“That’s it? That’s all? You want to buy it?”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to believe that you were prepared to offer me a thousand pounds and drive all the way down here at some ungodly hour for a few bits of old lead.”
“Yes. I do expect you to believe me. That ‘old lead,’ as you call it, happens to be fine miniature replicas …”
“They’re just kids toys ...” he cut in, then paused. “Hold on a minute – How much?”
“I don’t see how that concerns you.”
“Oh, I see. You won’t tell me in case I get the idea I can make more than a thousand if I buy them myself. But, wait a minute ...” Bliss tilted his head and scratched his chin. “If you’re prepared to offer me a thousand, they must be worth a fair bit more than that.”
“Not without the major,” replied Marshall with a note of triumph. “And you don’t have the major, not in recognisable form.”
True on both counts, thought Bliss, looking at him askance, still wondering if he knew more about the soldiers than the value. “And you do have a major, I suppose?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact I do. I have a single major.”
“But that’s all you’ve got,” Bliss guessed. “And I’ve got the rest of the set.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me, Inspector?”
Bliss laughed, “Far from it. I’m trying to protect the assets of a dying old lady, though I’m not sure she deserves to be protected. Anyway, stop beating about the bush – how much?”
Marshall put on his military haughtiness. “The last set to come on the market sold for more than twelve thousand pounds.”
“Phew! – Twelve thousand quid for a toy.”
“Not a toy, Inspector. Assuming your identification is correct, only the fifth set of its kind known to be in existence in the world today – a rare find indeed.”
Bliss was still shaking his head, “Twelve thousand ...”
“That was a few years ago. Today, in a New York auction room, it could easily sell for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
The phone rang, it was a woman – unwilling to leave her name, according to the telephonist. “Tell her to call back ... ” he started, then thinking – hoping – it might be Samantha, he politely ushered Marshall out of the office and took the call.
The voice was muffled and indistinct – Samantha with pneumonia he was thinking – then he realised it was not her, it was Doreen Dauntsey, her voice cracking emotionally, “I believe you wanted to see me, Inspector.”
“Yes – that’s correct,” he replied. “This morning please,” he added, leaving little room for dissension.
“I shall be waiting for you,” she said, her voice laden with resignation.
Sergeant Patterson was on the warpath over the goat and had by-passed the chain of command to take his complaint straight to the top. “Superintendent Donaldson wants to see you,” he said to Bliss, spying him and Peter Marshall on their way to the evidence store.
“Tell him I’ll be half an hour, Pat, would you please.”
“He said it was very urgent,” said Patterson, emphasising the “very.”
“Sorry about this,” apologised Bliss, leaving Marshall dancing in anticipation in the public waiting room.
He found Donaldson in his office furiously spinning a gyroscope. “What the hell’s going on, Dave?”
“Sir?”
“What’s this nonsense about you keeping a goat in the cells?”
Bliss smiled and tried to make light of it. “Don’t tell me it’s crapped on the floor.”
“We’re going to have to fumigate the whole place,” he complained, whipping the little silver gyroscope again.
“What?” Bliss screwed his nose in confusion. “Wait a minute, Guv. Is somebody winding you up? Has someone told you it’s a real goat – a live goat?”
“No – I know what it is,” he shouted. “It’s stuffed – and so will you be if you don’t get it out of there PDQ.”
Bliss’s confusion deepened. “I’m sorry but I don’t see the problem, Guv.”
“You don’t, eh! Well, what about Standing Orders?” He grabbed the huge book of rules and stabbed a finger at the open page – the page Patterson had found for him. “It says here,” he read, “‘Whenever a dead animal has been stored or conveyed on police premises, such premises, (or conveyance), shall be thoroughly cleansed by way of fumigation before any further use is made of such premises, (or conveyance).’”
“But it was nothing to do with me, Sir ...”
“I understood it was your goat.”
Bliss conceded the point. “But it’s been dead for ages.”
“All the more reason I would say.”
With both Marshall and Doreen Dauntsey waiting, he decided against arguing the point further. “I’ll put it in the garage as soon as I have a minute.”
“I doubt if there’s room,” gloated Donaldson, not concealing the fact he was being deliberately obstructive.
“It’s a goat not a woolly mammoth,” he said stomping out.
“Well, you’d better get it moved right now,” Donaldson yelled after him. “I don’t want any more complaints, and you might have to pay for the fumigation as well.”
The goat seemed to have put on weight as he half carried, half dragged it, across the car park to the garage, cursing Daphne at every step. I shall have to get a pick-up to take it away, he was thinking as he rammed the old animal into a convenient corner.
“You can’t leave that there,” called a gangly youth in a mechanic’s overall.
“Do you want a bet?” me mumbled walking away.
“Oy. I said ...”
Bliss tuned him out and set his sights on Daphne who was emptying her vacuum cleaner into a garbage bin.
“I want to talk to you about that damn goat …” he barked but she dropped the cleaner in disgust and turned on him.
“It’s going to take me all day to disinfect that cell. And have you seen all that hair? It’s shedding faster than a cheap paintbrush.”
Bliss stopped in his tracks. “What did you say?”
“I said there’s hair everywhere, look at your suit – you’re covered.”
He looked, then grabbed her and kissed her wetly on the forehead. “You’re a whiz, Daph old girl.”
“Here, less of the old.”
“Sorry,” he said, rushing off along the corridor.
Detective Sergeant Patterson was shooting the breeze in the C.I.D. office when Bliss burst in.
“Yes, Guv?” he queried, as if Bliss had blundered into the women’s toilets by mistake.
“The duvet in the Dauntsey case, Pat – did we have it checked for hair?”
“Not yet – we ain’t got any suspects, so there’s not much point.”
“Do it anyway, will you please?”
“Why?”