Flowers for Mercedes

Flowers for Mercedes

  (Contains Parts 1 to 3 of the Mercedes Drew Mysteries)

  By

  Barnaby Wilde

  Copyright 2012 by Barnaby Wilde

  Barnaby Wilde asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Cover picture: Barnaby's Shorts, original self portrait by Barnaby Wilde

  Other published works by the author.

  A Question of Alignment – a Tom Fletcher novel

  I Keep Thinking It's Tuesday – a Tom Fletcher novel

  Animalia – a collection of quirky verse with an animal theme

  Life… -- a collection of verse on a vaguely 'life' related theme

  The Blind Philospher and the God of Small Things -- more verse, with a philosophical theme and bad puns.

  Not at all Rhinocerus – a collection of verse with almost no mention of rhinoceros

  A Little Bit Elephant – a collection of very quirky verse which is only slightly elephant.

  Tunnel Vision – a collection of longer verses featuring flying saucers, dining tables, whales and shoes, with puns and jokes as usual.

  The Well Boiled Icycle -- 35 New 'quirky' poems featuring Clockwork Wellingtons, Goldfish, Jugglers and Gingerbread Men, but not necessarily in that order.

  Barnaby's Shorts (volumes 1, 2 and 3) – ten coffee break length short stories in each to suit all tastes.

  Visit www.barnaby-wilde.co.uk for the author's blog and more information about the world of Barnaby Wilde.

  Table of Contents

  Part One … Flowers for Mercedes

  Part Two … A Close Call

  Part Three … A Burning Issue

  Other works by Barnaby Wilde

  PART ONE

  Flowers for Mercedes

  The ebay clock ticked inexorably down towards the end of the auction. With five minutes to go, the bid activity finally began to increase. There was a flurry of action in the last fifteen seconds as the snipe bids kicked in and the auction ended at two hundred and sixty three pounds. Both buyer and seller would be reasonably happy with the outcome.

  Detective Inspector Des Flowers parked his battered silver Mondeo in the only remaining parking space and rested his head in his hands momentarily before killing the engine and wearily trudging up the shallow grey concrete steps at the back of the Wembury Road Police Station. He swiped the pass, which was hanging on a chain around his neck, through the magnetic card reader and pushed through the glass door when the green LED lit.

  He passed through the inner door and made directly for the coffee machine situated in the hallway, fumbling in his pocket as he went for a fifty pence coin. The coffee, when it came, was as bad as ever, but it was, at least, hot and cheap. He scalded his mouth, as he did every morning, by taking his first mouthful as he walked along the brightly lit corridor towards his office.

  As he passed through the admin office he was hailed by one of the civilian secretaries. "Boss wants to see you," she called.

  "What's new?" he replied. "What time did he say?"

  "He said to tell you as soon as you came in." She glanced up at the wall clock. "That was about half an hour ago," she added.

  He looked down at his own watch. Five past nine. "Thanks Janet," he sighed. He put his three quarter full coffee cup on the secretary's desk. "Keep it warm for me. One day I'll get to drink a whole cup."

  As he walked back down the corridor towards the Chief Inspector's office, a voice from behind him said, "I see Daisy's as happy as ever today."

  "Shhh!" said Janet, glancing after the detective. "He'll hear you."

  D.I. Flowers, snorted quietly to himself. "Still calling me Daisy are they?" He shook his head. "Could be worse I suppose."

  "Come," came the muffled reply to Flower's knock on the Chief Inspector's door.

  "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

  The Chief glanced at his watch before answering. "Ah, you're in at last. Traffic again?"

  Flowers knew better than to answer and waited for more.

  The Chief took off his spectacles and waved them vaguely in Flower's direction. "I've got a rather delicate matter that needs your attention, Desmond."

  Flowers groaned inwardly. If the boss was calling him Desmond it could only mean that he had some dirty little job that needed doing.

  "Sir?" he said, hoping that he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt.

  "I need you to go and interview someone."

  "About?"

  The Chief Inspector looked a little embarrassed and moved a few papers on his desk before answering. He put the spectacles back on and pushed them further up the bridge of his nose.

  "Um. It's a missing cat."

  "A what?"

  "It's a missing cat."

  "You aren't serious, are you sir? A missing cat? Surely that's not a police matter?"

  "I did say that it was a delicate matter, Desmond."

  "But, with respect Sir. A missing cat? How can that be delicate?"

  "It's not the cat that's delicate, exactly, Desmond. It's the connections."

  Flowers waited for more information. If the C.I. was embarrassed then he sure as hell wasn't going to help him by un-embarrassing him.

  "This has come directly from the Superintendent's office, Desmond. Apparently the cat belongs to a friend of his wife's and he's promised her that he'll get someone to follow it up."

  Flowers snorted with barely concealed contempt. The C.I. busied himself with papers on his desk, which seemed momentarily to have assumed great importance.

  "Sir," he said. "Couldn’t we just send someone round from uniformed, if we need to send anyone at all, that is?"

  The C.I. removed his spectacles yet again. "Ordinarily I'd agree with you, Desmond, but the Super has asked me to put someone I can trust on it."

  "Why, Sir? It doesn't make sense. We're supposed to be cutting budgets, aren't we, not looking for stray cats?"

  "That's why it's delicate, Desmond. You see, the woman who's cat is lost is the sister of John Wescott."

  The name seemed familiar to Flowers, but he didn't immediately recall why. "Wescott?" he said.

  "Yes. John Wescott. Magistrate and member of the Local Police Authority."

  "… and general pain in the arse," thought Flowers. Fortunately he kept this thought to himself.

  "I see, Sir. So this is about politics, not cats?"

  "Yes, Desmond. Well, no, not exactly. It's just that we don't want to do anything to upset Tom Wescott. It's just better that we're seen to be attentive, that's all. These are delicate times. Delicate times."

  "That word again. Delicate," thought Flowers. Fortunately he kept this thought to himself, too.

  The Local Police Authorities in the United Kingdom are responsible for ensuring efficient and effective policing of an area and each L.P.A. is made up of a mixture of elected members, who reflect the local political makeup and so called Independent members drawn from the local community, which must, by constitution, contain at least three magistrates. John Wescott was one of the so called Independent members, who seemed to have made it his mission in life to be as big a thorn in the side of the local police force as possible. The L.P.A.'s responsibilities are fourfold: Setting strategic direction and priorities, Scrutinising performance, Achieving results through community engagement and Ensuring value for money. John Wescott chaired the sub committee charged with scrutinising the police budgets, which he did in detail and with obvious relish.

  These thoughts flashed through Flower's mind in an instant. He could see why the C.I. considered the matter 'delicate'.

  "Don't cock it up, Desmond," added the Chief Inspector. "For all our sakes. Please don't cock it up. Just b
e nice to the woman and find her bloody cat."

  Flowers headed back towards his own office, pursued by a secretary bearing a cold cup of coffee. "I did cover it up," she said. "But it got cold anyway."

  Two miles away, across the city, the worst of the rush hour was over. Traffic was marginally lighter and speeds had picked up from almost static to approaching sluggish. Nevertheless, it was moving. A black leather clad motorcyclist was weaving skillfully through the slow moving cars and vans. The red lights ahead changed to amber and the stopped traffic surged forward just as the motorcyclist reached the front of the queue. A white van coming from the left shot the red light and streaked across the intersection. There was a squeal of brakes and horns as the newly released traffic stream came to a sudden stop again. The motorcyclist, unsighted by the people carrier in the left lane reacted a little too slowly and, despite swinging the bike sideways, was clipped by the offending van. The rider was tipped to the ground, but fortunately bounced clear of the bike and the other traffic.

