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02/03/2009 by Uncle.
I flew from Milan to Sofia and went to the hotel where Tom had stayed. They checked the records and yes he had stayed there on the dates in question.
The receptionist was helpful enough, sort of, just. Yes he had made a booking and stayed from x date to x date. I told them he had gone missing and they said he had paid his bill by cash. They even produced a copy of the bill. He had eaten in the restaurants and had done bought some things from the hotel shops and charged them to the room.
Then I started asking if anyone remembered him, but they couldn’t. Mind you it is a big hotel and then they went back to their records again and there was an bit of confusion and after much yacking in Bulgarian they left the computer and started to checked their registration cards- still very soviet despite all the alleged changes and lo and behold there was not one in his name. It must have been lost, however there was one in the girls name who stayed in the room on his booking.
Girl, who stayed in his room, who the hell was she?
A Bulgarian girl from the countryside. The receptionist said this very slowly and looked at the counter all the time she said it. I suspected I knew where she was coming from, but felt it better to make sure. She didn’t or couldn’t say prostitute, after all this was a classy hotel and Bulgaria is in the EU now, so peasant girls turning tricks to satisfying Western European mens sexual needs is not a happy thought or the sort of image they want to perpetuate. So there then followed a pathetic Q&A session
Where was she now? - She left
Where does she live -I dont know
Yes you do its on the card - I can’t read her peasant writing.
Look if I can you can, are you going to help me or do I get a friend of mine who is a Russian and who used to be KGB and lives in Sofia to come and help me.
Funny enough those three little letters still work a treat. EU might fat arse.
The hotel was a good looking place with lots of amenities so I booked a room dumped my gear and then started on the job of finding the girl. Oddly enough it was not that hard and even handier when I found out she lived not to that far away from the hotel in a depressing high rise block of flats.
It was communism housing at its worst, you have seen the sort of thing in films and it just reinforced the stereotype of what life was like for ordinary people behind the Iron Curtain. I got the feeling that it was not much better now, mind you having said that, unlike South London, Merseyside, Manchester or Leeds nobody had thought of pissing in the lifts or shitting on the stairs and there were no syringes or signs of drugs, just poverty and an air of cold depression and hopelessness.
I found the flat. What is it that possesses local authorities worldwide to paint the communal hallways and landing of these buildings watery pea green and the doors a slightly different shade of piss? I knocked on the door and heard somebody come and look through the spy hole. The door opened and there was a pretty blonde girl of about 17 or 18 she was very slim almost skinny and was wearing a flimsy shirt through which her nipples were not only visible but poking through the material like a couple of chapel coat pegs
“Vharna” I said
Clearly my pronunciation was close enough for her to recognise her own name because she nodded smiling slightly.
“Do you speak English?”
“A little” She nodded smiling some more and smoothing her shirt down so that her pert breasts were even more visible.
I stayed focused.
“I am a friend of Tom, you stayed with him at the hotel Sofia a few days ago.”
She looked straight at me and the smile faded a little “No I didn’t” she said nervously “I have not done anything wrong, nothing to bring shame He said nobody would know” she crossed her arms over her perky friends and stooped slightly.
“Who said that, Tom?”
She held my stare and did not falter.
“No the other man Mr Atkins, I just stayed at the hotel, I turn up and book in and get the key and go to the room. Mr Atkins pay me before. He told me to have a nice time and to get things on room service do shopping get nice things and drink at the bar and charge it all to the room and he pays.”
“Why?”
“Because he is taking me and my little sister to Spain and he wanted to do a favour for a friend, but the friend could not come so after a few days he gives me money and I come home, honest I did not have sex are you police he says maybe the police come sometime but we would be gone, you came very quickly”
“woe woe woe slowly please. Mr Atkins asked you to go to the hotel.”
“Yes”
“He paid the hotel and then paid you”
“Yes,\well no, his friend paid the hotel bill and Mr Atkins paid me. It was a good job, better than some, no….” she suddenly caught what she had said and went bright red.
“Did you ever see Tom?”
she hesitated.
“It is not a hard question did you see Tom or didn’t you?”
She was flustered her eyes were filling up with tears and she looked about 12. I felt like a big bully, but that has never stopped me before. I smiled at her, which is always a risk as I can look weirder when I smile than when don’t. Vharna must have been OK with weird because she gave me a little smile back.
“No, but I think I was meant to say yes, but I am not good liar and forget”
“Did you ever see Tom?”
She looked me in the eyes and shook her head “No”
I took out my wallet and gave her some Bulgarian Levs and about 150 Euros.
“Do you want me?” she said
“Its very kind and you are very beautiful, but that is a present for telling the truth and to help you when you move”
She looked at the money
“I must do something for you”
“Ok get out of this while you can and look after your sister”
She nodded
“Promise?”
“Promise”
I rang Cyclops and yippee the mobile worked. I filled him in on the hotel bit and Atkins. I could hear him tapping away at his keyboard. he told me he had found a bloke dealing in property in Spain and Bulgaria going by the name Atkins and would look into him.
Half an hour later Cyclops was back to me and said that Atkins was a based near Veliko Turnover and was indeed involved in the property market. He had a telephone number which turned out to be a Spanish mobile number. He had rung and tried to make an appointment for me as a prospective property purchaser but had only managed to leave a message. His emails had been replied to by an auto responder, so we were not really any further on.
I went back to my latest hotel which as I said also had extra facilities except that the best looking facilities were in the bar. I had a good meal that night and some cracking red wine which went by the rather unfortunate name of “No mans Land” still what’s in a name and besides there was a certain irony in the name on several levels, because after the second bottle thats where I was, No mans land.
I was a good boy and had an early night and watched saving Private Ryan in Bulgarian. Actually it doesnt matter what language you watch it in it is still powerful. For the record I don’t think any film comes closer to capturing a real battle scene than the beach landing scene in Private Ryan. The noise, confusion,fear and getting the job done. The only thing is, that to get the full impact turn the sound up as loud as it will go so your ears hurt because even then you wont be close to what its really like.
The next day I got tucked up on the phone sorting out another job and then there was a mega amount of poncing about with hire cars whenreally I should ahve been on the road d to Veliko Turnover. I was leaving it late very late and even though I had checked out of the hotel I debated aboutchecking back in again and staying extra night but in the end for some reason (probably the Yrokshireman in me) but officially I have forgotten, I decided to head off that evening.
Idiot.
The maps show a motorway going from Sofia to the Black sea. It sort of does, but gives out here and there frequently. The problem is that there is no warning that it is going from super highway to single lane cart track with deep pot holes. These are not ordinary pot holes, these are Bulgarian pot holes that are so deep that you would be forgiven for thinking that if you fell in one you would find the fourth dimension. There is the added joy of Bulgarian lorry drivers who have clearly not got to grips with the concept of death and serious personal injury or the other little niceties like other road users.
In short the journey was one of the worse of my life and I can tell you I have been to some pretty remote and ropey places in my time. Thank God I took out the extra insurance as bits of hire car flew off at regular intervals to lie at the side of the road with the multitude of dead dogs that scattered the route. Saving Private Ryan was clearly a Bulgarian Highway Code training film not entertainment.
It was made worse by thick fog and all in all it was e not a quick journey and I eventually found the village where Atkins apparently worked from at about 3am in the Morning. It was a as depressing a place as Vharnas tower block.
I was shagged and parked up in a wide sort of village square, except it wasn’t a village square as we would know it but more like a parade ground or prison exercise yard. Kin grim.
