Chapter 4

Sitting below the slab, sunk further into the ground, was a wide-mouthed plastic drum of some kind.

He automatically went to open it, but Freda stopped him.

“Stop, Reg. You have no idea what is in that container. It may be noxious chemicals, a dead animal like a pet buried there, or even a cache of guns. You don’t know, so don’t touch it.”

“Freda, what the hell do you expect me to do with it? Ignore it?”

“No, but my Dad would always advise getting the police to check it out first. If it is something dangerous, they will know what to do with it. If nothing else, you are covering your arse that way; you have witnesses that you did not touch it.”

“Now that I think of it, that is wise advice, Freda my darling. Should we speak to your dad as well?”

“Not unless you think you might be in legal trouble, love. If you report it to the police, seemingly in all innocence, you can call in the legal team later, if necessary.”

“Sergeant Phillips, then?” He asked Freda.

“Yep, that’s your best bet. Get him to come and examine it. He can decide if he needs the bomb squad, or a pet undertaker!” She glanced at her watch. “Be quick about it: teatime is almost here.”

The call to the number for the police sergeant went unanswered for a while, so Reg switched to the police station number. A constable answered, so Reg said, “I was trying to catch Sergeant Phillips, constable. He is not answering his mobile. Can you help?”

“Oh, he is in the canteen having his evening meal sir. He will have his phone switched off.”

“In that case, do not disturb him now. When he appears again, tell him that Reg Robertson has discovered something buried in his back garden, and needs his advice.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll pass that on. You do realise it might be a pet burial? They are quite common, I think.”

“I was aware of the possibility, constable, but I have been advised to allow the police to ascertain what is buried in an upright container. Such a storage vessel is improbable for a pet, I thought, especially with a concrete slab over it.”

“I see, sir. In this case, I see what you mean: a bit unusual. Sounds like a wise decision, to leave it to us. I’ll pass on your message.”

“Thank you, and goodbye.”

Reg went straight to the dining room, ready to eat whatever the girls had concocted up for the family. As he opened the door, he found Sidra standing in front of him.

“Great! I was just coming to find you, Reg. The soup is being served.”

“Lovely. I am quite hungry with all that hard work in the garden. Thank you, Sidra my dear.”

She simpered, “Glad to help, Reg.” She added, “It is nice to be appreciated.”

Reg thought to himself, she is certainly lacking in being thanked for little things, poor girl. It is not just her mother that has lacked consideration. I must do what I can in this line.

They both got back to the last two seats at the table. The soup tureen was already in the centre of the table, and Prudence was serving. Her height and reach made it easier for her to stretch over the table, so she had volunteered for the task. This also made her expanded breast size more noticeable, pleasing Reg. She was no long the tall skinny one; instead, she was the tall curvaceous one.

Reg did not expect to hear from the Sergeant until the next day, but he rang within the hour.

“What’s this I hear about you, Reg? Buried treasure in your back garden now?”

“No idea, Sergeant. Might be a pet burial. I was investigating a patch of grass that showed up as different in colour when I cut back the overgrown lawn, and found a concrete slab a little distance down. I decided to remove it to allow the grass to grow normally, but when we got it levered up, there was what looks like a plastic tub sitting in the ground. It is not what one would expect for a pet burial, but when I went to touch it, Freda – her dad is my lawyer relative – advised leaving it for the police to check out, in case it was dangerous. She was concerned in case it was a weapons cache or explosives, or some such thing.”

“I agree with her. We should deal with it properly. Have you covered it up again?”

“Yes. I slid the heavy slab back over it for now. What would you plan to do?”

“There will be someone there all day tomorrow?”

“Of course. The twins will be here, Sergeant; our cook and housekeeper, among unnamed others.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Very well. I’ll arrange for a specialist team to call and remove the container, unopened. They will take it to a police lab and have it opened under safe and secure conditions, in case of things like booby traps. The senior police officer will phone to the house to say when they will arrive. Is there access for a vehicle?”

“Sorry, no. It is a wide footpath to the side gate from the front of the house. The back garden is completely enclosed, with pedestrian gates the only entry.”

“I’ll remind them they need a sack barrow or something similar, as it might be heavy. Bye for now, Reg. You keep surprising me with your finds, lad. You must attract these things!”

“I didn’t do anything in the past, sir, and again now. I just did the gardening as instructed, and observed a different colour within the mown area. Nothing surprising in that, Sergeant.”

“Oh, I meant the way things keep happening around you, Mr Robertson. At least you act sensibly each time it happens. Don’t change that approach. Farewell for now.”

The following morning after arriving at the university, Reg got another call from his bank, to tell him of a second large deposit.

“Mr Robertson, your account has received another large amount. If you would care to call in during the next day or two, we can advise you of the details.”

