Drink With The Devil

by David Woods

  “That’s a pity.”

  Rosie cooked a large lunch while Jim explained what had happened the previous day. The three of them talked a lot, making the meal last until mid afternoon. Jim was delighted to see Rosie back to her old self again. Now that Briggs was behind bars, perhaps they could stop worrying.

  Jim spent the next three days at home listening to the torrential rain outside, and resting whilst he worked on his plan for the future. He had saved a great deal of money and was sure that it would be enough to buy a building site.

  Billy called in to say he had picked up all the men, but had been sent home because the site was waterlogged and all work had been suspended until the following morning. Jim felt much better about not going to work and arranged for Billy to pick him up in the van the next day. They visited the hospital for a check-up, to find the wound was healing and a new dressing was applied. Afterwards they visited several estate agents and picked up details of building land for sale, and then toured the area looking at different plots of land. Jim bought the local paper and, when he read the property advertisements, he noticed a large run-down house being offered privately for a very reasonable sum. He arranged to see it the next day.

  Billy became very enthusiastic. “We could do it up and convert it to flats.”

  “Yes, that’s a possibility,” said Jim thoughtfully.

  When they called at the old house the next day, they found it was only about fifty years old but badly neglected. The six large bedrooms all smelt damp, wallpaper was peeling off and some of the ceilings were stained brown. Jim suspected the roof leaked and the occupants, an elderly couple, explained they could not afford the badly-needed repairs. Jim was sympathetic. “I don’t blame you for wanting to sell. This property needs a fortune spent on it.”

  “Yes it does. We’re looking forward to finding a small flat in the centre of town.”

  They walked around the house again and Billy was looking fed up. He whispered to Jim whilst the couple were out of sight, “This place’ll cost a mint to do up. Let some other mug buy it.”

  “It is pretty grim I agree, but let’s look outside.”

  “What for? It’ll probably be even worse.”

  They walked around the large overgrown garden, most of which was covered in brambles and stinging nettles. Jim thrust his way through to the boundary fences, stopping to dig his heels into the soil and then pick up a handful for examination. Some of the time he was out of view from the old couple and Billy, who discussed the costs of doing the necessary jobs. They heard Jim crashing though the undergrowth and Billy remarked, “What the ’ell’s he doing in those bushes?”

  “I haven’t been able to go in there for years. The garden’s too much for us.” The old man replied gloomily.

  “You’ll be much better off out of ’ere.”

  Jim emerged, brushing the undergrowth off his clothes, and saw the old couple looking worried. “Your colleague has told us how much it’ll cost to repair the property.”

  Jim glanced up at the cracked walls and rotten window frames. “Yes, it’ll be pretty expensive.”

  Billy had returned to the van and was listening to his portable radio. “Let’s go inside and talk about a price,” Jim said to the couple.

  “Are you still interested, then?”

  “Yes. If the price’s right.”

  They talked for a while and Jim offered them what he felt was a fair price. The couple looked at each other and nodded, and Jim thought he could detect a trace of a smile on the lady’s face. She said, “Well, it’s lower than we’d hoped for. But we realise you’ll have to spend a lot on the repairs so we accept.”

  They shook hands warmly and Jim strode down the weed covered path to the van. Billy grinned when he got in. “So you told them they’re out of luck?”

  “No. I bought it.”

  “Christ. What for? The place is falling down.”

  “Yes I agree. That’s why I bought it. We could build four good-size houses on that site.”

  “You cunnin’ bugger. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You didn’t see how much land goes with the house.”

  “So that’s what you were doing?”

  “Yes. And the ground is well drained, so we shouldn’t come across any problems.”

  They discussed the price. “You could ’ave got it much cheaper,” said Billy.

  “Yes, I could have, but I don’t like ripping off old folk.”

  “You’re too soft, Jim.”

  “Maybe. But money isn’t everything.”

  They talked about their next move and went home feeling excited. Grainger Construction was born and Jim felt sure it had a good future.

  The next week the stitches were removed from Jim’s shoulder. Although it was still painful, it improved every day and he decided to throw away the sling.

  After selecting a firm of solicitors, he instructed them to go ahead with the purchase as fast as possible, whilst a local firm agreed to draw up plans and submit them for planning permission. All Jim had to do was wait for all the formalities to be completed.

  Two weeks after the stabbing, Jim returned to work to be greeted warmly by all his men, who were working together on the school project. He soon returned to fitness, managing his huge hod as before, but of course the men on the site had heard about his exploits. He was held in high esteem, and noticed how warmly he was received wherever he went. Offers of help with the new building project were numerous and gratefully accepted, but still he could not get on because of the lack of planning permission.

  The house and site became his six weeks after seeing the property, so he spent one weekend with Billy boarding up all the windows and doors. Then they started clearing the garden, first cutting down the overgrown bushes and shrubs and leaving them to dry.