I dozed for an hour or so and was woken by the sound of a vehicle. It was a ford Transit. Nothing too odd about that except it was a right hand drive and on UK plates. Two bloke got out and took some smaller boxes into a very institutional building at the side of the square. A few moments later they came out carrying a large box between them which they put carefully into the van. In and out they went and brought out about 6 or 7 boxes all about a metre or so in length and about 50 cm wide and deep. I thought they were sort of weapons boxes to start with an then thought they could be little coffins. The blokes drove off as soon as they had the crates in the van and there was no sign of anyone else in the building. The ace detective in me wrote the number plate down.
I was cold and uncomfortable but sufficiently recovered to be able to consider pressing on in the dense fog to Veliko Turnover and a hotel.
Veliko wasn’t too bad a looking place from what I could see of it in the fog. There was a hotel sign posted and as it turned out it was the biggest Hotel in the town. It was a soviet as they come with a Tony Soprano look a like guarding the car park. The reception area was like a railways station and done out entirely in dark grey marble fashioned in the soviet 1950’s style. However the receptionist was very new age and very pretty with long black hair that cascaded over the marble counter as she slept with her head on her arms. She woke with such a start when I gently gave her arm a shake that she made me jump.
She was very apologetic and was telling me her little boy had flu and please not to tell the manger and he had been sick for three days and please don’t tell and she had been awake with him all day and if she lost her job she would be ruined and how she was worried he was Ok at home on his own. Eventually I got her to to calm down realise it was OK to nod off and that I was not going to tell anyone if she didn’t. She looked shattered and I wanted to scoop her up and take her home to her kid so she could snuggle up with him. I couldn’t and didn’t do that of course, but a few minutes later I found myself in a half timbered bedroom with antiquated furniture and a hyper modern bathroom.
The bed may have been antiquated but it was comfy and cosy and I can tell you I didn’t need any rocking.
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22/02/2009 by Uncle.
Despite the couple of beers and agreeable company, I still had no idea where to start looking for the wanderer in Milan.
A good nights kip and a hefty fat boys Italian breakfast didn’t help either, which is very rare.
The only event that Cyclops had come up with that was on in Milan was the final of some kind of artistic glass competition.
“Why glass Cyclops?” I had asked a little confused
“Because it is sponsored by a gin company and in my experience all those expats in Spain drink gin” He explained
“A bit thin isn’t it?” I said
“No, but very different to Gordons” He replied
“What is?” I asked somewhat perplexed at his odd response
“Bombay Saphire”
“Whats Bombay Saphire got to do with the price of fish”
“They are sponsors of the glass competition”
“I didn’t mean the gin was thin you prawn I meant the theory was thin”
“OH I see, yes sorry, no indeed it’s thin as a whores panties, but there is sod all else that I can see going on there, in fact, having looked at the travel pattern, if you can call it that, it just doesn’t make any sense to me at all. Why go to the beach resorts in winter for example?”
“Maybe he likes the peace and quiet” I suggested
“Hmmm maybe, but I aint so sure, if he liked that why move to southern Spain, he could have gone to Little Hampton of Skegness, no there is something not quite kosher here but I am buggered if I know what, but I am working on it and will come back to you asap”
In the absence of any better idea I decided to make enquiries at reception about the glass exhibition. It was a total blow out. get it glass blow, glass blowing, oh please yourself. Anyway after a very dull and unproductive day I decided to eat at a pizzeria. Its odd how the word Pizzeria always makes me want to eat pizza and drink red wine. I just have to see it and I imagine a dark little place with oak beams, candles, gingham table clothes and wicker covered wine bottles and Pizza. Funny that.
So there I was minding my own business attacking my Pizza with moderate enthusiasm, when I had a thought about the hire car, why not either go back and see if somebody knew where he was going or failing that sit up on the hire car office at just before the time the car was due back. God I dont believe how bloody thick I can be sometime, talk about an obvious thing to do, these detectives in books and on the telly make it look so easy.
Inspired by my slow genius I got stuck into my quarto staggioni and Chianti with gusto. Genius is good for the appetite.
Next morning I went off to the airport to speak to the car hire people. It was a lovely day and I felt good and really positive.
I presented myself and explained I was trying to find a friend and that he had a car booked. I expected some resistance from what seemed an officious young man, but none came as he tapped away at his keyboard.
“Si he has de reservation, a small car a panda due to return…..” tap tap tap tap enter.
“No scuzie it is er not possible” he said
“What is not possible?”
“To tell you when he a bring a de car back”
“Why not?” I said feeling a little miffed
“Becasue your a friend he no collecata de car when he should, He not a cancell de booking so we charge im de cancellation, no show noding else, I am sorry, bud I canna helper you furder”
“Ah you sure?”
“Si I am very sure look a here” and with some considerable effort he turned his screen round to show me.
“Do you think a your friend ok, can I help a you more?” He asked looking a bit upset.
“Well I dont know”
“I help a you if I can because my little brudder he live in Sicilia and he disappear, but I think it not an accident, he only twenty three but I still look a for im when ever I can.”
“I am sorry to hear that, maybe I could take some details and could ask questions on my travels”
He smiled “I don’t think you find him, but I av de papers and a good photos of im” He opened a drawer in his desk and gave me a very well produced A5 size flyer with a good photo of a serious looking young man.
“Now I search our system and see if he hire cars other places with us and I ask out central department to tell me same things. Shall I ring you or I can email when I know”
“Which ever”
“I do both” he said emphatically.
I gave him my business card and left the airport and in the absence of anything better idea I headed back to the hotel to get decided what to do next. My initial thought was to get my stuff and head for home asap, but it was that kind of knee jerk reaction that had got me here on a fools errand in the first place.
When I got to the hotel I ran a nice hot bath and had a good old soak in some fancy Italian bubble bath and read my book. Despite the fancy bottle and name it reminded me of that kids bubble bath Matey my mum used to use on us when were kids. I don’t know if they still do it, probably full of E numbers that make you hyper and not enough fish oils to make you brainy. Have emerged from my bath, very pink and looking like a lobster and with my paper back soggy around the edges I rang Cyclops to see if he had any bright ideas or Interpol buddies who might be able to throw some light on the missing brother, at least my conscience would be clear.
Cyclops said he would ask the questions and wait for the email from the car hire people and in the meantime we talked over what to do? Did the fact that Tom did not pick up the car in Milan mean he had never arrived? Had he ever been to or left Sofia? The client had forced the pace and insisted I come to Milan, but at the time I said there were a lot of unanswered questions and loose ends.
I decided that before I left Cyclops should ring the hotel in Sofia where Tom had stayed before allegedly leaving for Milan and that I would sit tight for now and would make a decision when he had any further info.
I didn’t sit tight for long, Cyclops rang back less than an hour later.
“Norm it was a little hard speaking to anyone who would commit themselves but it seems as if our man stayed an extra night in Sofia and did not take the flight to Milan after all, however he then left to go to some resort on the the black sea the hotel in Sofia made the reservation for him.”
“And…”
“Yeah well I rang the hotel they said he was going to, but they said he never showed up”
“So on the face of it he is still in Bulgaria some where but we dont know where”
“Well yes and no, an email has just come in confirming a flight from Sofia to London in about a months time and there is a car being hired in a place called hang on a mo I will try to get The name right Veileko Turnover or something like that, sorry, but Bulgarian is not my strongest language, but it looks as if it is sort of mid way between Sofia and the black Sea.”
“Ok well let see what the client wants shall we.”