  Three mobile phone calls were made simultaneously to the emergency services from drivers in the stopped vehicles. In the event, the ambulance was not required.

  Flowers looked at the stack of folders on his desk and sighed. There were at least half a dozen cases he should be working on and he was being sent off on a wild goose chase. Or maybe that should be a wild cat chase. Well, he was damn well going to get a coffee before he left. He flicked the switch on his kettle, which almost immediately switched itself back off as the over heat control kicked in. He looked at the transparent gauge on the side and saw that it was empty. He closed his eyes momentarily and wondered, not for the first time recently, if his heart was really in policing these days. Perhaps it was time for a change. Problem was that he couldn't think of anything else he wanted to do either.

  He decided to grab a coffee from the machine on his way out and drink it in the car. Maybe stop by the canal and watch the ducks while he drank it. He scrabbled for change in his trouser pocket and came up with thirty pence. Perhaps Janet could change a tenner for him? Sadly, no one in the office had change for a tenner and Janet, not for the first time, lent him the extra twenty pence for the machine.

  Inside his dirty Mondeo, Flowers pulled out the cup holder and inserted the cardboard cup of steaming coffee. He had no lid for it, but decided it would be OK if he drove slowly. Unfortunately the road down to the canal was well provided with speed humps and by the time he stopped half the coffee was dripping from the cup holder to the carpet. He scarcely noticed the spilt liquid and gazed morosely over the canal to the allotments beyond as he drank what was remaining. Leonard Cohen's Greatest Hits was playing on the CD unit as it had done for weeks, but he was barely aware. He tossed the empty cup into the passenger foot well to join the others already there before restarting the engine and heading for his time wasting interview.

  Mrs Woolly was looking anxiously through her sitting room window for a sight of her missing cat. She didn't notice the silver Mondeo pull up a little further along the road and was startled to see a slightly dishevelled man in a grey suit approaching her front door. She waited until he had rung the bell three times before gingerly opening it on the safety chain.

  "D.I. Flowers, ma'am," he said, holding up his police identity badge for inspection. "I understand your cat is missing."

  "Have you found him?" she asked.

  Inside Mrs Woolly's home everything was neat and tidy, in a rather chintzy way. There were several photos of a white cat on the mantle shelf. There was also a strong coffee aroma permeating the atmosphere.

  "I hope I'm not keeping you from your coffee," said Flowers, in hope.

  "Oh, no, Sergeant." She seemed a little flustered. "Would you like one?" she added as an afterthought.

  "There is a god," thought Flowers to himself. "If you're making one," he said, gratefully.

  "It's Kenyan, today" she replied. "My husband used to like Kenyan, you know."

  "That sounds wonderful," said Flowers. "Perhaps we could talk about your cat over our coffee."

  "I know who's got him," she said suddenly. "It's aliens."

  "Do you mean foreigners?" he asked in surprise.

  "No," she said. "Aliens."

  Flowers was puzzled. Did she mean immigrants? "You don't mean Martians?" he joked.

  "I don't know where they come from. I've just seen their lights. From their space ship I presume."

  He felt his heart sink. It was bad enough having to waste time pretending to be interested in an old woman's cat. But this old woman was clearly as batty as they came.

  Mrs Woolly led the way into the kitchen. The coffee aroma was strong and coming from a cafetiere by the cooker. There was an open packet of Kenyan beans beside a small grinder.

  "I see you grind your own beans," said Flowers.

  "My husband said it was the only way to get the real flavour."

  "I presume that Mr Woolly is no longer with you."

  "He passed away over three years ago, now." She cast a sad look towards Flowers. "I miss him every day."

  Flowers shifted his feet, searching for something to say.

  "This was his little ritual," she continued, saving him the trouble of finding some suitable words. "Every morning he'd grind fresh beans and make us coffee. We had every type." She pointed to the shelf behind Flowers and he noticed for the first time a row of jars labelled Kenyan, Colombian, Costa Rican, Brazilian. "We'd have a different one every day, but Kenyan was his favourite."

  "A man of taste," said Flowers.

  "Thank you, sergeant."

  "Inspector," corrected Flowers.

  She ignored his comment. "How do you like yours?" she asked.

  "I'll take it black, please. No sugar."

  He watched as she poured his coffee into a small mug.

  "I think I like Colombian best," she said, picking up her own mug. "What about you, Sergeant?"

  "Costa Rican for me," he replied, warming his hands on the mug and savouring the aroma. He was beginning to warm to Mrs Woolly, too. Anyone who cared about coffee as much as she did couldn't be all bad.

  "When did your cat disappear?" he asked after a few moments.

  "Two days ago."

  "Has he disappeared before?"

  "No. He always comes in for his food."

  She looked directly at Flowers. "You probably think I'm just a silly old woman worrying about a cat, but he's all I've got since Joe went."

  "Is that your cat in the photos in the sitting room?"

  "Mr White? Yes, that's him."

  "That's an unusual name. Is there a story behind that?"

  "It was Joe's little joke. It's after Quentin Tarantino. Reservoir Dogs."

  Flowers smiled. "When did you last see him?" he asked.

  "Three years ago," she said sadly. "The day he died."

  "Sorry," said Flowers. "I meant the cat. Mr White."

  "Oh. I thought you meant Joe." It was a moment before she spoke again. "Tuesday night," she continued. "When the space ship landed."

  Flowers felt himself sinking again. "What makes you think there was a space ship?" he asked.

  "I saw the lights," she said. "Over there, on the roof. Blue lights."

  She was pointing through the kitchen window and for the first time Flowers took notice of the large industrial building beyond the end of the garden.

  "What's that building?" he asked. "I don't recognise it from here."

  "It's a warehouse. It's that big electrical store. Meteor."

  Now that she had prompted him, Flowers realised that the road they were in ran along the back of the Meteor Distribution Centre. It's main entrance was around the opposite side. He was about to ask if the cat ever went into the warehouse site, but the information was volunteered before he could ask.

  "Mr White used to go over there all the time. Sometimes I could see him from here lying in the sun on the bare concrete."

  "Do you think he could be locked inside somewhere? Cats do poke their nose
s in everywhere."

  "No. I definitely think it was the Aliens. I often see them, you know. They land on the roof."

  Flowers finished his coffee. He'd spent enough time here.

  "OK Mrs Woolly. I'll put out a description and we'll keep a lookout for the cat. Mr White. Could I take one of the photos, please, for identification?" He thanked her for the coffee and gave her one of his contact cards before he left, with instructions to call him should the cat turn up

  A uniformed constable took a statement from the leather clad motorcyclist at the scene of the hit and run accident. Details were scant, but the driver of the people carrier at the front of the traffic queue had waited for the police to arrive and volunteered what little description she had of the white van that had caused the accident. The constable duly noted names and contact details and asked the motorcyclist to call in to the Police Station later with insurance documents before himself heading back to base.

