Chapter 7

The man looked at a list on his desk.

“Mr James Hargreaves? That you?”

“It is.”

“Please go to interview room one. That’s it over there. There are two people waiting for you to get here.”

I did as directed and walked to the door. I rapped smartly on the wooden door and entered. There were two men there as expected, sitting on either side of a decent sized table, with a third seat on the side facing me.

“I am Jimmy Hargreaves. You asked to see me?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Mr Hargreaves. I am Captain Robert Campari. This is John Travis, representing Collateral Assurance Inc., the insurers of the jewelry store that was attacked. Their ‘In Joke’ is that they are the CAI and not the CIA! I have given him a briefing on your voluntary assistance during this investigation, and he wants to ask a question or two. Okay with you?”

“Certainly.”

The insurance man spoke.

“Mr Hargreaves, can you tell me in your own words what happened at your Group’s car park?”

I asked, despairingly, “Again?”

The Captain begged, “If you don’t mind, Mr Hargreaves. This is for their benefit, not ours. We are merely facilitating their work, as a public duty.”

So I went through the story again, emphasising my original intention to stop intruders from using the private car park as a free parking place. “Once the idea gets around that you can use that private car park with impunity, that would open the floodgates to freeloaders.

I took pics to enable our security man to identify the culprits should they repeat the offence. It was only later, when I heard a vague description of the robbery getaway car, that I wondered if it might be related to that event, so I rang the police to report what I had, should it be useful to them in finding the criminals.

The police displayed an interest and collected the camera from me – even got me to drop it into an evidence bag to protect what they called the chain of custody, and that was about it. I heard nothing more until now.”

“Thank you, Mr Hargreaves. That is consistent with what the police investigators told us. Have you voiced any opinion about being rewarded for your help?”

Captain Campari intruded, “He made no intimation to the police in that regard at any time, Mr Travis. He was a model citizen, offering his help where he could.”

The other man nodded his thanks for that confirmation, and continued, “It is evident that your photographs were instrumental in identifying the car driver, and that identification led the investigators to his home, where part of the loot was found, along with two other men who were involved. Your telephoto shot enabled us to pin them down when we found them. We produced the picture with their faces showing, and that was enough to encourage them to talk. They gave the investigators enough information to find and arrest the other perpetrator and the rest of the haul. Their helpfulness should make the courts go easier on those who talked.

The net result was that all the stolen property was recovered and the criminals arrested, all due to your pictures which you commendably handed over to the investigators. In accordance with our policy of rewarding individuals whose action was vital in recovery of stolen goods, we offer a five per cent reward to such persons, provided they have no link to the crime or criminals.

As our estimate of the value of goods stolen in the robbery is approximately $600,000, the reward we are able to pay you is $30,000. If you will give the police your bank account number, we will deposit that amount into your account within ten days of your acceptance of the terms of the reward.”

“Good God!” I exclaimed. “I never expected that!”

The captain told him, “You are due a reward for helping out the insurance company, son. They could have been out $600,000 if it hadn’t been for your information.”

“Oh. In that case, I accept, Mr. Travis.” I produced my wallet and pulled out my latest bank statement that I was apt to keep handy for identity purposes at times. I marked the account number with a sketched oval and handed it to the captain. “That is the account number, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr Hargreaves.” He copied the number onto a police notepad and handed the pad to the insurance man. “There you are, Travis. It is now up to you to come through with the reward.”

He handed the bank statement back to me.

“There you are: back safe and sound. Do you often carry a document such as that?”

I nodded sadly. “It would surprise you how few companies such as utilities will trust credit cards these days. These get stolen so much that a document like this, with your name and address on it as well as the account number, is more acceptable as proof of identity.”

Captain Campari nodded sagely. “Credit cards are becoming more and more of a problem, unless you can answer the bank’s security question to authenticate it. Such is life!”

They concluded their business and I noted that I had time to go back to the office and report in before the end of the working day. Once I got there I rang Mr Emerson to say I had returned from the ‘grilling’.

“The cops let me go, sir. I must have done something good in a past life.”

“You did enough in this life, taking on my errant daughters on a permanent basis. What did the cops want?”

“They wanted to supervise negotiations between me and the jewelry store’s insurers. It seems I deserved a reward for help identifying the perpetrators of the heist, so that the police were able to find them. They recovered all the loot, the insurance man says.”

“Good for you, son. That will assist you in the costs of looking after your women.”

“It is not really a chore, sir, much as you say it is. They are wonderful women, now that I have got to know them well, in every possible way.”

