Knock Down

by Dick Francis

I wandered round the place where the stable had been, desultorily kicking at loose stones.

  A car turned into the yard, one I didn’t know, and from it stepped a total stranger. Tall, young, blond. Surely this couldn’t be Vic’s friend, I thought: and it wasn’t. There were two other people in the car with him, and from the back of it stepped Sophie.

  ‘Hi….’ She grinned at my face. ‘Who were you expecting? The bailiffs?’

  She introduced the friends, Peter and Sue. They were all on their way to lunch with Sue’s parents, but if I liked she could stop off with me and they would pick her up on their way back.

  I liked. The friends waved and went, and Sophie tucked her arm through mine.

  ‘How about marriage?’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you like oysters and I don’t.’

  I smiled and steered her into the house. It was as good an answer as any.

  Crispin was highly restless and not in the least pleased to see her.

  ‘I’ll go for a walk,’ he said. ‘I can see I’m not wanted.’

  ‘You’ll stay right where you are and pour us some cokes,’ I said firmly. We looked at each other, both knowing that if he went for a walk it would lead to the pub.

  ‘All right,’ he said abruptly. ‘You bloody bully.’

  I cooked the lunch: steaks and grilled tomatoes. Crispin said that Sophie ought to do it and Sophie said you should never interfere in someone else’s kitchen. They looked at each other with unfriendly eyes as if each wishing that the other wasn’t there. Not the most relaxed of Sunday lunch parties, I thought: and Vic telephoned with the coffee.

  ‘My friend will meet you,’ he said. ‘For five minutes only. Like you said.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked.

  ‘Here. At my house. Six o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ I said.

  His voice held a mixture of instructions and anxiety. ‘You’ll cancel those blood tests?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘After the meeting, I will.’

  I went back to the kitchen. Sophie was smoking and Crispin glowered at his coffee as if it were an enemy. When we were alone he often stacked the plates in the dishwasher but I knew he wouldn’t do it while she was there. He took it for granted that if there was a woman in the room she would do the household chores, even if she were a guest. Sophie saw no reason to do jobs she disliked, and her host’s jobs at that, simply because she was female. I watched the two of them with a sad sort of amusement, my liability of a brother and the girl who wouldn’t be my wife.

  During the afternoon Peter and Sue rang to say they were staying overnight with Sue’s parents and consequently couldn’t take Sophie home. Would I mind frightfully driving her home myself.

  I explained to Sophie that I had an appointment near Epsom.

  ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait in the car while you do your business, and we can go on to my place after.’

  A flicker of caution made me uneasy. ‘I’m going to see Vic Vincent,’ I said.

  ‘Is he likely to be as lethal as Fynedale?’

  I smiled. ‘No.’

  ‘And don’t forget it was a good job I was with you at Ascot.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  So I took her.

  Crispin followed us out to the car. ‘I suppose you won’t be back till bloody morning,’ he said.

  ‘Whether I am or not, you’ll be all right.’

  He looked at me in desperation. ‘You know I bloody won’t.’

  ‘You can be if you want to,’ I said persuasively.

  ‘Sod you, Jonah.’

  He stood and watched us as I started the car and drove away. As usual he had made me feel a grinding guilt at leaving him to struggle alone. As usual I told myself that if he were ever to beat the drink he would have to stay off it when I wasn’t there. I simply couldn’t be beside him every minute of his life.

  We drove towards Epsom. We were early, by design. Vic had said six o’clock, but I thought that a preliminary scout around might be prudent. The friend, whoever he was, had already sent a load of trouble my way, and I had a minimum of faith that all would henceforth be caviar and handshakes.

  I drove fifty yards past the entrance to Vic’s drive, and pulled up on the grass verge with Sophie’s door pressed close against the hedge. I switched off the lights and turned to her.

  ‘When I go, lock my door behind me,’ I said. ‘And don’t get out of the car.’

  ‘Jonah…. You really do think Vic might be lethal.’

  ‘Not Vic. But he might have someone else with him…. I don’t know. Anyway, I’ll be much happier if I’m sure you’re sitting here snug and safe.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No buts.’ I kissed her lightly. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour or so. If I’m not here by six thirty, drive on into Epsom and raise a posse.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Put the rug round you, or you’ll get cold.’

  I slid out of the car and watched her lock the door. Waved. Smiled as if I were going to the circus. Went away.

  The night was not pitch dark. Few nights are. My eyes adjusted to the dimness and I went quietly through the gateway and up alongside the drive, walking on the grass. I had worn for the occasion a black sweater and dark trousers, black rubber-soled shoes. I pulled a pair of gloves from my pocket and put them on. I had dark brown hair, which helped, and apart from the pale blob of my face I must have looked much at one with the shadows.

  There were two cars outside the front of Vic’s house, both of them unfamiliar. A Ford Cortina and a Jaguar XJ 12.

  I drifted round the house towards the pool, hoping and guessing that Vic used his office, as I did, as the natural place to take his friends. Most of the house was in darkness. Vic’s window shone with light. Round one, I thought.