  Ten minutes later Flowers found himself walking along a narrow, overgrown lane which ran between the ends of the gardens and the Meteor boundary fence. In fact it was more of a track used by animals than a path for humans. "Probably made by foxes," thought Flowers pushing his way past a clump of nettles. Through the boundary fence, which was partly overgrown with brambles, he could see the loading docks and several Meteor delivery vans.

  He emerged from the far end of the track onto a wider tarmac path, which clearly ran down to the main road, and was almost knocked over by a man in a grey hoodie hurrying along the path.

  "Sorry," he said automatically, before recognising the man. "Well, well," he said. "If it isn't Tommy Wheeler."

  The man stopped and looked at Flowers. "I ain't done nothin'," he said defensively.

  "I didn't say you had," said Flowers. "But if you ain't done nothin/ as you say, then you must have done something."

  "I ain't, Mr Flowers. Honest. I ain't done nothin'."

  "Bit out of your way aren't you? Or are you looking for something to nick?"

  "No, Mr Flowers. I don't do no nicking no more. I'm straight now."

  "More double negatives," thought Flowers. "So what are you doing here?" he asked.

  "I'm just coming off shift, Mr Flowers. I work here. At Meteor."

  Flowers regarded the weasel faced man in front of him. Something about the name Tommy Wheeler and the word 'work' didn't quite compute. "And what 'work' do you do here then Tommy?"

  "Night watchman, Mr Flowers. It's long hours. Twelve hour shifts, but it suits me."

  "Night watchman?" said Flowers incredulously. "With your record?"

  "Don't make trouble, Mr Flowers. I need the money."

  "You didn't tell them, did you?"

  "I may not have told them everything, Mr Flowers, but no one tells the truth on their CV do they?"

  Flowers laughed. The idea of Tommy Wheeler having a CV at all was quite amusing, unlike the criminal record, which he certainly had.

  "How long have you worked here?"

  "Nearly three months now, Mr Flowers. Don't mess it up for me."

  "No need," thought Flowers. "You'll do that all for yourself." He turned to walk back to his car. "You haven't seen a white cat?" he asked as an afterthought. "Answers to the name of Mr White."

  Two more auctions ended on ebay, netting a little over five hundred pounds between them. Not enough to get rich on, but useful.

  Flowers drove back to the Police Station wishing he'd visited Mrs Woolly's toilet before he'd left and wondering about Tommy Wheeler.

  Tommy Wheeler was hardly in the big league. He was the habitual petty criminal. Mainly robbery. Small scale stuff. Houses and shops. Flowers shook his head gently in disbelief that a company the size of Meteor would employ someone like Wheeler without making a few background checks. Still, it wasn't his problem. Not yet, anyway.

  There was a note stuck on his computer screen when he got back to his office asking him to report back to the C.I. when he'd interviewed Mrs Woolly.

  He sighed in frustration but walked round to his boss's office anyway. The door was open and he was beckoned in without knocking.

  "Total nutcase," he reported. "Says the cat's been abducted by Aliens."

  "I hope you didn't upset her, Desmond. You didn't, did you?"

  "No, sir. I was tact and diplomacy personified. We shared a rather nice cup of Kenyan coffee in her kitchen and she told me about her late husband."

  "As long as you didn't upset her."

  "I've got a complete description of the cat, sir. What would you like me to do about it? Should I put out an all points bulletin?"

  The C.I. ignored the sarcasm. "What did you tell her?"

  "I told her we'd keep an eye out for the cat."

  "Is that all?"

  "No. I told her we'd check out the Aliens, too."

  "Why is she talking about Aliens?"

  "I told you. She's a fruitcake. Claims she saw Aliens land a spaceship on the roof of the Meteor warehouse. Blue lights in the sky on the night the cat disappeared."

  The C.I. looked nonplussed. "Keep me informed," he said. "If you find the cat, I mean."

  Flowers turned to go. "You won't believe who I bumped into this morning."

  The C.I. waited for him to continue.

  "Tommy Wheeler. Tommy Wheeler is working for Meteor as their night watchman. Now that's what I call living dangerously."

  "Hmm. Should we be saying something to them?"

  Flowers shrugged. "Says he's been there three months. Needs the job. Maybe he's turned over a new leaf."

  Neither man believed that for a moment, but they shrugged and left it.

  A black leather clad motorcyclist was standing by the enquiry window showing documents to the desk sergeant when Flowers walked through later in the day.

  She had blonde hair down to her shoulders and a full helmet under one arm. She turned to glance at Flowers as he walked past. He caught his breath as she smiled at him. She was truly beautiful. He did a double take. Slim, about five six, probably around thirty to thirty five years old and no wedding ring. She was clad from neck to ankle in tight fitting black motorcycle leathers. The leathers might have provided protection, but they certainly revealed at least as much as they concealed.

  Flowers nodded in response to her smile. He suddenly felt somewhat scruffy and ran a hand through his hair as he walked by. He couldn't resist looking back as he passed through the door to the admin office and caught her glancing in his direction. Half an hour later he made an unnecessary trip back past the enquiry desk and took a look in the desk log.

  The entry was brief. A name, Mercedes Drew, an address and phone number and a comment that she had presented her driving documents, which were all satisfactory, following a hit and run incident involving a white van.

  Flowers spent the rest of the day attacking the folders piled on his desk. He made a few phone calls and was able to close off one file completely. "Not much to show for a day's work," he thought. The name Mercedes Drew kept coming to his mind, like one of those irritating tunes that goes round and round in your head and won't go away. He'd taken little interest in women since his wife had left him more than a year ago but this one had certainly got to him.

  In point of fact it wasn't so much that Flowers had shown little interest in women over the past year as that there hadn't been any woman who'd interested him sufficiently to want to pursue things beyond a first date. He ran his hand through his hair again. "Must get a haircut," he thought.

  Around six o'clock he called up the day's reports on his PC. He scanned the brief summaries quickly for anything interesting and noted the entry relating to Mercedes Drew's Hit and Run.

  There was little information beyond time and place and the name of the witness. The incident description simply said 'Collision between motorcyclist and white van (possibly Meteor?) allegedly due to van shooting red light. Van did not stop.'

  "That name again," thought Flowers. "Meteor. Twice in one day." Just coincidence he assumed.

&
nbsp; Mercedes pulled down the long zip on her one piece leather outfit. She noted the scuff marks on the leather of the right hip and shoulder and decided that they would have to be regarded as 'character'. She peeled the close fitting suit carefully from her and regarded herself in the mirror. She was wearing nothing underneath but a pair of extremely brief cream lace pants. There was a bruise developing on her right hip and another on her shoulder. She touched each in turn lightly with the fingertips of her left arm and flinched slightly.

  "You got away lightly, girl," she said to herself. "Pity the bike didn't."

  She continued to look at herself for a moment, doing a slow turn to check for other bruises and for some reason thought about the policeman she'd eyeballed earlier. At least, she assumed he was a policeman. He'd been wearing a suit, but he looked as though he worked there. She smiled to herself when she recalled his double take as he'd walked past. "Wonder if I'll ever see him again?" she thought.

  She put on a silk dressing gown and made a phone call to her mechanic.

  "Some bastard shot the lights," she explained, "and tipped me off the bike. No, No. I'm fine, Mike. Bike needs a bit of attention, though. Mostly cosmetic, but it'll need a new wing mirror and a bit of love. Is it OK if I bring it over in the morning?"

  After the call she thought back to the accident. "I'll get you, Mr Meteor. I'll find you, don't you worry."

