A Minefield Full of Penguins Read online

  “Thank you Giles, no doubt you are relieved, Xavier?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you Giles.” Giles gave us both a formal nod and disappeared.

  “Well that’s good news, you will, no doubt need to talk with the police at some point. Hopefully they won’t catch up with you until after you get to Wales, but if they do, it will now be as a victim rather than as a suspect. I would appreciate it if you don’t press charges.”

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  “Good, good...”

  The conversation turned to more everyday subjects, Sir Arthur was a fascinating person to talk to, with an interesting, if rather pessimistic take on the upcoming referendum on Europe, the upcoming election in the States and Russian interference in both. I completely lost track of time and was surprised when he said, “Well I better let you make a move, and you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.” I looked at my watch that showed it was well past midnight. We stood, and I realised I had no idea where I was and how long it would take to get back to the flat.

  “Is there a bus stop around here?” I asked, fishing for information on my location.

  “Don’t worry, your driver should be waiting, let’s see if Giles has your suit.” I followed Sir Arthur to the reception.

  “Ah Guv’nor, here’s your suit, we couldn’t save your shirt though. Don’t worry about changing, I’m sure we can spare the shirt and trousers. I would like my slippers back.” Giles nodded to my shoes sitting by a chair in the corner. They‘d been bulled to a mirror finish.

  “Thank you,” I said putting my shoes on as Giles handed Sir Arthur an envelope.

  “Ahh yes” said Sir Arthur, “A couple of things before you leave,” he handed me an elaborate hologram laminated ID card with my photo on it. “This is your get out of jail free card. Don’t show it unless you have to and preferably not at night as lots of important people will, no doubt, be woken up by phone calls asking what the hell it is. Alan also dropped something off for you, he said it needed to be at Trafalgar Court. Giles, if you would.” Giles handed me the sword Alan had found in the Bentley. It was now in a plain scabbard, but it still wasn’t something I’d want to carry around in public, even with a get out of jail free card. After a moment’s thought, I hid it in my suit jacket.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” I said to them both. Giles nodded formally.

  “Good luck Xavier. I hope tomorrow goes more smoothly than today,” Sir Arthur bid me farewell.

  Giles opened the door, and I walked out into a freezing February night. The same Taxi that had brought me here was parked outside. I got in, but not before discreetly checking that my money and phone were still in my suit. “You look a bit better, back to the same place as I picked you up, mate?”

  “Please.”

  The cab was pleasantly warm, and I dozed until we arrived back at the flat without incident, “How much do I owe you?” I asked the driver.

  “No charge, it’s all paid for.”

  “Oh. Thanks for the ride,” I said, surprised. Up at our flat, all the lights were blazing so Melissa was up or still helping the police with their enquiries. I didn’t fancy a confrontation with her, especially armed with the sword, given Melissa’s gift for getting the wrong end of the stick and frankly, I never wanted to speak to her again.

  I walked into the icy courtyard behind the flat and unlocked the door to the lockup, the metal shutter screaming like a tortured soul in the quiet, well, quiet for London, night air. I slipped in and opened the van door and I stashed the sword under the passenger seat behind my clothes bags and hung my suit that sadly no longer smelt of Debbie, over the passenger seatback where it wouldn’t get creased. I considered leaving for Wales there and then, but realised as late as it was, I’d still be driving down unfamiliar country lanes dog-tired and it would still be dark when I got there. Instead, I inflated the mattress in the back of the van and wiggled into the sleeping bag, hoping I wouldn’t do any damage to my tools or pop the mattress. To my surprise, it was surprisingly cosy. I closed my eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  First Contact

  I woke up in pitch-blackness, confused and wondering where the hell I was. I was frozen, my cheek felt like it was on fire, my bladder was demanding attention and, to cap it all I couldn’t seem to move my arms or legs. For a second my brain failed to give me a reassuring scenario for my situation then I sat up, my head collided with something hard but padded, pain flared in my head and I realised where I was. I was in my van. In a sleeping bag. On an inflatable mattress that seemed to have deflated somewhat. The worst scenarios in my mind fled as the previous evening’s memories came flooding back.

  I struggled out the sleeping bag and onto the driver’s seat and opened the door, bright light and cold air flooded the cabin. The van clock read 4:15. I sighed, wondering where I could get a cup of coffee and bacon butty at this time in the morning.

  A sudden thought hit me and I swore. My laptop was still in the flat. It wasn’t just the laptop that worried me although that hadn’t been cheap. I was more concerned about the car and truck diagnostic software I’d acquired by various, maybe not entirely legal means, not to mention a lifetime’s worth of photos. I had, of course, backed it all up, but the backup hard drive was sitting upstairs next to the laptop. That was, if Melissa hadn’t smashed them up in a fit of pique.

  It looked like I was going back to the flat, whether occupied or not. As I crossed the courtyard, I noticed the lights in our flat still blazed. Either Melissa was still absent, or she was awake and spoiling for round two.

