The Real Lady Detective Agency: A True Story

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‘What are you doing now?’ Steph asks with concern as I pull into the hard shoulder to overtake the traffic on the outside. Yet another illegal move but if I hadn’t done it, we’d have lost him because somehow he’s managed to get as far as thirteen cars in front. There’s a gap in the perfect spot, which I zip into just before he can see us.

‘Rebecca, you don’t pay me death money!’

‘Sorry. No more illegal moves,’ I promise with my fingers crossed.

Thankfully, about a mile further down the road the subject pulls into a building site. We slump back in our seats and breathe a sigh of relief. Honestly, I feel as if I’ve been holding my breath since he emerged from that front door.

‘I hate traffic,’ I say, reaching for the video camera. Steph is grabbing the stills camera, ready to snap away. The subject goes into one of those horrible Portakabins – made of some kind of metal, and not only plain ugly but also depressing. He emerges wearing a hard hat and a fluorescent jacket.

‘What a spoon,’ I remark. ‘Not working, my foot!’

Steph shakes her head in disapproval.

Our subject proceeds to direct men on the building site, waving his arms to show them where to go and what to do, and we video him for the next hour from behind a wall, and through some side railings.

‘Think that’s what we call a result,’ Steph says.

‘Correct. Let’s go get something to eat. And have a pee!’

We take off and have lunch. Later on, when Steph has safely been returned to her bed, I review the footage. What we have is the car-camera, which is set up on the front dashboard of the car, showing him leaving for work from his girlfriend’s house. I run a search and find she rents it. Also, the film footage and photos of him on the building site show that he’s clearly in a position of authority. I throw together my report, based on all the timings and factual evidence, and send it off to Sarah.

‘You are absolutely wonderful,’ she telephones to tell me, sounding ecstatically happy.

‘Aw, you’re welcome.’ I leave out all the parts about the red lights, hard shoulder and general law-breaking.

‘I’m sending it off to the Child Support Agency straight away. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. I knew this is where he was, and what he was up to, but now I actually have the evidence.’

I feel really happy for her and just hope she gets some justice.

Two months go by and to my surprise I see ‘Sarah CSA Case’ flash on my phone.

‘Hi, Rebecca, it’s Sarah.’

She must have an update for me.

‘I sent off all the evidence to the CSA, and they interviewed my former husband again. He came up with a cock-and-bull story that this was a one-off, and that he isn’t in full-time work. He says he got offered a job managing a site for a week, and took it, but now he’s unemployed again.’

‘Oh dear,’ I tell her. ‘This is not good.’

‘I know. He’s so slippery! I’m furious. I know what he’s doing, but it’s just proving it!’

‘It’s such a shame that when we get proof he can so easily lie his way out of it.’ I feel genuinely disheartened for her.

‘There’s only one thing for it. I know it’s going to cost a lot, but it needs to be done because I’m not letting him get away with this. Can you do exactly what you’ve already done, but once a week for the next twelve weeks?’

Crikey! ‘Of course we can,’ I tell her. Thankfully, because he doesn’t live too far away, we can have it done in less than three hours each time. The bill’s not going to be thousands, but it’s still going to be significant.

‘Great. Thank you. Send me an invoice and I’ll get it sorted for you. Mercifully, my dad’s offered to pay!’

That makes me feel a little better, at least. I’d offer to work for her for free, but that’s my heart taking over my head again. Mustn’t let my personal feelings about dads who don’t pay maintenance get in the way of my professionalism! Time to get a grip.

Over the course of the next twelve weeks, we do exactly as Sarah asks. Her ex-husband goes to work from his girlfriend’s house every single time. Different building sites, but the same job. We also manage to track down his website, on which he touts his services as an ‘independent project manager’. That will do nicely. I print off the pages and send them to Sarah. You can’t simply send a web link to the Child Support Agency and ask them to look at it – it’s against their rules – so we have to print off each page and send them. The client will get a full package from us that they can submit directly to the CSA – all part of the service!

After the twelve weeks are up, Steph and I catch up over skinny lattes.

‘I’m still worried they’re going to turn round to Sarah and say it’s not enough,’ she frets.

‘I know what you mean: he could invent an explanation for everything. What else can we do, though?’ I sit back, large white mug in hand, staring into the foamy milk for inspiration. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before it dawns on me. ‘We sting him!’

‘With a bee?’ Steph is confused.

‘No, silly! We set up a honey trap. But instead of trying to seduce him and seeing if he responds, we lure him to work for us. We pay for his services. He says on his website he’s a project manager – so let’s find something for him to project manage!’

‘Ooooh!’ Finally, pennies are dropping all over the place. ‘I get it! Nice thinking, brains!’

Smugly, I sit back in my chair and dream up a way in which we can perform this little exercise.

‘Yes, this will do perfectly,’ says Steph, whom I’m currently hoisting up so that she can peer over a six-foot-high brick wall.

‘Can you see the way in, though?’ I ask, getting impatient as her heel digs into my thigh.

‘Possibly. Get me down,’ she says, brushing the dust from her all-black ensemble. ‘Come around this way.’ And she walks – no, teeters – in her heels, towards some trees.

We squeeze through a gap between the trees and the wall. Following the path round leads us to an opening at the opposite side, revealing a plot of land with the foundations of a house poking out. It’s a Sunday morning, the time of day when the residents of God’s Waiting Room will be out in force, wearing their fanciest hats to swan around the village church. All in the name of religion, of course.