  Tommy Wheeler arrived ten minutes early for the start of his night shift. The last thing he wanted to do was to attract attention to himself by being late. The handover from his day shift colleague was straightforward and took only a few minutes as usual.

  He settled back into the well worn chair in the security office by the main entrance to the Meteor site and cast his eyes over the six black and white TV screens in front of him. There were views of the main vehicle entrance itself, the front of the warehouse, the car park, the loading bay and two views of the main floor inside the warehouse.

  His duties essentially consisted of keeping an eye on the six screens and making a series of inspection tours on foot around the outside of the building at two hourly intervals. He was also required to walk through the main warehouse several times on each shift. It was hardly taxing work. In fact the main problem was not going to sleep. There was also a microphone and switch bank on the desk, which allowed for messages to be broadcast over the loudspeaker system, but he'd never had to use it during his permanent night shift rota.

  To aid him in staying awake he had a radio and a tiny portable television with a five inch screen. The radio was allowed, but the TV was a definite breach of the rules. Fortunately it was small enough to be kept in his padlocked locker during the day and the chances of anyone catching him overnight were minimal.

  During his walkabouts Tommy was required to key into various time clocks around the warehouse which recorded his comings and goings. He was scrupulous about the timings and frequency of his inspections. With the exception of the little TV, as far as the rest of the world was concerned Tommy was an exemplory employee and lived within the rules.

  Mrs Woolly was fretting about Mr White. There had still been no sighting of the cat and that nice policeman, Mr Flowers, hadn't rung back either to say that they'd found him.

  She got out of bed for the third time that night, woken by a real or imagined small noise that might just have been Mr White letting himself in through the cat flap, but there was no sign of him in the kitchen and his food was still untouched.

  She peered out of the kitchen window towards the Meteor warehouse. It looked as though they were back. She could see lights moving about on the roof, but even as she watched the lights went out again. She found Flower's card and wondered whether it was alright to ring him in the middle of the night. In the event, she needn't have worried about disturbing him. The number she rang went straight through to his answering machine.

  Inside the Meteor warehouse a shadowy figure made it's way along the top layer of the floor to ceiling industrial racking. Tommy Wheeler sat in his night watchman's office watching his flickering five inch TV, with the six screens of the cctv system glowing behind it. He noticed nothing untoward. But then, he didn't expect to.

  For some reason Flowers took a little more trouble than usual over his normal morning ablutions. In addition to his customary shower, he took a mite longer than usual to shave. The result was not unpleasing, complementing, as it did, the new haircut he'd managed to get on his way home the previous evening.

  He was about to re-don the blue shirt he'd worn the previous day, but decided on a fresh one, even taking the trouble to iron out the worst of the creases as he made his first coffee of the day. He also transferred the contents of his suit pockets to suit number two, which was no younger than suit number one, but at least it hadn't been worn for a few weeks and most of the crumples had fallen out.

  He found an instant shoe polish, which had not completely dried out, and buffed over his scuffed work shoes and even with all the extra attention to his personal presentation, managed to leave the house a full fifteen minutes earlier than yesterday.

  He was disconcerted by the food wrappers and empty coffee cups residing in the passenger foot well of his car and pulled into the lay-by beside the recreation ground to empty the litter into an already overflowing bin.

  If you asked him why he was doing these things, he would have been unable to give a rational explanation, but the truth is that Flowers was looking forward to going into work today more than he had on any day since his wife had left him.

  His joy was short lived when he saw the red light blinking on his office answer machine. The disembodied voice informed him that he had one new message. He pressed button one to listen and was rewarded by the breathless voice of Mrs Woolly.

  "Mr Flowers. They're here again. I can see the lights. Oh dear. I know they've got Mr White. I don't know what to do. Can you hear me? Oh dear. Oh dear. … ." There was a click as she replaced the receiver.

  Flowers was just debating with himself whether to ring her back when his phone rang of it's own accord. It was the Chief Inspector. Flower's boss.

  "Desmond. Have you found that bloody cat yet? I've had Wescott on the phone already this morning asking what progress we've made."

  "Good morning, Sir," replied Flowers. "Exactly how many men would you like me to assign to this man, sorry, cat hunt?"

  "Don't get arsy with me, Desmond. I told you this was sensitive. Just find the damned cat."

  Flowers replaced the receiver and shook his head wearily. Perhaps today wasn't going to be that great after all.

  Tommy Wheeler clocked off following his night shift and walked out of the main gate. A white Meteor delivery van pulled alongside him and the driver asked if he'd like a ride.

  "Don't mind if I do," he replied, smiling.

  Mercedes dropped her bike off at her mechanic's workshop and asked him if he had a ride she could borrow while hers was being repaired.

  "All I've got is this old Vespa at the moment," he said. "Not quite your style, I'm afraid."

  She looked at the elderly scooter propped up in the yard and laughed. "Don't think I've ridden one of those since I was about thirteen," she said. "Are you sure there's nothing else?"

  "Sorry, Drew. I've usually got a couple of bikes, but it's all I've got today."

  "I feel a bit overdressed," she said looking down at her full leathers. "But beggars can't be choosers I guess. Thanks Mike. I need some sort of wheels, so that'll have to do. How long do you reckon to fix the bike?"

  "I can get a new mirror delivered by tomorrow morning and the rest is just a bit of painting. I can straighten the foot rest. You could have it back tomorrow evening if it's urgent."

  "I feel naked without her, Mike. You're a sweetie."

  She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. They'd known each other since they were at school together. He savoured the moment and for the briefest of time contemplated the thought of her naked. "If only all his customers were as desirable as her," he
sighed. "This would be a swell job."

  Flowers returned Mrs Woolly's call and reassured her that they were still looking for Mr White. "Have you called the RSPCA?" he suggested. "Someone might have handed him in."

  He decided to take a closer look at the Meteor warehouse site. He was intrigued by the thought of Tommy Wheeler holding down a regular job. It didn't compute somehow. He could ask about the cat while he was there.

  Four more items were listed on ebay to join the thousands already on offer. These were mobile phones. Brand new, latest models, still in sealed boxes.

  Mercedes felt ridiculous riding a twenty year old Vespa scooter wearing full motorcycle leathers and went home to change into something more appropriate. She chose blue denim jeans, a check shirt and a denim jacket. She also swapped her full motorcycle helmet for a white open face one. She left her hair loose.

  After she'd changed her outfit, and feeling rather less conspicuous, she donned some dark shades and headed round to the Meteor warehouse site.

  There was a small parking area at the front of the building, with spaces marked off for visitor's cars, with one bay marked off for motorcycles. She parked the Vespa and hung the helmet over the handlebar. Experience had taught her that you were far less likely to be questioned if you were carrying something and she'd had the foresight to take a small package and a clipboard with her. If anyone asked she'd be delivering the package.

  She avoided the main entrance and walked down the side of the building where she could see several delivery vans parked and took some time examining the front offside bumper of each. There were a few scuffs and marks on most of them, but none with a paint colour that matched her bike.

  Disappointed, she strolled back to where she'd left the scooter.

  Flowers pulled into the visitor's parking area and left his dirty Mondeo in the only remaining vacant space next to an old Vespa motor scooter and made his way towards the main entrance just as Mercedes rounded the corner of the building. They looked at each other in partial recognition, each thrown momentarily by the unexpected encounter. Flowers smiled in her direction automatically before making the connection with the black clad girl from the previous day. She nodded in return, taking a moment to compute that this was a slightly smarter version of the policeman she'd noticed yesterday.