  Instead of turning on the landing lights, I used the light on my phone to find my way up the stairs as quietly as I could, wondering what I’d do if Melissa in. I unlocked the door and crept into the bright, wonderfully warm hall. The bag I’d filled was still sitting by the door and, to my utter relief I could see the flat was devoid of human life, everything was as I’d left it, my laptop sitting undamaged on the coffee table. The only evidence anything unusual had happened was a head shape dent in the angled ceiling and a trail of blood droplets from the living room to the hall. I wondered where Melissa was, she should have been out of A&E by now and I couldn’t see the police taking her into custody.

  In the bathroom, I examined my face in the mirror. My cheek had swollen up like a balloon and my eye was almost swollen shut. I carefully washed my face, wondering if I could risk a shower. I decided against it, guessing the second I got into the shower Melissa would return and I’d rather not have a confrontation dripping wet and naked.

  Whilst I was packing my laptop up I realised I’d need supplies if the property had been empty for six months. I hoped, if there was a fridge or freezer someone had thought to empty them and the contents not just left to rot. I raided the flat for non-perishables filling a large carrier bag then added an unopened carton of milk and, because I felt like petty revenge, took all the toilet rolls.

  I turned off the lights in the flat before I left. This time, laden with several bags, I used the stairwell lights and immediately wished I hadn’t. Head wounds bleed like buggery and it looked like a bloody murder had taken place on the stairs.

  I made my way downstairs until, almost at the bottom, two unhappy looking police officers blocked my exit.

  “Good evening sir, would you care to tell me what you are doing.” The burlier Police officer asked me in a slow careful voice.

  “Getting my stuff,” I held up my bags, hoping he was more in the mood to listen to far-fetched explanations than he looked.

  “At half past four in the morning? How did you even get in anyway? I’ve been standing out front all night.”

  “Through the back door,” I replied. The two men looked at each other, and, in sync, looked down the corridor to the back door hidden under the stairs. The other officer who was wearing Sergeant’s stripes went to investigate while speaking quietly into his radio.

  “So why didn’t you come through the front door?”

  “I was sleeping in my van, in my lockup out back. I woke up and realised I’d left my laptop in the flat and wanted to get it without talking to my ex-girlfriend. We had a bust up last night.” I could almost see a light come on in the officer’s eyes.

  “Ahh, and your name would be...?”

  “Xavier Costella,” the officer grinned and called to the Sergeant who was inspecting the back door.

  “Ere’ Sarg, I think we’ve found your little lost lamb.” He turned to me, “I don’t suppose you have your driving licence on you, do you?” he asked. I put the bags down, briefly considering using my shiny new Agency ID card to see what effect it would have but common sense ruled against it and I got my phone out my pocket. From the lining of the case, I pulled out my driving licence. He inspected the licence and handed it back.

  “If you want a sample of my DNA, there’s plenty on the wall upstairs.” I tried to grin at him.

  “Yes, I saw that, I’m surprised to see you’re still standing, we rather feared the worst and the information about a disturbance at your address came from an... unusual source, we are still rather unclear about what happened. Now sir, we have two options, we can take you down to the station and you can answer our questions, or, we can go back to your flat, you can make us tea and you can answer our questions.” The officer looked like he’d been in the cold for some time and the Sergeant looked like he’d had a rough night. Having unanswered questions didn’t appear to be on either of their agendas.

  “Come on up, I could use a coffee myself.” I sighed. Upstairs, as I made them tea I gave them a run through of the events of the night, being as vague as I could about where I had received treatment. The uniformed officer asked me what I assumed were the usual questions.

  “So is Melissa all right?” I asked, more out of mild curiosity than any regard for her welfare.

  “She’ll be in custody after her visit to A&E,” the officer informed me as the Sergeant wandered round the flat. “She’s been playing silly buggers, she made some wild accusations against you she withdrew as soon as a doctor came near her and since then she’s spent her time pissing everyone off. Are you sure you won’t press charges?” The officer asked, looking over at his Sergeant who was now talking quietly on his mobile.

  “I’m sorry, as I said, I’m off to Wales to start a new job. I wouldn’t be able to come back to attend any court case, plus there’s the physical difference between us. She’s a skinny 5ft 2 and I’m, well, look at me. I can’t see a jury taking the case very seriously.”

  The uniformed officer nodded sympathetically as the Sergeant sat down on the sofa, brought out his notebook, and rubbed a hand across his eyes, suddenly looking very tired. “Mr Costella, can you tell me what you were doing on 8th January this year around 8am in the morning?” I looked at him, my heart sinking. I sighed. At least I had an alibi.

  “Like every weekday morning I was walking to work. If you speak nicely to Ed, my former boss, the CCTV in the shop will show you I arrived at around 8:45 and stayed till around 17:45 leaving after going through the day’s takings with Ed.” The Sergeant shifted on the sofa, no doubt aware of Ed’s reputation.

  “This was your regular routine?”

  “Every weekday, I worked till midday on Saturdays. Of course, I got time off at Christmas.”

  “And you worked in the pawnbroker, not the gym?”

  “I was the manager of the pawnbroker, Ed said I was good a keeping the undesirables away. I haven’t visited the gym much this year.” The Sergeant gave me a cynical look.

  “Really? And you didn’t have a lunch break?”

  “I normally have it at my desk.”