I rang the client and told her we had found a big fat zero in Milan and about the Bulgarian Saga. It transpired that a man they sort of knew vaguely in Spain had moved there. He was in the Bulgarian property business and had set up base not far from Velkro Turnover or whatever the place was called but that was the only connection and that was really tenuous. After some badgering she said she thought his name was Arkins or Ardins but she couldn’t remember and in any case they didn’t know him at all. Despite her not knowing why Tom was there she said she wanted me to go and follow this lead as soon as. She also said that she was going back to Spain that evening as she had no further business in the UK and that something urgent that had cropped up. She had sent payment for what we had done and extra to cover ongoing enquiries and asked that I keep on the case.
I can tell you, she was keener than I was for me to go to Bulgaria, but she was sure -again-that it was the right move.
I was not so sure- again.
I have never really cared for Bulgaria and all this talk of it being the new France or Spain is in my opinion a load of old bollocks. True, you can get shed of a house that you wouldn’t want to live in for next to nothing and a mega size bottle of beer for about 60p.
However despite my fondness for beer it has never played a major part in me influencing where I should live. However, I regret to say that it has on more than one occasion played a major part in influencing where I have slept.
Oh yes and with whom, hangs head in shame.
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16/02/2009 by Uncle.
“I’m in with the in crowd, I go where the in crowd go”
Having got my beer I sat in the bar where the lovely people met and thought about what had brought me here and the more I thought about it the more I had a but feeling that all was not as it should be, but I couldn’t say what it was.
My peace was being disturbed by the jawing of some English toss pots at the bar with a group of scantily clad wenches. I realised I must be tired having not noticed them - the girls that is- sooner as they looked like bonne temps filles as the French would say.
One of the blokes who was in his late thirties maybe early forties was giving it what for and he clearly had the eyes and ears of the ladies and was making remarkable progress in capturing other parts of their anatomy. The bloke was about 6 foot 2 heavily built but not what you would call fat, but not fit either. He had fair hair which was unkempt in that Chelsea salon way. He had a face that was pudgey and not yet fat, but was on that road from too many City lunches. He was wearing Ralph Lauren Chinos and blue and striped shirt with classic English brown brogues.
I tuned into his conversation and he was waxing lyrical about being in Bosnia and what it was like for him and his men.
My old lugs went to full scan as chummy was clearly relating a story of do or die. His volume dropped decibel as he moved on to tell them about what it was like in Ireland and Iraq.
I as aware of somebody beside me at the bar and when I looked it was a bloke of about the same age as myself salt and pepper hair and beard. He had a pleasant smiley face and was well dressed but understated. He ordered a whiskey in a soft well spoken American accent. His drink arrived and the American caught my eye and raised his glass. I reciprocated.
“He kind of likes the music he makes doesn’t he” said my new buddy amicably
I half laughed and smiled “Yes he does”
“What do you reckon?” He asked me
“To what?” I replied a little puzzled
“Our hero over there” he said giving a very faint nod of the head and took a sip of his drink. I was sure I didn’t know this man, but then again he looked familiar, but I could not place him.
“I don’t know what you mean” I said quite genuinely.
The strangers eyes twinkled with a sort of serious merriment.
“Oh I think you do, you were locked in to what he was saying for ages before I interrupted you”
I grinned “Was it that obvious?”
“No not really, its just I meet lots of people like him and a few people like you” He said affably
“Sorry I am not with you”
“The guy at the other end of the bar, the one making out to be a one man special forces unit, do you think he’s for real?”
I shrugged “I wouldn’t know”
“Excuse me” he said and leaned across and took hold of my left wrist and pulled it so it was in front of me and looked at my watch. “That’s the give away clue”
I knew what he was talking about and smiled. We both looked at chummy and on his left fleshy wrist was a nice flashy watch or should I say Chronograph.
I signalled to the barman for another drink and asked my new mate if he would have one. He accepted with a smile and slight nod of the head. He was man of few words and those words he did speak were said softly and with consideration.
“Have you ever noticed how many guys you bump into who claim to be ex special forces and they will tell you all about themselves and what they did. Like that guy over there. So do you think he’s for real?”
“No” I said without hesitation.
The American smiled “And I will tell you why not, because he is stood in a bar in a foreign city, talking to people he doesn’t know so loudly that at least two total strangers can over hear every word and he has no idea whose side we are on and whether we are Military Intelligence, Special Investigations or The Red Brigade.”
“Maybe” I said
“Ah yes but the watch gives it away. You see guys buy watches as a symbol to show people what they want to be not what they are. Do you know anyone that has a watch like his that actually uses the timers”
I smiled
“Of course you don’t, all you guys have watches that tell the time, dont break and don’t draw attention to you”
“True” I agreed
I looked at his watch it was an expensive swiss watch, but understated a bit like the man who wore it.
Our man at the the bar was now telling the honeys about Afghanistan and how he had done this that and the other wearing little more than a cod piece and his Gucci shoes or some such bollocks. The ladies for their part were wetter than Grimsby in December by the way they were squriming about.
“We both know that the only time guys use the timers is when they’re barbecuing a steak”He said only half joking.
I didn’t disagree.
He smiled and took another sip of his drink. “I didn’t mean to intrude” he said
“No not at all” I said
“Its just I dont get a chance to have a quiet drink in a bar and make small talk” He said.
“Do you have a busy schedule or something” I asked
“Yeah you could say that and I don’t really get the opportunity too much, not that I am complaining”
I became aware that the gobby oaf at the bar had shut up and when I looked across his little group were hushed and staring at us and whispering.
“Oh great the end of my evening” said my companion.
I looked back at the group with my best gamma death stare. They all blushed and looked away including the trained killer
“You know” Said the American “I have heard the expression if looks could kill, and nver really took it seriously, but you know I think I have just seen it in action properly for the first time” He finished his drink.
I said nowt.
“You here for long?” He continued
“Don’t know, it just depends”
“On what?”
“Oh lots of things, actually I am looking for somebody who is supposed to be here, its nothing really”
“I hope for his sake it isn’t, because you seem like a nice guy, but I don’t think I would want you looking for me if it was something” He stood up and extended his hand ” Nice to meet you…..”
“Norman” I filled in
“Norman” he said shaking my hand
“And…” I asked
He looked at me and smiled in a really pleased and friendly way.
“George” he said
“Well George if you’re in London look me up and we can get a beer chew the cud”
“I will, hey Norman do you have a card?”
“As a matter of fact I think I do”
I dug out a business card and gave it to him.
He looked at it and then looked at me and then at the group who were whispering again.
“Contractor?” He asked quizzicly
I shrugged “Its catchy don’t you think?”
“Well yeah I suppose, but what…..” He stopped short as one of the yuppie blokes started to walk over to us and there was something about the manner of his approach that gave me cause for concern, or was it that I sensed the man next to me tense and did I detect he felt threatened. The approaching yuppie didn’t look like an obvious threat, but nonetheless I moved slightly and effectively shielded the American and at the same time bladed my body left side on to the approaching man, hands and arms slightly across my abdomen
The approaching man stopped just short of me and I looked him in the eyes.
“Excuse me” He said slightly hesitantly and looking down at the floor “But erm er could I have your autograph?”
“My autograph” I said “Why would you want my autograph?”
He flushed and looked at the floor again and then reluctantly looked up at me “Actually” He said “I was talking to ….Oh he’s gone”
I turned to see George leaving the room.
“No you can’t” I said
And that was that, but I wonder if George Clooney dinned out on the story of how he first met Uncle Norman.
I knew I had seen him somewhere before.
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15/02/2009 by Uncle.
