They Made Their Mark: Chapter 4

"Let me think now..." Fatty mused, as Larry squirmed eagerly in his seat. "All right, here's a very simple example but effective. I was having lunch in a café with a colleague one day, and we were discussing the tricks of the trade. He knew of my interest and invited me to deduce something about a young lady who was sitting in a corner talking to a friend. She must have been about eighteen or so and she was sipping a drink through a straw. I told him to leave it with me and I'd make observations whilst we ate, and I did so by covert glances every now and again. When the girl and her friend got up to leave I thought I'd better produce something, so I told my companion that, in the light of very little evidence, all I could gather is that the young lady in question displays a high degree of insecurity which affects her in everyday life to the effect that she may be receiving specialist treatment. You know – gypsy fortune-teller stuff. But in this case I was using analysis technique. Not putting too fine a point on it, my friend was quite staggered."

"Why was that, Fatty?"

"He happened to know the young lady's sister from a past civil case and was aware of the girl's background. Apparently she had been formally diagnosed as having an anxiety disorder, so my observation was suitably confirmed."

Larry shook his head and smiled. "And how exactly did you read that?"

"Believe me, Larry, it was a rather trivial exercise. How would you do it?"

Larry though about this for a moment. "You watched two young ladies having a drink in a cafeteria and you came to the conclusion that one of them was afflicted with something like insecurity or depression?"

"That's right."

"Did her friend have a briefcase? Was she writing notes, perhaps while peering over her glasses?" Larry ventured.

"No and No! Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's a pretty feeble attempt but she may have been with her psychiatrist for a chat or therapy. That sometimes happens – therapist and patient meet in such places to get to know each other and perhaps bond a little."

"Not all that feeble, Larry. Quite a worthy try but no, that wasn't how I deduced it."

"Was she hesitant? Did she look nervous and retiring?"

"No, she was quite animated and was talking enthusiastically with her friend."

Larry sighed. "Then I give up – what gave you the clue, Doctor Trotteville?"

"Somewhere along the line," Fatty said, enjoying himself, "Holmes mentioned that a good detective is helped with the gift of imagination, so I observed the young lady's straw and imagined a little. The straw was flat from about halfway up. When you suck through a straw the tip will naturally flatten, but in this young lady's case, it was not just at the tip. Over the course of her conversation she had sucked and sucked on it long after the drink had been finished and had drawn on it so completely that, as I said, it was flat and twisted down to about the middle!"

Larry was interested, "How do you make an interpretation from that, Fatty?"

"Here's the connection: Probably the most secure environment for a baby is the suckling process, at least it's one of the most quoted examples. Our first feelings of security are generally gained from that particular period in our lives and in this case the straw was substituting for a long-gone need. It fitted into the pattern and I just rounded it out a little. The core of the premise was correct – I concluded that the girl was unconsciously recreating the security she had once enjoyed in order to balance the anxiety that the real world can produce in everyday life. While carrying on her conversation she was conforming to her subconscious desires and had devised a makeshift suckling process."

Larry was silent for a moment. Then he tilted his head forward, saying, "I take my hat off to you, Fatty. Would you say it was a fifty-fifty chance of success?"

Fatty smiled, "I thought about 80% at the time, Larry, and it turned out the full century."

Larry turned over a page of the pad on which he had been writing for the last several minutes. "I think I can understand the Chief's total support for you Fatty, and it's good that you're using your talents to pursue exactly what you've always been interested in. Now, how did you come to set up FTI?"

Fatty looked at his watch, leaned back and started to relate the information that was the core of Larry's interview,

"Well, in the latter half of the four or five years I was at the Yard, I was spending a little time planning out a business. The Chief knew that I wanted to start working for myself as a private detective and he was right behind me because he saw an opportunity which could benefit both himself and the police. I was getting roped into the more difficult cases that required analysis rather than leg-work and I was garnering some respect amongst work associates because my final summaries of the evidence they'd gathered, more often than not, led to a conviction – because, you see, I took great pains to lay all the facts out in the best possible way so that when introduced it would hold the court's interest and help decisions to be made in the shortest possible time. The upper echelons were pleased with the results they were getting from the back-room analyst who came and went as he liked and had privileges usually reserved for employees of a higher rank."

Larry stopped writing and grinned up at Fatty, "You were becoming a kind of Holmes figure even at the Yard?"

