Banker's Draft Page 10

  Cornwallis stared at his reflection as the hair parted company with his head; down below, he could hear the muttering of the meerkat as the rain of hair fell onto its cap. A tiny corkscrew of smoke rose up from its roll-up as he swept the cuttings away.

  ‘That’s better.’ Sophie seemed pleased with the result as she flicked the comb and moulded it into some form of shape. ‘Just the air-drier now.’ She looked down and gave the meerkat a tap with her shoe. ‘Jeremy, time for the drier, please.’

  The meerkat pulled a face and flung the little broom down. ‘Bloody humans,’ it exclaimed. ‘As if I ain’t got enough to do.’ It walked to a small door under the sink and yanked it open. A pipe led from the stove at the back of the shop to a seat with two pedals, another pipe led out from this and he gave this end to Sophie before climbing up on to the seat; he then began to pedal away furiously.

  ‘Won’t be long now, Mr Cornwallis,’ said Sophie, as she teased his hair with a brush, the end of the nozzle pumping out hot air in an ever increasing amount as the meerkat gathered pace.

  Cornwallis groaned inwardly as the brush did its work; she twisted it into curls down his neck and coaxed waves into the top, but embarrassment prevented him from saying anything, just wanting to get the whole thing over.

  ‘Oh, much better now, don’t you think?’ she said at the last flourish of the brush.

  Cornwallis nodded and gave her a brief smile. ‘Thank you, Sophie, very nice.’

  She smiled in gratification. ‘Now then, Mr Cornwallis, something for the weekend, perhaps? We have large, extra-large, and who’s a lucky boy.’ She looked down into his lap and grinned flirtatiously. ‘I should think you’re the latter.’

  Cornwallis blushed. ‘Er, no thanks, just the haircut. I’ll settle up with Alphonse, if that’s okay.’ He did wonder for a few seconds why they didn’t do small and medium, but then he realised, nobody would admit to being small.

  He ripped the sheet away and hurried from the chair, his eye caught the sight of Jeremy as he slumped exhausted over the support bars of the drier, the rollie dangling forlornly from his lips; he did feel a brief moment of sympathy.

  Alphonse appeared at the inner door and stood aside as Cornwallis brushed past, he waved at Sophie to stay in the shop and then turned and followed Cornwallis through with a flourish. Once the door closed, Cornwallis slumped into an armchair and sighed. ‘Did you tell her to do this on purpose?’ he asked, with a steely glint in his eye.

  Alphonse raised an eyebrow in question and then grinned. ‘Your own bloody fault, you let her do what she wanted.’ The voice had changed, the mannerisms had changed, and Alphonse became Algernon again. ‘So what did you expect?’

  ‘I expected a haircut, not…’ he struggled to find the words as his hand wafted around his head, ‘… not this. Hang on, that rain butt still outside?’

  Alphonse/Algernon nodded.

  ‘Right then.’ Cornwallis leapt up and wrenched open the back door that led to the little yard. He took a second to look around and then marched the couple of steps over to the butt. He flung off the lid, and thankful to see it full, grabbed hold off the sides and plunged his head deep into the water. It was cold, but he didn’t care; when he surfaced, the curls had gone. He shook his head to rid himself of the water and felt much better again. He turned and marched straight back in with his normal confidence restored. ‘I need you to ask around, Al. There’s been a murder.’

  Algernon poured a coffee for them both and handed one to Cornwallis before sitting down. ‘In this town? There’s a surprise,’ he said ironically.

  Cornwallis had come across Algernon a year ago whilst following a suspicious husband’s wife. The husband suspected her of having an affair and he employed Cornwallis to find out who with. It came as a bit of a shock to find out that she liked to spread her favours around, being fruity with not just one, but five; she had been one very busy lady. Algernon happened to be one of them, but he didn’t know he was a confirmed heterosexual conman posing as a hairdresser. She had wanted to see if she could “convert” him, and it didn’t take long before she thought she had. Pleased with her success she began to give him money and then set him up in this very place to keep his head above water, which had been Algernon’s plan all along; he planned to sell it without her knowledge and then disappear with all the money. Enquiries soon exposed the truth, and Cornwallis took advantage of the situation by threatening to reveal all to the husbands of the other two women who were at that time enjoying his company. Cornwallis expanded his little group of informants by one, and seeing an opportunity, bought the hairdressing business from the woman and kept Algernon on to feed him all the gossip divulged by the customers. He couldn’t believe the information that came out from the bored women who came for a simple cut; who was having an affair with who, what their husbands were up to, legal and illegal, all manner of secrets were whispered into Alphonse’s ears. There was also the fifty per cent income from the shop, which came in very handy.