  Flowers opened his mouth to say "Hi." But she was almost past him, when she turned her head back and smiled. "Small world," she said and continued walking.

  He wondered what she was doing there and watched her walk back to her vehicle. She knew he was watching her and made a show of putting on the white helmet, taking time to check him out further in her wing mirror. He didn't move until she'd driven past him and back out of the gate. She gave him a wave as she passed. He waved back, but too late for her to see, and then she was gone.

  "Too many coincidences," he thought as he pushed open the main door.

  It took ten minutes to locate the warehouse manager and Flowers waited in his office while tannoy calls echoed around the building. A harassed looking bald man in a white shirt and tie bustled into the office.

  "Terry Smith," he said extending his hand. "I'm the manager here. Or one of them, anyway. Is there a problem?"

  Flowers introduced himself and showed his identification.

  "There was a hit and run incident yesterday morning that may have involved one of your vans," he said. "I wondered if any of your drivers had reported anything."

  "Not that I know of. Hang on a sec." He dialled a three digit number and was answered a few seconds later.

  "Did any of our drivers report an accident yesterday?" he asked.

  Flowers waited for him to finish his call, but it was obvious from his body language that the answer was negative.

  They discussed the accident for a few moments, but Flowers didn't pursue it. "There's cctv on those lights," he said. "They should be able to see the van's number and if it is one of yours, someone will be back."

  He paused for a moment before asking the question he'd really meant to ask. "Have you had any incidents in the warehouse recently?"

  "What sort of incident?"

  "Thefts, pilfering, break ins. Anything like that."

  "Not that I'm aware of. We're having a bit of trouble with stock control, but we haven't had any break ins. We've got cctv systems and night security. Nothing's been reported."

  Flowers nodded. "Do you vet your staff before employing them?"

  "Mostly we get people from an agency. I assume they check them before sending them to us."

  "Would that apply to security staff, too?"

  "I guess so. I don't actually get directly involved with recruitment."

  Flowers nodded again. "Would you mind if I had a walk around in the warehouse?"

  "We're pretty busy, but I could give you a quick tour. What are you looking for?"

  "Mostly curiosity," said Flowers. "I just like to know how things work. It's all background knowledge that might come in useful one day."

  As they walked around Flowers asked a few questions about the cctv system and Terry showed him the cameras inside. They passed a young man with a sheaf of computer printouts who was checking numbers on boxes.

  "Audit," said Terry as they passed. "Just doing a stock check. There's been a few errors recently."

  "What sort of errors?"

  "Oh, the computer says we've got stock when we don't."

  "Big errors?"

  "No. Just ones and twos."

  "Pilfering?"

  "It's not impossible, but we'd see anyone carrying packages out. The staff all know that they're on TV. I don't think anyone would be daft enough to try it."

  "Is there any pattern to it?"

  "Not really. It's mostly small stuff, phones, laptops, coffee makers. Doesn't seem to happen on the white goods. I reckon it’s a system problem."

  Flowers was not so sure. "Is this recent, or is it always like that?"

  "Pretty recent actually. The last month or so."

  "How many exits are there to this place?"

  "Apart from the main door, you mean? Well, there's one, two, three, four fire doors, and the loading bay, of course."

  "Could someone come through the fire doors without being seen?"

  "No. They're all alarmed."

  "But not on the cctv cameras?"

  "A couple of them aren't, but we check the alarms every week."

  Flowers cast his eye around the warehouse. There were rows of heavy steel racking from floor to ceiling, filled with boxes of every size. Forklift trucks were moving pallets onto and off racking as goods moved in and out of the stock. "Busy place," he said.

  There was a flight of metal steps running up the side wall to the ceiling.

  "Where do the steps go?" he asked.

  The manager flicked his eyes up to the top of the stairs. "They go up to the roof. Just for maintenance access."

  "Is that door alarmed too?"

  "Yeh. It's alarmed like the others and padlocked, plus a glass bolt for emergency exit."

  "Could we take a look? Do you have a key?"

  Terry took a look at his watch. This was all taking too long. He didn't know why the detective was taking such an interest. Truth to tell, neither did Flowers. It was just that there were too many coincidences. Tommy Wheeler in the security job. Stock discrepancies. Vans being involved in hit and run incidents. Even bloody aliens on the roof, apparently.

  A few minutes later the two men were standing on the roof looking out towards the neighbouring housing. Flowers could clearly see Mrs Woolly's house. It reminded him about the cat. "No one's found a white cat in the warehouse, have they?" he asked.

  Terry gave him a slightly odd look. "Not that I'm aware of," he said. "Have you lost one?"

  Flowers ignored the comment and wandered over to the edge of the building. "What's this contraption?"

  "For cleaning the windows. It's a cradle. Goes up and down on a hoist so that we don't have to use ladders."

  "I didn't
think you had many windows."

  "We don't really. I think it's a bit superfluous. It's rarely used."

  Flowers examined the cradle more closely. "It looks used to me," he said. He pointed out footprints on the cradle floor. "Quite recently I would say."

  "Perhaps one of the engineers," offered Terry.

  Flowers walked back to the door they'd just come through and looked more closely at the lock. It looked normal. What didn't look quite so normal though was the side panel to the entry vestibule. The landing at the top of the stairs was contained within a small shelter with the door on one side and corrugated metal sheeting on the others. It looked as though one panel had recently been removed.

  "Look at this," said Flowers pointing to the bolts securing the panel. "Doesn't that look odd to you?"

  Terry looked where Flowers was indicating. It did indeed look as though the original fixings had been ground off and replaced. "That is odd," he agreed. "I'll check with Dave, our engineer and see if he knows about it."

  Cogs were turning inside Flowers' head. He thought for a moment and asked Terry to make another enquiry. "

  Check with your auditor the locations of your stock discrepancies if he can."

  Mrs Woolly had been watching the two men on the roof of the warehouse. She decided to ring that nice detective again and tell him what she'd seen. The call was routed automatically through to his mobile which rang as they went back down the stairs to the warehouse.

  "Mrs Woolly," he said. "How can I help you today?"

  Mercedes was dissatisfied with her morning's work. She felt that she'd achieved nothing with her check on the Meteor vans, though she had seen that nice looking policeman again. She wondered what he'd been doing there, following up on her accident perhaps?

  It occurred to her that maybe Meteor had more vans and perhaps the one she was looking for was out on a delivery somewhere. Maybe she should go back later, in the evening possibly when the vans were parked up for the night.

  Tommy Wheeler logged into his shiny new laptop. He was impressed by how quickly it booted up, not that he was any kind of an expert. In fact, booting up was about the only technical term he knew. No matter. He knew how to log into ebay and that was the most important thing at the moment.

  He checked on the progress of several auctions he was following and noted that payment for a couple of items had been received and that shipment was now due.

  It was all going rather well, he thought.

  He gave an involuntary shiver, as though somebody had just walked over his grave. For some reason his chance meeting with Flowers the previous day flashed across his mind, but he dismissed it without a further thought.

  Terry Smith phoned Flowers with the auditor's findings a couple of hours later. The information meshed with his own observations on the roof. Meteor were being robbed right under their own noses and hadn't even noticed.