  Carefully I skirted the pool and approached under the protection of the dark overhang of the roof over the guest suite, keeping tight against the wall. Faint light from the sky raised a sheen on the unruffled pool water. There was no wind, no sound except from an occasional car on the road. I edged with caution closer.

  Vic’s window was hung with thick fawn-coloured crusty net in clustered folds. I found that one could see a certain amount when trying to look through it straight ahead, but that slanting vision was impossible. It also seemed possible that as the curtaining was not opaque, anyone inside could see through it to someone moving about outside. Inconvenient for peeping Toms.

  I crawled the last bit, feeling a fool. The window stretched down to within eighteen inches of the paving stone. By the time I reached the wall I was flat on my stomach.

  Vic was walking around the room, talking. I risked raising my eyes over the level of the sill, but to little purpose. All I could clearly see was a bit of the table which stood near the window, and a distant piece of Florentine mirror. I shifted sideways a little and looked again. A sliver of bookcase and a chair leg. Another shift. More bookcase, and a quick impression of Vic moving.

  His voice came through the glass whenever he walked near the window. I put my head down and listened to unconnected snatches.

  ‘… Polyprint and Nestegg… bloody dynamite…’

  ‘… what does it matter how he found out? How did you find out in the first place…’

  ‘… beating him up wouldn’t have worked either. I told you… burning his place hurt him more…’

  ‘… you can’t put pressure on a wife and children if he hasn’t got any…’

  ‘… brother… no good… just a lush…’

  I shifted along on my stomach and looked again. Another uninformative slice of furnishings.

  I couldn’t see who Vic was talking to nor hear the replies. The answering voice came to me only as a low rumble, like a bass drum played quietly. I realised in the end that its owner was sitting against the window wall but so far to the left that unless he moved I was not going t
o be able to see him from where I was. Never mind, I thought. I would see him face to face soon enough. Meanwhile I might as well learn as much as I could. There might be a gem for the bargaining session ahead.

  ‘… can’t see any other way out…’ Vic said.

  The reply rumbled briefly.

  Vic came suddenly close to the window. I buried my face and stretched my ears.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I more or less promised him you would meet him.’

  Rumble rumble, seemingly displeased.

  ‘Well I’m damn well not going inside just to save him from knowing who you are.’

  Rumble rumble.

  ‘Damn right I’ll tell him.’

  Rumble rumble rumble.

  Vic hadn’t been exactly frank, I thought. He hadn’t told his rumble-voiced friend that I was due there at six o’clock. Vic was going to hand the friend to me on a plate whether the friend liked it or not. I smiled in the dark. Round two.

  ‘I don’t give a damn about your reputation,’ Vic said. ‘What’s so bloody marvellous about your reputation?’

  A long rumble. Infuriating not to be able to hear.

  Vic’s voice in reply sounded for the first time as if he were stifling doubts.

  ‘Of course I agree that business is founded on trust…’

  Rumble rumble.

  ‘Well, it’s too bad because I’m not bloody going to jail to save your reputation, and that’s flat.’

  Rumble.

  Vic moved across the window from right to left, but I could still hear him clearly.

  ‘Where are you going?’ His voice suddenly rose sharply into anxiety. ‘What are you doing? No…. No…. My God…. Wait…’ His voice went higher and louder. ‘Wait.…’

  The last time, he screamed it. ‘Wait….’

  There was a sort of cough somewhere inside the room and something heavy fell against the window. I raised my head and froze in absolute horror.

  Vic was leaning back against the glass. The net curtain all around him was bright scarlet.

  While I watched he twisted on his feet and gripped hold of the curtain for support. On the front of his lilac shirt there was an irregular scarlet star.

  He didn’t speak. His grip slackened on the curtains. I saw his eyes for a second as he fell.

  They were dead.

  Without conscious thought I got to my feet and sprinted round to the front of the house. It’s easy enough looking back to say that it was a mad thing to do. At the time all I thought was that Vic’s murdering friend would get clean away without me seeing who he was. All I thought was that I’d set Vic up to flush out the friend, and if I didn’t see who it was he would have died for nothing. The one thing I didn’t think was that if the friend saw me, he would simply shoot me too.

  Everything happened too fast for working out probabilities.

  By the time I had skirted the pool and the garden room the engine of one of the cars in the drive was urgently revving. Not the big Jaguar. The Cortina. It reversed fiercely in an arc to point its nose to the drive.

  I ran. I came up to it from behind on its left side. Inside the car the dark bulk of the driver was shifting the gears from reverse to forward. I put my hand on the handle of the rear door, wanting to open it, to make him turn his head, see who he was, to stop him, fight him, take his gun away, hand him over to justice… heaven knows.

  The Cortina spurted forward as if flagged off the grid and pulled my arm right out of its socket.

  16

  I knelt on the ground in the familiar bloody agony and thought that a dislocated shoulder was among the ultimates.

  What was more, there were footsteps coming up the drive towards me.

  Scrunch scrunch scrunch.

  Inexorable.

  All the things have to be faced. I supported my left elbow in my right hand and waited, because in any case I could barely move, let alone run away.