  “And the evening before, what did you do?”

  “I came home, stayed in and didn’t do much with my not so wonderful ex. I take it you are investigating Simon’s death. You think it’s suspicious and you think I may have something to do with it?”

  “There are some unusual aspects to the case...”

  “I’ll say. Swallowing a bee in the middle of winter...” The Sergeant stiffened, and I mentally cursed James. Obviously, the manner of Simon’s death wasn’t publically known.

  “How did you know how he died?” He carefully enquired.

  “A friend at the funeral told me.”

  “Really... And the name of this friend is?”

  “James Westover... we used to live next door to each other. This morning was the first time I’d seen him in seventeen years.” The detective checked his notes and asked if I had any contact details for him. Unwilling to give out James’ phone number I rather cheekily gave them his parent’s address. The uniformed officer went off into the hall and made enquiries on his radio.

  “So, how did you know the deceased?”

  “We grew up together and went to the same schools. I lost touch when he went to uni.”

  “What about the day you picked up your A level results?”

  “You mean the day he tried to brain me with a fire extinguisher because I got better A level results than him.”

  “That would be the day.”

  “He attacked me, he didn’t bother to explain what his motives were. Looking back on it, I was being a bit of an arse.”

  “You were in a relationship with his widow, Deborah Collins, at the time?”

  “Probably,” I shrugged. “All three of us were, on and off.” The officer sighed, wrote in his notebook then changed tack and asked if I’d had any dealings with a load of organisations and people I’d never heard of. Then he started to ask the same questions in a slightly different way. By this point, I’d had enough.

  “Sergeant, I spent twelve years in the army, mostly in special ops, last year I was working for Ed. At no point in time did I have any contact with my old school friends and if I were to kill someone I wouldn’t need to mess around with a bee. The last time I saw Debbie, before yesterday, was the night before I started boot camp. I appreciate you must ask these questions, but I had nothing at all to do with Simon’s death. I have a splitting headache, if you have anything new to ask, please ask it.” I glared at the Sergeant who looked stunned at my sudden change of attitude. The other policeman came back in, giving the Sergeant a ‘we need to talk,’ look.

  “I’m going to get something for my headache,” I informed them as I got up and went to the kitchen to take Paracetamol and eavesdrop. I grinned to myself as the combination of James’ name and his father’s address appeared to have kicked matters way above their pay grade. Their relief was palpable as they made their excuses and escorted me down the stairs, even giving me a hand with my bags to the lockup. We swapped contact details, and I promised to call the Sergeant if I remembered anything of interest, as if murdering a childhood friend with a bee might have somehow have slipped my mind. To my relief they remarkably uninterested in the van as it was overloaded, technically somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be, full of grey market tools I had no receipts for and, to cap it all there was a bloody great sword sitting in the footwell. They could have probably got me for going equipped as well.

  I watched the police officers leave and got into the van, put the destination in the sat-nav and drove out the lockup onto the mean streets of London. They had detained me long enough for the early morning rush hour to start, and, after filling up with diesel and more coffee it was getting light by the time I got onto the M25. It was a time consuming, frustrating drive, but as I got off the ever-busy M25 and joined the M4, the traffic cleared and the sun even came out.

  The sunshine and the empty road didn’t last, but I felt far happier and slightly naughty, as if I really should be at work but was skiving off instead. Before I crossed the River Severn, I stopped at an anonymous, overpriced service station to fill up. An expensive Burger King and half a tank of overpriced diesel took another chunk out my cash, the food made me feel more human, and I was regretting not showering at the flat. I did however change into my old army boots. As I crossed the Severn and entered Wales, the road signs changed to being in English and Welsh and I wondered, like every time I visited Wales, if in the past there had been a tax on the use of vowels.

  I pushed on, admiring the beautiful if, bleak landscape as I drove through the Brecon Beacons, trying and failing to pick up landmarks I remembered from the first phases of my ill-fated SAS selection. After a lengthy drive through mid-Wales the sat-nav took me off the A roads and properly into the wilds, onto icy, single lane roads, past fields, housing damp, depressed looking sheep. There was very little traffic apart from the odd farmer’s pickup, which made a welcome change from London. Eventually the sat-nav told me to turn up an unsurfaced but well-made track that looked like it went between steep hills into a valley. A shallow, fast-flowing river flowed alongside the unmade track and under the road.

  Across the track, there was a metal gate with a flaking red-bordered metal sign reading ‘MOD PROPERTY, KEEP OUT’. Between the hills, I could see a stand of trees and a couple of slate roofs. I got out the van and stretched, enjoying the silence and fresh air after the stuffy van. I pushed open the gate and walked up the track to investigate.

  The buildings turned out to be a stone house nestled into the hillside next to a small barn making up an L shape around a yard that nature was doing a good job of reclaiming. Both buildings were just a bad storm away from being ruins and hadn’t been used or probably even entered for years.

  I looked around to see if I could spot any other buildings. On the far side of the track, on top of a bank was a Second World War pillbox overlooking the road and the ruins of two or three roofless single-story cottages. I wandered down the track a little further and was unsurprised to see it turn past some ancient stone gateposts and continue up into a narrow valley.