"Well, possibly, and the Chief who'd carefully gauged whatever talents he thought I had, approached me on behalf of his police interests and told me that my – quote – 'special' powers could help the Force even after I struck out on my own. He said he could get me some police referral work when difficult investigations came to a halt and I jumped at that. If I proved I was helpful in that capacity, more referrals would come my way and that was what led into the consulting detective side of things."

There was a short lull in the conversation whilst Larry kept writing. The sun's rays were shining on the sideboard now and the room was quiet except for the slight tap-tapping sound of the typewriter coming from Reception where Dorothy was working away. Fatty took another biscuit.

Larry looked up again. "Good stuff, Fatty. Now, how did you get to be here?"

Fatty reflected again. "As you know, Peterswood was the place for me so I enquired around and haunted the real-estate agencies, but it was a friend who put me onto this office. The firm that occupied the premises before me had just moved out and I was interested because I liked the general area and the view. And as you can see, it's well placed. I jumped in before anyone else did and put up the brass plate, as it were, then shortly afterwards I left the Police Force."

"No brass plate visible. How long have you been here, Fatty?"

"Over a year. One or two friends in the Police from surrounding areas gave me some of my earliest work – just small assignments such as locating or checking on suspects and I liked that because it meant that I was still helping the Force and it was a good prelude to the consulting side that I really wanted to develop. I didn't have to advertise because it was all word-of-mouth.

"Fatty, I can picture it now," Larry said, closing his eyes. "Someone enquiring after a first rate detective agency is told to ring F.T.I. and is given your number. Dot or someone says, 'Good morning, this is F.T.I.' and the customer thinks she said iF.B.I. Guaranteed custom there, eh?"

Fatty put on a superior look. "Come now, Larry, our work is in a different field, and anyway I'm sure we're heaps more efficient. To continue – I found out that many recommendations had come via the Chief, who'd received another promotion and was away more often than not, but we kept in contact and he'd call in whenever he was passing through. I began getting more and more assignments and, would you believe it, Larry – some of them were due to my once being a Find-Outer."

Larry looked up, astonished. "Go on with you."

"It's true. You'll remember those reports in the press about our earlier adventures in which they also printed our school portraits? Well, it didn't take long for the general public to remember them after I opened up – 'Did you know that FTI is run by Frederick Trotteville, the terribly bright lad who headed that group of mystery-solvers in Peterswood some years ago?' With that behind me it didn't take long for extra business to roll in. The memories are always there and, who knows, perhaps they influenced your bosses when they hired you."

"Now, that's interesting, Fatty," Larry said, "because when I first started at the Gazette, one of the gaffers recognized my name and quizzed me about the Find-Outers. He wanted to know our history and all about our cases and then he spent some time dragging out old back-issues that featured our write-ups and mug-shots, so there certainly are people who remember although I'm not too sure about that having an influence on my bosses! But you never know. After we unraveled that Milton House mystery, a friend of mine in Birmingham sent down a clipping that had appeared in the newspaper at the time and, as the people who interviewed me were reasonably old-hands, one or other of them might have remembered back... but if they did they didn't let on. The old-timer at my office remembered though, and he was quite chuffed to think such a famous person was joining up..." Larry grinned. "Like your 'terribly bright chap' statement, I've exaggerated a little too."

"Larry, you don't miss a trick!"

"Well, I could hardly pull you up for boasting in this day and age."

Now it was Fatty's turn to grin. "You pull me up as often as you like – the habit's still there, but in a far lesser degree, you'll be happy to note. Yes, the newspapers covered all our detective work right up to the Bigfoot caper, and that was the finish of course."

"That's something you'll have to clue me up on, Fatty, because we were never told why they didn't report on the rest."

"Will do," Fatty agreed. "But anyway, as I was saying, the word got out about FTI and many of those people who need to avail themselves of such services, apart from official agencies, came running and the business thrived so well that about a year later I thought I'd open up another office to handle the domestic and non-governmental stuff. I found suitable premises and manned the place with four hand-picked staff, and as there's only one other agency round these parts, the pickings are many. I began making a profit and the route at present is Up! Got that?"

"Yes, and all in my best shorthand."

"I ran this office and Dot came along a month or so after I set up, and the other place is run by Mycroft."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes. Mycroft! Real name Mike. his nickname is Mycroft because he's got a brain about as sharp and as ordered as Holmes' esteemed brother."

"Mycroft Holmes!"