“Is this a payment from The British Museum, or one of its associated entities?”

“I think you might possibly assume that, Mr Robertson, though I cannot confirm any details at all over the telephone. Account security, sir.”

“Thank you for calling me. I’ll try to get in shortly.”

“Satisfactory, Mr Robertson. We shall see you then. Goodbye.”

Frances was still nearby after parking her car, so Reg asked her, “Have we a slot when you and I are both lecture-free for an hour or so, Frances?”

“I think the last hour before lunch fits that category, Reg my love. Why?”

“The bank wants me to call in to get details of another large deposit, for confirmation. I think this is due to money-laundering rules over large sums of cash.”

“You just have to pop in and go over the details?”

“As happened before, with the insurance cash. This is the money from the detector finds, I gather.”

“Oh, yes. That will be a lot less, as you only get half, don’t you?”

“Yes. Our farmer friend gets the other half. Quite right too.”

“Okay. You saw where I parked?”

“Yes. I was watching you. I like watching you, Frances. Your hips have a lovely swing to them.”

She giggled, responding, “Good boy. Wait until I am heavily pregnant and doing a waddle; see what they look like to you then! Meet me at the car please, an hour before lunchtime.”

That went off without a hitch and also at the bank. When he said who he was, and presented identification, he was ushered in to the branch manager’s office. Frances stayed with him as his spouse. There he was presented with the full itemisation of the deposit. He confirmed he was expecting it, and what the payment related to, before the manager signed off the amount as having passed the money laundering checks, and declared it now officially in his account.

“You have a very substantial sum added there, Mr Robertson; not far off forty-five thousand pounds. Could our investment managers assist you with its disposition?”

“As I said the last time, sir, I have access to my own financial advisers, and we are currently considering the best allocation of my funds, so no thanks. This will merely complicate our deliberations before we finalise our plans. Thank you for the offer, all the same.”

Once outside and in the car, Frances reminded Reg, “You were going to make these investment arrangements a week or two ago. I did speak to you about it, but you haven’t got around to doing something actively yet.”

“I know. I can’t do everything at once, darling, and I am new to having money to invest. I am new to having money, full stop! I’ll go over the investment choices with Erika, and come to some conclusion shortly. My own feeling is that I should put a hundred thousand in that government investment body, whatever it is called.”

“Oh, you mean NS&I.”

“That’s the one. Get Erika to chat to me about it; and any other options that she thinks worthwhile. I don’t know enough to judge.”

They got home to find Carol and Holly at the door, with no sign of Sidra and Jessica. There was a police car parked by the kerb. Holly gestured a mouth zipped shut, and whispered, “Don’t ask where they are. Later, Reg.” They all trooped inside, and then Sergeant Phillips appeared from behind the twins.

“Ah, Reg. Mission accomplished, young man. Our emergency response team got into the garden, dug up your find, placed it in a blast-proof box, and trundled it out to the bomb disposal vehicle. It is on its way to a secure facility for opening under controlled conditions, BUT I don’t think it is as dangerous as that.”

“Oh?” Reg was curious at the relaxed attitude being displayed by the policeman. “What makes you assume you know better?”

“The history of the building, Reg. We found that this address was once the home of a suspected drug dealer who could never be found in possession of drugs. The building came on the market after he died in a car crash on the motorway. He was killed instantly. We had our own suspicions about the cause of that crash, but as it took a nasty man out of our hair, we were glad to see him go, and didn’t bother investigating it too much. If it was an execution, so be it.

Reg told him, “Frances’ father apparently bought it two years later, once the legal obstacles to its sale were ironed out. I hear he got it pretty cheap, as the executors wanted it turned into cash urgently.”

Reg glance at Frances, who simply nodded, and Reg commented,”As it was Mr LeBrun, that does not surprise me. He is a sharp cookie, is my father-in-law!”

The policeman went on, “Anyway, the upshot of all that history is, I suspect the tub is full of drugs like cocaine and amphetamines, hidden away by the drug dealer and then lost to sight after his decease. We will hear the real facts tomorrow, when we get the report.”

“I am glad that Freda advised me to notify the police about this discovery, Sergeant. Will that be the end of the matter, do you think?”

“More or less, Reg. Theoretically, Mr LeBrun owns these possible drugs, as the stash was hidden on his property. He might be quizzed about them, but as there is no reason to doubt his innocence, we shall ignore that bureaucratic idiocy and simply dispose of the drugs in an incinerator, if my supposition proves correct.”

“Sounds a satisfactory solution, Sergeant. You know the address where he had his drugs stashed, and now you are getting rid of them. You can sleep well tonight, sir.”

“That is so, except that I was under the impression that two other females were resident here.”