I wondered if I had said too much, but my quip was ignored.

“Anyway, you might as well collect your Marjory and take her home. You took on another questionable one there, my boy.”

“Appearances can be deceptive, sir. She has turned into a passionate woman, much like your trio.”

Dammit, I had overdone it again.

“I hear that her appearance can indeed be startling at times. She is still a surprising woman, much older than your others. They get along?”

“They do. She and Sharl seem to have become a clique all by themselves.”

Mr Emerson ended with, “As long as all of you are happy, Jimmy. That is all I ask.”

“Thank you, sir; that is my wish too. I’ll collect Marjory and leave. ‘Bye.”

I got to Reception and found Marjory sitting in a chair back from the desk, waiting with a worried frown. On seeing him, she got to her feet and rushed to him.

“Where were you, my love? The scuttlebutt was that the police were looking for you.”

“Marjory, the police INVITED me to a meeting at the police station. They were hosting an insurance guy who was covering the jewelry heist a few days ago. He wanted to speak with me to get my story direct.”

“Oh. That is not so bad as the police looking for you.”

“Nothing bad at all, Marjory. Now stop fretting darling and let’s get home.”

“Yes dear.”

Their journey home was in silence, as Marjory knew that I would get the same interrogation there, and one telling would be enough. Sure enough, the minute we walked in the front door, Sharl was demanding an explanation.

“What did the police want with you, Jimmy? Tell us right away. I was worried for you.”

“As long as it will not interfere with our meal preparation. I want to tell you all at once, so as not to repeat myself.”

Sharl whirled round and marched to the kitchen. “Girls, can the meal be put on hold for fifteen minutes? Jimmy is about to tell us about his visit to the cops today to get the third degree.”

There was a flurry of activity, and shortly a stream of women transferred from the kitchen to the living room. Cherry was the only one missing, and I noticed.

“Where’s Cherry?”

“The downstairs restroom, being sick again,” Sharl informed him. “She’ll be with us in a couple of minutes, she told me. It is not too bad this time.”

Cherry joined them shortly after, sounding apologetic. I stopped her with a raised hand. “No apologies, Cherry, for our baby causing you problems. I was the one who knocked you up, so I should be apologising to you, my darling.”

I spent the next ten minutes regaling them with the tale of police capturing the jewel thieves and recovering the loot, and all because of my photos of the strange car freeloading in the Group’s private car park.

The follow-on was the insurance man’s demanding a recounting of the tale of the car park and how I came to take the pictures. Once he was satisfied that I was genuinely a lucky bystander who helped solve the crime by my good citizen actions, the insurance man revealed their reward system – pour encourager les autres [French: to encourage others] - as I added.

“We will be better off to the tune of thirty thousand dollars, ladies,” I told them, shocking them into a temporary silence. This was followed by me being mobbed, hugged and kissed by all of them, before three vanished back to their kitchen responsibilities. Cherry subsided on to a soft easy chair.

I made sure I was quick to add that the money would not be in my bank account for up to a week, so no sudden splashing of the cash in the meantime.

“We have plenty of things to spend money on, girls: the new house, maternity dresses for those farther advanced in pregnancy, your hair stylist’s bill, and our massive grocery bills. At least you will be able to splurge on any urges for special foods. Just don’t demand caviar for breakfast!”

I added, “I have noticed that the exterior of the house on the air base needs attention, so that should be our priority in spending.”

That caused some giggles, but I saw the twins looking pensive at the thought of caviar, which they had never tasted. I saw this and at once spoke harshly to them. “Caviar is eggs from the now endangered sturgeon fish, girls. This delicacy is much over-rated and is causing the sturgeon to be over-fished, just like the depredations for elephant and rhino tusks: human fads that can kill a species for ever.”

The light of desire fled from their eyes, to be replaced by sadness.

Flora announced in a troubled voice, “We won’t be seeking caviar, Jimmy, now that we know.”

“Thank you, girls. The fish would appreciate it, if they knew. If you fancy fish eggs, try cod roe or some similar roe instead. Oh, and I nearly forgot: Your hair styles are lovely, most attractive, and well suited to your gorgeous bodies. Did you appear nude for your hair stylist, or save her blushes?”

Charlotte admitted, “We dressed for the occasion, darling. We always do that for visitors. The clothes gave us a slight disguise of our expanding midriffs, though eventually she will comment on that. She talks a lot as she works. It seems to be a requirement of the profession.”

