Chapter 15

Theresa ventured to ask, “But this means we eventually we will have a proper house of our own? Enough space for us all to have our own rooms, and a big one for our husband’s bedroom: especially if you want to make love to us all at one time?”

“Yes, Theresa, that has crossed my mind, and there should be enough space for a nursery for the children, and a big kitchen too.”

Phemie rolled her eyes to heaven and uttered her opinion, “Make love to all of us at once? Good grief! I like to have Alec to myself all night, even if it is not every night. I shudder at the idea of him fucking us all, one after the other, in one big bed and not getting the after-sex cuddling that I love and desire. Waking up in the morning in Alec’s arms, with possibly time for a quick fuck before we get up, is another of my joys in life.”

Fiona mused, “Now that you mention it, I like that too. Don’t you, Theresa?”

“Oh, yes. I was just thinking that Alec might fancy fucking all three of us on the same day, possibly the same night. Whatever he wants, I am up for it!”

“Ah, the delights of teenage love,” Phemie commented. “Perhaps at your age, I might have felt the same way, Theresa. Once you are in your twenties, you appreciate one-on-one attention a lot more.”

“Oh, you are the boss lady here, Phemie; you are in charge if Alec is not here. I wouldn’t want anything to upset you at all. I will fit in with whatever you and Alec work out. I just love this family life, and want it to go on for ever and ever.” Her status as an orphan made the family experience all the more sweet to her.

Our family life continued in that vein over the next couple of weeks, then Smith phoned me again.

“Jones, I just wanted to inform you that I persuaded our deceased friend’s lawyer to loan me the house keys for a few days, officially to conduct an inspection of the safety condition of the house prior to him releasing the keys to the beneficiary, so that there would be no comeback on him if there is a delay in the legal handing over of the premises. He saw the point, and acceded to my request.”

He continued, “Would you be available tomorrow to attend when my ‘safety’ expert visits. It will be the booby trap examination, of course.”

“I like the idea, Mr Smith. Could we make it just after lunchtime?”

“That would be satisfactory, Mr Jones. He will need at least an hour for him to be satisfied with any safety matter. Shall we make it two p.m.? Do you need to be collected?”

“That might be advisable, as I have no indication of the address. My last visit was clandestine and so I never saw where we were.”

“Of course. I remember. Very well. Collection at one-thirty p.m., then?”

“I can manage that, as I will be alone at the flat at that time of day.”

At a quick guess, my newly acquired house is about half an hour’s drive from here, but in which direction? It could be farther away from the academy, or indeed closer, geographically, depending on which way from here. I am assuming it is still in London’s commuter belt; it would make sense. I will get it on a map tomorrow, if I can.

I warned my wives that I would be on official duty tomorrow afternoon, but hopefully I would be home before dinner. This was taken with a little touch of sadness, then Fiona suggested, “Then we could do a casserole that would be able to in the oven if you are late. We can have ours at the usual time, and your portion will stay hot in the oven until you get here. Give us a ring if you are going to be seriously late, so we won’t worry about you, darling.”

She concluded by coming over and kissing me tenderly. “That is so you will come back, ready to make love to me again.”

“Good idea, Fiona,” said Phemie, coming over and repeating this gesture. Not to be left out, Theresa did the same, saying, “Look after yourself, my lovely man.”

Despite their visible declarations, they left Phemie to her night of loving with me, but in the morning both Fiona and Theresa came to give me a passionate kiss before they left for work in Phemie’s car. Phemie had already let me know of her strong feelings.

During the morning, I tidied the house then sat to read for a while, and then prepared my sandwiches for a snack lunch. I was ready and waiting by the time scheduled for my lift, and walked down the stairs to find him sitting in his car, with another man in the seat behind him. I greeted them both and got in the back.

My driver, already known to me, called over his shoulder, “This is Bert, your health and safety man. Bert, this is Mr Jones.”

Obviously Bert was not his real name, just as Jones is not mine, but we maintained the fiction and greeted each other amiably. The rest of the trip was made in silence apart from chat about road conditions and bad drivers.

We drove up a long side street and stopped outside a pair of ostentatiously high gates. My driver pressed a button on a unit he held, and the gates swung open for us. He remarked, “This came with the keys, but I’ll hang on to it for today’s’ visit.”

We both nodded at that sensible arrangement, and got out once he arrived at the steps up to the front door. Bert was carrying a capacious bag, already bulging. Once we were out, the driver left immediately after saying to Bert, “Buzz me when you are ready, Bert.”

