Bag of Dolls Read online

  “What was the problem that became public?” questioned Alan.

  “I don’t know all the ins-and-outs—he’s supposed to have assaulted a girl, but in the end, no charges were brought. A year later he was gone. The local paper might help you, and I’ll tell you one thing, young fella, you’re not an old pal of his, and you’re not navy. I reckon you’re after ’im, aren’t ya?”

  “OK, I put my hands up, you’re no fool, and I won’t take the piss by trying to kid you, I’m ex-army and a P.I. now, meeting you has saved me at least two days. I’m leaving my card; please call if you think of anything else, I’ll call you back, thanks a lot, Bill.”

  Alan ate the last of his lunch feeling pleased. The two men shook hands, Al went to the bar and paid, he put £10 over for Bill, Glenda’s smile brighter than ever. Alan said, “I might see you later.”

  Alan waved up to Bill, who called out, “See you, mate, ta-ta; good luck.”

  Out in the fresh air and away from the distraction of the lovely Glenda, Alan makes his way to other pubs, several shops where Dave might have gone; also, estate agents in case one of them had let or sold him a property. He called into hotels, B&Bs, garages, car sales and petrol stations; the typical foot slogging of a private investigator, the last stop was the local hospital, where a couple of nurses thought they recognised the face in the photo but couldn’t really be sure. Alan had been pounding the streets for hours till around 6:30 pm. He returns to the B&B and makes tea from his room service tray and watches TV for half an hour. He decides to telephone Julia to keep her informed but with a small amount of news for now, she was pleased that at last somebody re-called her brother. Alan tells her he will be searching out local news offices tomorrow and will call her again in the evening. “So, good night, Miss Darby.”

  Julia smiles to herself, “Please call me Julia.”

  “That’s fine; you had better call me Alan, it seems a little easier, night.”

  Around 7:15 pm Alan knocks at the landlady’s sitting room door and enquires as to what time she locks up, “I’m going to the pub for dinner; I don’t want to disturb you.” She opens the door wearing the skimpiest of dressing gowns. Al just thought, Umm… early for bed, I guess.

  “I’ll get you a key or, you could have a bite of supper with me, I don’t normally do evening meal but I’m about to eat, and I know you’ve had a long day.” The P.I felt twinges of hunger he needed dinner, but the slightly open gown gave him twinges for sex.

  “OK, thanks, if you’re fine with that, I didn’t really fancy going out again.” Glenda at the pub hoped to see Alan again, but the landlady was the one who got lucky.

  After a light meal and landlady Sylvia Morgan consuming more wine than she should, she makes eye contact with Alan, who doesn’t touch the booze and begins to remove her gown. Alan thinks, Oh hell, let’s go for it.

  Sylvia led Al to her bedroom where she began to undo the buttons on his shirt, she was about to attempt to undo the belt buckle on his jeans when the phone rang out. “I’d better answer, it could be a booking.” Alan kissed her cheek, she walked away, not a stitch on and not caring either.

  Alan decides to do up his shirt as he recalls why he is in Gravesend and is uncomfortable with the amount of wine Sylvia had consumed, he would be seen to be taking advantage of her. Instead, he makes a large jug of coffee and places it on the table. Being the gentleman was difficult but that’s exactly what is in the nature of the man.

  For Alan, it had to be just right. Sylvia didn’t mind on her return, had the coffee and just chatted. Sylvia was disappointed but not annoyed. Alan explained he was in Kent on a job and couldn’t be distracted. Sylvia seemed fine with that. Alan went to bed with a clear conscience.

  Chapter 3

  Thursday

  Alan rose at 6:30 am, showered and made coffee in his room. He sat mulling over the previous evening, he liked Sylvia but decided not to put himself in that position with her again, there must not be a repetition, he didn’t have many women in his life, his job made relationships awkward never knowing where he would be and for how long. Al went downstairs at 7:15 to Sylvia smiling and serving breakfast. All was OK.

