I walked into the restaurant to meet
my prospective client, scanned the diners and slipped into the booth with her.
She started to say something, then her eyes widened and nothing came out of her
open mouth.
“Mrs. Sanders? I’m RB Kendrick,” I
said, extending my hand.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “The
description you gave me is wholly inadequate.” She stared at me for a minute,
then said, “Copper.”
Confused, I looked around. There
weren’t any police in there. “Huh?” I said intelligently.
“Your hair. It’s not ginger, it’s
like polished copper. It shines.”
Women notice different things than
men. As I suspected from our conversation on the phone, Sylvia Sanders was a
norm and so was her husband. What I read in her mind matched what she told me
verbally. It’s so much easier when clients tell you the truth. I understood why
she had suspicions about her husband. The changes in his behavior and schedule
screamed other woman to me also.
“So what do you want, Mrs. Sanders?
A report, photos, a confrontation? A basic report of what and who he is or is
not doing will run a thousand pounds. Photos catching them in the act are
another thousand, if I can get them. Unlike the telly, most people don’t
conveniently provide evidence in front of windows with the shades open. If you
want to confront him in the act, I’ll accompany you for an additional fifteen
hundred pounds.”
She blanched at my rates.
“If what he’s doing isn’t obvious,
and I have to put him under surveillance for an extended period, my rates are
five thousand a week.”
“I don’t think that will be
necessary,” she said with a quiver in her voice. She gave me a thousand and I
wrote down all the pertinent information.
“I’ll check on it this afternoon.
I’m going to be out of town for a few days,” I told her. “If I don’t find
anything by tomorrow morning, I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Thank you, Miss Kendrick. This has
been going on for several months. I don’t think it’s going to change.”
“Mrs. Sanders, you need to think
about what you’re going to do if your suspicions are correct. Are you going to
confront him and hope he ends it? Or do you plan to divorce him? It’s something
you should decide before hand.”
“I want a divorce,” she said. “I
know he’s cheating on me. He called a little while ago and told me he had to
work late this evening.”
~~~
Edward Sanders worked about a mile
away. I took the Tube to his building. About twenty minutes after I arrived, I
saw him come out and head for the Tube station. Obviously, he wasn’t working
late.
I followed him and sat behind him on
the train. I read his mind to get his destination, then sat back and used my
phone to check my email.
When we left the tube station, I
took a slightly different route than Sanders to reach the house of his
mistress. I stood across the street and watched as she answered the door for
him. I could understand why he was attracted to her. She was even more
beautiful than what I had expected from the images in his mind.
I read her mind, also. She was the
lonely trophy wife of a successful businessman who traveled often. Edward
Sanders was good looking, and twenty years younger than his mistress’s husband.
She wasn’t in love with him, but considered him a wonderful diversion. He
wasn’t in love with her, either, but was infatuated that such a rich and
beautiful young woman wanted him.
The shades in the living room
weren’t drawn, and the amorous couple started their activities immediately upon
his entering the house. I pulled my camera from my bag and walked across the
street and across her lawn. There was a small tree in an ugly plastic pot
sitting in the middle of the lawn, and I had to detour around it.
I could see glimpses of the lovers
through the living room window, but reflections in the glass prevented me from
a good view. It appeared he was doing her on the dining room table. This was
going to be the easiest thousand pounds I’d ever made.
I was so focused on what was going
on inside that I didn’t see the hole hidden by the small tree sitting in front
of it. I should have realized what a potted tree was doing on the lawn. Someone
planned to plant it.
I took a step and my left foot found
only air. The world spun around and the camera slipped out of my grasp. My chin
hit something hard and I bit my tongue.
When I came to my senses, my right
leg was sticking straight up and the rest of me lay twisted in the bottom of a
hole. My chin felt like it was on fire, and my tongue hurt like mad. It took me
some time to get myself situated and crawl out onto the grass. I looked back.
The hole was about two feet deep. I spit, and a spot of bright red blood landed
on the green lawn.
I picked up my camera and checked it
to make sure it was still working. Looking around, I didn’t see anyone. I
waited until my head stopped spinning, then crept up to the window. They were
still going at it on the table. I took some pictures, but had to wait for them
to shift positions so I could get his face. After a few minutes, I had all I
needed.
A sudden noise behind me caused me
to turn around. A white-haired woman with binoculars hanging from her neck
stuck her head out of the window of the house next door.
“You clumsy cow,” she shouted at me.
“Get out of the way. You’re blocking the view.”
I retreated in a hurry, and she
raised the binoculars, trained on the window through which I’d been snapping
pictures.
Case closed. I walked back to the Tube and went home, holding a
handkerchief to my still-bleeding mouth
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