Tickled to Death and Other Stories of Crime and Suspense (25 page)

FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WILL FOLLOW NEXT WEEK. MEMORIZE THE DETAILS IN THESE SHEETS AND THEN BURN THEM
.

I done like I was told and before the Friday I got a confirmation of my booking on this “Stately Home Weekend”. I read the brochure on that and I must say it didn't really sound my scene. Tours of the grounds, lectures on the history of the place, full medieval banquet on the Saturday night, farewell tea with Lord Harbinger on the Sunday. I mean, my idea of a fun weekend is going down Southend with a few mates and putting back a few beers. Still, I'd put up with a lot for five grand.

So, the Friday I do as I'm told. Get the train out to Limmerton, and from there they've got this courtesy bus takes you out to Harbinger Hall.

Not a bad little gaff old Lord Harbinger's got, I'll say that for him. Don't know any more about architecture than I do about art, but I can tell it's old. Don't build places like that nowadays, not with blooming great pillars in front of the door and all them windows and twiddly bits on the roof.

Nice position and all. It's high, like on top of this hill, looking out over all the rest of the countryside. That's how you first see it in the bus from the station. As you get nearer, you lose sight for a bit, because it's a really steep hill with trees. So you sort of zigzag up this drive, which is really a bit hairy and makes you glad the old bus's got decent brakes. And then suddenly you come out the top and suddenly you're right in front of the house and it's blooming big. And there's car parks off to the right and left, but the bus drops you pretty well by the front door.

I looked around as I got out. You know, some of these stately homes've got sort of zoos and funfairs and that, you know, a bit of entertainment. And, since I had to spend a whole weekend there, I thought it'd be nice to know there'd be something interesting to do. But no such luck. Place hadn't been developed like that. Maybe the grounds wasn't big enough.

In fact, not only hadn't the place been developed, it looked a bit tatty. I mean that sort of place isn't my style. Blimey, if I owned it, I'd knock it down and put up a nice executive Regency-style townhouse with double garage and Italian suite bathroom. But even I could tell this one needed a few grand spending on it.

And if my busload was anything to go by, the few grand wasn't going to come very quickly from tourists. Okay, end of the season and that, but there wasn't many of us. Had to wait around till a few more come from the car parks before they'd start our guided tour, and then it was only about a dozen of us. Well, at a couple of sovs a head, takes you a long time to make money that way.

The guide that took us round had done the trip a few thousand times and obviously hadn't enjoyed it much even the first time. The spiel come out like a recording, jokes and all. Didn't look a happy man.

And what he said was dead boring. I never got on with history at school, couldn't see the percentage in it, so all his cobblers about what Duke built which bit and when didn't do a lot for me. And to think that I'd got a whole weekend of lectures on it coming up. I began to think I was going to earn my five grand.

Anyway, eventually we get to the Great Hall, and I see this picture all the fuss is about. Didn't go for it much on the postcard; the real thing's just the same, only bigger. Not big, though, compared to some of the numbers they got on the walls. I don't know, two foot by eighteen inches maybe. Don't know why they wanted to nick this one. ‘Some of them was ten times the size, must've been worth a lot more. Still, not my decision. And a good thing, come to think of it, that they didn't want me to walk out with one of the twenty-foot numbers under my arm.

So the picture's just this Mum and her sprog. Frame was nice, mind. All gold and wiggly, like my brother-in-law's got round the cocktail bar in his lounge. And at the bottom of the frame there's this little brass plate nailed on. It says:

M
ADONNA AND
C
HILD

Giacomo Palladino

Florentine

(1473–1539)

Never heard of the git myself.

Anyway, I'd memorized my instructions like a good boy, so I have a good butcher's at the pic. Can't see a lot in the way of security. I mean, there's a sort of purple rope strung between uprights to keep the punters six feet away from the wall, but that isn't going to stop anyone. Of course, there might be some photo-electric beam or some rocker device what sounds the alarm if you actually touch the thing. I step over the rope to take a closer look.

“Art-lover, are we, sir?” asks this sarcastic voice behind me.

I turn round and see this bloke in uniform. Not the guide, he's up the other end blathering about some king or other. No, this geyser's just some sort of security guard I noticed hanging around when we arrived.

“No,” I says, with what people have described as my winning smile. “Don't know a blind thing about art.”

“Then why are you studying the Madonna so closely?”

I'm about to say that I'm just interested in what security arrangements she got, and then I twig that this might not be so clever, so I do this big shrug and step back over the rope and join up with the other punters. I glance back as we're leaving the hall and this guard's giving me a really beady look.

Upstairs I follow the instructions without sweat. Dawdle doing the old untied shoe-lace routine while the rest troop in to hear the history of the Blue Bedroom, quick look round to see I'm on my own in the gallery, then through the old “Private” door and down the stairs.