"Yeah! He's so efficient that he attracts a little kidding every now and again. Once, for a laugh, his co-workers put the wall-clock forward a few minutes... just a paltry few, and he cottoned on to it 40 seconds after he arrived at work – they timed him. Mycroft misses nothing. He doesn't venture out into the field much – just runs the place and assigns cases and does a little of what I do and with very good results. I sometimes pass some of my personal stuff to him so we work very well together."

"...and you're sitting pretty?"

"Yeah!"

Larry checked his watch. "Fatty, I want to hear so much more about your life, but I also want to get up to date with other things that involved all of us Find-Outers, because I've so much catching up to do. How are we for time?"

"How are you?"

"I'm all right till about six, then I'll have to go because I have another early start tomorrow."

"Fine, Larry. I'm all right till then as well. I'll bring you up to date with anything that I'm capable of, and that should be most things because I keep the old ear to the ground."

"Good! In your line you need to, I suppose. Well, I've got so many things to ask that I'm going to put them to you at random and see how we go, and I'll also record any information that's relevant to my work. You know, being so far away for the last several years I've tended to blot out older memories and replace them with more recent ones so my head's full of air-force buddies and pictures of the places I've been and, although I can recall our adventures, my memory-blocks have fragmented them somewhat. Anyway, I'll test you with a tiny little recollection for a start – Grintriss! That just came into my mind. Mean anything to you?"

"It does, Larry!"

"Don't let on because the medics told me that initially I should always try to remember things under my own steam... Mr. Grintriss! No, it wasn't a person's name. Grintriss – a French chap. Grintriss – it's short for something. This is terrible, I should remember. Grintriss... Grin... Green-Trees, that's it. The house over in Holly Lane... we followed someone... a French chap who was lost. The Frenchman – what happened to him, Fatty? I can't even remember his name. Yes I can, it was Henri. Mr. Henri?"

"Henri Crozier, Larry, and I'd say you're following Doctor's Orders. They told you to associate and you associated – you're correct and here's some extra information, no charge, Henri and I still keep in touch."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes. He used to try and get over to visit his sister at least once or twice a year. You should remember her – Mrs. Harris. Whenever her brother comes over she makes a point of telephoning and letting me know so that I can visit them for a good old jaw over tea and cake. Henri doesn't come over as often now because he's getting on a bit but he manages to make an appearance about every nine months to a year. Jolly nice pair they are."

"That's marvellous. And you can see, Fatty, how my recollections work. If I wasn't able to recall anyone it would have been Mrs. Harris, but I remember her well. I'm glad we met up with them and you'll have to let me know when he visits again so that I can renew our acquaintance."

"They'd love to see you, Larry."

"How's his English?"

"Much better – we hardly ever speak French now."

"Good. You know, once a train of thought starts, other names pop up – what's happened to that Wilfred chap? I remember he went to prison."

"Dear Wilfred. In my privileged position at the Yard I was able to keep up to date with most of our 'Clients' – for want of a better word. Wilfred was put away for four years – did three and a bit, then received a remission for good behaviour. Apparently he cleared out and went to South Africa and Goodness knows what he's up to over there."

"So, that's the end of him... or is it?"

"Well, I've had no indication he's returned, so maybe he emigrated or something. He was a rather flamboyant character, always dressed as if about to grace a catwalk... and there was a place in Marlow which he probably sold to fund himself, and then he vamoosed. I think he once had business interests in the Transvaal so I guess he had a permit to stay there. Or maybe he has dual-nationality."

"Interesting! How about the girl – Marian? I can recall the night we rescued her from a caravan... actually it was a horse transporter, wasn't it? "

"Yeah, you're onto it. I've seen her a few times when I've been out on enquiries. She's still living in Marlow and always very hospitable if she happens to be home when I visit on the odd occasion. She bought the place she was living at, but I'm not sure what she's doing at present – it's been a while since I've seen her."

"...and the old man – her Granddad? I think Wilfred was his nephew, wasn't he? "

"Great nephew. Yes – Granddad's unfortunately no longer with us. Most of his money went to Marion and she deserved it because she was devoted to him and spent a lot of her time seeing to his needs, especially when his health began deteriorating even further."

"Yes, Marion was really good to him. I can't recall the name of Granddad's house? Henri was at Green-Trees, and I think all the places have got names down that way."

"Hollies."

"Of course!" Larry exclaimed. He tapped his head. "I might get back to that case but there are other names coming up and I want to mention them before they disappear, so here's another... Boysie! You'll notice I'm leaving our more intimate friends till later because I'm sure you'll have a lot more to tell me about them."

