The Great Detective & the Missing Footballer by Gurmeet Mattu - HTML preview

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17

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I immediately released him and jumped to my feet. “I wasn't fondling him, Holms, I was trying to beat a confession out of him.”

Holms helped my prey to his feet and said, “Your penchant for the right hook will be the death of you, Wilson. I must apologise on behalf of my colleague, Mr Montoya.

“He like autograph too much,” the Spaniard complained.

“Did you get anything from the taxi drivers?” Holms asked me.

“Not in Manchester, Holms, but with the miracle of modern communications they asked around the country and you'll never believe this, but the last time the car was seen was in our very own Baker Street.”

Holms seemed unimpressed by my news. “That means nothing, Baker Street is a busy thoroughfare.”

“Very good song. I like,” our European amigo offered.

“But perhaps he was coming to see us,” I ventured.

“Sheer supposition.”

“He might have feared for his safety.”

“He might have feared for his sanity, Wilson, we have no way of knowing. The answer lies in Jimmy Henderson's phone.”

Montoya pulled a phone from a pocket in his track-suit and offered it. “Phone? I got.”

“No, no, Mr Montoya, we don't want your phone,” Holms replied, pushing it away.

“Plenty credit,” the Spaniard insisted.

“That's not relevant, I have no use for your phone.”

But Montoya kept pushing the phone towards us and I raised my fists. “Let me have another crack at him, Holms.”

“Down, Wilson. He's only trying to be helpful. No thank you, no need your phone.”

“No my phone. Jimmy phone.”

“What?” Holms cried.

“Jimmy drop. Rodrigo pick up. Give back when Jimmy return.”

“Dear God,” I groaned, “he's had it all the time.”

I grabbed the phone and feverishly jabbed at the buttons.

“I no give you autograph, you dirty player,” Montoya said.

“Damn, it's got a password,” I complained.

Holms stroked his chin. “Football player? Try 'password'.”

He was correct with his first guess and the phone lit up. “Brilliant, I'm in,” I said, “Last text message reads

… 'Come quickly' … well, that doesn't tell us much.”

“But who is it from?” Holms asked.

“There's no name, just a number. Shall I ring it?”