It's just like they said it would be. These big metal-covered boxes opposite me with coloured lights and chrome keyholes on them. And at the top the wires. Not that thick. Quick snip with the old metal-cutters. No prob.

I think for a minute. I know some of these systems got a sort of fail-safe so's they sound off if anyone tampers with the wiring. For a moment I wonder if someone's trying to set me up. Certainly are one or two geysers what I have sort of inadvertently offended in the course of my varied career, but this'd be a bloody elaborate way of getting their own back. Anyway, there's the two and a half grand I already got. Nobody's going to spend that kind of bread just to fix me. I hurry back upstairs again.

I've just closed the door when I see the security guard coming in the other end of the Long Gallery. Don't know whether he saw me or not, but he still looks beady. “Looking for something, sir?” he calls out, sarcastic again.

“Little boys' room,” I say, and nip along to the Blue Bedroom.

Next package arrives the Wednesday, three days before I'm due on my Stately Home Weekend. I'm actually round at Red Rita's when we hear it plop through the letter-box, but needless to say by the time I open the front door to see who brought it, there's nobody in sight.

Since the whole thing's getting a bit close and Red Rita's tied up with someone else, I open the package there. There's money in it, which I wasn't expecting this time. It's in fives and ones and a bit of change and covers my expenses so far. What I paid to book the weekend, return fare London to Limmerton, even the two quid for my guided tour. Someone's done their research. Makes me feel good. Nice to know you're dealing with geysers who knows what's what. There's a lot of berks in this business.

As well as the money there's a car key. Just one, on a little ring attached to a plain yellow plastic tag. And of course there's the instructions. Block capitals again, which miffs me a bit. Again, they're so clear an idiot could understand them. I wonder if someone's trying to tell me something.

ON THE MORNING OF SATURDAY 29 OCTOBER AT 9 A.M., GO TO THE UNDERGROUND CAR PARK IN CAVENDISH SQUARE. THERE, IN BAY NUMBER 86, YOU WILL FIND A RED PEUGEOT WHICH YOU CAN OPEN AND START WITH THE ENCLOSED KEY. ON THE BACK SEAT WILL BE A LARGE SUITCASE, TO WHICH YOU WILL TRANSFER YOUR CLOTHES, ETC. FOR THE WEEKEND.
DO NOT REMOVE ANYTHING FROM THE SUITCASE
.

IN THE GLOVE COMPARTMENT OF THE CAR YOU WILL FIND MONEY TO PAY THE PARKING CHARGE. DRIVE DIRECTLY TO HARBINGER HALL. GIVEN NORMAL TRAFFIC CONDITIONS, YOU SHOULD ARRIVE THERE AT ABOUT HALF-PAST TWELVE, JUST IN TIME FOR THE BUFFET LUNCH WHICH OPENS THE STATELY HOME WEEKEND
.

DURING THE WEEKEND TAKE PART IN ALL THE ACTIVITIES OFFERED AND GENERALLY BEHAVE AS NATURALLY AS POSSIBLE. ABOVE ALL, DO NOT DRAW ATTENTION TO YOURSELF
.

THE MOMENT FOR THE THEFT OF THE MADONNA WILL COME LATE ON THE SUNDAY AFTERNOON WHEN THE TOUR GUESTS ARE ABOUT TO LEAVE. AT THE END OF THESE OCCASIONS THE TRADITION HAS DEVELOPED OF LORD HARBINGER, HIS FAMILY AND STAFF LINING UP IN THE FRONT HALL TO SAY GOODBYE TO THEIR GUESTS. THE PREMISES WILL BE CLEARED OF DAY VISITORS BY FOUR O'CLOCK ON THIS, THE LAST DAY OF THE SEASON. THERE WILL BE NO STAFF GUARDING THE MADONNA
.

FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS EXACTLY
. AFTER TEA WITH LORD HARBINGER, THE STATELY HOME WEEKEND GUESTS ARE GIVEN HALF AN HOUR TO PACK AND ASKED TO APPEAR IN THE FRONT HALL AT SIX TO SAY THEIR GOODBYES AND GET THE COACH TO THE STATION OR GO TO THEIR OWN CARS. DO ANY PACKING YOU HAVE TO AND GO DOWN TO THE FRONT HALL AT TEN TO SIX,
LEAVING YOUR SUITCASE IN YOUR BEDROOM
, WHEN MOST OF THE OTHER GUESTS ARE DOWNSTAIRS, MAKE A SHOW OF REMEMBERING YOUR SUITCASE AND HURRY BACK TO YOUR BEDROOM TO GET IT.
THE NEXT BIT HAS TO BE DONE QUICKLY.
GO FROM THE PRIVATE APARTMENTS TO THE LONG GALLERY AND DOWN THE STAIRCASE TO THE ALARM BOXES. CUT THROUGH THE WIRES AT THE TOP OF THE BOXES. THERE IS A DOOR TO THE RIGHT OF THESE WHICH LEADS DIRECTLY INTO THE GREAT HALL. GO THROUGH, GO STRAIGHT TO THE MADONNA AND REPLACE THE ORIGINAL PAINTING WITH THE COPY IN YOUR SUITCASE. IT WILL JUST BE A MATTER OF UNHOOKING THE PICTURE AT THE BACK. WITH THE ALARMS NEUTRALIZED, THERE ARE NO OTHER RESTRAINING DEVICES
.

