Twelve Red Herrings

“No, thank you,” said Anna firmly. “We have to go in search of a marooned car.”

“Heaven knows if it will still be there after all this time,” I said as she rose from her place.

I took Anna’s hand, led her toward the entrance, back up the stairs and out onto the street. Then I began to retrace my steps to the spot where I’d abandoned my car. As we strolled up the Aldwych and chatted away, I felt as if I was with an old friend.

“You don’t have to give me a lift, Michael,” Anna was saying. “It’s probably miles out of your way, and in any case it’s stopped raining, so I’ll just hail a taxi.”

“I want to give you a lift,” I told her. “That way I’ll have your company for a little longer.” She smiled as we reached a distressingly large space where I had left the car.

“Damn,” I said. I quickly checked up and down the road, and returned to find Anna laughing.

“Is this another of your schemes to have more of my company?” she teased. She opened her bag and took out a cellular phone, dialed 999, and passed it over to me.

“Which service do you require? Fire, Police or Ambulance?” a voice asked.

“Police,” I said, and was immediately put through to another voice.

“Charing Cross Police Station. What is the nature of your inquiry?”

“I think my car has been stolen.”

“Can you tell me the make, color and registration number please, sir.”

“It’s a blue Rover 600, registration K857 SHV.”

There was a long pause, during which I could hear other voices talking in the background.

“No, it hasn’t been stolen, sir,” said the officer who had been dealing with me when he came back on the line. “The vehicle was illegally parked on a double yellow line. It’s been removed and taken to the Vauxhall Bridge Pound.”

“Can I pick it up now?” I asked.

“Certainly, sir. How will you be getting there?”

“I’ll take a taxi.”

“Then just ask the driver for the Vauxhall Bridge Pound. Once you get there, you’ll need some form of identification and a check for one hundred and five pounds with a banker’s card—that is if you don’t have the full amount in cash.”

“One hundred and five pounds?” I said quietly.

“That’s correct, sir.”

Anna frowned for the first time that evening.

“Worth every penny.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Nothing, officer. Goodnight.”

I handed the phone back to Anna and said, “The next thing I’m going to do is find you a taxi.”

“You certainly are not, Michael, because I’m staying with you. In any case, you promised my brother you’d take me home.”

I took

her hand and hailed a taxi, which swung across the road and came to a halt beside us.

“Vauxhall Bridge Pound, please.”