was nothing she could do about what was, or wasn’t, going on in the shop. Riley would tell Mitchell, and that left Ruth with nothing to do but get backup. If the shop was connected to the crime, then so was the man and wherever he was going to. She would follow him, and then she would go to the commissioner and get the Marines he’d promised. She moved down the alley, into deeper shadows, and waited for the man to walk past. Any second now, she thought. Any second now. It was odd, though, she couldn’t hear any footsteps.

“What’s a girl like you doin’ around ‘ere?”

Ruth jumped back. The man stood in the alley’s mouth, eight feet from her.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, hanging her head. “It’s a free country, init?”