"Sure, Larry. I was wondering why you hadn't asked after Ern Goon or even Pip. Ah yes... Boysie Summers and the Little Theatre. Did you know he was looked after by a Society?"

"I didn't, but I suspected it because his handicap would mean that he needs supervision of some kind."

"Yes. Well, he ended up at an NSMHC house in Manchester and the expectations were that he'd eventually be taught to look after himself more capably. I heard this from Zoe."

"Zoe – Zoe Marks?"

"Markham!"

"Markham. Have you kept in touch with her then, Fatty?"

"I did in earlier days, Larry, but I haven't heard from her for a while – a couple of years or so. She visited me once or twice way back when she was in the area and we talked old times naturally and as you know she was quite attached to Boysie. She helped to care for him and took him on outings whenever she could spare the time and then she moved to Manchester because her family re-located. A few months later it was decided by the Authorities that Boysie couldn't go far wrong if he was also transferred to that city... a move that was welcomed immensely by Zoe. She's been wonderful to him and, I think you'll agree, the world needs more people like her."

"Absolutely, Fatty. I wish I could have seen her again before she left – gosh, when I think of that hanky we left at the Little Theatre as a false clue... Imagine it! Who would have thought there'd be someone connected with the show who had a name beginning with Z?"

"Yes. It was one of those unfortunate incidents which can be attributed to Murphy's Law."

"Still, everything turned out all right in the end... well, except for one individual. Have you heard anything of him? Grant wasn't it?"

"That was his surname, said Fatty. "We didn't really follow up on what happened to those whom we brought to justice, did we? But you probably recall the Inspector clueing us up on that one when we met him shortly after the case."

"Yes, I do, Fatty. Manager drugged and the safe burgled – I think it was six and a half years but reduced to five on appeal."

Fatty nodded. "Yes. There was no violence and the defence played a little on that, although the prosecution elaborated on the fact that Grant had drugged the manager and then tried very hard to get a handicapped person blamed for the crime. Alec is now free and, to the best of my knowledge, he's still in the theatrical world but not on the stage. I think he does a bit of scripting or something. A friend of mine who knew him quite well let on that he wanted to move to Ireland and get into acting again, so maybe he's now back in the business. He was actually quite a talented individual but I just hope he gets no more ideas about making quick cash as he did at the Little Theatre."

"I think his incarceration would have been enough to scare away any thoughts of a repeat," said Larry. "He gave me the impression he wouldn't stand up well to prison life."

There was a knock at the door and Dorothy entered.

"Ah, the Love of my Life," said Fatty, as he gathered the cups and plates together. "I can tell you, Larry, this place would come to a halt without our Dot."

"Hallo again, Mr. Larry – and don't you believe Mr. T. It would carry on as well as ever if I wasn't here – he just wouldn't have my charm and beauty to brighten up his day. If Mr. T. harasses you too much, just give me a yell."

"Why? What would you do?" asked Larry.

"I haven't the faintest idea – but give me a yell anyway, I'm a knock over for a good-looking face."

"That's why she's always coming in here," Fatty remarked under his breath.

Dot sniffed. "He's incorrigible!" She packed the morning tea things onto the tray and, with a wink at Larry, made a dignified exit.

"Sorry I couldn't offer you macaroons today," apologized Fatty. "Remember those?"

"Do I ever? I noticed the dairy that sold them has closed down when I passed by on Tuesday – it's a furniture outlet now."

"You've been exploring? Yeah, no more macaroons from that source – I think they were made under licence because Olivers used to have them and now, for some reason, they don't... but!"

"But?"

"Remember that expensive coffee-shop just across from the station? We never went there although I did once with Eunice Tolling – well, they've now got the celebrated macaroons. I don't know whether they acquired the recipe from the dairy but what I can tell you is that theirs are as good as the ones we used to gobble by the dozen."

Larry looked very happy. "Now that's great news. I might pass by there tomorrow if I happen to be in the general area round lunchtime. Fatty, let's have some more reminisces – Grintriss, Holly Lane, Eunice... you're helping me to remember so much. Eunice – we'll get back to her. How about Harry? Was it Harry? No, it wasn't – it was Harry's Folly, and that connects up with Mr. Holland the car dealer and stealer."

"Mr. Holland." Fatty dusted a few crumbs off his seat. "Yes, I can tell you all about him..."

To be continued...