“Listen to me,” he went on. “Minerva has been invited over here for Christmas. Tomorrow she’s turning on the Christmas lights in Regent Street. And on Thursday at midday she’s opening the Santa Claus grotto at Harrods department store in Knightsbridge. There’s going to be a lot of press. A lot of TV. It’s great publicity. But this is the problem…” He drew a breath. “I think she’s in danger.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“Well, yesterday she received an anonymous letter.”
“An anonymous letter!” Tim exclaimed. “Who from?”
Hammill scowled. “I don’t know. It was anonymous. But it threatens her with death.”
“So where is this letter, Mr Hubble?” Tim asked.
“It was sent to Minerva. She’s got it. I’d like you to come and meet her at her hotel and she’ll take you through it.”
“She’ll take me through the hotel?”
“No. She’ll take you through the letter.” He leant forward and already I could see the doubt in his face. “I have to say, Mr Diamond, I need to be sure you’re the right man for this job. I wanted to go to the police, but Minerva’s husband insisted that a private detective would be better. I understand you advertise in the Yellow Pages.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “They match his teeth.”
“I take it you know how to look after yourself,” Hammill said.
Tim looked puzzled. “But I’m not ill!” he muttered.
Hammill rolled his eyes. Maybe I was imagining things but I could have sworn they went in opposite directions. “I’m not asking about your health,” he said. “I need someone to stay close to Minerva while she’s in London, and that may mean getting into a fight. So what I’m asking you is – do you know judo or karate?”
“Sure!” Tim nodded. “Judo, karate and origami. When do you want me to start, Mr Rubble?”
It was obvious to me that Hammill was having second thoughts about Tim. And maybe third and fourth thoughts too. For a moment he bit his fingernail, deep in thought. Maybe he had plans to bite all the way down to the signet ring. Then he came to a decision. “All right,” he said. “Minerva is staying at the Porchester hotel, which is in Hyde Park. That’s highly confidential information by the way.”
“What do you mean?” Tim demanded. “Everyone knows that the Porchester hotel is in Hyde Park.”
“Sure. But nobody knows she’s staying there. Otherwise we’d have fans all over the place.”
“That would help with the ventilation…”
“Minerva likes her privacy. She’s booked in under the name of Mrs Smith. Room sixteen. I want you to visit her this evening. Say, seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock,” Tim said obediently.
“That’s right. I’ll let her take a look at you and if she thinks you’re up to it, you’re hired.”
Tim nodded. I knew what was coming next. He was sitting back in his chair with his feet resting on his desk, trying to look every inch the private detective. The fact that he had a hole in one of his shoes didn’t help. As far as he was concerned he was back in business. And he was determined to prove it. “What about my fee?” he demanded.
“You’re not hired yet,” Hammill reminded him.
“OK, Mr Rabble. But I’d better let you know now, I’m not cheap. The only thing that goes cheap in this office is my budgerigar, and I don’t think your superstar wants a bodyguard with feathers.”
Hammill tried to make sense of this, decided it wasn’t worth trying and stood up. “I’ll see you this evening,” he said. One last twist of the ring. It wasn’t going anywhere, but he was. He walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
There was a moment’s silence.
I went over to the cupboard and searched through the CDs. I knew we’d have a Minerva recording somewhere and, sure enough, there it was – her third album,
Think Pink
. I looked at the face on the cover: the blonde hair, the green eyes, the lips that looked like they
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“Well, yesterday she received an anonymous letter.”
“An anonymous letter!” Tim exclaimed. “Who from?”
Hammill scowled. “I don’t know. It was anonymous. But it threatens her with death.”
“So where is this letter, Mr Hubble?” Tim asked.
“It was sent to Minerva. She’s got it. I’d like you to come and meet her at her hotel and she’ll take you through it.”
“She’ll take me through the hotel?”
“No. She’ll take you through the letter.” He leant forward and already I could see the doubt in his face. “I have to say, Mr Diamond, I need to be sure you’re the right man for this job. I wanted to go to the police, but Minerva’s husband insisted that a private detective would be better. I understand you advertise in the Yellow Pages.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “They match his teeth.”
“I take it you know how to look after yourself,” Hammill said.
Tim looked puzzled. “But I’m not ill!” he muttered.
Hammill rolled his eyes. Maybe I was imagining things but I could have sworn they went in opposite directions. “I’m not asking about your health,” he said. “I need someone to stay close to Minerva while she’s in London, and that may mean getting into a fight. So what I’m asking you is – do you know judo or karate?”
“Sure!” Tim nodded. “Judo, karate and origami. When do you want me to start, Mr Rubble?”
It was obvious to me that Hammill was having second thoughts about Tim. And maybe third and fourth thoughts too. For a moment he bit his fingernail, deep in thought. Maybe he had plans to bite all the way down to the signet ring. Then he came to a decision. “All right,” he said. “Minerva is staying at the Porchester hotel, which is in Hyde Park. That’s highly confidential information by the way.”
“What do you mean?” Tim demanded. “Everyone knows that the Porchester hotel is in Hyde Park.”
“Sure. But nobody knows she’s staying there. Otherwise we’d have fans all over the place.”
“That would help with the ventilation…”
“Minerva likes her privacy. She’s booked in under the name of Mrs Smith. Room sixteen. I want you to visit her this evening. Say, seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock,” Tim said obediently.
“That’s right. I’ll let her take a look at you and if she thinks you’re up to it, you’re hired.”
Tim nodded. I knew what was coming next. He was sitting back in his chair with his feet resting on his desk, trying to look every inch the private detective. The fact that he had a hole in one of his shoes didn’t help. As far as he was concerned he was back in business. And he was determined to prove it. “What about my fee?” he demanded.
“You’re not hired yet,” Hammill reminded him.
“OK, Mr Rabble. But I’d better let you know now, I’m not cheap. The only thing that goes cheap in this office is my budgerigar, and I don’t think your superstar wants a bodyguard with feathers.”
Hammill tried to make sense of this, decided it wasn’t worth trying and stood up. “I’ll see you this evening,” he said. One last twist of the ring. It wasn’t going anywhere, but he was. He walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
There was a moment’s silence.
I went over to the cupboard and searched through the CDs. I knew we’d have a Minerva recording somewhere and, sure enough, there it was – her third album,
Think Pink
. I looked at the face on the cover: the blonde hair, the green eyes, the lips that looked like they