  ‘Up Greenwalsh Avenue, the accountants. Roland Goup. His cleaner got killed and I need to know all the whispers, all the rumours. Dig around a bit, pull in a few favours.’

  ‘I will, but you need to do me a favour too. I can’t carry on with this any longer, you have to give me a break,’ pleaded Algernon. ‘I mean, it was all right at the start, but I can’t keep this pretence up. It’s getting to the point where I’m Alphonse even when I’m at bloody home.’

  Cornwallis had little sympathy. ‘You started this lark, and let’s face it, you’re doing all right in money terms, and you’re still popular with the ladies. The girls do all the work, so all you have to do is stride around the place.’

  ‘Yeah, but even my mates are beginning to think I’m really like Alphonse.’

  Cornwallis held his hands up. ‘Okay, Okay. I’ll think about it. Once you’ve found out what you can about this murder, that is.’

  Algernon sighed in relief. ‘Thank you, Mr Cornwallis. I’ll do what I can. But just get me out of here — please.’

  Cornwallis left by the back door, not wanting Sophie to see how he’d destroyed all her hard work. The dunking had turned his hair into just a shorter version of the hair he had before going in, and he felt it wouldn’t elicit too many snide comments from Frankie later on. He decided it was time to head back to the office. Frankie and Rose should be back by now and they could then decide what to do next. He remembered that Frankie had a date tonight with the fish girl, so if he played it right then he could spend a nice few hours relaxing with Rose. Life wasn’t so bad after all.

  He bounded up the stairs to the office, anticipating a successful conclusion to the evening he had planned. On the way back from Alpnonse’s he had called in at a nice little restaurant and had booked a table, subdued lighting, a quiet corner, flowers on the table sort of place. It would make amends for the embarrassment of last night, show him to be a man of refinement, show her that he knew how a girl should be treated. Afterwards perhaps a slow stroll back through the theatre district where he knew there would be some street entertainment, and then back for “coffee”.

  He flung open the door expecting two faces to be looking back at him; instead, a dozen gilt framed paintings confronted him, all lining the wall, all depicting in gruesome detail the demise of Miss Knutt. Cornwallis stood dumbstruck at the size of the things, each painting a six by three foot representation in exquisite detail. They were enormous. So too was the bill stuck to the corner of the one showing a close up of the knives in the back of the neck. Cornwallis then remembered that MacGillicudy had sent Dewdrop to get the artist; and he had only gone to the foremost painter in Gornstock, Mikel An’ Jello — and he’d put sodding cherubs on every one.

  Cornwallis closed his eyes and shook his head. Perhaps when he opened them again they would be gone and a proper set of police paintings would be in their place. But no, when he opened them again they were still there, in all their magnificent glory. Mikel An’ Jello. Just a miniature would cost a sma
ll fortune, let alone a dozen full scale, full size, masterpieces. The size of the bill made his legs turn to jelly and he had to sit down. One thing for certain, MacGillicudy and the feelers were going to pay.

  He leant back in his chair still staring with shock at the paintings when he noticed a note on his desk in Frankie’s spider-like scrawl, telling him that they had found the murderer, but now he too had been murdered. Freddie the Weasel had a reputation in the underworld, but only as a thief and a chancer; details were sparse, so Cornwallis knew he would get the whole story later. The bag in the corner contained the evidence, and the note ended with the information that he and Rose were off to check the coach-hire companies and should be back before late afternoon. Cornwallis checked his watch; it told him it was now five thirty so he settled himself down to wait. Anytime now, Rose and Frankie would walk through the door, and then shortly after he could wave Frankie off to his evening of fishing. That would just leave him and Rose. It would be bliss, if it wasn’t for the paintings.