Bert said nothing, keeping up his taciturn style.

We stood outside whilst Bert did a visual inspection of the front doors, a high double leaf affair, in keeping with the pretentious gates at the gateway. Bert was slow in reacting, but his eyes were taking in everything. He ignored the bell pull and gave all his attention to the lock. At last he dragged a small machine out of his bag, and ran it over the lock.

“Hmm ... fine. No unexpected wires at the lock. All appears safe for opening.”

He fished out a set of keys, presumably from the lawyer, located the most suitable one for the front door, and inserted it tentatively, listening closely. Finally he twisted the key to open the lock, and pushed the door open. It swung easily, clearly well-oiled, and we saw the interior. The black and white marble floor was gleaming with polish, and the picture-bedecked walls of the large hallway were immaculate as well. My ‘benefactor’ appeared to have had a regular cleaner, which made me wonder how she would get in at times when he was away. Probably had her own key; something to explore.

On a wall table was an envelope marked ‘Mrs Partridge’, so I assumed this was the cleaner, but that she had not been in after her client was reported dead by violence. The police would have warned her off, and the envelope would be left untouched in case it might prove to be evidence related to the crime. Once I was able to officially take on the house, I could have the envelope handed over to her, and we could decide whether we wanted to employ a cleaner or not. Three women were looking after me, so probably they would have their own ideas about house cleaning. Still, a large house might be a job and a half for working girls to keep clean.

Bert made his way around the wide hall, checking all the walls with his little hand-held detector. It was probably a miniature mine detector; a glorified metal detector but more sensitive to everything metal. He used it over all the doors that led off from the hall, mumbling to himself as he did so. As he cleared each door, he opened it and let it swing open, leaving it open. He finally made a statement.

“As he had a cleaner – it shows – he wouldn’t want her to be affected by a simple booby trap, so if any is present, it will be more subtle, probably at his safe or other secret storage place for his valuables.”

I nodded. “I came to a similar conclusion. The envelope on the side table would be the weekly wage for the cleaner; uncollected because of his sudden death.”

“Indeed. I can move a bit faster because of that, and concentrate my attention on hidden items or oddities that would not catch the attention of the cleaner.”

“Hidden? You mean money or such, and not just a bomb?”

“I am angling in that direction, as I don’t see this guy as expecting an invader. Much more likely, he would want to stash things away rather than in the obvious safe in his study, which I presume he will have on prominent display to show he has something to keep in it. It probably has his wife’s jewellery. Was he married?”

“No. A single man, for what that might mean, if anything.”

“Yes, some single men have no sex drive either way, so no partner, or perhaps an occasional partner that is kept well away from his normal life, with no commitment. That may be why you are a beneficiary of his will; none of my business. Hmm. So, no jewellery, unless it is his own: a flashy gold armlet for instance, like a torc; ancient soldiers wore them to battle. That would appeal to a man like that.”

We wandered through the house, admiring some of the antique furniture he favoured. In his study there was an ornate desk that attracted Bert’s attention. “Ahh, good,” he muttered, and started examining it in detail. At last he came to a conclusion, and moved one piece of decorative woodwork, revealing a hidden drawer. Inside was a document which Bert opened.

“Ah, a will. You may want to look it over for clues.” He continued to go ever the desk as I did so.

The will left most of his assets to a military charity, with a stipulation that a silver cup was to be made for presentation to the most deserving junior officer of the year. That made me agree with Bert: this was another sign of the man’s character. The house was listed as to go to be jointly owned by several senior officers, with their names stated. I would guess that these were his partners in crime. At the time he wrote this will, he would have trusted them as his closest friends. Our own revised will was well-timed.

That made me think again. If he wanted them to have the house, it may mean there was something inside that would make them feel good about him. I pointed this out to Bert.

“That would fit with what we know of him. He must have some goodies hidden inside the house. It would be where the cleaner wouldn’t run into it, but his clever colleagues would think to look. Any ideas, Bert?”

“Hmm...”was his usual remark, but he went on, “Inside the walls, is my best guess. They would probably tap all the walls, looking for a differing tone that implied a hollow with stuff inside.”

“I get you,” I replied. “Where in the house is the most likely place for this?”

“Hmm ... probably his study, wherever it is. That will be the room with the safe, I guess. The safe is just a diversion.”

