Poirot is a hero 4

 The managers apartments were in the oldest part of the care home. They came with the job. No resident ever came here. The hall leading to the entrance was dark and it smelled musty. The front door to the apartment was very sturdy. It had a serious looking yale lock, and a spy hole.

Barney gave the door a few bashes and rattled the door – nobody opened and there was no sound coming from indoors.

Aggie and Barney looked at each other. Aggie nodded. Barney had some schooling in forensic sciences and knew (in theory) how to get that door open.

‘Have you got a safety pin, auntie A?’

‘Go into my room and search in the upper drawer of my night table, there may be one there.’

Barney got himself back to Aggie’s room. Poirot was asleep in Aggie’s bed and didn’t wake up. He switched the bed light on and rummaged through the drawer. He touched something in there and it began to buzz and wiggle. At the back of the drawer was a particularly large fluorescent sex toy.

‘You sly fox, auntie A.’ He switched it off and found the large safety pin at the front of the drawer and hasted himself back to the manager’s apartment.

‘I take it you found my toy. Sorry, Barney, I should have warned you. No effing child should see that unprepared.’ 

‘I’m not a child anymore, Auntie A. What you do in the privacy of your bedroom is completely up to you and none of my business. However, I was wondering whether you could have used it to knock out the assassin? It’s big and heavy enough!’

Barney started work on the door. He inserted the safety pin, moved it around a bit and stuck his credit card in the door, near the lock. Ten minutes passed and Aggie became impatient. Then a click and another one; a swipe with the credit card and the door was open.

‘See, Auntie A, university is good for something!’

‘I hope you will only use that trick in very exceptional circumstances, Mr B. But well done, I am proud of you.’

They stepped into the managers apartment. It was sparsely decorated; as if the inhabitant knew he wasn’t going to live here for a long time. On the table in the living room sat a half-drunk bottle of whisky and a glass. In the kitchen stood a pot-noodle, half-eaten.

Barney quickly checked whether the manager was anywhere in the house.

‘The pot noodle is still warm,’ he said.

‘No shit, Sherlock’, said Aggie. ‘So where is he? Has he run?’

Barney now looked around more careful, inspecting the bathroom and the big wardrobe in the bedroom, 

‘What is this?’

He disappeared in the wardrobe and rummaged around. His fingers felt a key in the back of the big cupboard. When he tried it, it gave a click, and he went through another door.

‘Auntie A, this is a real Narnia! I need a torch. There was one on the bed – can you get it for me please?’

Aggie rolled back with the torch and gave it to Barney.

‘You’ll have to do this on your own, son. I won’t be able to get through there. Have you got anything on you that can be used for a weapon?’

‘Unless you want to borrow my toy: no. Scream if anything is amiss. I will hold my phone in my hand with the Police on speed dial.’

Barney inched his way through the cupboard. He found himself in a tunnel. It had a musty smell mixed with paint. Something furry touched his leg and he screamed.

‘Barney, I think that is Poirot. I have a feeling he has been there before. Let him lead the way.’

Barney pointed his torch in the direction he thought Poirot had taken. Two green, luminous eyes stared at him.

‘You buggering cat, don’t you do that again, or I will bite your tail.’ 

He started to follow the cat, who walked calmly in front of him. He saw a little stripe of light in the tunnel. It turned out to be a wooden door. Poirot stopped and started meowing. Obviously, there was someone or something at the other side of the door and he wanted in.

Barney inspected the door. It was a flimsy shed door, but it was locked. He was by now getting impatient with the whole affair. He pulled back as much as he could, gained some momentum and smashed to door to smithereens.

He was in a room. It was painted mint green – vomit green. Poirot charged in.  

The room was dimly lit. On a thin mattress lay two bodies, wrapped up in old blankets. A bottle of water stood beside the mattress and plastic sandwich wrappers were overflowing in the bin. Barney’s heart all but stopped. Were these the bodies of Masika and Imeni? He was afraid to find out. Poirot didn’t hesitate; he jumped on the bed and started purring very loud. The girls were stirring.

‘Masika? Imeni? Wake up! We need to get out of here.’