  CHAPTER 5

  Frankie held the door open for Rose as they left Brownlow and Son, the second carriage-hire firm they’d visited so far; the first had been as this one, just two carriages and neither had been out; besides, they had the wrong colour of livery; silver, and they were looking for yellow.

  ‘Where now?’ asked Rose, falling into step alongside Frankie.

  ‘Loxley and Jennings. They’re just around the corner. Might have more luck there as it’s bigger and they have yellow writing. The fourth has yellow too, so one of them should come up trumps.’

  ‘Then why bother with the first two?’

  ‘Because Cornwallis would go mad if we hadn’t checked, it was easier to get them out of the way first.’

  Rose nodded, but she wasn’t happy. ‘Didn’t you find him a bit jumpy?’

  ‘Who? Brownlow?’

  ‘Yes, his eyes kept moving and he swallowed a lot. Didn’t you notice?’

  ‘Well, now you come to mention it, maybe he did look a bit edgy. I noticed something else too; he didn’t seem to see you. I mean he looked at you, but he didn’t seem aware of you; to him, you were just another person, and not a…a…a girl.’ Rose had had an effect on nearly every man they’d come across during the day, and even some of the women; giving rise to some seriously involved imaginings from Frankie, needing a cold shower to dispel. ‘Perhaps we had better not write this one off just yet, then.’

  They crossed the yard and walked out through the gate, and if they had bothered to turn around, they might have seen a curtain twitch in the upstairs window. Instead, they headed off down the road, oblivious to the unsavoury character who had just watched them depart.

  ‘Very well done, Brownlow,’ said the man without a name, as he walked back in holding a very large and very sharp knife towards the anxious individual. ‘They didn’t suspect a thing. You make sure it stays that way. The people I work for would look very badly on someone who opens their mouth when they didn’t want them to.’

  Brownlow looked at the man, and then at the knife, and then back to the man again. He swallowed nervously. ‘I have no intention of doing that whatsoever. I just want it all finished.’

  ‘Ah, might be a problem there. You see, you owe too much money, and until it’s all paid back, with a little interest of course, then I’m afraid you will do everything we ask. It’s a lesson for you, Mr Brownlow; never overreach yourself. My employers love to take on bad debts because they find people can be so accommodating, given the right incentive.’

  Brownlow buried his face in his hands. He’d taken a loan out from the bank to keep the business he’d inherited from his father afloat, but a lull in the carriage-hire market meant that he couldn’t keep up with the payments. The bank sold off his debt to the highest bidder, a finance house which had recently acquired an awful lot of money; and now he knew why.

  The man sat down and reached forward to spin the picture on the desk around. He tapped the end of the knife against the frame and smiled at Brownlow who looked back, horrified. ‘Nice twin girls you have there, Brownlow, the missus don’t look too bad neither. Good market out there, you know. The girls would get a pretty penny and I should think your wife might get a bob or two as well. Saw them the other day, lovely family you got there. You must be very proud of them.’

  Brownlow’s face paled, he hadn’t been expecting this turn of events. ‘You leave my family out of it; it’s got nothing to do with them.’

  ‘Oh, but it has, Brownlow. Be very assured, it has. One little lapse on your side and you’ll find out it will have a lot to do with them.’

  *

  ‘Well, that was a lot of good, a big fat zero.’ Rose sighed with frustration as they left the last of the hire companies. ‘But I still think Brownlow was nervous, shall we go back and have another word?’

  ‘Naw, I reckon we can wait until tomorrow, besides, Jack will probably be waiting, and don’t forget I’ve got to see my mum or there will be hell to pay.’

  Rose laughed, ‘Well, you’re the boss, Frankie.’

  They walked along the street with the late afternoon sun beating down, heating up the horse shit and all the other effluence that either lay in the street or ran through the open sewers. The city dwellers got used to the smell; and some people actually deemed it unhealthy to breathe fresh clean air, Workers had begun to make their way home and a steady trickle of people headed towards the suburbs; Frankie and Rose went against the flow and headed in towards the hub.

  ‘Fancy a doughnut and a coffee?’ enquired Frankie. ‘Just a quick one mind, it’s been a busy day and I reckon we deserve it.’

  ‘Why not,’ responded Rose. ‘I take it you’re paying?’

