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“He can't get a right older woman see, 'cause they all think he's immature, that's why he likes me to pretend I'm an old slapper, but what if he's found some old bird that will take him on?”
“Yes, that would be a tragedy,” Holms agreed.
“Will you help me, Mr Holms? I could pay you, I've got a bit put by from my housekeeping. Would £5,000
be enough?”
She pulled a wad of banknotes from her handbag and flourished them before us. Holms, no businessman attempted to wave the cash away with a “As I told you, we're already investigating …”
But I was alert to his naivety and swiftly grabbed the moolah and trousered it,
“Mr Holms will be delighted to help you search for Jimmy,” I told her, “Don't you worry about a thing,
my dear, we'll be on the case instantly.”
I worried that she might have second thoughts and hurried her quickly towards the door, but she dug her high heels into the rug to make one last desperate plea. “And I'll give you another ten grand if you kill the old bitch.”
The moment she had left I rubbed my hands gleefully. “Well, there's a result, we can pay the rent.”
Holms ignored me and rose casually before donning his overcoat. “It's better than that, Wilson, this money means we can afford to … eat out!”
The reader must forgive me now if I relate events at which I was not present, but their importance to the development of the case makes it imperative that I recount them though, perhaps, with recourse to some creativity on my part.
Cynthia La Crème returned to Manchester the following day and met with Tom Balfour in a secluded corner of the training ground where he asked if she’d heard anything about the whereabouts of her lost love.
“No, nothing,” she replied.
Balfour smirked. Oh well, looks like I'll be captain for the Liverpool game then.”
“You'd make a good captain,” she simpered.
Balfour was not unaffected by her. “Thanks.”
“It'll be a good game,” she added, obviously trying to make an easy conversation.
“Who cares, as long as we win,” Balfour grunted.
They stood in silence for a while, Balfour rolling the ball he’d been practicing with under his foot.
“Was it you felt my bum at the Christmas party?” Cynthia asked suddenly.
“Recognise my manly grip, did you?” Balfour replied with a lewd grin.
“You are a one,” Cynthia encouraged, “anybody could have seen.”
Balfour seized his chance. “It was worth it. Listen, Jimmy might never come back, if he's found some old floozy. That could make me permanent captain.”
Cynthia recognised where he was going with his sally. “Lot of perks go with being captain.”
“Including you?”