  Flowers' gut instinct was telling him that Tommy Wheeler was in this right up to his neck. Somehow he was stealing stock from the warehouse and getting it out of the building without being seen. Maybe he had inside help? He asked Terry how long they kept the cctv tapes and was disappointed to find that it was only forty eight hours before they were recorded over again. Nevertheless he suggested that Terry reviewed the tapes for the last two nights and that he did it quietly, without alerting the security staff. On an afterthought he asked how long the day security staff had worked there. Terry was unsure, but said it was years, not months. More than ever the finger pointed to Tommy Wheeler.

  Flowers was sure that the damage to the corrugated sheeting on the roof was also linked and had an idea how. For the moment he kept it to himself. He still hadn't worked out how the stolen items were being removed from the site. Some of them were big enough to have required transport of some kind. A van or a car. He flicked the kettle on while he pondered. His brain worked better on regular shots of caffeine.

  His mind returned to Mercedes Drew. It seemed like a bit of a coincidence that she was also at the Meteor warehouse. He'd checked the staff list and she certainly didn't work there. Could she be involved somehow? At the moment she was an enigma, albeit a rather attractive one. Sub conciously he ran his hand through his new haircut. Probably nothing more than a simple coincidence, but Flowers didn't like coincidences.

  There was a phone call back from Terry Smith just before five thirty. He'd managed to view all the cctv tapes from the last two nights and they showed, basically, nothing. The only activity he'd picked up was Tommy Wheeler making his scheduled inspection visits inside and outside the warehouse, and a fox, which seemed to use the warehouse yard as part of it's nocturnal run. Flowers was not surprised. Tommy was smart enough to know which areas were covered by cctv and also, which areas weren't.

  Flowers had a feeling he might be doing a little overtime over the next couple of nights.

  His thinking was interrupted by another call from his C.I.

  "Desmond. I've had another call from Wescott. He wants to know what we're doing about the missing cat."

  "I'm working on it," said Flowers. "There could be a development tomorrow." He didn't elucidate further. Anything to get the C.I. off his back. For the moment he just drank his coffee and worked on his plan.

  Mercedes decided she needed to get back into the Meteor site after it had shut down for the day. She presumed that all the delivery vans would be back by then and she'd be able to inspect them more closely when there was no one else about. She'd heard nothing from the police and had little faith that they were taking her case seriously.

  Although she felt a little overdressed for riding the Vespa, she donned her full black leathers for the trip. It would be less conspicuous in the dark, she thought. She decided to wait until late evening before attempting to get in. The fewer people who were around to see her the better.

  Mrs Woolly was delighted to hear from 'her' detective again. He explained that he'd like to do some observation of the Meteor site from her kitchen. It had the benefit of being warm and with a copious supply of black coffee, as well as being well placed to view any action. He told her to go on up to bed when he arrived, but she insisted on maintaining the vigil with him, to his mild annoyance. It wasn't that he didn't like the old lady, so much as finding her incessant chatter somewhat tiring. Just lonely, he supposed.

  Around midnight Flowers was wakened by Mrs Woolly. There was a half drunk mug of cold coffee next to his mobile phone on the kitchen table in front of him. Despite the prattle from his hostess, he'd obviously drifted off. She pointed out lights moving on the roof opposite.

  "You see, Mr Flowers, it's the Aliens."

  Sure enough Flowers could see lights moving on the roof and then they disappeared.

  "Do you think they've still got Mr White?" whispered Mrs Woolly.

  "You don't need to whisper," thought Flowers. "They can't hear us from here."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going over to take a look."

  "Oh dear. Do you think you should Mr Flowers? Do be careful."

  "Don't worry, Mrs Woolly, I will."

  Mercedes parked the little scooter up the road from the main entrance to the Meteor site and searched for a way in that didn't involve walking through the main gate. She found a spot along the front wall which had a British Telecom junction box built against it. By standing on the top of the box she was able to clamber over the wall and drop down into the car park. Unfortunately she'd failed to realise that the cctv camera covering the main gate could also see most of the car park, and her movement as she crept across the parking area was spotted by Tommy Wheeler, despite most of his attention being concentrated on the late film.

  "What the f***?," he said to himself as he watched the shadowy figure creep towards the main building.

  He was torn between phoning the police, which was his instruction if he detected intruders, or whether to try to intercept the interloper on his own. He didn't want any police nosing around if he could help it.

&nb
sp; Tommy Wheeler was not a brave man, but the intruder did look quite small. "Probably some kid," he thought. He picked up his heavy torch and gingerly made his way round towards the front entrance.

  Flowers was in two minds whether to sit it out and wait for the roof top prowler to re-emerge, or whether to walk round and catch him in the act. While he was making his mind up, he was surprised to see the security lights along the side of the building flash on. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd also glimpsed a dark figure. He decided to go in.

  By the time he'd reached the main gate he was out of breath from the running, and panting heavily. "Too much bloody coffee and not enough exercise," he muttered. As he watched, Tommy Wheeler crept out of the front door of the building and headed round to the side. He appeared to be holding some sort of cudgel.

  Flowers ducked under the security barrier and ran quickly across the car park, wheezing the whole way. He rounded the corner of the building just in time to see two figures briefly grappling near the loading dock, before one of them forced the other to the ground and sat astride him wielding what looked like the cudgel that Tommy had been carrying.

  "Stop. Police," he yelled, as he ran towards them.

  The seated figure turned on a torch and shone it directly in his face, blinding him.

  "Turn the bloody torch off," he shouted, "and don't move."

  There was a moment's hesitation before the torch was turned away from him. "Police," he yelled again. "Don't move."

  He stood, panting over the two figures.

  "Get him off me," squealed Tommy. "Get him off."

  "Shut up," said Flowers. He looked at the figure seated on Tommy's back. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

  "Just out for an evening stroll until this goon attacked me." Mercedes looked directly into Flower's eyes and smiled her sweetest smile. "Fancy meeting you again," she thought.

  Tommy Wheeler continued to struggle feebly under Mercedes weight.

  "OK," said Flowers. "You can get off him now."

  "I was just doin' my job, Mr Flowers," protested Wheeler as he clambered back onto his feet. "Aren't you going to arrest her? She's an intruder."

  "Shut up, Tommy," said Flowers, wishing he'd come better prepared. How the hell was he going to manage these two and still investigate what was going on on the roof. That's if they hadn't scared off the strangers in the night already.

  He groped in his pocket for his mobile and groaned as he realised he'd left it on Mrs Woolly's kitchen table.

  "OK, you two. Come with me, and keep quiet."

  He led the way back to the front of the building, past the row of delivery vans parked up for the night. Somehow he needed to secure the two combatants while he investigated the rest of the building.

  "Have you got keys to the offices?" he asked Tommy.

  "I've got a master," he replied.

  "OK. Give," demanded Flowers holding out his hand.

  "It's more than my jobs worth, Mr Flowers."

  "Shut up, Tommy, and give me the bloody key."

  Reluctantly he handed the bunch of keys with the master to Flowers, who unlocked the manager's office and ushered Tommy inside. "Sit there. Don't touch anything. Don't move. Don't make a noise. I'll be back for you later."

  "But, Mr Flowers, what about my rounds? Who's going to watch the TV screens?"

  "Which part of shut up don't you understand, Tommy? Just do as you're told and don't even think about climbing out of the window. I know exactly how to find you again. Do you understand?"

