Over the course of the next twelve weeks, we do exactly as Sarah asks. Her ex-husband goes to work from his girlfriend’s house every single time. Different building sites, but the same job. We also manage to track down his website, on which he touts his services as an ‘independent project manager’. That will do nicely. I print off the pages and send them to Sarah. You can’t simply send a web link to the Child Support Agency and ask them to look at it – it’s against their rules – so we have to print off each page and send them. The client will get a full package from us that they can submit directly to the CSA – all part of the service!
After the twelve weeks are up, Steph and I catch up over skinny lattes.
‘I’m still worried they’re going to turn round to Sarah and say it’s not enough,’ she frets.
‘I know what you mean: he could invent an explanation for everything. What else can we do, though?’ I sit back, large white mug in hand, staring into the foamy milk for inspiration. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before it dawns on me. ‘We sting him!’
‘With a bee?’ Steph is confused.
‘No, silly! We set up a honey trap. But instead of trying to seduce him and seeing if he responds, we lure him to work for us. We pay for his services. He says on his website he’s a project manager – so let’s find something for him to project manage!’
‘Ooooh!’ Finally, pennies are dropping all over the place. ‘I get it! Nice thinking, brains!’
Smugly, I sit back in my chair and dream up a way in which we can perform this little exercise.
‘Yes, this will do perfectly,’ says Steph, whom I’m currently hoisting up so that she can peer over a six-foot-high brick wall.
‘Can you see the way in, though?’ I ask, getting impatient as her heel digs into my thigh.
‘Possibly. Get me down,’ she says, brushing the dust from her all-black ensemble. ‘Come around this way.’ And she walks – no, teeters – in her heels, towards some trees.
We squeeze through a gap between the trees and the wall. Following the path round leads us to an opening at the opposite side, revealing a plot of land with the foundations of a house poking out. It’s a Sunday morning, the time of day when the residents of God’s Waiting Room will be out in force, wearing their fanciest hats to swan around the village church. All in the name of religion, of course.
‘Let me handle this one,’ Steph says, digging out her phone from her Louis Vuitton handbag. She looks pleased with herself, and is clearly loving this case, as she dials the number our subject gave on his website. ‘Hello, my name is Jennifer Hall. I develop properties. I’m sorry for ringing on a Sunday but we’ve had a minor emergency. The project manager on one of our properties handed in his notice this morning and is leaving us in the lurch. We need someone to manage our site a.s.a.p, and I found your details on the Internet.’
She’s made a good start, but it’s a little risky. What if he is fully booked for the next few weeks? Steph clearly didn’t think of that possibility, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
‘Oh really? OK, that should be fine with me. How would it work?’
I rub my hands together to ward off some of the chill in the air. It’s sunny but the summer warmth has gone. I hop from one stiletto to the other, realising we are highly inappropriately dressed for the occasion. As always.
‘Sorry, I’m going away tomorrow, but we really need someone to start next week. Is there by any miracle a possibility you can come now?’
I smile a big cheesy grin, still hopping, giving her a thumbs-up!
‘Oh, thank you, that would be amazing. Don’t worry. If you take the job, you can bill us for Sunday hours,’ Steph tells him, joining in my hopping.
The conversation ends. ‘He’s on his way.’
Exceptionally chuffed with ourselves, we dance through the mud and puddles back to the car.
Some forty-five minutes later and we’re in position. We drive round to the site and set up the video camera in the car window. I’ll take some snaps from my post in the car.
‘You ready?’ I ask her.
‘Rock and roll ready.’
‘Good job. Looks like he’s here.’
His 4x4 drives around the corner. Steph opens the car door, and bounces out with her usual cheery attitude.
‘Hellooooo! Thanks sooo much for coming. I’m sorry for dragging you out today.’ She gives him her sparkliest smile. Sat in the car, I hardly hear anything else that’s going on. There’s lots of nodding and walking around the foundations, but finally they part with a handshake. Somehow she has convinced him she knows about construction!
Steph gets back into the car. ‘Drive, quick, round there,’ she says, pointing just past the trees. I pull up in a spot where we can still watch him but he won’t be able to see us.
‘What did he say?’ I ask her.
‘He said that he’s contracted to another job for the next nine months, something he’s been working on for over a year. He can’t leave his current job, but he has other men on his books who he can employ and manage for us. It will cost around £1,000 per week, because they’re specialists or something.’
Steph has a triumphant grin on her face and I’m not only relieved but also exceptionally happy.
‘But why’s he still there, though?’ Steph has a good point. What’s he doing now?
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, shuffling into a position where I can see better. He walks around the site a bit more, poking his nose into an outhouse. Very strange.
‘Oh my God!!!!’ We both sit there, stunned. ‘Is he doing what I think he’s doing?’
‘I think so,’ Steph says, staring in amazement. ‘He’s stealing the boiler!’
The dirty-dog of a project manager/child-maintenance dodger/fraudster/outright thief loads the boiler into his 4x4, along with some copper piping, before finally driving off!
The video is pretty good, and Steph writes up a full witness statement about their conversation.
I speak with Sarah once again to tell her what’s happened, then send her our full report. The CSA orders her ex to pay maintenance, but still it’s not the end of that slippery guy trying as many ways as he possibly can not to pay for his child. He’s the type that will always find a way to get out of it. You’d think Sarah would be angry, very angry, but actually she is just sad and disappointed. I’m sure that over time the sadness will pass and the anger will return. Maybe we’ll be called back to film him again when that happens. He’d better watch his step …
Gradually we get more business at The Lady Detective Agency and it begins to seem as though we might actually make a living from it one day. I’m over the moon because – all modesty aside – I think I have a natural talent for it. I’m getting better at asking the right questions on those initial phone calls, and we’re gearing up with lots more useful detective gadgets all the time. I’ve got to admit, some are quite fun, making us feel like female James Bonds, but I’ve learned you can’t rely on them. Technology always fails when you need it the most. It’s a bit like phone reception: when you need to call someone, and it’s a matter of life or death, you will have no reception. Happens every time!
I like to be a traditional investigator. Hiding behind a computer and a bunch of technology is the cheat’s way out. I prefer to feel I’ve used my brain and done some proper detective work