Stepping across the pavement, he addressed himself to the large woman, saying, ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Rice.’
‘I’m Mrs Rice.’ The arms still remained folded.
‘I wonder if I could have a word with your son Barrie?’
‘You from the polis?’
‘No, I’m not from the police.’
‘Then you can’t have no word with him.’
‘Well, you see I’m from a firm of solicitors.’
‘Thompson and Curry, they’re the solicitors we’ve got. You one of them?’
‘No, no, we’re not that firm.’
‘Well, then, Mister, whatever you want to know you’d better go and ask the polis, that’s my answer to you. What you want to know you go and ask the polis.’ Mrs Rice nodded at him, then to her friend, and without more ado he turned round, got into the car and drove away. He knew when he was beaten.
When he came downstairs before half-past six the following morning
he wasn’t surprised to find his mother already up. She had been down before him every morning since his father had taken ill. He wondered if she slept at all, but he didn’t enquire. The wall that had stood between his father and himself hadn’t fallen into disuse; it had re-erected itself now between him and her.
When they spoke to each other it was quietly, as if each were considering the other’s feelings. It seemed strange when he remembered that he hadn’t touched her or held her hand for days, nor had he kissed her goodbye, which had been the usual morning procedure. Could the tie that had held them together be severed so completely?
Although he wasn’t due at the office until nine o’clock he left the house at eight-fifteen, and scooted down the avenue as if the devil was after him, part of the evasive tactics that he knew only too well must soon come to an end.
Thursday was court day and consequently a day when there was a slackening of routine and nerves in the office, but this morning he felt no benefit from this. For one thing he had a thick head, having had a session at the club last night in order to evade going home and being waylaid by Valerie. He had even driven up Handley’s rutted lane and come into the avenue by the top way. And then there was the Bolton business. If it wasn’t that today was the only time he’d get the chance to investigate the files he would have left it over.
He heard the girls come in; then a few minutes later when he heard Miss Patterson’s firm tread along the corridor he went out of his office and followed her into her room.
‘Can I have a word with you, Pattie?’ he said.
‘Yes, of course, but let me get my things off.’ She laughed coyly at him over her shoulder; then patting her greying hair into place she said, ‘You’re here bright and early. And it Thursday an’ all. Now, what is it? By the way, you look tired; you been on the tiles?’
‘Well, not exactly on the tiles, Pattie. Just indulged a little last night.’
‘Oh, naughty boy. You won’t be able to do that much longer.’
He slanted his eyes at her, and she giggled. Then he said, ‘I want your help, Pattie. I want a little information. First of all can you tell me if the old man does Bolton’s, the greengrocer’s accounts?’
‘Bolton’s? Yes. He’s done them for years. His stuff came in only last week.’
‘Do you think I could have a look through them?’
‘I don’t see why not. But…but wait.’ She flapped her hand at him. It was another coy movement. ‘He might have them locked away, he does with some of them. I don’t do all the work on all of them you know. I couldn’t, could I? Just the working out of the fees and covering letters and such.’
‘Will you have a look?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that. But what do you want to know?’
‘Just a little thing.’
‘It won’t cause trouble?’ She looked apprehensively up at him.
‘Oh, no, no.’ He shook his head at her. ‘And I won’t keep it long. If you could bring it into my office, it would be better, for who knows he may pop in and I wouldn’t want him to find me along there.’
‘Oh, my, no.’ She laughed her high thin laugh. ‘We don’t want any high jinks on a Thursday, do we? All right.’ She winked at him. ‘I’ll go along in a minute and have a look for it.’
‘Thanks, Pattie.’ He smiled at her warmly, then went out.
Back in his office he sat thinking. Since he had been first articled to this firm certain names had become synonymous to him with success, or failure. Year after year he had watched the rise or fall of the businesses to which these names were attached. When he qualified Wilcox had handed over to him a number of clients, and with time the number had risen, but he had always been aware that there were, on the books, names about which he knew nothing. Bulky parcels would arrive addressed to ‘Mr Laurance Emmerson’, and underneath ‘James Wilcox, Chartered Accountants’. And bulky packets would arrive addressed to ‘James Wilcox, Esq., Chartered Accountants’, and marked ‘Private’.
