Peter Helton - Rainstone Fall

‘Yes, it is rather fine, and it does you credit to have noticed it. You’re a better judge of guns than paintings perhaps. It’s a James Purdey, engraved by Stephen Kelly, one of a pair. Probably the most expensive items in the house, that’s what you should have gone for,’ he said, giving me a schoolmasterly look over the top of his gold spectacles.

‘Look, I’m really not a habitual house-breaker. I’m a private investigator, as well as a painter. .’ I started rummaging in my jacket pockets for a business card while Connabear tightened his bony grip on the polished walnut stock of the gun. When at last I managed to fish one out it was damp and dog-eared and looked like I’d found it in the street somewhere.

He took the proffered card reluctantly but the expression on his face brightened as he looked at it. ‘Honeysett. You’re the chap who found that woman who was imprisoned in the old railway station, that made national news, Nikki Somebody or other. I remember seeing your picture.’

‘Nikki Reid.’

‘That’s her. Worked for an estate agency. So. . this story you told me is really true? About the boy?’

‘I’m afraid it is. I messed up the first burglary they asked me to do, well, the burglary went all right but then I got mugged on the way home. .’

‘Nowhere is safe. .’

‘So it seems. And. . so they changed their demands. They gave me your name and address and told me to steal that stamp and now I messed up this burglary too.’

‘I’d say so. You’ve no idea who the kidnappers are?’

‘None. I don’t even know if it’s one or many. I get phone calls from mobiles, a scratchy voice making demands. I feel just a little under pressure to get this right and I’m constantly getting it wrong. If you don’t mind me asking, who would know that you own copies of the Penny Black?’

He chuckled. ‘Many, many people. I was quite an active collector and even people I dealt with in the course of my business had often heard that I collected stamps.’

‘What was your business, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Not at all. Bunting.’

‘Bunting? Is there money in bunting?’

‘Certainly. Decorative bunting, corporate bunting, national bunting, international bunting, point of sale. . And not just bunting, we did banners and flags and flagpoles. Static flagpoles, portable flagpoles, indoor flagpoles, outdoor flagpoles. But after my wife died I sold the business to a big digital printing firm and retired. I’d only kept the business that long for something to get me out of the house. If you get my meaning.’

I said I probably did. ‘It was common knowledge then that you owned a Penny Black.’

‘Yes, and you’d be surprised how many people thought it was worth a fortune.’

‘So, since I failed to steal yours to deliver to the kidnappers. . for a couple of hundred I could just go and buy one somewhere? In a stamp shop?’

‘Well, it might not be that easy. It might take a while to get hold of a copy, especially a decent one, but then I don’t suppose you’d care whether it was a fair one or not.’

‘Certainly not. I think the kidnapper has proved that he knows even less than I do about stamps. But I would need it quickly. You did mention earlier that you owned more than one copy?’

‘I did. Oh, I see. .’

‘Yes. I’m wondering if you would sell me one of them.’

He looked at me for a moment as though the request I had just made was the most insulting thing he’d ever heard, then he suddenly widened his eyes, shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t see why not. How do you propose to pay for it?’

‘Would you accept a cheque?’

For some reason he seemed to find this quite amusing. At last he cracked open the gun. He had only loaded one cartridge, which I decided to interpret as a sign of supreme confidence. He stood it on the blotter and leant the gun carefully against the wall before opening a desk drawer and producing a leather-bound book. From its protective pages he pulled a small clear plastic wallet that contained one of the little unprepossessing stamps. He slid it across. This one didn’t look quite rectangular.

‘It looks wonky,’ I complained.

He snorted contemptuously. ‘You’re not really in a position to be picky about these things. Yes, it’s wonky, as you say. They weren’t perforated then, so the postmaster would cut the stamp out of the sheet for you and wouldn’t always be very accurate about it. It affects the value now, of course, but then nobody much cared, I should think. A carelessly cut Penny Black is the cheapest, and that’s what you’re getting.’

I dug out my crumpled cheque book from where it had disappeared into the lining of my jacket, straightened it out and asked to borrow a pen. He shook his head, sighed, opened the drawer again and selected a gold ballpoint pen for me. It looked expensive and felt satisfyingly heavy in my hand. It was about to feel even heavier.

I made the cheque out to Rufus Connabear. ‘How much do I owe you?’ I asked far too lightly.

‘Now, let’s see. The stamp’s not worth all that much, let’s say six hundred? No, make it seven hundred.’

‘But I thought you said an indifferent copy might be had for a couple of hundred?’ I protested.

‘That depends where you buy it,’ he said pointedly. ‘And not if you’re in a hurry. And you’re in a hurry, Mr Honeysett, wouldn’t you agree?’

I admitted it. He slowly and deliberately rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘Okay, then there’s the break-in. How did you get in here?’

‘Through the kitchen. I broke a couple of little panes in the half-glazed door,’ I admitted.

‘Well, they’ll have to be replaced, I’ll have to call someone out and you know what they’re like when they have to come all the way out to the sticks. Another hundred at least. And then there’s the question of disturbing my sleep. Have you any idea how difficult sleep is to come by when you get to my age? A good night’s sleep ought to be worth at least a couple of hundred. I tell you what, let’s make it a nice round figure, a thousand pounds. Yes, I think I could live with that.’

I took a deep breath, opened my mouth, then thought better of it and made out the cheque. When I handed it over he first read it attentively, then dropped it carelessly into the drawer as though it was just any old bit of paper. ‘If it bounces, you’ll get another chance to admire the James Purdy. Now. .’ He checked the paper-thin gold watch on his wrist. ‘You’ve got what you came for, I’ve got what you owe me and it’s now half past four in the morning. I wish you and the poor boy all the luck in the world but I also wish you’d go home now, Mr Honeysett.’

Which I did. With the Penny Black hidden deep in the lining of my jacket I trudged through the night back to the Norton. The rain had lessened but it was still so black out there that having nothing but a tiny LED light to fight off the darkness seemed a little foolhardy. The cloud might not have been but my mood was definitely lifting. I had achieved what I set out to do, even if the manner in which I’d done it was quite unexpected. Connabear was a very cool customer. As he let me out of the house — through the front like a normal person — he’d asked me to let him know about the outcome and I’d promised to do so, even though I had the irksome feeling that, whatever the outcome, he’d probably see it on the front page of his daily paper first.

The Norton was not a happy bike when I got to it. I really should have found better cover for it. I had to pump the kick-starter at least twenty times before the engine decided to catch and it backfired every couple of minutes all the way home.

There really was no point in going to bed at this hour. Annis grumbled from deep inside the bed somewhere when I came out of the shower and woke up just long enough to ask ‘Did you get it, hon?’ and promptly fall asleep again.