So I wandered around, and eventually found his study upstairs. It did indeed have a smallish safe ostentatiously embedded in a wall, a couple of lounge chairs to facilitate a discussion, a large TV set, and even a laptop computer sitting on its own workdesk. I surveyed the room with a jaundiced eye, looking for any signs that might clue me it. There were a few oil paintings on the walls: rural scenes in the main, but one short stretch had only a wall hanging; a tapestry it looked like.

That thread art, to my mind, was unexpected for a man of his tastes, so it merited closer inspection. I walked over and gently pulled the tapestry to one side, revealing what was behind. Oddly, it looked like the same coloured wall as the rest of the room, but then I spotted what must be a keyhole.

I asked Bert, “Is there a key lying in any of the drawers of that desk?”

“Yes. The middle drawer under the desktop has a key inside, just lying there as if it was unimportant. Why?”

“I think I have found a door of some kind, as there is a keyhole behind this tapestry.”

“Nice, if this key fits. I’ll get it for you.”

He brought it over to me, and I showed him the keyhole. He looked at the keyhole, then the key, but then to my surprise put it in his pocket.

“Let me check for anything untoward first.”

He went back to his bag and got out his detector again. I waited as he checked the lock then ran his detector over the whole wall area.

“Hmm... “he muttered to himself again. “That’s interesting.”

I waited while he thought things through.

“There is a wire going to that corner, under that picture. Would you move the picture please?”

I lifted it off its hanger, and there was a button on the wall. “Press it,” Bert ordered, and I did, as he held another instrument to the lock. “Good. The power is off now, so the key should be safe to use.”

I asked him, “So if the power was left on, the key wouldn’t work, wouldn’t open the lock?”

“Not only that; the key would set off the bomb the lock is linked to,” he said matter-of-factly.

I blinked and took that statement in. “Oh,” I almost whispered my shock.

“Yes. Dangerous fellow, our late friend. Not very friendly to those he doesn’t want to get at his hidden assets. Fortunately I was here to foil his plan. You have to switch off the power to the bomb before you open the lock. It should be safe for you now.”

“Indeed. You have just shown your worth to our pal Smith.”

“Thank you, but I was just doing my job. I like my work.”

With his approval, I now unlocked the door to see what was behind it. I was not even clear about the extent of the door, for there was little to see in the way of joints round the door. It probably had jointing strip over all the edges, and painted to match the walls, so that the door would not be noticed. It turned out to be a standard size, and when I looked inside I decided that it had once been a simple cupboard utilising a vacant space in the building’s architecture. It had been turned into a private store, almost another safe, but all made of wood.

Inside it was lined with narrow shelves, and all the shelves that I could see were covered in piles of coins, almost completely. It would take a much closer look to see what they were. Possibly a hoard of antique coins, or coins made of gold or silver, more valuable for their metal than anything else.

“Bert, is it safe to remove the weight of coins from a shelf? No boobytraps set off by weight removal?”

“I didn’t think of that possibility. If there is, there should be evidence of how the shelf might rise with the release of pressure.”

He walked inside and peered at one shelf after another, until he had examined every single one. I asked him, “Why did you look at them all?”

“Because it may have been best to allow most shelves to appear normal, and so the thief or whoever gets careless and sets off the one shelf that is rigged to set off the bomb at the door and kill himself: a dead man’s switch. It is probably all connected by a strong cord, so it would not show up in my detector.; a clever second string trap, if you will excuse the pun on string. He would not set it off himself, as he was always adding to his stash and not taking them off.”

I asked anxiously, “There won’t be any more traps in the house, I hope?”

“Highly unlikely, unless he had any more treasures to hide away. I’ll do a sweep all over the building’s interior, just to be certain.”

“Thanks, Bert, I appreciate your thoroughness.”

Bert spent another half an hour assiduously going over all the walls with his detector, as well as using his eyes and fingers to check anything vaguely suspicious. He found nothing until he checked the bathroom toilet facilities. There was a vanity cabinet on the wall, and Bert screwed up his face as he checked it over. With a determined look on his face, he pulled out the contents and looked to see if the back would open.

It didn’t. He looked puzzled, until I suggested the cabinet might be hung from screws in the wall.

He brightened a little, and lifted it up and off. Behind was a small wooden door with a knob pull. He pulled it and it opened to reveal a box built into the wall. It contained a cloth bag with a draw-cord closer. When he lifted out the bag, he concentrated on the drawer closer. The string turned out to be strengthened with a metal wire, and that was what his detector had noted, but with a low reaction that had puzzled Bert.