‘Let me handle this one,’ Steph says, digging out her phone from her Louis Vuitton handbag. She looks pleased with herself, and is clearly loving this case, as she dials the number our subject gave on his website. ‘Hello, my name is Jennifer Hall. I develop properties. I’m sorry for ringing on a Sunday but we’ve had a minor emergency. The project manager on one of our properties handed in his notice this morning and is leaving us in the lurch. We need someone to manage our site a.s.a.p, and I found your details on the Internet.’

She’s made a good start, but it’s a little risky. What if he is fully booked for the next few weeks? Steph clearly didn’t think of that possibility, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

‘Oh really? OK, that should be fine with me. How would it work?’

I rub my hands together to ward off some of the chill in the air. It’s sunny but the summer warmth has gone. I hop from one stiletto to the other, realising we are highly inappropriately dressed for the occasion. As always.

‘Sorry, I’m going away tomorrow, but we really need someone to start next week. Is there by any miracle a possibility you can come now?’

I smile a big cheesy grin, still hopping, giving her a thumbs-up!

‘Oh, thank you, that would be amazing. Don’t worry. If you take the job, you can bill us for Sunday hours,’ Steph tells him, joining in my hopping.

The conversation ends. ‘He’s on his way.’

Exceptionally chuffed with ourselves, we dance through the mud and puddles back to the car.

Some forty-five minutes later and we’re in position. We drive round to the site and set up the video camera in the car window. I’ll take some snaps from my post in the car.

‘You ready?’ I ask her.

‘Rock and roll ready.’

‘Good job. Looks like he’s here.’

His 4x4 drives around the corner. Steph opens the car door, and bounces out with her usual cheery attitude.

‘Hellooooo! Thanks sooo much for coming. I’m sorry for dragging you out today.’ She gives him her sparkliest smile. Sat in the car, I hardly hear anything else that’s going on. There’s lots of nodding and walking around the foundations, but finally they part with a handshake. Somehow she has convinced him she knows about construction!

Steph gets back into the car. ‘Drive, quick, round there,’ she says, pointing just past the trees. I pull up in a spot where we can still watch him but he won’t be able to see us.

‘What did he say?’ I ask her.

‘He said that he’s contracted to another job for the next nine months, something he’s been working on for over a year. He can’t leave his current job, but he has other men on his books who he can employ and manage for us. It will cost around £1,000 per week, because they’re specialists or something.’

Steph has a triumphant grin on her face and I’m not only relieved but also exceptionally happy.

‘But why’s he still there, though?’ Steph has a good point. What’s he doing now?

‘I’m not sure,’ I say, shuffling into a position where I can see better. He walks around the site a bit more, poking his nose into an outhouse. Very strange.

‘Oh my God!!!!’ We both sit there, stunned. ‘Is he doing what I think he’s doing?’

‘I think so,’ Steph says, staring in amazement. ‘He’s stealing the boiler!’

The dirty-dog of a project manager/child-maintenance dodger/fraudster/outright thief loads the boiler into his 4x4, along with some copper piping, before finally driving off!

The video is pretty good, and Steph writes up a full witness statement about their conversation.

I speak with Sarah once again to tell her what’s happened, then send her our full report. The CSA orders her ex to pay maintenance, but still it’s not the end of that slippery guy trying as many ways as he possibly can not to pay for his child. He’s the type that will always find a way to get out of it. You’d think Sarah would be angry, very angry, but actually she is just sad and disappointed. I’m sure that over time the sadness will pass and the anger will return. Maybe we’ll be called back to film him again when that happens. He’d better watch his step …

THE DATING GAME (#ue57176e2-4fff-50a3-ac8a-371a83c35aa1)

Gradually we get more business at The Lady Detective Agency and it begins to seem as though we might actually make a living from it one day. I’m over the moon because – all modesty aside – I think I have a natural talent for it. I’m getting better at asking the right questions on those initial phone calls, and we’re gearing up with lots more useful detective gadgets all the time. I’ve got to admit, some are quite fun, making us feel like female James Bonds, but I’ve learned you can’t rely on them. Technology always fails when you need it the most. It’s a bit like phone reception: when you need to call someone, and it’s a matter of life or death, you will have no reception. Happens every time!

I like to be a traditional investigator. Hiding behind a computer and a bunch of technology is the cheat’s way out. I prefer to feel I’ve used my brain and done some proper detective work to get results.

Paris and I are splitting our time between living in God’s Waiting Room with the parents and in our actual home in the barn. The divorce case isn’t getting any prettier, but otherwise life is good and I’m happy. Except that everyone seems to think I should start dating again, so I can look for ‘true love’. Pah! What’s that when it’s at home? Does it even exist? Or is it just a fairy tale invented by marketing types?

You know what I’m hating? Other people’s relationships. I’m absolutely sick and tired of them. They argue and bicker all the time, and it’s stressful to listen to my friends complaining of this or that about their other halves. Very worryingly, I think I’m becoming a ‘relationship basher’. I just have to read the newspaper to see all the horrors of cheating, wife-beating and general lies to wonder – what is the point? Why do people actually get together? When I look around me, I realise I don’t know any couples who are truly happy … or at least I don’t think they are. Even the friends who are getting married have issues. I think back to my own wedding day, when I knew in my heart of hearts I shouldn’t be doing it. What if everyone out there is the same? What if everyone is unhappy? What if relationships are a serious figment of fairy tales? The thought that true love is a total myth is highly disturbing but I’ve come to the conclusion it’s true. I don’t think real love between couples exists. There – see? – I said it!