I have been all over the bloody place since my last post. Pannama, Colombia, France, Southern Spain and last but by no means least Stoke on Trent.
If it sounds glamorous and exciting let me put you straight now. It isn’t.
I am bloody cream crackered and in need of a few beers a glass of vino and some decent grubafter which no doubt my sense of humour will return.
Hope to post the next part to the Spain story tomorrow ot Tuesday before I head off again on Wednesday. Only a short trip this time - allegedly.
I am getting to old for all this Alan Whicker stuff.
I would love to stay and chat but there is a cold beer with my name on it. Actually it has Stella’s name on it.
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04/02/2009 by Uncle.
Having made the initial discovery that Tom had gone off on a European jamboree I looked at the emails confirming his movements and activities. From what I could see from the emails the first booking for a flight had been made roughly three weeks before he disappeared.
“It looks like his trip was not a spur of the moment thing” I said
“How do you know that?” Asked Mrs W
“Because it would seem he has a whole load of messages starting from about three weeks before he disappeared until yesterday confirming travel and hotel arrangements both in the UK and Europe. In fact he has a message here confirming a hotel reservation for last night at the Sveta Sofia Hotel.”
“Where’s that”
“Sofia in Bulgaria by the looks of things”
She leaned over my shoulder and peered at the screen.
“What on Earth would he be doing in Bulgaria?” she asked almost under her breath
“I was about to ask you the same question, but clearly you are non the wiser”
“Well I’ll be” she said softly and then stood up “So he is in Bulgaria”
“No he was, by now he should be in Milan or so it would seem” I corrected her ” You see there is another email here for a flight from Sofia to Milan for today, plus there is another one from Hertz for a small car in Milan”
“Will you go to Milan and see if you can find him as soon as you can?” she asked urgently.
“I will if you want me to, but…”
“Want you to” she snorted with indignation “Of course I bloody want you to” she said almost shouting “that’s what I am bloody well paying you for, you tell me he has flown to Milan and hired a car today, its the best indication that he is alive and of his whereabouts” she said really angrily.
I held my hand up in front of me “I appreciate that you’re paying me, but it is for that very reason I am not sure of the wisdom of charging off to Milan just at the moment. Look, I know you want to find out what has happened to your husband asap and if you want me to shoot over there and look for him then I will, but at the moment there is not much to go on.”
She looked at me sullenly but said nothing so I decided to persevere with my explanation
“Milan is a big place and at the moment all that we know is that he had a flight booked to there from Bulgaria and has hired a small car. Now then we don’t have a hotel or even know if he was staying in Milan or moving on, In fact come to that we don’t even know he went there”
“Why wouldn’t he go there, he’s booked a flight and car for God sake” she exclaimed in frustration.
“Booked and take are not tht same thing are they and as for the car, well as I said he has booked a small car which will probably turn out to be a Fiat Panda and Milan is full of bloody Fiats, haven’t you seen the Italian Job?”
She looked as if this was working and she had calmed down a bit, but breathing heavily through her nostrils like a bull and till looked seriously pissed off with me. “Now then if you want to pay for flights, hotel and other incidentals whilst I swan about looking for a needle in a haystack, then I am more than happy to do so. You’re the one picking up the bills here, but what I am saying is I want to look at everything coldly and in my own good time and see if there is any kind of pattern to all of this.”
She walked away from me and looked out of the window and brooded for a few minutes. I for once kept my big mouth shut.
“I suppose you’re right, its jus thatt……Oh I don’t know what’s going on”
Whilst she was reflecting I opened up another browser window and called up Google and then went back to Yahoo and sent an email to Cyclops with the log in details of Toms account and the message PRINT ALL.
The confirmation that the email had been sent appeared and I clicked OK and then went to the sent folder. There was my message I selected it and then hit delete. Then I went to the “Trash” which although was marked “No files” I hoped would have my email in it. I was right, I selected that and then clicked delete again. Did I want to permanently deleted this message? Oh yes.
“What are you doing?” She asked looking at me intently from by the window in what struck me as being a slightly suspicious, hard and aggressive tone. I looked at her and saw for the first time a very tough looking woman behind a polished exterior and magnificent chest.
“Oh nothing much at the moment” I said casually making no effort to hide the fact I was still working the keyboard. I pretended to be distracted by something on the screen and then continued slowly “ I am looking at some of these emails to see if I can get a picture of what’s what, but there’s a fair bit to go through. I can come back to it later”.
She looked at me with hawk like eyes and a Dobermans ferocity and nodded her head.
My client was not a happy girl and I thought it might be an idea to take a break. I logged out of the account and stood up and walked over to her and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Are you OK?” I asked - of course she wasn’t OK, but to be honest I couldn’t think of anything more profound to say.
She looked at it then at me and gave a very thin half hearted smile. “I am sorry if I snapped at you, its not your fault, it upsetting not knowing what is going on.”
“No problem I understand, look I need to make a quick phone call and why don’t we go and have a coffee and a cake, my treat”
She nodded “Yes a change of scenery will do me good”
I rang Cyclops and talked to him about the job in Sunderland
“Norm what the fuck are you on about, that’s all done and dusted”
“No its all in the email I sent you” I said reassuringly
“What is”
“The details and names and accounts for the those people that we need to follow up on so we can get the ASBOs sorted.”
“ASBO’s am I missing something here?”
“Yes you are a bit, that’s right, look just check the details and the clients instructions, but I need you to look at them asap. Yeah yeah yeah no I am good, no , its going quite well here and I think we might be on to something.”
The penny had dropped with Cyclops and as I was talking I could hear him at the keyboard
“Ah right got it, are you logged in at the moment, because I think you will need to log out before I can get in”
“No that’s not a problem and in fact I am taking the client for a coffee and cake and I will take up in a few minutes so if you could get those bits sorted I would be obliged.”
“Its done…. I’m in……and I have them in front of me I will forward to you but will print all just in case” Said Cyclops and I could hear the printer in the background
“Oh and I might well be off to Italy, but I will touch base with you about that. We’ll speak later”
We had our coffee and a very average Danish Pastry and Mrs W seemed better, but a little distracted. Went back to her room and I started to have another look through the emails and then decided to have a look at Toms bank account. Mrs\Willis logged me in and I could see that there had been a fair bit of activity on the account over recent weeks. Not massive amounts, but quite a few payments for flights, hotels and cars. However after only a few minutes Mrs Willis said she had a headache and could I come back some other time. I said I could.
“Mr Norman I appreciate your comments about the cost, but I really would like you to go to Milan to see if you can find Tom”
I went to say something and she add “Immediately please.”
“Sure”
It was 11.30am I rang Cyclops and brought him up to speed and I headed home to get some stuff sorted and to get my thoughts together. I was not convinced at all about going to Milan, not that I have anything against Milan, just that I do have something about leaping in with both feet before you have had a chance to look at all the factors and weigh up all the considerations.
In short my overriding feeling was that this was going to be a bit of a waste of time.
Whilst I was enjoying the tube Cyclops set to looking for flights and hotels etc and also started going through the emails for a clue as to where Tom might be staying and by the time I was at home he had got me a flight out of Gatwick to Milan at about 6pm and found me a hotel in the centre of town and got me what he called “A right touch” on the price.
And so it was that I found myself once more suffering the indignities of airport security and the joys of the “Duty Free” shopping area.
Old habits die hard and grabbing sleep whenever you can is part and parcel of my life. There have also been a lot of occasions when finally being airborne has been the first time we have been able to shut our eyes safely for days. I cannot tell you how often I get on a commercial flight and am knocking out zeds before they have even done the safety demonstration.