  A figure materialised from the darkness. Advanced to within six feet. Stopped.

  A voice said, ‘Have you been run over?’

  I nearly smiled. ‘I thought I told you to stay in the car.’

  ‘You sound funny,’ Sophie said.

  ‘Hilarious.’

  She took two paces forwards, stretching out her hands.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said hastily.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  I told her.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said.

  ‘And you can put it back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put my shoulder back.’

  ‘But….’ She sounded bewildered. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Not here. In the house.’

  She had no idea how to help me up. Not like jump jockeys’ wives, I thought briefly, for whom smashed up husbands were all in the day’s work. I made it to my feet with the loss of no more than a pint of sweat.Various adjectives occurred to me. Like excruciating.

  One foot gingerly in front of the other took us to the door that Vic’s friend had left open, the door to the hallway and the office. Light spilled out of it. I wondered if there was a telephone anywhere except in the office.

  We went very slowly indoors with me hunched like Notre Dame.

  ‘Jonah!’ Sophie said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t realise… you look… you look…’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I need you to put it back.’

  ‘We must get a doctor.’

  ‘No… the police. Vic Vincent’s been shot.’

  ‘Shot.’ She followed my gaze to Vic’s office and went along there to take a look. She returned several shades paler, which made two of us.

  ‘It’s… awful.’

  ‘See if you can find another telephone.’

  She switched on several lights. There was another telephone on a table flanked by a sofa and a potted palm.

  ‘Call the police,’ I said.

  She dialled three nines. Told them a man had been killed. They would come at once, they said. She put the receiver down and turned towards me purposefully.

  ‘I’m going to dial again for an ambulance.’

  ‘No. You do it. It has to be done now. At once.’

  ‘Jonah… don’t be stupid. How can I? You need professional help. A doctor.’

  ‘I need a doctor like yesterday’s news. Look… doctors don’t put shoulders back. By the time they arrive all the muscles have gone into spasms, so they can’t. They send you to hospital in bloody jerking ambulances. The hospitals sit you around for hours in casualty departments. Then they send you for X-rays. Then they trundle you to an operating theatre and by then they have to give you a general anaesthetic. It takes about four hours at the best of times. Sunday evenings are not the best of times. If you won’t do it… I… I…’ I stopped. The prospect of those long hours ahead was enough to scare the saints.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll tell you how….’

  She was appalled. ‘You must have a doctor.’

  I muttered under my breath.

  ‘What did you say?’ she demanded.

  ‘I said… God give me a woman of strength.’

  She said in a low voice, ‘That’s unfair.’

  I went slowly past her through the hall into the open-plan dining-room and sat gingerly on one of the hard straight-backed chairs. What I felt was beyond a joke.

  I shut my eyes and thought about Vic’s friend. Thought about the glimpse of him I’d had in the split second before he blasted off and took my comfort with him. There had been a seepage of light from the house’s open door. Enough to show me the shape of a head.

  There had been little time for certainty. Only for impression. The impression remained in my mind indelibly.

  Sophie said, ‘Jonah….’

  I opened my eyes. She was standing in front of me, huge eyed and trembling.

  I’d wanted to know what could break up her colossal composure. Now I knew. One man shot to death and another demanding an unimaginable ser
vice.

  ‘What do I do?’ she said.

  I swallowed. ‘It will take ten minutes.’

  She was shocked. Apprehension made her eyes even bigger.

  ‘If you mean it…’ I said.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘First instruction… smile.’

  ‘But

  ‘Six deep breaths and a big smile.’

  ‘Oh Jonah.’ She sounded despairing.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you messing about with my precious body unless you go back to being your normal confident relaxed efficient hard-hearted self.’

  She stared. ‘I thought you were past talking. You’re a fraud.’

  ‘That’s better.’

  She took me literally. Six deep breaths and a smile. Not a big smile, but something.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Put your left hand under my elbow and hold my wrist with your right.’

  I shifted an inch or two back on the seat until the base of my spine was firmly against the chair back. She very tentatively stepped close in front of me and put her hands where I’d said. For all her efforts I could see she still did not believe she could help.

  ‘Look…. Do it slowly. You can’t wrench it back. When you get my arm in the right position, the top of the bone will slide back into the socket.… Do you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Right… there are three stages. First, straighten my arm out, slightly to the side. Then keep my wrist out and pull my elbow across my chest… it will look awkward… but it works. If you pull hard enough the top of the bone will come in line with the socket and start to slide into it. When it does that, fold my wrist up and over towards my right shoulder… and my arm will go back where it ought to be.’

  She was in no way reassured.

  ‘Sophie….’

  ‘Yes?’

  I hesitated. ‘If you do it, you’ll save me hours of pain.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But…’ I stopped.

  ‘You’re trying to say,’ she said, ‘that I’m going to hurt you even worse, and I mustn’t let it stop me.’

  ‘Attagirl.’

  ‘All right,’

  She began. Straightened my arm out, slowly and care fully. I could feel her surprise at the physical effort it demanded of her: an arm was a good deal heavier than most people realised and she had the whole weight of it in her hands.