Reg gave him a look of sublime innocence.

“Why would you think that, Sergeant? You surely would not expect a couple of refugees to be still on the premises? We don’t have refugees in our home, sir; that is the case. I have no idea where any refugees are. I am sure you will be glad to have proved that, in your visit.”

Sergeant Phillips allowed himself a small nod to acknowledge defeat. “I have noted that they are not present, Mr Robertson. That we can agree on, should their whereabouts ever be questioned.”

“A fine end to the affair, Sergeant. Go home and enjoy your dinner, assuming you are off watch now.”

“Indeed I am. I’ll just go back to the station to sign off, then I can get home to the bosom of my SINGLE loving wife, and our kids. Goodnight, Reg; goodnight, ladies.”

Reg saw him off the premises, then returned to confront Carol and Holly.

“Where are they, you rascals?”

They both gazed at him in innocence. “Where are who, Reg?”

“Sidra and Jessica, of course!”

“Oh, they are in the wine cellar, selecting the wine for tonight’s meal. Don’t you want wine tonight?”

“Wine cellar? What wine cellar?”

“The one that Frances showed us when she was giving us the grand tour of the place. We needed to know where the wines were laid down, didn’t we?”

Reg turned to confront Frances. “Where the hell is this wine cellar, Frances?; the wine cellar that I didn’t even know we had!”

She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence.”Didn’t I mention it, Reg? You were never a hard drinker, were you, dear? I really never thought you would be interested. Perhaps the rest of the basement, but not the wine cellar.”

“Basement? I didn’t even know this building HAD a basement. How the heck do you get into it?”

“Well, my darling, you know the cupboard next to the coat rack in the front hall?”

“Yes. There is never much in there. It acts like an overflow for coats and hats of visitors.”

“There are a couple of shelves on the back wall, right? Shelves that are not full width?”

“Yes. I sometimes lay my gloves there, if they are wet. They dry quite well, laid on the shelf.” Reg was starting to see the light. “You mean that wall is not a wall? That is why my gloves dry so easily, because there is a draught from below?”

“Exactly. There is a bolt that goes into the floor, but the bolt is disguised as a power socket, just as you would expect on a wall. The apparent power pipe to the floor hides the bolt. You flip open the front cover of the socket, then lift the head of the bolt to release it. The door then pushes open, and that switches on the basement lights. They are low wattage bulbs now, and the shades angle the light down so it doesn’t shine out through the cupboard wall edges.

There is a concrete floor beyond the door, then bare concrete steps down to the basement floor. It once housed a coal-fired boiler for heating the building, but that has been defunct for decades. One corner has the wine cellar, but otherwise, the whole area is more or less empty apart from a pile of coal in a coal bunker.”

Reg was immensely practical in his thought, so asked, “How did the coal get in?”

“There was a coal chute above the bunker, but the chute entrance was bricked up to match the outside wall, otherwise it would be a source of draughts. Daddy thought about converting the basement into an underground garage for a couple of cars, but the costings for deep excavations for a ramp showed that idea to be prohibitively expensive, so nothing happened. No doubt if he needed an expensive project to set against his tax bill, he would reconsider it, but for now, no.”

“But if these two were in there for hours; how much air would they have?”

“Switching on the lights automatically starts a low-power fan that takes the air from the basement and feeds it through to the exterior vent for the clothes drier. Air coming out of here is to be expected. Vents at the bottom of the basement entrance door and the cupboard take in air from the cupboard and the hall. That is completely silent as there are no moving parts. There are also two or three air bricks at ground level, which are normal for most buildings.”

Reg gazed in admiration at his senior wife, and demanded, “Have you any other surprises for me, Frances? I admit this one was a doozie, as the Americans say.”

“No, nothing else, Reg my love. Missing you out was incidental, a mere oversight on my part. I never thought you needed to know. Carol and Holly had to know where the wine cellar was, so I told them. It was their own idea to hide Jessica and Sidra there while the police team was around the building, and until the Sergeant had left. Come to think of it, if the police had done searches for drugs, surely they would know about the basement, so the Sergeant would know too, wouldn’t he?”

“Good reasoning, Frances, but there is no reason to believe they knew about the basement’s existence, even if they searched the building. They don’t get building plans before they do a drug raid, do they? That was years back. Since then, our sergeant might have gone to the council planning department to have a look at the building plans; he has a streak of curiosity that might lead him to do that.

I suspect there is a possibility the Sergeant knew where they might be, but was not letting on. He doesn’t wish to know, officially, that they are here. He probably prefers the choice of deniability.”

“That’s true. He IS a nice guy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Talking of nice guys, has there been any word from Tom Hancock about the new Commitment ceremony?”

“Not as yet. Give him a ring tomorrow, Reg. It may have slipped his mind.”