On this flight I was marginally better and stayed awake through the demonstration and was doing well until the wheels left the ground. I woke up ten minutes before we landed and my thoughts were the same as when I had got on the plane.
What the fuck am I supposed to do when I get there?
I got a taxi to my hotel which it turned out was a super swish 4star place in the centre of town and Cyclops was right, he had “had a touch” as he got my room for 114 Euros a night where as it would normally have been nearer 200 Euros. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but the place was a bit OTT for my liking, but it did have a lot of extra features and amenities but more importantly it had a bar. Apparently it is a very trendy bar and all the best people are seen and meet there. V Impressive.
Having freshened up I decided that I had been negative on the way here and that I knew exactly where I should go and what to say and in order to start my work in Milan. It was obvious even to me.
Une Nastro per favore
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27/01/2009 by Uncle.
The next day as arranged I went to see the client at her hotel with a view to examining her husbands laptop. Why does that sound so gay? Anyway, Mrs Willis was staying at the
I asked for her at reception and was directed to her room, which turned out to be a one bedroom apartment rather than your run of the mill hotel room. I have to say the expensive hotel thing is bit of a mystery to me as generally you only need a bed, TV and bathroom. We use a well known budget chain and they do us very well. Every now and again I splash out or if I am flying I like to stay right by the airport and they tent to be expensive, but by in large when you are staying at hotels all you need in the way if facilities is somewhere to get some grub and a drink and as for your room, well, all you do is get your kit off, maybe watch a bit of TV, kip shower and clear off. I mean how often do you use the spa or gym facilities? The bar yes, the sauna rarely. You get my drift. Mrs Willis clearly did not share my Yorkshiremans view on hotel accommodation, but I must admit the room did have style and was a pleasant place to do business.
I had decided yesterday not to go into all the exact details of her husband’s disappearance over lunch as I wanted to get these in a less public environment where I could concentrate better.
There was nothing startling in what she told me. They had been at home all day, eaten about 7.30 a bottle of vino and then relaxed. She did repeat the point she had made that he had been a bit preoccupied for a couple of days, but on this evening he seemed more his old self. She had then gone up to bed to read and he had stayed up watching Sky news and said he would be up in a minute. When he didn’t come up immediately she assumed he had become engrossed in some programme, so eventually she had gone to sleep. She woke up the next morning to find he had not come to bed and so she got up to see where he was and found he had gone. When she went to look round the house etc she found the car had gone as well. I asked the usual plod like questions and made notes about what he had been wearing, was anything missing, the car etc. The car was an almost new black Nissan X trail on Spanish plates.
Her next move had been to contact the Spanish Police the embassy or consulate and all that sort of thing. Shortly afterwards se was contacted by somebody at the Foreign Office who asked her a load of questions and said they would do all they could. Several weeks later and the husband had not turned up and subsequently either somebody at the FO or embassy gave her my details and she got in touch.
I made a note of his
As regards bank accounts they had a joint account, but both of them had their own accounts as well. There had been no unusual transactions on their joint accounts last time she looked, but she did say she had not logged in since she had been in the
It was time to look at the laptop. Mrs Wallis had already told me she had broadband access from her room should we need it and gave me the access details.
It is interesting how different people set up their machines and organise their files and it can take a while to find even the most billy basic things sometimes. This machine was very new and very quick and yet again not a cheap bit of kit. There didn’t really seem to e very much on it. A few letters to friends and the odd organisation, but not as much crap as I usually find or have on my PC for example.
I trawled through his files, but as I said there was nothing really remarkable there amongst his documents.
Then I looked at his internet history and book marked pages and at last I felt if I was starting to get somewhere. I say that, but to be honest the things I found may not sound that out of the ordinary, but they did seem to be at odds to what I knew of these people. Actually by that I mean Mrs W. The first thing that got me thinking was when I saw the Ryanair and Easyjet sites bookmarked.
“Mrs Willis who did you fly with when you came over”
“Oh British airways almost all the time” which was the response I was expecting
“Do you ever use Ryan Air or Easyjet?”
“No, very very rarely and not if I can possibly help it, in fact, I can tell you we used them once about two years ago when we were going on holiday and it really was not for me”.
“What about Tom?”
“Well he felt the same” she confirmed “And besides he has one of these loyalty point card accounts which he has had for simply ever, because of all the travelling he did with work.”
“Where do you fly from usually?”
“
“Out of curiosity at the moment”
“We are about 80 Kilometres from the airport, so it is pretty handy”
I carried on looking on the pc, but there was not really a lot on there.
I asked her how long they had had the laptop and she said about six months, maybe a little more. She did say that neither she nor her husband were very computer literate and really just used it and the internet for the bare bones, ie emailing , booking flights and hire cars, on line banking and buying a few bits from Amazon. Oh and the Telegraph Crossword of course. Of course, how silly to forget that important gem.
None the less something did not seem right. I checked the browser settings and it was set to clear the history after 90 days, but the browser history started a week before Mr W went walkabout. It may well have been that the last lot of 90 days had been just before Tom went walkies.
I noticed though, that there were a lot of sites visited for people who apparently did not use the internet or computer much. Not all savoury, but not the load of porn you find on most mens computers. In this case he had looked up escort agencies, sauna/massage parlours both in the
He had also visited the website for the chain of hotels I mentioned we used, which seemed at odds with where I was sitting.
In particular I found that on the night he had disappeared he looked at sites for two hotels in Frankfurt one in Sophia, Brussels, another in London, Prague and then one in Trieste and another in Venice, which is odd as these last two places are not so far apart as to need to move hotels, besides which Trieste is really one big ship yard and an odd place for a tourist trip if you ask me, if indeed that’s what he was were going on.
I noted the details of the hotels.
I then found a yahoo email account which was odd because Mrs Willis had contacted me from an AOL account. I quickly confirmed that they both used the same email address and did not know anything about the Yahoo account.
Mrs W came over and stood behind me looking over my shoulder.
“I thought Yahoo was just a search engine thing” she said
I explained it was similar to AOL. Having already told me she was not computer literate I did not want to bore her with the ins and outs of it.
I called up the yahoo mail log in page. I wondered what he would use as a user name. Now people can be very smart in their usernames and pass words, in fact they can be too smart for their own good, but by in large for passwords they like to use the same things such as date of birth, wifes date of birth, kids names address of their last house are just a few of the common ones. For user names they tend to use their names oddly enough or their names and DOB or part of their DOB or last but by no means least their postcodes
I typed in Toms name to the username and then his date of birth for the password. Wrong. Then Name and her name as password. Wrong.
“Mrs Willis do you know if your husband has a password he uses a lot “
“Well there is one you could try” she said going a little pink
“Go on”
“I know he uses Willis18600 for Amazon and interflora and his password is Helen38dd” I typed before the significance of the password sunk in. Instinctively I looked up and at her. Clear she was expecting this. She passed her hand down in front of her chest, she gave a cheeky smile and said “All my own work”
The screen changed and the Message Good Morning Tom came up and he apparently had 2 unread messages from the last couple of day, one from a hotmail account and the other from somebody on AOL.
I didn’t open those, but I did have a look at what was in his inbox and this is where we struck gold.
He had 15 saved messages almost all confirming flights, hotels and car hire from not long after he disappeared. In fact one of the first emails I looked at confirmed a flight from
“Have you found something?” she asked with interest
“I do believe I have” I said “It would seem your husband has gone on a European tour”
“Why would he do that?” she asked
“lets have a look and see what else we can find out shall we”
She gave a slight nod of the head but she didn’t seem overly enthusiastic.
