Rebecca Jane - The Real Lady Detective Agency - A True Story

Don’t get me wrong – she could be totally right. With my experience of relationships, I’ve got every reason to feel cynical about men and their ability to be faithful. But her ‘evidence’ doesn’t seem enough to get worked up about – yet.

‘I know, I know. It’s just he is such a horrible man. He actually hates me, I know he does. He would have some kind of affair just to get away from me.’

I begin to think we should talk to a charity or self-help association that will help us to compile a list of symptoms we can tick off to work out when a client is crazy and needs professional help, rather than a bunch of female detectives. Surely we need some kind of insanity clause?

‘What is the most important thing for you to find out, if you can?’ I ask her.

‘If he is being faithful or not,’ she replies, very certain.

‘How sure of his whereabouts are you? Does he go to work at the same time every day? Come home at the same time? What are his weekend patterns like?’

‘He goes to work and comes home at almost the same times every day. Like I said, though, the other day it took him fourteen minutes, when it should have taken eight. And he sets off thirty minutes before he needs to. He could be up to lots of things in that time.’

‘Right, and what about weekends and evenings?’

‘Most are spent with me or our son. Our son is very close to him, although he hates him too! He’s eighteen, and he tries to get out of the house when my husband is home. They’re more like friends than father and son.’

This sounds a bit contradictory but I leave it. ‘Does he walk a dog? Or have a hobby?’ I ask.

‘No, neither.’

‘Alright, so the main problem is work?’ Firming up the situation.

‘Yes. I think, because of the mud behind the driver’s seat, that he picks up this Muriel he works with and drops her off. I’ve been to the garage to have his car cleaned, so the mud is gone, and if it turns up another day, I’ll know!’

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ I tell her, thinking it’s a total waste of time and Googling ‘relationship charity helplines’ while we speak. I’m going to talk to a professional about this problem. I don’t think she’s sane, and I’ve had enough craziness to last a lifetime. ‘Would you want surveillance on him going to work? What about at work? What does he do for a living?’

‘He works for an Internet provider in their offices, but you need passes to get inside. I wouldn’t be able to get one. He once took me there, and they wouldn’t let me in.’

‘Alright, so surveying him at work isn’t possible. Jane, would you mind if I have a think about it and consider if there’s any equipment we could get you?’

‘No, that sounds like a very good idea.’

We finish the conversation and immediately I ring the charity I’ve just Googled. I explain to them that I’m an investigator with a new client, and I’m not entirely sure about her mental stability. Timing his journey to work by the minute, thinking he’s been up to no good in the space of six minutes and obsessing over some mud in the back of the car … I may have been paranoid during my time with James, but I don’t think I was ever quite that bad. The lady at the charity is very nice, with a lovely tone of voice, and she pretty much comes to the same conclusion as me. My very first client at my brand new detective agency is crazy. But what should I do?

In bed that night I feel rather uneasy. Do I bother to ring her back, or hope she just finds someone else to do her work? Or do I get a grip, realise we’re running a business and get on with it?

I can’t tell her where to go! I’d once been that person. I’m sure when I rang the investigators about James that they thought I was barking mad too – but I wasn’t. Is this lady the same? Or is it the case that she simply can’t describe her problem to me convincingly? She is living with this man and only she knows what he is really like. Maybe there are other situations and problems that she isn’t telling me and the story is all true. Or maybe she is obsessing over nothing.

Mission Impossible ringtone sounds. It’s 11pm! Who the heck could it be? I reach over to the bedside table and look at the flashing bright blue screen. Jane’s number is showing up! Oh dear …

‘Hello?’ I answer.

‘Hi Rebecca, it’s Jane.’

‘Hi, Jane.’ Trying not to sound too unimpressed that she is calling just as I am dropping off to sleep. We had advertised that we were open for business and accessible twenty-four hours a day, so this was going to be the downside. Maybe we’ll have to revisit that idea in the business plan.

‘I’m so sorry to call you this late, but I needed to tell you something,’ she begins in a rushed manner.

‘Of course, it’s no problem,’ I lie.

‘You know Muriel, that girl I was telling you about? The one people are suspicious of? Well, she’s just changed her profile picture.’

‘What do you mean by “her profile picture”?’

‘You know, on Facebook. Did I not tell you she was on Facebook?’

‘Er, no. I don’t think so.’

‘Well, she is. I don’t have her as a friend, but I can see lots of things she puts up. She’s changed her profile picture, and I’m sure she’s trying to tell me something.’

I want to scream ! I really want to help Jane, but she’s making it very difficult. Is she honestly trying to tell me that some girl she doesn’t know, who works with her husband, about whom there have been a few rumours, has changed her profile picture to send her a sign? Really? How can I possibly work for this woman? I can’t take money from the mentally insane! Sorry … I’m no psychiatrist so I can’t diagnose that officially, but from what I can tell, the woman is about ten sandwiches short of a picnic!

‘I really don’t think it’s a sign. People change their profile pictures a lot. It’s very common,’ I tell her, trying my hardest not to be irritated or annoyed.

‘But I’ve never changed mine in the whole time I’ve been on Facebook,’ she says, sounding genuinely bemused by the situation.

‘What I can do is add Muriel and your husband to one of our fake Facebook profiles. We use them to monitor people, for lots of reasons. I’ll have a look around both of their pages and see what is on there. How’s about that?’ It seems the best solution to get her off the phone.

‘Oooo, that sounds like a very good idea.’ Yay! She’s happy!

‘Excellent, I’ll sort it out in the morning. Don’t worry – I won’t charge you if I find anything. We’ll just see what comes up.’

‘Lovely. Oh, thank you so much. I’ll speak to you tomorrow, yes?’

A momentary feeling of dread comes over me. Answering yes to this question guarantees we’ll have further contact and I’ll have to talk about this daft situation some more.

‘Of course, speak then.’ Damn it! I hang up the phone and write on the notepad next to the bedside table: Befriend Jane’s husband on Facebook!

I roll over, turn out the light and I’m asleep in five minutes.

I’m in my own little dream world, walking along a white beach. Paris is dancing around in the shallow water at my side, giggling as she always does. Waves are lapping the pure white sand, and a fabulous cool breeze is blowing in our faces. The sun is beating down rays on to the shore, and I’ve never felt more relaxed …

‘DUN … DUN … DER DE … DUN … DUN … DER DE … DE DER DERRR … DE DER DERRR … DE DER DERRR… DE DE …’

I sit bolt upright in bed! Mission Impossible is on again! I glance quickly at the alarm clock to see it’s 9am. I can’t have heard my wake-up call at 7.30am, and Mum and Dad have taken Paris to playschool today so the house is quiet. I’m scrabbling towards the phone, exactly the same as last night. Funnily enough it’s Jane’s number flashing up. Now I’m thinking it’s either déjà vu and I dreamt our conversation last night, or it’s happening again …