“Will do. I should go down and release the ladies from their basement vigil. I will give me practice in opening the door, too.”

When Reg opened the wall door, he found that the lighting was on all the time. It appeared that it could be switched from the basement as well. Jessica and Sidra were seated in comfy lounge chairs that had clearly been carried down to the basement for the purpose.

Their faces lit up when Reg appeared.

“Reg! Welcome home,” declared Jessica. “We have tried to be productive down here. We have made a listing of the current contents of the wine cellar, to compare with what was understood to be here. There are some discrepancies, mainly through failure to record when a bottle has been taken out for consumption, we have deduced. There are one or two bottles that are not exactly what it says in the original inventory that we found down here, so we have highlighted these.”

“Thanks, ladies. You spent all day on that?”

“Not at all. Sidra has been reading a textbook on English literature that Francis gave her to learn. She was surprised to discover that Chaucer’s famous Canterbury Tales utilised a literary device popularised in The Decameron, a ribald work by the Italian author Boccaccio. She had never realised the extent of international literary cross-fertilisation. It seems that Chaucer was on a diplomatic mission to Italy in 1372, and possibly read Boccaccio while he was there - although there is no proof of this assertion -, for at that time all works were written in Latin and so were readable throughout Europe. Chaucer, however, wrote his Canterbury Tales in Middle English, and when it was published in 1387, that kick-started popular English literature. I have been learning a great deal myself, through what Sidra has been describing to me.”

Sidra added to her mother’s comments, “This stuff is much more interesting than I was led to believe. My school told me that I should not study such material unless I was going to university, as it would be no use to me in ‘normal’ life. It seems there is a lot of sex in The Decameron, and some in the Canterbury Tales as well. Sex is surely part of normal life?”

“Ha!” exclaimed Reg. “Normal life is whatever you decide to do with your life. Studying footballers and football records is no more relevant to life than good literature, but millions take great care to study such irrelevant matters; UNLESS you want to spend your life among people of like mind. If you want to be cultured, and knowledgable about the world, knowing your geography, history, languages and literature; these are the subjects of value in that life.

Gamblers who can tell you the odds of any horse winning any particular race would tell you they could never do maths at school, yet they are actually using clever mathematics to work out the odds that they quote.”

Football fans can probably tell you what a transfer fee works out at per week, again without realising they are using mathematics. People will tell you that they can’t abide classical music; that they prefer folk songs, or pop music. Well, what we now call classical music started out as folk songs and pop music; it just got expanded and developed to take it to a higher level of understanding. Most classical music is based on mathematical rhythms, complicated in ways that sound beautiful. Just think of all the popular film music you hear. It is almost all classically composed for the film, or transferred from a previous classical piece to fit the film. Think for example of the music to “2001: a space odyssey”. The main theme music is a classical piece called ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’, by Richard Strauss, inspired by a philosophical novel written by Nietzsche that...”

“Reg Robertson!” a voice shouted down to him. “Stop pontificating about education and bring your captive audience upstairs.”

“Oops.” Reg was stopped in his tracks, and called back upstairs, “Sorry, Frances. I’ll bring them up right away.” He turned to Jessica and Sidra. “My apologies, ladies. I get on my high horse at times, and I fail to notice. Thank goodness Frances keeps an eye on me!”

Jessica responded, “That’s all right, Reg. It was quite interesting, what you had to say.”

Sidra added, “Me, too. You make learning so fascinating as if it was the top priority in your life.”

Reg went to agree, but changed his reply. “In the past, that might have been the case, Sidra, but now my wives are my top priority. I love them and would do anything for them.”

Jessica interposed, “How romantic, Reg. I had a feeling you were a romantic at heart.”

“I am, now. A few months ago, I couldn’t have told you what romance was. Now, I KNOW!”

Sidra was standing, open-mouthed as she stared at Reg. She dared, “Now I can follow what your wives see in you. You have a ... a presence ... as it were. You seem to hold a lot of love within you. It stands out in particular when you talk about your wives. You have enough love for them all.”

Jessica frowned, and interrupted to speak sharply to her daughter, “Sidra, get yourself up the stairs. Have you got your book?”

“Yes, ammi. I have it with me. I won’t leave it here, for I want to read more of it. Do we take the chairs up as well?”

Reg told her, “No. Just leave them, in case you have another occasion to visit this dungeon.” he grinned at them. “Thanks for staying out of the way while the police were here. It saved a lot of questions.”

They both smiled at him, and headed up to join the others.

Once back in the hallway, Reg took himself to the kitchen and told Carol and Holly, “Thanks, girls, for your quick thinking, getting Jessica and Sidra out of sight of our visitors. I should have arranged something like that myself. I am impressed by your actions.”