He didn’t think the old man was up to any fiddle; he was too wily for that. But there were many things an accountant could do to lighten a client’s burden, such as not asking too many questions, while praying that the tax inspector would be of like mind. And there were always ways of being paid in kind; it went on all the time. Still, it wasn’t with the idea of getting anything on old Wilcox that he wanted to see Bolton’s file. It was simply with the hope that he’d get a clearer picture of Bolton and perhaps in some way get a handle with which he could turn the truth out of the greengrocer. The whole thing was just a hunch, but he had always believed in hunches; and a hunch might make all the difference to the fate of that boy. He hadn’t been able to get him out of his mind. Nor had he been able to get the woman out of his mind. The more he had drunk last night the more clearly he had seen her as he had left her in that room.
The door suddenly opening, Miss Patterson tripped in, whispering, ‘Here they are. He’s never touched them yet. But mind you, if I hear him come in I’ll give you a buzz, and you make them scarce.’ She nodded, as one conspirator to another.
‘Thanks. Thanks, Pattie, I won’t keep them long. Thanks.’ He smiled at her, and she tripped out.
Knowledgeably, he sorted out the contents of the large packet. Under the heading of ‘replacements’ was the price of a new van, and set against it was what had been deducted for the old one. There’d been alterations done to the shop which amounted to £200; the bills were there all signed. There was a thick sheaf of wholesalers’ weekly receipts. Then there was a book marked ‘Wages’. The first knowledge he gained from this was that the greengrocer paid his wife ten pounds a week for serving in the shop. Fair enough; she would have to pay tax on it. Then under a heading of ‘Casual Labour’ was ‘Van driver: Saturdays 1 p.m. to 6 p.m. £2.15.0.’ Beneath this was given the year’s total. Then below this there was a statement that brought Laurie’s teeth onto his bottom lip. ‘Two boys packing orders: Saturday 9 a.m. till 1 p.m. 30s;’ and under this, too, was given the year’s total…‘£78’.
He was still biting his lip but smiling as he put the papers back into the envelope. Funny about this hunch. Damn funny.
He took the envelope back into Miss Patterson’s office, and, placing it on her desk, said, ‘Put that back where it belongs, Pattie. And remember, you never gave me that envelope, I must have gone into the office and got it myself.’
‘There’s not going to be trouble about this, Mr Emmerson, now is there?’ She poked her face up to him.
‘Not for you, Pattie, not for you.’ He grinned broadly at her. ‘Just remember you know nothing at all about it.’
‘Oh, I’ll remember that all right. He’d go mad if he knew I’d…Oh, I’ll remember that all right.’
‘You do, Pattie. And thanks, thanks.’
Back in the office again he got through to Arnold Ransome, and the first thing Arnold said was, ‘How’s your father?’
‘Oh, much improved this morning, Arnold; the sister seemed very pleased with him.’<
br />
‘Good, good. Oh, I’m glad to hear that. I got a shock when I saw him on Tuesday night.’
‘He’s worried about this Thorpe case, Arnold. You know, the little boy from the flats next door.’
‘Yes, I know, I know. I’m dealing with it; there’s no need to trouble him further with it.’
‘Have you seen the greengrocer?’
‘No, I’ve written to him.’
‘He’s a wily type, Arnold, and he’s a liar. I believe the boy when he said he worked there. Father was onto something and I’ve taken it from there.’ He lowered his voice. ‘This fellow Bolton told the police that he never employed any boys, yet on his income tax returns he’s got down thirty shillings every week for two boys working from nine till one on a Saturday.’
‘Are you sure of this, Laurie?’
‘I’ve just seen it with my own eyes.’