  The Gravesend Gazette office was open at 9 am, the local rag proved good with the help of an assistant who recalled the case of Dave Darby fairly well; it didn’t make pleasant reading but gave insight to the deviant nature of the man. He had managed to wheedle his way out of charges as the girl concerned in the assault was so petrified she was afraid to speak and would not give evidence to the police; she was 15 and more than nervous of the repercussions, suspicions weren’t enough, facts weren’t there without the girl, there had been a rumour Darby had threatened her parents. The address the newspaper had was the same as the one Julia had given. So, Al went in the direction of Compton Gardens, he went to 36, an elderly couple in residence who was, fortunately, able to give a forwarding address. It seems Dave Darby had moved back to Gillingham to the house which had been the family home.

  Register of Electors found him at 48 Rock Ave. Alan checked the time; he was doing well and happy with the progress, he set out for Gillingham which should take about 25-30 minutes.

  Travelling through the Medway towns, then along Watling Street, found Rock Avenue. A pleasant tree-lined Avenue of Victorian terrace houses. Expensive by appearance but what is going on behind closed doors? Alan found the avenue was on a kind of loop with a road behind and the front as though the houses were on a long island of property with small gardens at the rear. Al parked up at some distance from 48 but was able to see the door. He sat for ages quietly watching the comings and goings of the residence, a varied mix of people and the community starting to buzz.

  Eventually, a classic M.G. Sport’s car pulled up, an attractive lady got out and went to Number 48. He waited a few moments then put notes into his Dictaphone. At 4:55 pm a man arrived walking; Alan glanced at the photograph.

  “Gotcha.”

  David D. was smartly dressed and tanned, on the porch of the front door, he takes his jacket off, even in the summer heat he looked the cat’s whiskers. Alan could tell Darby was very particular, very fit and appeared confident and able to handle himself. Legs getting stiff with sitting so long. Al goes for a walk around the area. At the back of Number 48, he could see over the gate; he could see a woman laying up a table for a meal, clearly, there would be nothing happening for an hour or so.

  Alan found another B&B booked in for one night. He phoned the lovely Sylvia at the Gravesend BB to say he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow; she didn’t mind, just asked if he was OK.

  He found a curry house, had a meal. At 9 pm Alan moves his car for the second time as not to be too noticeable in the same place for too long. He parks three bays away from the B&B; he spends an hour wandering around, checking out the area again, arriving once more at the rear of Number 48, lights out downstairs. “Early night,” he mutters. Soft lights upstairs at the large, front bay window, the flashing of a TV in the bedroom. “Guess that’s it for the night, I shall be back in the morning, let’s see what you get up to during the day,” Al speaks to himself. He goes back to the B&B, checks his car, goes to the phone box on the corner and calls Julia to let her know what he has seen. Needless to say, she is very pleased with him being so quick. Time to sleep.

  Friday

  At 5 am Alan arrives at the lower end of Rock Avenue. The car tucked away out of sight, but he is able to see the front door of 48; it’s now a waiting game. At 6:45 am Dave Darby appears looking very dapper, a black saloon pitches up, two men inside, Dave jumps in. Al follows at quite a long distance; he was excellent at covert ops. The journey seemed rather long, but he recalled some of the route from yesterday. At last signposts to the ‘Isle of Grain Oil Refinery’. He sees the car taking the security road; he realises there is no way he will get into the refinery without a pass, so turns into a lay-buy, puts more notes into his Dictaphone.

  Al heads back to Gillingham. At the bottom of Chatham hill, the traffic starts
getting heavy; he sees the M.G from Rock Avenue. He turns sharply causing horns to blast. He follows for a mile or so. Mrs Darby pulls into the drive of a private school; she gets out bundled up with books and bags. More notes into the machine. Alan gets out of the car to stretch his legs, walks around whilst having a cigarette, hungry now he heads back to the Gillingham B&B.

  It almost 9:10 am.

  Alan requests his breakfast from the proprietor and was bluntly told ‘no’ as cooking was over, “And it’s not my fault, sir, if you get up and leave the house at the crack of dawn.”