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23/01/2009 by Uncle.
I concluded my initial meeting by getting details of her ex husband and their kids, Toms kids, ex colleges and friends, you know the obvious stuff, because at the moment there was not much to go on. I was sure that the laptop would have something on it, but obviously there was no guarantee. Anyway it was agreed that I would go and look at Toms laptop at Mrs Willis’s hotel the next day and until then there was not much I could do.
However although there wasn’t much I could do I was sure there was something for Cyclops to follow up. I was curious why a Special Branch officer would be working with a “Steady Eddie” civil servant, and where as they might have been looking at animal rights activists, I have to say I had my doubts.
I rang Cyclops and gave him the details of the ex husband. He didn’t know him and I suppose why should he, Cyclops had been out of the Police for a while now and there are about 30,000 police officers in the Met so the chances of them knowing each other were slim.
However about five minutes later, Cyclops rang me back to say that a mate of his knew the ex husband as he had been a uniform Inspector some years ago. Apparently the ex husband was a bit of a high flyer and some time ago there was a thing in the Met called interchange where detectives and specialists had to go back to mainstream policing for a year or so on promotion - all very interesting I know, but the point was that Cyclops mate had told him that the ex husband had been Willie Whitelaws body guard and had been on “B” squad and had gone back to “B” Squad on his return to “The Branch” or to put it as Cyclops and his policeman mates do “The Bwarnch”.
“B” squad dealt with Northern Ireland terrorism at that time until it was handed over to MI5 in 1992. This would have been about the time that the ex husband would have been working with Tom. This was all very tenuous of course and there was a a whole lot of supposition and gap filling on my part, but for some reason had the sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe Tom was not just a “Steady Eddie” pencil pushing civil servant slowly and quietly making his way up the career ladder. I mean you don’t just arrive as a senior Civil servant by chance do you. I know that in all big organisations there is a jaundiced view of those who reach very senior positions and their ability to actually do the job they allegedly do, but you have to do something to get there, even if you do not do it particularly well. The other thing is why would a civil servant be involved in work relating to animal activists and more to the point why would he work so closely and be so chummy with a Special Branch officer. I wonder if they were friends and if they still kept in contact?
The excellent food, wine and the large brandy were making me feel sleepy and I decided to call it a day and to start a fresh on the laptop the next morning and got tube back to Hammersmith Broadway.
I felt full and sleepy and decided that maybe I would give grub a miss tonight
Well no, maybe a couple of slice of toast and soup wouldn’t go a miss.
Oh and some of that nice ham from the deli counter or some pastrami. Hmmm Pastrami I haven’t had any pastrami for ages.
I was woken from my dreams of pastrami just in time to realise that I was at Hammersmith and just get off the in time before the doors shut. It was not a dignified departure and I was sure that I must have been snoring but at least I hadn’t dribbled.
I remembered why I don’t drink at lunchtimes.
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22/01/2009 by Uncle.
After my agreeable lunch it was down to business to find out a little bit more about the vanishing husband.
Apparently he was 62 years of age and prior to retirement about 15 months ago had been a senior civil servant.
He had worked in London and he and his wife had lived in a village in Essex not far from Stanstead Airport. Both he and his wife had been married before, he was a widower and she was apparently divorced.
The place in Spain had been hers and had been part of her divorce settlement the place in France was his. The Essex property had been bought jointly and was now let on a long term basis as they had chosen to live most of the time in Spain and have holidays in the house in France, although she did tell me that they let it to friends and friends of friends.
They had a couple of grown up children each who were either working, away or at uni.
My client who I will call Mrs Willis described her husband as “A steady Eddie, popular at work doing nothing terribly Earth shattering”. I did think he must have been more than steady to have had a place in Essex and a house in France and to have risen to his position as a senior civil servant, although she did not say how senior, but from the way she dressed, talked, acted and her overall demeanour I got the distinct impression that either money was not an object or they lived beyond their means, but carried it off very well.
I asked the usual questions about him, but she didn’t tell me anything which would give any hint as to why he should just up and off without a bye or leave to anyone.
“Well, what do you think, has he gone off with another woman?” she asked after a pause in the conversation.
“I have no idea, but what would make you ask or think that?” I said rather startled by the sudden change of tact.
“Oh you know one is always reading about these older men who suddenly rediscover their youth and go off with a younger woman a mid life crisis sort of thing” she explained rather matter of factly.
“Mmm I suppose, but from what you have told me it seems out of character for your husband” I replied.
“Well yes and no” she paused “You see Tom and I had a lengthy affair before we were together officially” she said quietly.
“Oh I see” I said rather lamely
“Yes, he had a loveless marriage, and mine was no better. My ex husband treated me like an object to be exhibited saddled and mounted as and when he felt like it”
I choked slightly on my after dinner chocolate mint at her words, but I think I got away with it. “How long did this affair last?”
“Ten years give or take a few months”
“Why didn’t you leave your respective spouses?” I asked
She threw her head back and laughed “Spouses” She laughed again “Spouses, now you sound like Rumpole of the Bailey rather than Inspector Morse” she ribbed me.
“I can do a good Jack Regan impersonation if you like” I retorted slightly taken aback at the latest change in tone and pace of the conversation.
She looked at me very seriously “Shall I see you back at the factory then guv?” she rasped in a very passable George Carter accent.
“Very good George, very good” I responded “Gotta say though I’d never had you doqn as a sweeney fan”
She smiled “My ex husband was on Special Branch and he loved it, actually so did I and I used to live in Chiswick a few doors away from John Thaw and Sheila Hancock. He was a nice man”
“Why did you divorce him then?”
“No not him you oaf, John Thaw!” she exclaimed
“Anyway back to the point in hand, why didn’t you leave your spouses” I pressed her.
“Well Mr Rumpole it was for the children, we wanted to wait until they were older and could understand” She sighed “What a mistake that was”
“Why?”
“Very simply they never understand, whether they are ten, twenty or thrity years old they are still children whose parents have split up. It had never occurred to me before we got together. In fact I will tell you this, it would have been easier all round if we had done it nine years earlier, less deceit, less stress, less pretending oh God all that time wasted and by the time we had the chance to be togther so much damage had been done to us in one way or another.” She paused “Would you think me and old lush if I got a brandy?”
“Not at all, you’re paying”
“Very true, we will have big ones, or mayne you have already, but as I am paying I will insist you join me” She signalled the waiter and ordered the drinks and more coffee and then shook her head.
“It was worse because Joan, thats Toms first wife died in an accident. When he first told me, I am ashamed to say I cried and danced for joy. I only met her twice and that was briefly so I din’t really know her, but Tom was very unhappy and his pain hurt me more than my own existence. When Tom told me she was dead I thought “this is it, we can be together at last”, but life plays cruel tricks on people”
“Why, what happened” I asked
“well Toms kids had lost their mother, and of course as soon as someboy dies they become perfect. Look at Pricess Di for Gods sake. One week a pain in the arse and then public are really fed up with her and her carrying on and then the next thing she dead and becomes Mother Terresas twin sister and evryone is going round wailing and mourning. It was mass hysteria. Do you think I am terrible saying that?”
“No not all, I have to say I thought the same thing about the Diana business”
“Do you think it was an accident” she asked very intently
“No”
“Who do you think killed her, the Queen, Prince Phillip?”
“I would say they were the outside runners when it came to the lengthy list of suspects.” I replied
“Hmm but….”