‘Oh, oh.’ Laurie could imagine Arnold tapping the desk with his fingers. Then his voice came again, saying, ‘That’s all very well but one’s got to prove it in court, and we’d have to get old man Wilcox to show the statement, and I can’t see him doing that; he would consider his client’s affairs as being private. And another thing, he’s got his teeth in this case, and you know why, Laurie?’
‘Yes, I know why all right.’
There was a short silence, then, ‘I can’t see it’s much use really,’ said Arnold.
‘You mean that?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do. If this fellow sticks out and says he doesn’t employ anyone, and we’ve got to bring proof that he has done, it’s going to take time.’
‘But it could be done?’
‘Oh yes, of course it could be done, but by that time the boy will be wherever old Wilcox decides to put him, for I can’t see us getting a remand on such slender evidence, which after all will be merely hearsay if we can’t produce his tax returns. And about that we’d have to be very careful, for he—the greengrocer—could turn the tables on us.’
‘I see what you mean.’
‘Of course the case can always be reopened.’
‘Yes, yes. It comes up a week today, doesn’t it?’
‘The preliminary hearing, yes. Wilcox tried to push things through for today but the little girl is still suffering from shock and the mother said she couldn’t appear, so it was put back for a week.’
‘Well, that’s something. Thanks, Arnold.’
‘You’ve got a point, Laurie; I’m not saying you haven’t. I must give it some thought; and given time it might alter the whole case. In fact I’m sure it will. But it’s time, it’s time we want…And Laurie. This is going to upset Wilcox, you understand that?’
‘Yes, I understand.’
There was a pause. Then: ‘Oh well, as long as you understand. Goodbye, Laurie.’
‘Goodbye, Arnold.’
He sat looking down at the desk. The law was meticulous, finicky, and slow. Arnold said it was time they wanted, and in the meantime Mr James Wilcox, J.P., would see that that little fellow got time in an appropriate place, and he would scathe the mother not only by this act, but with his public censure of her. As he’d said, he’d make this place so hot for her she’d have to find some place to cool off.
At dinner time he had lunch in the town as he had done all the week, then he went on to the hospital, and it was as he was going in the main entrance that he saw Cissie coming out. They passed in the open doorway and she looked through him and beyond him, not flicking an eyelid in recognition.
As soon as he entered his father’s room he knew that she hadn’t been there, for he was lying as he always was now, propped up against the pillows, calm, quiet, almost serene, and he didn’t think that if he had seen her he would be like this. She had likely been to the desk to enquire.
‘How are you?’ He sat down by the bed.
‘Oh, better, much better. Your…your mother’s just gone.’
‘Just gone?’
‘Well, about a quarter of an hour ago. Did…did you do what I asked?’
‘Yes, yes, Father, I saw her.’
‘And she told you all about it?’
‘Yes. Yes. She told me everything.’
‘Did you see the boy?’
‘Yes, I saw Pat.’
‘No, no.’ John shook his head. ‘The Rice boy.’
‘No, but I will.’
‘And Bolton?’
‘I’m seeing him tonight.’ He did not mention his fruitless visit last night.
‘Bolton’s crafty, Laurie, and he’s a bad lot. He’s been cautioned about employing boys under age. Also, something much more serious with regards to them, it wasn’t proved absolutely. They are frightened of him around there. Anyway that’s…that’s why he won’t come into the open about Pat.’
Laurie leant towards him. ‘He’ll come into the open now if I know anything.’
‘Yes?’
‘I think I’ve got him where I want him. Just you wait. I’ll likely have news for you tomorrow. Just leave it till then.’
John smiled. It was the most his face had stretched in days. Then, the smile sliding away, he said, ‘She’ll die if that boy’s taken away from her. He’s all she’s got. And the boy’s innocent. I’d swear my life on it.’ He raised his hands and his lips twisted slightly, ‘For what it’s worth.’
‘It’s worth a lot yet, you’ll see. Just take things easy.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do.’