  “I’ll have my breakfast money back then, please.”

  “No chance, mate, this is Kent, we don’t muck about here.”

  Alan feeling miffed, “Yes, I see it is, now the money or the breakfast, and I’m from Brighton so don’t piss me off.”

  “OK, OK, breakfast it is.”

  Alan asks to use the office phone and calls Julia, “I have to eat now then I’m going back to Gravesend. I shall make my way home and see you early this evening, will that be OK?”

  “Yes, that’s fine, Alan. See you later, bye.” Julia was pleased yet again, Alan sounded confident, all was going to plan hopefully, all will go well and justice, at last, to be served.

  6 pm. Julia realised she quite liked Alan but keeping a steady frame of mind, let it just be a fleeting thought; she was making supper for herself when the doorbell rang. On answering she found it was Alan, smiling, he couldn’t help but smile. To him, Julia looked amazing, hair tied back, wearing jeans and a fresh white blouse, her feet bare, with dainty painted toenails, he had been hit with a love bolt from the blue, he shocked himself, he was totally bowled over.

  “Come on in, Alan, I’m just doing food, want some?”

  “Yes, please, that would be great. I’m hungry, missed lunch.” They had a couple of pleasant hours together; Julia delighted with all the information Alan passed to her.

  "Now let me pay you for the work you’ve done, cash or cheque?

  “No, not yet, I’ll draw up a detailed invoice.”

  Julia said, “I won’t be around for a few days, going for a bit of a holiday. I’ll sort Dave out when I come back,” she lied. “There’s £500 for now, and I will settle up with you when I return. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  The deal completed, they shook hands slowly both knowing they wanted more time together, it seemed an abrupt ending to the evening, but feelings must not get in the way.

  Julia’s deep-seated hatred of Dave was driving her on. “Good night, Julia, have a pleasant few days.”

  “Goodnight, Alan, see you soon and thank you. Bye.”

  It was about 10 pm. Jules goes to the spare bedroom, at the back of the wardrobe, found the old battered case, she pulled hard, the case fell apart as it hit the floor, the red cloth bag of dolls spilt out over the rug, costumes squashed after being stuffed away for many years, her blood ran cold, she felt shivery and faint. She pulled herself together, stuffed the dolls back into the bag and went downstairs.

  From the pocket of the bag she took out the Beretta which had been her father’s; she checked it over, cleaned it, checked for ammunition wrapped it in a scarf and placed it in the bottom of her handbag. The next job, packs a case for a couple of weeks. She dropped a note in her neighbour’s door to say she would be away for a while, the other neighbour she had already told. Maybe she would never get back home!

  Julia took herself off to the ‘Gold Key Club’, it was very late the place was packed as always on a Friday night.

  Roy and Jack were busy at the ‘Black cat Club’ in Eastbourne. A member of staff had been out of order, helping themselves to money and tonight was the time they planned to catch him and his partner in crime. They were all well paid; there was no need for this. However, it helped Jules, nobody would take notice seeing her; she smiled, said Hi, a short chat here and there. It was normal to see her popping in and out. She didn’t make a habit of befriending the club members, at most she just tolerated, some were extremely nice, Jules just enjoyed the service industry, management suited her. Organising menus and bars. She went through the corridor to Roy’s office, she knew all would be OK, Roy and Jack wouldn’t be back until at least 2-3 am in the morning, leaving Marty under-manager in charge for one night. Security was tight as usual. Going to Roy’s desk, she took the keys to the Mini Cooper parked in the back yard; it was the car Jack used for just around town. He used his own Jaguar for trips in and out of London.

  The glove compartment had a Walther PPK wrapped in a wax cloth, not standard issue in a Mini Cooper. Julia took it, locked the car, crept back in through the back door, nobody saw her, she put the keys back, with the gun under her jacket, Jules disappears through the crowd. She speaks to two guys on security, she tells them there is something brewing inside, a croupier may need help, they go in, Jules takes a Tsar from the shelf just inside the door near the entrance. She gets into her own car, goes home, all plans coming together. Back inside her house, takes a huge deep breath. Collects all the items needed places them in the hallway ready for the morning. She had fuelled her car, checked tyres, oil and water everything sorted.