PUT THE ORIGINAL PAINTING IN YOUR SUITCASE AND RETURN UPSTAIRS THE WAY YOU CAME. GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM AND THEN GO DOWN THE MAIN STAIRCASE TO THE FRONT HALL. THE WHOLE OPERATION SHOULD TAKE YOU LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES AND WILL NOT BE NOTICED IN THE CONFUSION OF THE GUESTS' GOODBYES. JOIN IN WITH THESE AND BEHAVE PERFECTLY NATURALLY. ALLOW ONE OF THE STAFF TO TAKE YOUR SUITCASE OUT TO YOUR CAR, AND ASK HIM TO PUT IT ON THE BACK SEAT
.

DRIVE STRAIGHT BACK TO LONDON. RETURN THE CAR TO THE CAVENDISH SQUARE GARAGE, PARKING IT IN BAY 86 OR AS NEAR TO THAT AS YOU CAN GET. REMOVE YOUR OWN BELONGINGS FROM THE SUITCASE, BUT LEAVE THE CASE ITSELF AND THE PAINTING, ALONG WITH THE CAR KEY AND PARKING TICKET INSIDE. THEN LOCK THE CAR BY PRESSING DOWN THE LOCKING BUTTON INSIDE AND CLOSING THE DOOR WITH THE HANDLE HELD OUT
.

WHEN YOU RETURN TO THE ADDRESS USED BEFORE, YOU WILL FIND THE SECOND TWO AND A HALF THOUSAND POUNDS WAITING FOR YOU
.

AS BEFORE, MEMORIZE THESE INSTRUCTIONS
AND BURN THEM
.

Now I got my principles, but crime is my business and it's a sort of natural reaction for me to have a look at any plan what comes up and see if there's anything in it for me. You know, anything extra, over and above the basic fee.

And, having read my instructions, I couldn't help noticing that, assuming all went well with the actual nicking, from the moment I left Harbinger Hall on the Sunday night I was going to be in temporary possession of an extremely valuable painting.

Now I been in my line of work long enough to know that nasty things can happen to villains carrying off the goods. You hear cases of them being hi-jacked by other gangs, mugged, somehow getting lost on the way to their handover, all that. And though I didn't fancy any of those happening to me, I wasn't so down on the idea of them
appearing
to happen to me. I mean, if I'm found on the roadside with the side of my motor bashed in, a bump on my head and the suitcase gone, the bosses won't be able to
prove
I knew the bloke who done it.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't planning anything particular, just sort of going through the possibilities in my mind. Like I said, I don't know anything about art, but I do know that you need extremely specialized help if you're trying to unload a well-known stolen painting.

One of the advantages of Red Rita's line of work is that she does get to meet a big variety of people and when I mentioned, casual like, that I wanted a bit of background on the art scene, it turned out she did just happen to know this geyser who was a dealer in the less public transactions of international art-collectors. And he was another of the many who owed her a favour and yes, she'd be quite happy to fix up a meet. For me, darling, anything.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, if I'd thought about it. I mean, bent bookies are still bookies, bent solicitors do their stuff in solicitors' offices, but I really hadn't expected a bent art dealer to work out of a posh little gallery off Bond Street. Still, that was the address Red Rita give me, and when I got there it seemed that Mr Depaldo was expecting me. The sniffy tart at the desk said she would just check he was free and left me looking at a series of pics of what seemed to be a nasty accident in the kitchens of a Chinese restaurant. I don't know how people buy that stuff. I mean, if you can't tell what it's meant to be, how do you know you're not being taken for a ride? Don't get me wrong, I'm not against all art. My brother-in-law's got this collection of sunsets painted on black velvet and with those, well, you can
see
they're good. But a lot of this modern stuff . . . forget it.

So I'm shown up to Mr Depaldo's poncy little office, and he's a real smoothie. Striped shirt, bow tie, you know the number. If I didn't know about his connection with Red Rita. I'd have put him down as a wooftah.

But her hold is clearly strong. Plain from the start he don't want to see me, but Rita's threatened to blow the lid on something if he won't. So he just about managed to be polite.