“Yes, I have noticed the same thing with men’s barbers. Hairdressing seem to always include the gift of the gab for anyone taking it up as a living. I hope she doesn’t talk about us to her other clients.”

“She probably does, for she talks to us about other people she deals with. Her latest news was about a girl in for a styling who had bruises showing on her face. As a professional, she didn’t ask the girl how the bruises got there, but she suspects her father beat her, for the girl’s mother has shown similar bruises in the past. It upsets me that a man can get away with beating his family. Isn’t there something we can do about it, Jimmy?”

“I doubt it, love. What happens in a private home within a family is supposed to be protected by law from public scrutiny, unless someone claims to the authorities that they are being assaulted. Getting proof is always the problem, like accusing a man of rape, when you don’t have witnesses, as if that was likely. The law is stupid that way, and doesn’t properly protect women from domestic abuse.”

“So there is no way of stopping it happening?”

“Legally, no, not without proof, and if the victim won’t say who was the culprit, the cops have their hands tied. That is the problem where the victim and perpetrator live in the same household. The victim would have to leave and be offered protection before she would be willing to admit who hurt her. The cops can’t offer protection: it’s not their job, and the Women’s Shelter charities are very limited in capacity. They favour battered wives with young children, as the children would not be safe if the mother left on her own. It is a Catch-22 situation.”

“A what situation?”

“Catch-22. It is the name of a novel many years back, around 1960, about airmen in an unnamed battle zone where the only way of getting sent back to the US is for mental instability. To claim that you are eligible to be sent home, you have to fill in a form with all the details, and if you are competent enough to fill in the form, that shows you are not mentally unstable, and therefore you can’t escape the war. This circular reasoning means you can never win against the system.”

“That is a vicious and unpardonable attitude!” exclaimed Charlotte.

“So is war,” I told her. “If all those who were affected by a war were allowed to go home, there would be no-one left to fight, so the system is geared to prevent this happening. However, remember it was a novel, not reality; though armies don’t like their armed forces to return home suffering from mental stress, so there may be some basis for the storyline. A dead hero is much more acceptable from a war zone, than a mentally disturbed one!”

Marjory came into the discussion at this point.

“Jimmy, why are you talking about a novel instead of the query that started the discussion? Is there anything that can be done to protect an abused young lady?”

“On the face of it, no, Marjory; but we simply don’t have enough facts on which to base that conclusion. If someone cares to gather data about the family concerned, there may be information that could be used to lever the girl free of an abusive relationship. Is she old enough to be a married or divorced lady, or is she single and still with her parents, or sharing an apartment with an abuser other than her parental one?”

Charlotte moaned, “Questions, questions! We expect you to come up with a simple solution, Jimmy, like you did with us three. Instead, you bombard us with questions.”

I sighed, “Yes, dear, but I had all the pertinent data to hand; i.e. your delightful selves in your former guise. You were available to provide the answers without going anywhere. In this case, we know practically nothing and have no clear way of finding out. How is your hairdresser as a potential spy or secret agent? Can she provide answers we need to have a rational analysis of the girl’s problems?”

Charlotte exclaimed, “That is what I meant by asking you: a simple solution, and you have suggested one. We get Priscilla to find the answers you need.”

“The answers I need? It was never my problem, Charlotte; you just dumped it on me.”

“But darling, you are known as a problem solver; that is your forte, isn’t it?”

“In business terms, I grant you that, Charlotte. In family terms, my strong point is in loving you girls. We don’t have many family problems to solve at home, do we?”

“No, I don’t suppose so, not since you changed Sharl into a leader instead of a martinet.”

I chuckled. “You do know what a martinet started out as?”

Charlotte narrowed her brows as she glared back at me.

“No, but you are going to tell me, aren’t you?”

“Only as a matter of information, dear, not a chastisement. A martinet was originally a short whip with tassels used in medieval France for chastisement, but later in the UK the word got changed to the person who wielded such an implement; then it became someone was was a stickler for the rules and might use a whip like that to enforce his views. Now it means anyone who likes to be in charge, able to enforce his or her own opinions on others.”

“That’s exactly how I meant it; a person who likes to have her own way in everything.”

“She has certainly changed now, hasn’t she?”

“She has. She tries to provide the best for all of us, the way a true leader is supposed to do.”

“Yes. Losing all control of everything around her, as she did when I got you three sequestered; that was a game changer for her. She found, personally, what the effects were on those who had to knuckle under, and discovered that leading was much more satisfying than controlling.”