  Now is not the time to make mistakes.

  Saturday

  There is so much traffic to Gillingham at 11:30 am. On Watling Street standing in its own grounds is the Tudor building known as the ‘Central Hotel’. Jules booked in, had a quick freshen up, a bite to eat and wasted no time, she made her way to Rock Avenue. After all these years who would have thought it would all end here, where the second stage of abuse would continue. The first home she hoped it would end. But no, she parked the Jag a few doors up on the opposite side, she took a slow walk and without looking too obvious glanced across at the window she got a glimpse of David, knowing he was home, Brilliant! his routine like clockwork never changed.

  Not wanting to be seen, Jules went back to the hotel; she was glad her quick check confirmed he was there. She wrote two letters: one to family and the other to Alan Wells P.I the latter to exonerate Jack, whose walther she had taken. Jack had a license, she did not, Jack and Roy would be shocked at what she was planning, so would all her family.

  Jules lay on her bed and fell asleep; time was getting on when she woke and went downstairs to the restaurant and had a meal. On returning to her room changed into black camo chinos, t-shirt and comfortable trainers, hair plaited and pinned up so there is nothing to grab, in a bag, she takes some personal items—the letters are left on the bedside table. The girls at reception were surprised to see how Julia was dressed, easily explained, “I’m training on the Great Lines with the sports team. I’ve no idea when I shall be back probably Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “Rather you than us,” they smiled and waved her off. “Good Luck.”

  Jules went to the Jaguar cleverly parked at the rear outer edge of the car park, opens the driver door then boot glancing up, her theory was correct, she wanted to check, could she be seen. Just the headlights were on view. She opens on the case on the back seat, under the clothes she removed rope the tsar purloined from security, strong parcel tape and the Walther PPK.

  The Berretta still in her handbag, she removed it carefully and stuffed it in her camo pocket, also a hunting knife in its sheath, being mindful she would rather not use it, very messy!

  Julia again set off, a return to Rock Ave. Fifteen min away on arrival parks, close to the house this time her sister-in-law was leaving. “Guess she’s going shopping,” she says out loud. Not that it matters, but Helena was petrified of her husband. Our lady’s timing was perfect. David would have started his ritual at 2 pm. This had taken place as far back as she could remember, it was check-everything-day!

  Clean shirt, jackets and slacks ready for dry cleaners, clean shoes, cufflinks and cigarette case all polished, the silver case an item of considerable pride, the fact a visitor would arrive during this manic ritual will annoy him, he would become totally distracted and want to get on, this distraction would make him late for washing hi
s car. By this time quite probably wound up like a good old-fashioned corkscrew. His car was always the latest model of whatever took his fancy.

  Jules left the bag and belongings in the car for the moment, she didn’t want to appear too pushy and alert David, she had to make him persuade her to stay but that was the game plan, too eager to stay and he would guess something wasn’t quite right. The whole idea was to get Dave comfortable and at ease, also observe the layout of furniture and had his house been altered in any way over the years?

  Jules needed a little time to once more get the feel of the house and remember the sounds. Did the third stair from the bottom still moan under the slightest weight? Did the landing still creek halfway along? How long will she have to stay? Who knows, so many years passed and now remembering ‘Dear Dad’, the only kind and gentle person other than the nuns at school, these were the only pleasant memories she had.

  Jules rang the bell at Number 48 she took a deep breath, the same bloody bell ringing. How long do bells go on for, for God’s Sake?

  She heard footsteps almost marching through the hallway into the lobby of Victorian mosaic floor tiles. David opens the door; his jaw drops at the sight of his sister, “Good God, what on earth are you doing here?”

  I decided to drop in on my way back from London, I’ve had several business stops on the way so thought it was time to bury the hatchet (in her mind thinking, yes in your head!!)."