The City of Birmingham is a real place, set in the heart of England in the West Midlands area of Great Britain. The wonderful, friendly, extraordinarily good-looking people who live there are known as ‘Brummies’. They speak in a strange dialect, a language not easy to understand or imitate (tv producers take note).

In 2005, it was discovered that a statue of Bolton, Watt and Murdock which stood outside of the Registry Office on Broad Street had gone missing and had, apparently, be missing for quite some time. This fact only came to life when council workers were sent to clean said statue and found the concrete plinth empty.

"Where’s it gone?" one worker was heard to mutter.

"Dunno," said the other.

"We’d better clean the Birmingham Forward statue then."

"You mean, Birmingham's most controversial work of art by Raymond Mason, Birmingham’s most famous living sculpture, which was unveiled in June 1991 in the centre of the new Centenary Square?" his co-worker asked.

"Yep, that’s the one."

"The statue whose figures included Joseph Chamberlain with his monocle and Josiah Mason, founder of the University, with an armful of books. The Lady of the Arts, from the city's coat of arms, blew a kiss to the past, while an actress curtsied to the Repertory Theatre? That one?"

"Yes! Now grab your bucket."

"S’gone, mate."

"Gone?"

"Yep, someone burned it down in April 2003. And most Brummies were right pleased about it an' all."

"Bugger!"

Birmingham City Council is a deeply secretive society that has been the topic of recent controversy due to reports of brain-washing, coercion and a dangerous practice known as 'collecting council tax'. Birmingham City Council reside in the Council House on Victoria Square, in the very centre of Birmingham. It is surrounded by statues.

All descriptions of artwork, architecture, document and secret rituals in this novel are accurate.

Renowned legal partner, Jack Sunnier, staggered across the carpeted hallway of the first floor meeting rooms of Grail & Peace Solicitors. He lunged at the floor plan on the wall and heaved the masterpiece towards himself until it tore from the wall and Sunnier collapsed backward in a heap beneath the plastic clip frame.

As he had anticipated, a thundering noise came from a room further down the plushly carpeted hallway. The plush carpeting shook. Far off, alarm bells began to ring in his head.

The partner lay for a moment, gasping for breath, taking stock. I am still alive. He crawled out from underneath the plastic clip frame and scanned the hallway for somewhere better to hide.

A voice spoke, chillingly close. "Do not move."

On his hands and knees, the partner froze, turning his head slowly.

Only fifteen feet away, outside one of the meeting rooms, the mountainous silhouette of his attacker stared at him. He was broad and tall, with red definite-candidate-for-a-high-blood-pressure-heart-attack skin and thinning grey hair. His irises were a nice shade of blue, like primroses only perhaps a bit darker. The red faced man drew a mobile phone from his suit jacket and aimed the phone directly at the partner. "You should not have run." His accent was not easy to place – London, maybe, or perhaps just south of Watford. "Now, make the call."

"I told you already," the partner stammered, kneeling defenceless on the floor of the meeting room hallway. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"You are lying."

"No I’m not!"

"Yes you are!"

"I’m not!"

"You’re a lawyer!"

"Okay, fair enough."

The red faced man stared at him, perfectly immobile except for the glint in his really nice blue eyes. "You and your colleagues possess something that is not yours."

The partner felt a surge of adrenaline. How could he possibly know this? "Is it the stock shares in Rover?" he asked tremulously.

"No."

"Is it the company car?"

"No!"

"Is it the computers? They’re leased, they’re not ours, but we pay regular every month, at least, I think we do, you’d better check with our accounts department."

"I’m not interested in the computers," the red-faced man spluttered. "Today the rightful guardians will be restored. Tell me where it is hidden and you will live." The red-faced man levelled the mobile phone at the partner’s head. "Is it a secret you will die for?"

Sunnier could not breathe. He held up his hands in defence. "Wait," he said slowly, "I will tell you what you need to know." The partner spoke his next words carefully. The lie he told was one he had rehearsed many times, each time praying he would never have to use it. "Okay, we’ll give you a reduction in your bill and …" The partner glanced at the mobile phone. "And we’ll close the deal with the statue thief for the ransom sum we agreed on. Happy now?"

When the partner had finished speaking, his assailant smiled smugly. "Yes, this is exactly what the others told me."

Sunnier recoiled. The others?

"I found them too," the red-faced man taunted. "All three of the top law firms in the country. They confirmed what you have just said, that if we hired them to be Birmingham City Council's legal advisers in this matter, they would all reduce their final bills and close the deal with the statue thief without further cost."

"Hey, I never said there wouldn’t be further – "

The red-faced man shook the mobile phone at the partner, silencing him. "When you are gone – "

"Gone?" the partner gasped.

"Yes, when you are gone … to get the signatures on the ransom agreement!"

"Oh."