  The school building project was nearly completed and Jim and his men were asked to demolish the old mill building. Jim accepted and hired a crane with a wrecking ball. All the men were told by Jim they were on a fixed price contract, to be paid when the job was done. Realising what this meant, they pitched into the work with determination. Jim watched as the ball smashed the top floor, sending slabs of wall crashing to the ground, and reflected on the violence the building had witnessed. He thought about the men who had toiled in that building for years, lugging two hundredweight sacks of corn around, crippling themselves in the process and filling their lungs with choking dust, that always hung like a mist in old badly-ventilated buildings.

  The site was to become a playground for young children. He smiled to himself as he visualised laughing and squealing youngsters playing happily on ground where so much violence had taken place.

  That evening his thoughts turned to Angela, and how he longed to see her again. He rang the hospital.

  “Angela has regained consciousness, and is on the road to a full recovery,” was the remote reply.

  “That’s fantastic news. Thank you very much.” He spent a large part of that night wondering whether to visit the hospital. But if I do, he said to himself, will she reject me because of my criminal record?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane kept quiet as they drove home from the farm. Garry was obviously in a bad mood, having just talked to Angela. His expression was grim as he gripped the wheel with determination. He was oblivious to his wife’s presence and could only think about his sister’s relationship with Grainger, the man he hated. He had become bitter and twisted about what he saw as a betrayal of family standards of behaviour and, by the time he arrived home, felt ill and weak.

  Jane almost ran from the car and disappeared into the kitchen, a place her husband rarely visited. He trudged through the house staring blankly at the floor, his shoulders hunched forward and hands thrust into his trouser pockets, and slumped into his favourite chair in the study. Cupping his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and imagined his sister making love with that hairy beast of a man who killed his parents, and the vision made him curiously angry. Then he tho
ught what would people say if she met him again and they married — his sister married to a wild gypo convicted of manslaughter, and killer of his parents. He would either be ridiculed or worse, pitied. His family name would be dragged through the mud by cheap newspapers. They would dream up sensational stories about a rich stockbroker’s daughter, whose brother was a company chief and stockbroker, having a sordid affair and then getting married after the gypo’s release from prison, having served a term for manslaughter. It was almost too much for him to bear. He found his brandy bottle and glass still sticky from his last solitary drinking session. He filled it and gulped half of it at once as he tried to think of a plan to keep the pair apart.

  No inspiration was forthcoming, so he dreamed up ways of killing Grainger — visions of the big hairy beast hanging by the neck on the end of a rope made him smirk before downing the rest of the glass. After filling it again, he considered the best ways of exacting retribution and getting rid of his adversary as soon as possible. More brandy made his bitterness worse and his only relief was thinking of more gruesome methods of torture. Some time after, an empty bottle fell from his desk and as he stumbled forward, failing to reach a chair, his head struck a lamp stand sending it crashing to the floor. He felt nothing but just saw a flash before his eyes as he passed out on the floor, where he remained until morning.

  Jane heard the crash but she stayed well clear of the study, going upstairs to the spare room, locking the door securely and then curling up in bed, pulling the clothes over her head to shut the world out. Having slept badly, she rose early and dressed quickly, slipping out of the back door. It was a fine morning. The long walk cleared her head and she returned two hours later hoping Garry had gone to work, but he was still there and greeted her in a croaky and slurred voice as she entered. “Hello Jane. Had a good walk?”

  She looked at him clutching a cup of black coffee and leaning against the banister, his bloodshot eyes sunk deep in black sockets. “Very nice, thank you.”

  “I’m taking the morning off, ole girl. Feeling rather under the weather.”

  “So I see.” She waited until he had gone upstairs and, hearing the shower running, she picked up a shopping basket and slipped out again, this time driving to town for a morning’s shopping. She returned after a leisurely lunch to find he had gone, which was a relief.

  Garry spent the morning sitting in his study with the curtains drawn, his head ached and throbbed and his eyes hurt when exposed to bright lights. His thoughts were more rational and he considered how he could keep the couple apart. Later he wandered around the house, letting the cleaner clear up the study. He realised Jane was avoiding him and knew she would not return until he had gone, but this did not upset him as he liked to be alone. His stomach felt bad so he skipped lunch and went to work. Word went around the Blakesbuild offices that Garry looked terrible and should be avoided, and he sat in his large office to briefly read any papers requiring urgent attention and signed them without thinking. He sat back to consider his next move when suddenly an idea surfaced, and he picked up the telephone. The next hour passed slowly as he drank black coffee, brooding slumped in the comfortable chair. When the telephone rang it jarred his nerves. “Yes!” he barked.

  “Mr Gordon Simpson to see you.”

  “Send him in.”

  A fair haired man in his thirties entered and Garry glanced at him, noticing the paunch hanging over his belt. “Hello Mr. Simpson. I’ve a job for you.”

  “Good. What d’you want me to investigate?”

  “You may not think this is a job for a private investigator.”

  “You tell me what it is and I’ll try to oblige.”

  “I want you to impersonate a policeman.”

  “You’ve got to be joking! No chance.”

