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The night passed without incident. Gumshoe reappeared at the hidden entrance while I was brewing a large pot of the strong coffee I find essential first thing in the morning. I took a second mug from the cupboard and waved it in Gumshoe's direction. He declined with a wave of his hand. "No thanks. I've just put one out," he said wryly. He looked distinctly refreshed and reinvigorated. I noted he was wearing a freshly-ironed shirt and had managed to stand close enough to a razor to get a good shave. I smiled a small smile to myself at the implications on the domestic arrangements hereabouts. Having augmented my breakfast coffee with a small selection from the dry stores from one of the cupboards, I sat at the table and talked over the state of the case. There wasn't much new insight generated, despite the caffeinated beverage for me and the reduction in fatigue poisons from a good night's sleep for Gumshoe - or whatever it was that had made him so noticeably relaxed. Breakfasting completed, I reached for the phone and dialled the number which would - eventually - connect me with my answering service. Just one message. One which I had been expecting. It was from Sergeant Mergie Tewel. Even though it was read aloud by the professional agent at the other end of the line, I could still hear Tewel's laconic tones. "Heard about the incident at the Court of Probate. You should know better, pulling stunts like that." I could practically see Tewel shaking his head wearily. "We may have got off on the wrong footing on this one," the message went on, "Come in and talk to me." I thanked the agent and turned to Gumshoe. "I need to go and talk to a copper." When I was finally shown into Tewel's grey little office in the precinct station, the Sergeant was staring into space, his gaze apparently fixed on a spot on the undecorated wall opposite his desk. "Ah, Mister Gask," he said in a low monotone as I was ushered in, his eyes not moving from the blank plaster, "Take a seat." I sat in the only unoccupied chair in the place, a solid-looking and, I was about to discover, rather uncomfortable wooden job set opposite the grey-painted metal desk. Tewel himself occupied an ancient leather swivel seat that looked only marginally more comfortable. The scratched leather surface of the desk between us was adorned with an impressive collection of files and folders. To my relief, there was no sign of the two heavies who had been standing behind the Sergeant the last time we met, the enforcers who had, I was increasingly convinced, been masquerading as police officers. The scruffy way they were turned out spoke volumes. I wondered what task the ugly pair they had been attempting and whether, in fact, this had been entirely at Tewel's direction. I tossed my hat on top of one of the geological layers of paperwork on the desk and sat in the chair, temporarily prepared to wait patiently. After a few seconds, Tewel turned his slightly myopic gaze in my direction. "It's possible we have got off to a bad start on this case," he said distractedly, "And I accept that might have been my fault. So, let's start again, from the beginning." "Uh-huh," I replied with a modicum of good grace, "So what was the beginning, exactly?" He snorted, tossing his head back slightly. "Yeah, I guess I owe you that." "Owe me what?" "An explanation, of course," he said mildly, adding as a response to my puzzled look, "Why you're here. Why you're involved in this case." "I know you recommended me to Lady Strowan," I growled, "But, in all the Hells, why? And why beat up on me later?" He had the grace to look embarrassed for a moment, then his face returned to its usual placid neutrality and his gaze to the blank wall. "Let me tell you a story," he said in a soft, calm, slightly sing-song voice, the kind of voice a mother would use to placate an over-tired and fractious offspring. I smiled wryly and sat back while Tewel folded his hands over his belly and launched into his tale.
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Part 65