  Tommy nodded resignedly and slumped down into the manager's chair. "I'll be sacked if I don't do my rounds."

  Flowers glared at him and finally he shut up. He was about to leave, when he had a thought. "Take off your jacket and give me your hat," he said to Tommy.

  "What for?"

  "Just do it, Tommy. Just for once, do what you're told." He locked the door behind him when he left the office and turned his attention to Mercedes.

  "I don't know what the hell you are doing here," he said. "But I intend to find out. Meanwhile you can wait in here until I'm ready for you."

  He showed her into Tommy's security office. "Don't touch anything. Don't attempt to leave and keep quiet. I'll be back for you shortly."

  Mercedes fought the urge to make some sort of protest but eventually simply shrugged and sat in the worn chair in front of the bank of cctv screens.

  "Don't touch anything," Flowers repeated. "Understand?"

  She pouted her lips and blew him a kiss. "You're so forceful," she murmured as he turned to leave the office. He paused and looked back at her. She certainly was striking with her long blonde hair and all over leather outfit. He sighed gently and locked the door behind him as he left.

  Mercedes looked around the office at the various notice boards and signs. Tommy's little portable TV was burbling away quietly on the corner of the desk. It looked like an old film.

  Her attention was caught by movement on one of the cctv screens and she was fascinated to see Flowers appear in one of the pictures. It was undoubtedly Flowers, but he was wearing Tommy's security uniform jacket and hat. She was amused by his disguise and watched him walk the length of the warehouse before disappearing off the screen.

  Almost immediately he appeared on the next screen walking down a similar aisle with tall racking on both sides. He stopped by the time clock on the wall and fumbled about as though he was pretending to timestamp something. She had no idea what he was doing.

  There was a movement right at the top of the first screen. She wasn't sure what it was, just a movement in the shadow, but it looked as though Flowers might not be alone in the warehouse. She felt she should warn him somehow, but how?

  Flowers finished his time stamping mime, but all the time he was listening carefully. There were noises coming from high up in the storage racking. It sounded as though there might be someone up there moving boxes. They were making no great attempt at being quiet. Clearly whoever it was wasn't phased by the sight of the night watchman on his rounds. Exactly as he'd expected, Tommy Wheeler was involved in this up to his neck.

  He was considering his next move and still cursing the lack of his mobile phone, when it occurred to him that there were phones all over the building. He turned to go back to the office area to call for reinforcements, when a deafening message came over the tannoy system.

  Mercedes' distorted voice boomed and echoed through the warehouse. "There's someone up in the racking," she said. "Be careful."

  Flowers nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden noise. "What the f***?" he mouthed. "You stupid woman," he muttered as he realised what had happened.

  High up in the storage racks a shadowy figure also jumped violently at the sudden noise. He froze for a few seconds, then dropped the box he was carrying and ran along the top rack towards the metal staircase at the side of the warehouse. The box crashed down to the floor spilling and shattering it's contents. A DAB radio with iPod dock. There was more noise as he scrambled across to the top landing of the stairs and out onto the roof.

  Flowers raced back to the main door of the warehouse, cursing Mercedes Drew. He lost his hat on the way, but ran straight past the offices and out of the main entrance. He continued down the side of the building, past the loading docks and round to the rear of the building, slowing as he rounded the last corner and wheezing violently.

  A figure was climbing carefully down the steel ladder affixed to the back of the building. Flowers edged forward slowly, staying in the shadows.

  The climbing figure was so intent on not losing his footing that he didn't see Flowers waiting for him to reach the ground. As he jumped down from the last step and turned he was confronted by someone he recognised. Someone whose acquaintance he was not anxious to renew.

  "Flowers," he exclaimed in surprise.

  Flowers grabbed the night time intruder by the shoulder, but there was no struggle. "Well, well," he said. "If it isn't Micky Thompson. Just taking the air, were you?"<
br />
  Mercedes had watched Flowers run out of the building and down past the loading bay on the cctv monitors, following the action from screen to screen until he disappeared around the back of the building. It appeared that there were no cameras on this side of the warehouse and she had no idea what had happened to Flowers.

  She watched anxiously and was relieved a few minutes later when he reappeared from behind the building, apparently following another figure. It looked as though he was unharmed.

  She followed his progress on the screens as he came back to the front of the building and in through the main entrance. He disappeared off the screens again, but moments later she saw the two men walk past the door of her temporary jail.

  Flowers opened the office next to the one holding Tommy Wheeler and ushered Micky Thompson inside.

  "It's only a few radios, Mr Flowers" whined Micky. "Couldn't you just look the other way for once?"

  "Shut up, Micky. You're under arrest."

  "Oh, Mr Flowers. Not again. I've already got a suspended. I'll have to go inside if I get done for this one."

  "You are not obliged to say anything … ," began Flowers as he read Thompson his rights. Micky finally gave up protesting and slumped down into the visitor's chair in the office.

  "Don't touch anything. Don't attempt to escape. Wait here. Understand?"

  Micky nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but Flowers put his finger to his lips and mimed, "Be quiet."

  Micky got the message and said nothing.

  "I'm going to run out of cells at this rate," thought Flowers, forgetting for a moment that he didn't have his mobile and fumbling in his pocket.

  He let himself back into Tommy's security office. Mercedes was watching the door as he came in. "I told you not to touch anything."

  She looked hurt. "I was only trying to warn you," she said.

  "Thank you," replied Flowers, grudgingly, "but next time I tell you not to touch anything. Don't touch anything. Understand? I knew he was there. I was just checking that there was only one. You could have got me killed."

  "I was only trying to help."

  "What are you doing here, anyway? You aren't mixed up in this are you?"

  "I don't even know what 'this' is. It's nothing to do with me."

  "So? What were you doing?"

  "I was checking out the vans."

  "Checking out the vans? What do you mean?"

  "One of these bastards knocked me off my bike and I'm going to find him."

  "How are you going to find him?"

  "Paint."

  "Paint?"

  "You don't have to repeat everything. Paint. I've been looking for paint on the bumper. Paint from my bike."

  "And did you find any?"

  "Not yet, because that idiot next door attacked me."

  Flowers pondered the situation briefly. Technically she was an intruder. On the other hand she hadn't actually broken in anywhere or damaged anything. It wasn't worth the hassle of pursuing it further and getting involved in all the paperwork.

  "OK. You can go," he said.

  "Where?"

  "Home. Wherever you want. You're free to go."

  "And what are you going to do about the hit and run?"

  "I'm sure it's being followed up."

  She looked doubtful. "By the way," she said. "There's an extra van here."

  "What do you mean an extra van?"

  "An extra van. One more than there should be."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Because I counted them. There should be twelve and there's thirteen."

  "Why should there be twelve?"

  "There's twelve spaces in the yard. They've got numbers on, one to twelve. There's a list here on the wall of delivery routes. They're numbered one to twelve. Little clues like that."

  Flowers ignored the sarcasm. "Where's the extra one, then?"

  "It's right down the end, by the fence. Look." She pointed to the cctv picture which showed the side of the building by the delivery dock. In the gloom, right against the back fence, barely visible in the shadows, was indeed another delivery van.

  "Maybe it's a spare?" said Flowers. "Or an old one they don't use any more."

  "Maybe," she shrugged. "Or maybe it's got paint on the bumper."