  “If I pay you enough, you will.” They haggled for a while and agreed a price. Simpson was about to leave when Garry announced, “I want you to find a certain Jim Grainger. Find out where he lives and what he’s doing.

  “That’s more my cup of tea.”

  “Right. Get on with it and report to me as soon as you’ve found him.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Garry watched him leave and felt satisfied now that some action had been taken, but he could not get down to work. He left the office early and dropped in at Osbornes.

  His secretary put on a brave face when she saw him approach. “Hello, Mr. Osborne. I’ve put some more papers on your desk which require your urgent attention.”

  “Right. I’ll look at them if I have time.” He ignored the pile and headed for the drinks cabinet, telling himself a nip of brandy would settle his stomach. It did not so he had another, then strutted out of the building and went home.

  Jane watched him come through the front door and thought she had better make some effort to be nice. “Hello dear. Is all well at work?”

  “Yes. Fine.” He sat down feeling tired and edgy, but resisted the temptation to be thoroughly nasty when he remembered his promise to be reasonable whilst she was pregnant.

  * * *

  Angela put on her wellingtons and waterproof coat and, when she pushed open the door, the driving rain and wind took her breath away as it soaked her face even though it was hidden under a hood. She leaned into the wind and walked across the yard towards the stables, not noticing the small black car splashing through the puddles towards her. Having reached the stables, she opened the tack room door and a voice from behind made her jump.

  “Miss Osborne?”

  She spun around to face a man already soaked and with no coat or boots on. “Hello. You’d better stand in here.”

  He gratefully followed her inside. “Sorry to trouble you, Miss Osborne. I’m from the police.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “Detective Constable Mike Smith.” He flashed a card in front of her with his picture on it, and Angela noticed a picture of a police badge beside the photo. He stuffed the card in his pocket quickly and gave her a searching look. “We’re looking for a man called Grainger, and believe you are friendly with him.”

  Angela felt a shock go through her body at the mention of his name. She gave the constable a straight look. “I haven’t seen him for a long time. Why do you want to see him?”

  “We wish to interview him in connection with certain offences committed just after he was released from prison.”

  Her heart sank and tears came to her eyes. “What’s he accused of?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Well what is he suspected of doing?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  She was beginning to get irritated and raised her voice. “What d’you want to see me for? I suppose you are allowed to tell me?”

  “No need to get upset. I only asked if you’ve seen him recently.”

  “Well I haven’t and furthermore I’m unlikely to.”

  “Why not? You’re friendly with him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s in the police file.”

  “Oh. What else is in the police file?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  Angela turned away and said briskly. “I’ve got a lot to do, so if you don’t mind I must start work.”

  “Sorry to take up your time, Miss. But you will let me know if you see him, won’t you?”

  She turned back to look at him, knowing she most certainly would not let him know. “Where do I contact you?”

  “Oh, the staff at any police station will be pleased to find out where Grainger is.”

  “I see. It’s that bad?”

  “Yes I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh dear.” She stared at the floor in despair.

  Simpson thought he saw tears in her eyes and felt guilty about causing such a pretty girl unnecessary suffering. “Sorry to bring bad news. I must go now. Goodbye.”

  Angela was so shocked she could not speak, and just watched the man turn and walk into the continuing rain. She remained sta
ring as the car turned and drove off. When it had gone she could not hold back her grief any longer and slumped down, crouching on the floor with her back hard against a wall. She cried bitterly with her head in her hands. Her brother’s words came back to her clearly and although she had not believed him then, now her worst fears had come true, he was a violent criminal. She kept turning it over in her mind, the man to whom she given her unbridled love was not what he appeared to be. How could she have been so deceived?

  She remained crouched for half an hour until cramp set in and made her get up, the shooting pain in her leg bringing her back to reality. She thought about Jim and the way he had treated her. She could not remember him giving any indication of a violent nature in his actions or words, but could only remember his tender care and overwhelming love of animals. She remembered how Gemma had reacted to him — could she have become so attached to a violent man? Surely not, but the policeman would not have come looking for him if he was innocent. Perhaps he had a split personality. Turning away from the doorway, she reached into a large box to pull out a bridle, laid it on the bench and started cleaning. Her thoughts were still intense and half an hour later the bridle was still dirty, so she put it down and walked out into the wind and rain.

  She was soon indoors and relaxing in a warm bath. She started to think about the future again, convincing herself she just had to forget about Jim and get on with life with as much activity as possible. With this in mind she later rang a local estate agent and arranged to meet a surveyor at Home Farm the next day.

  After the telephone call she borrowed the Land Rover and drove into town, parking in front of a large garage with a forecourt full of second-hand cars for sale. She browsed among the cars in neat rows with prices stuck on their windscreens, but could not decide on a model she liked. Oh well, she thought, here goes, and strode into the showroom. Sitting opposite a smartly dressed salesman she studied and negotiated for an hour, finally buying a new Morris 1000 Traveller, which would be ready in a few days. Driving home she felt much better, having made a positive decision and looked forward to an independent life, which she was determined to enjoy to the full.