  ‘You’re a quick learner. Yes, I’ll pay.’ He grinned; he hadn’t had such a fun day for a long time.

  The coffee shop had a few seats outside in a little cordoned off area; there were a couple of large plants in pots and an awning that gave a little shade. Frankie and Rose sat down and gave their order, keeping their thoughts to themselves for a few moments. After a few minutes, their refreshment arrived; neither of them realised just how hungry they were and the doughnuts disappeared rapidly.

  Rose licked the sugar off her lips, which to Frankie made it a wholly different experience, and sat back contented. ‘Just think. Last night I was pulling pints and today I’ve been hunting murderers. What’s tomorrow going to bring?’

  Frankie’s thoughts were somewhere else at that moment. Most of the day he had managed to keep his mind on the job, with only a couple of slips here and there; but watching Rose eat a doughnut. ‘Hmmm? What did you say?’ he replied, coming back to the real world.

  ‘I said, last night I was pulling pints and now I’ve been hunting murderers. I just wondered what’ll happen tomorrow,’ she replied, unaware of where Frankie’s thoughts had been.

  ‘Much the same I expect, unless Jack has already solved it.’ He fidgeted in his seat and then took a slurp of coffee. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t have,’ he added, seeing her look of concern. ‘Hopefully, he’s picked up a couple of clues as well, so what we’ll have to do is put them all together and see where it takes us.’

  ‘And we do that tomorrow?’

  ‘We do, unless you and Jack decide to do it tonight. I can’t as I’m out with a lady.’ He sat back and the smirk on his face indicated his expectation of the outcome.

  ‘Frankie, I thought you were a gentleman.’

  ‘That’s just an illusion; I’m the same as the next man.’ The smirk continued. ‘Anyway, Sadie knows what’s what. She ain’t exactly loose, but she cuts enough slack to those that know her, if you gets my drift.’

  ‘And Jack? Who does he know?’

  ‘Ah. And why would you want to know that, little lady?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  ‘Yeah, right. It wouldn’t have anything to do with all those noughts we saw earlier, then?’ he asked, leaning back triumphantly.

  ‘As it happens, no,’ she said i
n all seriousness. ‘I just happen to want to know a little more about my employer. I know he’s rich, and last night I found out he can be a twonk like all men, but there are degrees of twonkiness, and I want to know where on the scale he is.’ She rested her arms on the table and dabbed her finger around the plate picking up all the leftover sugar. She then licked it off slowly and luxuriously with her tongue. Frankie thought that his luck was just about to change for the better when he realised that she wasn’t looking at him at all, but just over his shoulder.

  A noise like “Neaughhh Neaughhh” came from behind, closely followed by a loud crash and a cry of anguish. Frankie spun around, startled. The middle aged man behind had dropped the hot cup of steaming chocolate he had hold of, with the super-heated liquid taking the path of least resistance and pouring into his lap; unfortunately, allowing him the certain knowledge of what boil-in-the-bag really means. In panic he grabbed hold of the napkin and stood up, trying to dab himself down, and in the process knocked over the table. A waitress appeared and righted the table, but as she began to help with the clean-up, he shooed her off in embarrassment. The good citizens of Gornstock showed their sympathy with a loud cheer and a round of applause. He quickly paid up and hurriedly left the cafe, keeping his eyes firmly rooted to the ground whilst walking like a demented chicken; the brown stain on the front of his trousers was going to take quite some shifting, and the red raw knadgers some explaining.

  ‘Did you do that?’ asked Frankie in amazement, as the noise died down.

  Rose smiled and winked. ‘A bit of unwelcome attention, considering I’m with someone; I thought it quite rude.’ She reached forward and tapped his arm. ‘You were telling me about Jack, where on the scale he is.’

  Frankie smiled and shook his head. ‘Rose, you are interested, aren’t you? Well, I won’t have a bad word said against him. Yes, he’s rich, and he owns a few businesses around the city, but he don’t like bullies and cheats. He’s normal, Rose, so I suppose on your scale, he’s about half way.’ He wondered whether to tell her how interested Jack was in her, but he had the feeling she already knew, and besides, a love-struck Cornwallis was always entertaining.