  She blew him another kiss as she left the office. He watched her walk out of the building and across the visitor's car park on the cctv screens until she disappeared. There was a twinge of sadness at her departing. "Maybe he'd have to think of a reason to interview her again," he thought to himself.

  An hour later and uniformed patrol car had collected Tommy Wheeler and Micky Thompson and taken them back for questioning. Terry Smith had been roused from his bed and arrived, looking slightly dishevelled at the warehouse.

  He and Flowers climbed up the metal staircase to the warehouse roof. As Flowers had suspected, they found the side panel to the top landing pushed out. "They've been coming and going through this panel to avoid opening the door and setting off the alarm," he explained. From the top landing it was an easy step across to the top layer of the storage racking.

  "But why didn't the night watch see them on the cctv screens?" asked Terry.

  "He didn't want to see them, of course, but not only that, I'm afraid you've got a few holes in your cctv coverage," said Flowers. "For example, inside here, the cameras are angled down to cover the floor. They don't cover the top two layers of the racking."

  "I guess we didn't see the need," said Terry, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Where else?"

  "Round the back. There's no coverage on that side of the building at all."

  "I guess we didn't see the need there, either. There's no doors on that side."

  "But there is an engineer's cradle on a hoist," continued Flowers.

  The penny finally dropped with Terry. "They've been lowering stuff down in the cradle." Flowers took him outside and showed him the boxes neatly stacked in the cradle from that night's incursion. There was a laptop computer, A few assorted computer cables and spares, a camera and a twenty four inch LCD screen TV.

  "It's hardly big time, is it," said Terry.

  "That's why you thought you had a stock control problem. They were smart enough just to take one of this and one of that. Never enough to look like a break in."

  "And always from the top two shelves, so it didn't show up on the cctv. But you say that our night watchman was in on it, so why did they worry about being seen?"

  "That was the clever bit. Tommy knew the system. He could tell them how to avoid the alarms and the cameras, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. So, while they got on with the theft, he just continued with his regular walk abouts. As you know, the only movement you saw when you reviewed the tapes was him behaving exactly as he should."

  Terry shrugged. "It hardly seems worth it," he said. "All that effort for so little gain. I mean, what have they taken. A few thousand quid at most, maybe four, five?"

  "These guys are small time. Petty career criminals. Spend more time and effort trying to pinch stuff than if they went out and got a proper job."

  "I don't understand what they did with it once they'd got it down on the ground. Why didn't that show up on the cctv? They must have had a van or something."

  "I have a theory about that," said Flowers. "You can come and check it out with me."

  The two men walked round to the back of the building towards a delivery van parked up by the fence.

  "One of yours?" asked Flowers.

  Terry glanced at it briefly. "Looks like it," he agreed. "Not sure why it's parked round here, though."

  "Take a closer look," suggested Flowers.

  Terry walked round the van. "Looks a bit tatty," he said. "I think it's one of ours, though." He ran his hand over the side. "Actually. It might not be. I think someone's painted over the name on the side."

  He explained to Flowers that when they disposed of old delivery vans they always painted out the Meteor badge. It looked
as though this one had been painted back in.

  "I think you'll find that this is the getaway vehicle," said Flowers patting the side of the van. "My guess is that they've been driving in quite openly towards the end of the day and parking up. No one here is likely to take much notice of just another one of your delivery vans. They must be in and out all day."

  Terry nodded, "But where would the driver go after he's parked?"

  "Nowhere. I reckon he just lies down in the back of the van and keeps out of sight until it's safe to emerge. Probably has a kip if I know anything about Micky Thompson, then he goes up the ladder on the back of the building, removes the loose panel, collects his trophies, loads them into the cradle and lowers them to the ground. Once that's done he can load the van and just go back to sleep until morning."

  "… and then drive out of the gate, cool as you like when we open up," continued Terry, nodding. "That's smart. I wonder who came up with that?"

  "Tommy Wheeler I reckon. Micky Thompson could never come up with anything that smart on his own. Tommy was the man on the inside, but he never actually got his hands dirty. Just did the scouting out and came up with the plan. He was the one who realised that no one would notice an extra delivery van coming in and out. And he knew exactly what the cctv cameras could see."

  "Hiding in plain sight."

  "Eh?"

  "Hiding in plain sight. That's what you call it."

  "About sums it up."

  The two men walked back to Terry's office, but not before Flowers made an inspection of the van's front bumper. He didn't explain to Terry what he was looking for or what he found.

  Mrs Woolly's doorbell rang at just after nine the next morning. She came to the door carrying a fluffy white cat.

  "Mr Flowers," she said. "You're a marvel."

  "Mr White, I presume," said Flowers.

  "Yes, although he's a bit grubby at the moment. More like Mr Grey, aren't you my boy? I don't know where he's been. He's also very hungry. Where did you find him?"

  Flowers was about to confess that he had no idea where the cat had been. He assumed it was locked in somewhere and had found it's own way home. It was none of his doing. For once, though, he decided that honesty was not the best policy and just shrugged non commitally. "Confidential information, I'm afraid, Mrs Woolly. If I told you, I'd have to shoot you."

  For a fleeting moment the old lady looked quite alarmed, until the penny dropped. "You're teasing me, Mr Flowers, you wicked man."

  She stroked the cat, who was purring loudly, before adding, "The kettle's on if you'd like a coffee. It's Costa Rican today. Oh, and did you know you left your phone here last night?"

  When they were sitting in the kitchen over their coffees, she asked, ""Was there any sign of the Aliens?/"

  "There never were any Aliens, Mrs Woolly," said Flowers. "Those lights you saw on the roof next door were burglars I'm afraid. Robbing the Meteor warehouse."

  "Oh dear. That's awful Mr Flowers, but you've caught them now haven't you?"

  "Yes. They're locked up now. You won't see them again for a while."

  Mercedes took the Vespa scooter back to Mike, her mechanic friend. Her old bike looked as good as new. "Mind the paint for a few days," he said. "It takes a while to harden fully. It'd be better if you left it for another day, really."

  She gave him a big kiss and a hug. "How much?" she asked.

  "Just twenty five for the mirror," he said. "The foot rest straightened out OK. Looks as good as new. No charge for the paint."

  She kissed him again for luck. "You're a real mate, Mike."

  He blushed slightly. Once he'd thought she might become more than just a mate, but for now he was happy to have her as a friend.

  The phone on Flower's desk rang. It was his boss.

  "I've just had Wescott on the phone. He said to thank you for finding the cat. Apparently his wife thinks you're a marvel."

  "Actually, so do I," thought Flowers.

  "Well done Desmond. Another job well done."

  Flowers shook his head gently in disbelief. Not a mention of the warehouse robberies or the hit and run case he'd solved single handedly.

  He replaced the receiver and his mind went back to the name which had been spinning around in his head all night and all day. Mercedes Drew. He couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I suppose I could call round to her address on my way home and tell her that we've got the hit and run driver. The blue paint on the fake Meteor van proved that it was Micky Thompson. He was never going to risk stopping with the contraband in the back of his fake van. I might call into the car wash, too, on the way and get the Mondeo cleaned up a bit. It's been looking a bit rough lately." He nodded gently to himself. "Yep, that sounded a bit like a plan."

  He rocked back in his chair, for once without a cup of coffee in his hands. "I wonder if it would be too soon to take flowers?"