“Look” I interupted “Why was there such a problem when the wife died” bring her back again to the matter I was being paid for.
“Ah yes well of course death also brings guilt and remorse, Tom started thinking he had contributed to her death, which he hadn’t of course, he just felt he had. And then there were his children they had lost there mother as I said and they needed to be helped through that period, although the thing is that period never ended for them so that when we finally made the split and got together officially they took it very badly indeed. Actually Tom has really only just got back on to what you might call natural terms and there sis till anomosity from the younger girl.”
“How do they get on with you?”
“Fine” she said abrubtly ” I had a few months of prima donna stuff and then said enough is enough. I told them it was not my fault their mother was dead and that I had no intention of trying to replace her in their lives and that we could either get on and be friendly or they could take a hike.” she paused “Actually I really wanted to tell the two of them to piss off, but it wouldn’t have been right in the circumstances.”
“Fair enough” I said “How did the wife die?”
“Oh it was quite ghastly really, she was burnt to death in their caravan.”
“Doesn’t sound too pleasant” I agreed
“No, they had this caravan down in Dorset, Joan went down there for the weekend prior to them all going for a short holiday. It was low season and not many people around. There was a problem with the gas or a fire and the place went up in flames. It would seem as if she had had a bit too much to drink that evening and so was over come by alcohol and fumes and as I said there were not many people around so by the time anyone realised anything was wrong and called the fire brigade it was too late.”
“A bad business in deed” I ageed.
“Well out of all good comes bad” She said “And I know I will sound terrible, but it sort of removed one of the obstacles to Tom and I being together, although there were the other issues which as I explained cropped up as a result and there was insurance money from the fire and life insurance on Joan which was quite considerable. In fact Tom used that to buy the place in France. His kids wont go there, say its not the same and that he shouldn’t of bought it.”
“How did you and Tom meet?” I asked trying to move on to more cheerful topics.
“Oh through my husband ironically enough”
“How come?”
“Well David, my husband had been working with Toms department - something to do with animal activists or some such group, I forget and they had a function near Holborn. I got a bit tidled but had a really good time and Tom was a real gentleman and charming. David and Tom worked together on this project quite a bit and then something else. They weren’t friends as such…..” she tailed off.
“And what made you and your husband split up finally, did he find out about you and Tom”
She laughed “No I found out about him and Vanessa the undresser.”
“Who?”
“Vanessa the undresser, the slut he had been keeping and having children with for God knows how long” she snarled all signs of good nature gone. ” She was a collegue of his that he had been shagging for years. The fool, she was half his age”
“Probably still is” I interjected
She stared at me for an instant and then smiled “Yes I suppose she still is”
“Why the venom, you were having an affair for Tom and yet you seemed to be miffed that the old man was doing the same?”
“It was because I was having the affair with Tom that I was so miffed as you put it. All that time I stayed with him qand I could have been with Tom. It also transpires that David Hated me and wanted to be with her from the momenbt he met her. I have no doubt he loves her more than life itself. You know since we have divirced and he has been with her he is actually a really nice chap. I couldn’t ask for a nice ex husband. He is a wonnderful father to his second set of kids and has beome a better father to our children. But do you know the bit that real sticks in my craw Mr Norman”
“No tell me”
“She is a really nice woman. Nobody has the right to be that pretty and that nice and understanding.”
“Do you get on Ok with her”
“Of course I bloody do thats what’s so bloody annoying, it is mpossible to dislike her she is a genuinely nice good person. The bitch”
“So then” I said taking stock of everything that had been said “Where does that leave us with Tom?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I would like to visit your home and through some of your husbands papers and things, it might help. Do you have a computer?”
“Yes, avtually i have Toms laptop with me at the hotel”
“I would like to look at it if you don’t mind”
“No not at all, but do you need to visit the house”
“Maybe not, but it often helps, as I said people often leave a little clue somewhere”
She looked at me and did not seem convinced and there was something in that look and her manner that for an instant made me think of Gollam in Lord of the rings.
I don’t mean she looked like Gollam, but the bit in the where he has lost the magic ring which he calls his precious. I don’t know why he came to mind, but I got the feeling she felt she had lost her precious.
The thing is where was her precious?
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19/01/2009 by Uncle.
My meeting was with a female client who had said she was coming to the UK from her home in Spain and wanted to eat a proper English meal. I assumed by that she meant the British National dish- Chicken Tikka Masala, so was a little surprised but not too unhappy to find myself being instructed to be at Rules (English) Restaurant, Maiden Lane Covent Garden for 12.30 sharp.
The lady was in her mid to late sixties, trim, well dressed but not matronly nor by the same token mutton dressed up as lamb, well spoken but not gratting, tanned but not leathered and had an air of being used to getting her own way without being domineering. and all in all was quite likeable.
The food was very good as always and just for the record I had potted shrimps followed by Steak and kidney Pudding.
As I said, she was agreeable enough company, but maybe a bit too right wing for us to make it as a couple. I said this to her and she laughed heartily and said it was funny I should say that, because she had been a very active socialist and member of CND in her youth and was a friend and collegue ofBruce Kent or was it Clarke Kent?
“You know Mr Norman, today’s socialist worker is tomorrows stuffed shirt.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked not disagreeing with her.
“Well my dear, just look at Peter Hain for goodness sake, a few years ago he was a subversive menace, London’s answer to Che Guevara, throwing stones at the window of the South African Embassy and being a right pain in the rear, fighting the oppressor, alleging he was framed by Special Branch and now he has Special Branch protection and there are concrete blocks around parliament to stop people who were just like him from attacking the seat of democracy, by which I mean he doesn’t want to get blown up now that he has made it to the big time and has all the trappings it brings”
“A bit cynical don’t you think?” I said again not entirely disagreeing with her.
“Maybe, I am not just picking on Peter Hain, just using him as an example, but I have been around these sorts of people all my life. Everyone in Politics talks a good job and how they are there for the people, but they aren’t they are in it for themselves, look at the expenses submitted by some MPs, many of them claim three times the average salary, how can they be in touch, its not them that will be made redundant because they have messed up the economy is it?”
“No, but they could loose their seats at the elections, which is the same thing”
She laughed and smiled “Ah yes and then they move on to the board of some company or other, so they just change jobs, they don’t have to make ends meet on unemployment benefit”
She had a point.
“All very interesting, but you didn’t ask me to lunch to discuss the rights and wrongs of politics did you?”
“No, but I understand that you studied Politics at unviersity and I was intrigued as to what kind of person…..”
“Goes there, does that and then eventually becomes a mercenary” I said saving her the awkward question.
“Well yes” she laughed
“That still doesn’t really tell me what you want me to do for you”
“No, it doesn’t you’re right. Its my husband, he has had a late life crisis and has gone walk about”
“Another woman?”
She shook her head “No, well I say that, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think so, but he had been acting odd for a while and then just took off”
“How do you mean?”
“Well he was there in the evening and I got up the next morning and he had gone, no note, no goodbye, nothing”
“Any ideas where he may have gone?”
“Well I thought he had gone to our place in France”
“Where abouts”
“Near Cahors”
“And”
“So far nothing. I tried ring him on his mobile and on the landline plus email, but that got no response, nothing”
“What about friends and family?”
“No, I tried that but nobody has seen hide nor hair of him”
“Very odd indeed” I agreed
“Well done Inspector Morse” She said with good humour. “It is odd”
“Well you know it is funny you should mention Inspector Morse, because I remember him saying to Sergeant Lewis “People just don’t disappear Lewis, they have to go somewhere” and I have always kept that in mind, he has to be somewhere and somebody knows where he is, all we have to do is find him.