"When you are gone, I will be the only one who knows the truth."

"Truth?" the partner questioned.

"Yes, you know, the opposite of lying, surely you must have heard of the truth."

The partner shook his head.

"Lawyers!" the red-faced man muttered, rolling his eyes. He aimed his mobile phone again. Instinctively, the partner tried to scramble for cover. "Call the accounts department," the red-faced man said. "Tell them to reduce our bill immediately."

The partner felt a searing heat in his heart. He fell forward, struggling against the pain. Slowly, Sunnier rolled over and stared up at his attacker.

The man was now taking dead aim at Sunnier’s head. Sunnier closed his eyes, his thoughts a swirling tempest of fear and regret. The triple beep of a mobile phone suddenly echoed through the corridor. The partner’s eyes flew open. The red-faced man glanced at his mobile, looking almost amused. He reached inside his jacket pocket for a second battery. "I always carry a spare in case of emergencies," he grinned. Then he seemed to reconsider, smirking calmly at Sunnier’s quite expansive gut. "My work here is done."

The partner looked down and saw the large coffee stain in his bulging white linen shirt. My stomach! he thought, I really must try to get to the gym more.

As a veteran of The British Law Society, the partner has witnessed horribly drawn-out agreements before, but never anything as horrific as this.

"Pain is good," the red-faced man said.

"Yeah, what would you know?"

The red-faced man smirked almost cruelly. "I have been to the gym many times."

Then he was gone, the fit bugger.

Alone now, Jack Sunnier turned his gaze towards the open door of the meeting room he had just ran from. He was trapped. The others would not disperse for at least another twenty minutes, not until all the coffee and biscuits had gone. By the time anyone got to him, he would be professionally dead. Even so, the fear that now gripped him was a fear far greater than that of his dismissal and three months gardening leave.

Staggering to his feet, he pictured the three top law firms in the country. He thought of the generations of lawyers who had come before them … of the mission with which they had all been entrusted. Get as much cash off the clients as possible and, above all, reach the monthly fee targets.

Suddenly, now, despite all the precautions … despite all the fail-safes … Jack Sunnier was the only remaining link, the sole guardian of one of the most powerful secrets ever kept. The identity of the thief who had stolen the double size statue of Boulton, Watt and Murdock.

Shivering, he pulled himself to his feet. There existed only one person on earth to whom he could pass the torch. Sunnier gazed up at the walls. A collection of the most horrific modern art seemed to smile down on him.

Wincing in pain, he summoned all of his faculties and strength. The desperate task before him, he knew, would require every remaining second of his professional life.

To get back the statue.

And to never have to reduce another client bill again.

Roberta Longone awoke slowly. A telephone was ringing in the darkness – a tinny, unfamiliar ringtone which she subconsciously vowed to change as soon as she got her hands on her mobile phone. She fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Squinting at her surroundings, she saw a plush Renaissance bedroom with Louis XVI furniture, hand-frescoed walls and a colossal mahogany four-poster bed.

Slowly, the fog began to lift and Roberta sat up. She peeled the glossy magazine from her face, glancing at the crumpled cover she had fallen asleep on the night before entitled ‘Interior Decorations for People Who Can’t really Afford it and Just Like to Look at the Posh Pictures’.

Longone picked up her mobile phone. "Hello?"

"Roberta," a man’s voice said. "I hope I have not awoken you."

Dazed, Longone looked at the bedside clock. It was 8.30am. She had been asleep for only 10 hours, but she felt like the dead.

"It is important," the voice said.

"I’m sorry, but I’m very tired and – "

"This is Mike Michaelson at Grail & Peace Solicitors," the voice said. "You may recall the name. It is the name of your boss. And Grail & Peace is the place where you work."

Longone still felt fuzzy. Place where you work? Her eyes focused on the calendar of semi-naked men on the wall. Longone groaned.

"It’s not Saturday, is it," she sighed.

"No, Roberta, it’s not Saturday. Nor was it Saturday when I rang you at 9.15am on Tuesday morning and two days last week."

"Oh. I suppose you’ll be expecting me in the office then."

"If you would be so kind."

"And you’ll want me to type all day, and do a few hours of filing, and maybe set up a few meetings. And stuff."

"So good of you to offer," said the voice. "It is, after all, what we pay you to do."

"It’s all just … too exciting for words, really."

"Well here’s something that might perk your comatosed interest," the voice snapped fiercely. "The company’s doing an important deal. With Birmingham City Council. To recover a valuable statue that has been stolen. And the agreement has to be signed today and you’re the only woman for the job."

Longone suddenly perked up. "Really?" she gasped. "You need me to complete a deal?"

"Yes," the voice said. "We’re getting paid peanuts for it, and you’re the only cheap secretary we’ve got."

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people have been here (spooky!) [added May 2006]

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