The Insulated Conductor continued. On our first night out together, I realised how smart Gina was. I also knew she was playing me at my own game, but it wasn't too painful. One half of me wanted to get inside her mind, to find a clue to the missing money, while the other half just wanted to get inside her knickers. Both halves were disappointed! On our second date, she told me she was a single parent with a one-year-old daughter. Relaxing over our second bottle of wine, I went for it and mentioned the company's quandary over her low ticket-sales but she only flashed that luscious smile and suggested an incentive scheme might help. As for the other, well there was none of that. Next time I pushed a little harder. Her girl, she told me, was the product of a drunken one-night-stand, following a garage booze-up. The father, a married work-mate called Hugo, opted for denial, then persistent amnesia. When she got stroppy, he started a whispering campaign that forced her to leave her job. After the birth, she was reinstated. She maintained that the experience had traumatised her so much, that the next man, she would ever sleep with, would be her husband. "Right," I said, removing my hand, which had unconsciously strayed under the table and onto her thigh. "In that case---" It was the cue for violins and soft focus, but something I can't explain made me stop in mid-sentence, like I had quinsy. There would be other nights I reckoned. I needed to think it through, so the Revenue man took over, but his subtle questioning failed to solve the mystery of the short-changing clippie. This one was good! Meanwhile my basic instincts were being sorted, in my cosy relationship with Laura. It was a sort of teacher-exchange thing. She'd call at my flat twice a week and I'd try to bring her maths up to speed. You see, I still felt guilty about helping her through the conductors' exams. By now she was making so many waybill errors that she was on three verbals and a written warning. In return she continued to surprise me with fresh and exquisite lovemaking techniques that made the Kama Sutra seem missionary. She was rounded, sensuous, and generous, whereas Gina was willowy and chaste. Then came the breakthrough. I had tackled, and solved, a few cases of simple internal fraud, at various garages around Greater London. All the while, my mind was on the enigmatic Gina. One night I was settling down with some extra-strength cans and a video when Laura arrived, in a right two and eight. When I saw the Gibson machine in her Tesco carrier bag, I knew it would be more lager than video. I handed her the glass I had already poured, sat her down on the sofa, and waited for her latest tale of misadventure. As usual with Laura, you couldn't invent it. In Regent Street, her bus had been stuck in traffic coming down towards Piccadilly Circus. Frustrated passengers reckoned walking was quicker, drivers got bored with hooting and swearing, and Laura was looking at Hamleys Toy Shop front, remembering she needed a birthday present for her little brother. After a while, with traffic still stacked up, she put her machine in the cupboard, told the driver her plan and rushed into the shop. He promised to wait at the next bus stop if, or when, the river of traffic started flowing again. The purchase took only a couple of minutes and she emerged from the toy store, spotted the red Routemaster, and dived on board. In less than a minute she had opened the cupboard using the steel T piece, common to all LT vehicles. She deposited the young man's present in there, strapped on the Gibson, and went about collecting fares on the lower deck. The bus started moving as she returned to the platform - just as another conductor was descending the stairs from the upper saloon. "What the hell are you doing on my bus?" she asked. As the penny dropped, Laura panicked, jumped onto the road and ran like hell to the next bus stop, where a load of puzzled passengers and an angry driver were waiting. She collected her own ticket-machine and completed her shift, pretending the whole thing never happened. But she still had the Gibson she had taken from the other bus! Being in possession of such a piece of equipment, I reckoned, must be the legal equivalent of having a gadget for printing fivers. We slept on it. I told Laura that if she went to work as usual and stayed 'shtoom', I would get it sorted. The reason I felt cocksure was the description she gave me of the conductor on the other vehicle. I just knew it was Gina! Laura's bus was from another garage that shared the 159 route. I just couldn't figure out why Gina hadn't chased after her to grab back her property. Well, not immediately I couldn't, but a 'phone call to her garage put me completely in the picture. When I tracked her down, I relished being in charge of the situation, for the very first time. "Your place tonight, at seven, Gina." I said, "It's important. Trust me." I was confused at first because when I searched the garage records I expected to find the machine booked out to Gina. Instead I discovered that, while his vehicle was parked up at a bus stand, about a year previously, a male conductor had gone to buy cigarettes. When he returned he found that his Gibson was missing. The fact that the cupboard was only accessible to bus crews meant that it had been an inside job. The investigation drew a blank. The conductor's Christian name was Hugo. I was holding all the aces! Gina was ready for me, she had taken her daughter to stay overnight with her parents, prepared an Italian candlelit meal with wine, and changed into a long midnight-blue satin robe that turned her into a Goddess. Continue Home Page Copyrights reserved by the author. 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