“That simple?” she said
“Well simple might be putting it a bit strongly”
“So where do you think he is then?”
“I have absolutely no idea at the moment, but people usually leave some trail, it is just a question of finding it and then following it”
“Is everything in your life so simple?”
I looked at the plush surroundings of the restaurant and the murmur of conversation and felt that satisfying flush of lunchtime wine and having eaten well, it seemed so unreal when only a few days earlier I had been under the baking sun hot, tired, thirsty and hungry.
I shut my eyes I could almost hear the flies and the sounds of the dying children and the human desperation that war brings.
I opened my eyes and looked at her
“I wish”
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03/01/2009 by Uncle.
I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy, healthy and safe New Year.
I ended 2008 by being told by my bank that I was dead yet again. I am beginning to wonder if they know something I don’t. Although I have to say if this is being dead I feeling pretty good on it!
Well only three days in and 2009 looks as if it is going to be busy and I will be spending more of my time working from my place in France rather than the UK. I have been toying with the idea of moving full time for the last 18 months, and although I have still not made the decision to totally up sticks there are a number of things pushing me in this direction
First and foremost I like France and the French and how they do things, plus the French don’t keep telling me I have died, which is reassuring.
Every month we do at least two days field and weapons training and we do this in France over there because we cannot do it here. As it happens we have quite a few jobs on the go in Europe at the moment and quite a bit in France itself so it is just seems easier to be there from that point of view
Last but by no means not least, I understand my own country and countrymen less and less and do not like what I see or hear anymore.
I am not saying things in France are perfect- especially with the exchange rate as it is, but from the time I have spent there they are a little more realistic and in touch with what is what.
To be fair a lot of the fault in not being in tune with modern life in Britain is down to me and having spent such long periods away so that I have been out of touch plus I am getting older. Things have moved on and I haven’t. The over riding thing is that we as a nation seem to have lost grip on reality, what is important and right and wrong. The other day hundreds of people were being bombed in Gaza and the leading news article was some footballer being arrested for assault.
I know I am not alone in some of these views but I hear everyone blaming foreigners for the woes of the country, but it is us who have allowed this to happen not them, we have to accept responsibility for our actions or inactions.
Actually I don’t because I haven’t been here, but you lot do!
Somebody does something wrong and they don’t take responsibility for their actions, instead they look to blame somebody else or for technicality to get them off.
I will give you a couple of examples.
If your football team losses or your budgie dies everyone is devastated. Hiroshima was devastated not Mrs Jones over Bluey.
All to often we hear that somebody goes out for the night and leaves their small children unattended and something bad happens to one or all of the kids. We all know that those adults have abandoned those kids and have failed them and broken the law. It is terrible thing when these incident occur, and surely such things should be investigated in the same impartial way no matter who you are, but that is just not the case, because in our country these incidents are treated very differently depending on who or what you are.
For the family on benefits, the boys in blue are onto them like a rash. Mum and dad or boyfriends get nicked sent to court and banged up and made to pay the price for their wrong doing. In any event the other kids if there are any get taken straight into care, job done. However for the Middle class professional family it is very different, the parents don’t get nicked or the kids whisked into care. The family might immediately appoint a professional spokesperson , are supported by all sorts of people, maybe even the home secretary, launch an expensive appeal get the public to give them loads of money, get to see the pope (I have to say the pontif has never been much help on any of the jobs we have done) light candles etc.
So why is it your fault and an offensive to abandon your kids if you are unemployed and down the pub getting pissed but not if you are earning 100K + and eating at a fancy restaurant and and getting wazzed on Chateau du Chateaulay?
I dunno.
Recently a bloke was filmed getting a whack from a police officer whilst being arrested. I don’t want to comment on the rights or wrongs of the officers actions, but the alleged victim of this bwutal assault by Mr Plod was a soldier who had recently returned from Afghanistan. He said that whilst being arrested and getting said slap he “feared for his life”.
What? He feared for his life whilst getting a bit of slap from Mr Plod! Sorry son, but do my a favour, if that made you fear for your life, you need to rethink your choice of job. I don’t suppose it has occurred to this donkey that maybe if he hadn’t been pissed, gobby and a right pain in the arse in the first place he wouldn’t have got a slap. I am not condoning police violence but having dealt with lots of soldiers who have fallen foul of the law when on leave I have to side with the police. If they weren’t tucked up dealing with knob heads they could be doing other more useful things like sorting out bent MPs who were leaking documents to journalists- just my little joke.
On New Years Day I was invited to a lunch/ buffet organized by my brother in law - dead sisters husband. He is a bit of a gullible drip in my book, a typical business lacy, jobs worth. I understand he speaks highly of me as well. Actually we get on OK most of the time because we are such different personalities.
Anyway, the food was good and there was an interesting mix of people there, but there was a knot of fifty somethings bemoaning “Gordons” Birtain and the nanny state and the fact that the health and safety brigade and Johnny foreigner were ruining life for all and sundry. One of the most vocal people was a rather overweight lady stuffing her face with nosh and getting well stuck into the G&T who had her left leg in plaster.
The conversation eventually got round to what she had done to her leg. It transpired she had been on a team building week to some, place in Welsh Wales and had fallen whilst abseiling or climbing. She immediately told the group that she was suing because certain Health and safety procedures had not been followed.
The assembled grey hairs gave a a chorus of ” good for you”
I have to be honest and say that having looked at her I wouldn’t have let he slide up and down on my rope and asked what had gone wrong. I was expecting to hear that there was an issue over bad kit, poor instruction or something like that. No, apparently it was on a technicality, in that there was supposed to be some notice or some such thing on display and each participant should have had a leaflet saying X, Y and Z. It really had nothing what so ever to do with the actual event. I asked what actually happened and it emerged that this woman was just too fat and unfit to abseil 20 feet down a rope- I was right then.
When pushed- by me that is, not off the cliff -she actually said that one of the instructors had said he didn’t think she should do it. He even had the audacity to say she was too overweight and not fit enough. So guess what? Her legal team are also suing him for “attempting to discriminate against her and in doing so making inappropriate, offensive and disparaging remarks of a highly personal nature which caused her distress” even though he was clearly right!
Distress I would have given her distress.
I couldn’t quite get to grips and thought I must have missed something with all this and actually had to ask her “He told you he didn’t think you should do it because it could be dangerous and yet you ignored his advice, did it anyway, got hurt and now think it is his fault because there wasn’t some sign up somewhere” she thought for a moment and then said “Yes I suppose you could put it that way” The group nodded and then a grey haired trendy said “bloody cheek, what was he thinking of, who did he think he was” “yah yah” went the assembled croup of middle aged dick heads, they could not see that she was in the wrong not the instructor.
Now then, You know sometime you wan to say one thing and another comes out, for example you might want to say “Typical Manchester weather” but instead it comes out as “Tickle my arse with a feather” well I thought I was going to say ” I am so sorry to hear of your misfortune madam and I wish you a speedy recovery and all the success in you litigation”, but instead it came out as “Sadly it’s probably due to your fat arse breaking your fall that you only hurt your leg and didn’t break your piss taking neck”.
The group were aghast and the trendy bloke said “How dare you, could you be any more abusive and offensive?”
“Oh yes he could ” chipped in L who had just joined the group and was guidig me away gently by the arm”without any problem at all”
I was thinking of making a move towards home anyway.
Wherever that is.
Bonne annèe
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