‘You know, Laurie, it doesn’t matter much.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, please.’ Without embarrassment he took up the pale limp hand and held it firmly, thinking as he did so how strange it was that he should feel so intensely for this man now, and that the feeling should contain so much remorse and guilt, for up till a week ago he would have said that he had done nothing in his life to elicit these levelling emotions, for he was no better or no worse than any of his contemporaries. And what did that mean? He suddenly thought of Val and Tony Clark, and all the others before him. She had started early, he knew that. And then himself and Susan Lumley, and Betty Fuller, and Kitty Frost. His faculty for remembering names took him back down the years to the first one, Henrietta Jacobson. She was fifteen and he was thirteen. She had terrified him. She chased him for weeks; then raped him, and his fear fled. Girls were easy after that, too easy, but they all seemed the same, always rushing things, always pressing, demanding, usurping the male prerogative. And Val had beaten them all at this. At times she had sickened him. You could have too much of a good thing…Oh yes, he had learnt that early. He had also learnt that it had nothing whatever to do with love. This thought brought his attention back to his father. His mother was right. What his father felt for Mrs Thorpe was likely something bigger than any feeling that stemmed from the sex urge.
As he looked at him, there was added to his emotions yet another, and it surprised him most of all, and after a moment he discarded it with an inward deprecating laugh. Jealous of his father. Jealous of this man he had despised for so long. What was happening to him anyway? He was getting so damned mixed up he’d soon have to see a psychiatrist.
‘Have you told Val yet?’ asked John.
‘What? Oh that. No. No. I’m jibbing.’
‘The longer you put it off the harder it will be. Are you sure you want to break it off?’
‘I’m not sure about many things, but I’m sure of that. Oh yes, I’m sure of that.’
They looked at each other, their faces straight, no smile between them. ‘That’s all right then,’ said John softly. ‘And I would get it over.’
Four: Mr Bolton
It was just turned five o’clock when Laurie entered Mr Bolton’s shop, and the greengrocer turned from sorting some fruit in a box and said, ‘Yes, sir, what can I…?’ His voice trailed away and the set smile left his face, and he ended, ‘You again. Now I’ve told you.’ The last words were drawn out and took the shape of a threat.
‘Yes I know, but now I’ve got something to tell you, Mr Bolto
n. Would you like us to talk quietly, or otherwise? It’s all the same to me.’
There was something in Laurie’s voice that stayed Mr Bolton’s next remark, but he stared fixedly at him for some time before saying, ‘Come in here, and make it snappy.’
He pushed a door open and let Laurie pass him; then going to the stairs that led out of the packing room, he shouted, ‘Gladys. Shop.’
Almost immediately Mrs Bolton came down the stairs, to stop dead the moment she saw Laurie. She cast an apprehensive glance at her husband, and he said, ‘See to things; I won’t be a minute. And I mean a minute…Well now, spit it out.’
‘You told me last night,’ said Laurie, coming straight to the point, ‘that you never employ boys. You also told this to the police. That right?’
‘Right.’
‘You’re lying, Mr Bolton.’
‘Now, I’ve warned you, chum.’ Mr Bolton did some contortions with his face. He widened his eyes; he thrust out his lips seemingly in an effort to meet his nose. The whole effect was comical, but there was no-one to laugh at it.
‘You have your returns done by James Wilcox, do you not?’ Laurie now watched the face slowly iron out, leaving the mouth dropping slightly. ‘In your returns there is an item. To quote: Paid to two boys for casual work Saturday mornings, 30s.; Total for year £78. Right, Mr Bolton?’
‘You bloody sneaking bastard.’
‘I would save your breath, Mr Bolton. You haven’t heard it all yet; but I think that’s enough to be going on with. It’ll be enough anyway, for the magistrate whether he be Mr Wilcox or not.’
‘Who the hell are you anyway? And wait till old Wilcox finds out about this.’
‘I happen to be his accountant.’
The Unbaited Trap Page 15
