Disclosures

by Bill James

  Film also showed a possibly independent, individual reconnaissance of the area by a member of the Pasque Uno firm, identified as Ralph Wyvern Ember (present earlier in Vauxhall). He seemed to show a strongly focused interest in the writer of this report – self – who was also engaged on a personal survey of the territory at the same time. It’s possible – probable – that I was recognized and my purpose speculated upon; perhaps correctly speculated upon.

  The police parties took up hidden positions in Dorothea Gardens and in a basement of the apartment block used for filming. Each unit comprised fifteen officers, seven handgun armed, one first-aid trained. The Dorothea party under command of Inspector Leighton Maliphant (armed), second in command, Sergeant Lisa Ohm-Reen (armed); basement party led by Inspector Jennifer Ash (armed), deputy, Sergeant Martin Wilcox (armed).

  Stage Two. Both firms used stolen vans to bring their fighting groups to the confrontation site. The Pasque Uno team arrived at the southern end of Mondial Street, disembarked and moved on foot up Mondial towards the entrance to Trave Square. They were masked but those injured, killed or arrested subsequently were identified as Dale (Gladhand) Hoskins, leader (killed); Hector Lygo-Vass, driver (arrested); Gregory Francis Mace (killed)); Clive (Aftermath) Palgrave (killed); Quentin Stayley, second in command (arrested); Mimi Apertine, bodyguard (arrested).

  All were handgun armed. Palgrave appeared to have some difficulty with his pistol and was delayed at the van. The rest of this party progressed along Mondial and turned into Trave Square, obviously searching for the Opal Render team. The Pasque Uno thinking seemed to be that if Opal Render were not evident in Mondial they must have chosen to make their arrival in the Square and come from there to confront PU in Mondial. This appeared to be an accurate estimate. The Pasque Uno countermove was to pre-empt any OR strike by advancing swiftly into Trave. The OR party comprised Piers Elroy Stanton, leader (killed); Luke Gaston Byfort, aide to Stanton (arrested); Corneille Jameson, driver (injured and hospitalized); Mary Zara Pill (killed); Jasper (Meticulous) Carp-Isis, bodyguard (arrested); Leonard (Impish) Smythe (injured and hospitalized). All were masked and carried handguns.

  Stage Three. Jameson, Byfort and Pill had left Trave and reached Mondial ahead of the rest of their group. They appeared to have come through from the back entrance of a shop in Trave Square whose frontage was in Mondial (Supervalue Grotto). They were still in the shop on their way into Mondial when the main PU platoon passed, making for Trave in their search. The OR trio remained unobserved in the shop. A Supervalue manager confirmed later that the three had moved through the premises and on to Mondial, threatening staff and ordering them not to interfere if they wanted to stay unhurt. When they emerged into Mondial they saw Palgrave running to catch up with his colleagues. He had become isolated and very exposed because of difficulties with his firearm. He must have seen the three OR personnel emerge from Supervalue Grotto and tried to take cover behind the pavement pillar box. Jameson, Byfort and Pill went into sniper-crouch positions and opened fire on Palgrave when he stepped partly out from the pillar-box cover. (Subsequent examination of Palgrave’s handgun showed it had not been fired and was not functioning properly.) He was hit three times and fell dead there. Showing considerable courage two paramedics reached him only a few minutes after he was hit, but found him dead.

  Stage Four. Both police groups were ordered to intervene from their cover in Dorothea Gardens and the apartment block basement. They called ‘Armed Police’ warnings twice before Sergeant Martin Wilcox and Sergeant Lisa Ohm-Reen opened fire on the three, killing Pill and injuring Byfort and Jameson (both hospitalized). The main Pasque Uno unit continued on Mondial and then into Trave Square. Several exchanges of fire occurred there. As a result, Piers Elroy Stanton, leader of OR was hit twice by nine mm bullets and died in the road near the ‘Gleam and Smile’ dental practice. Possibly suffering demoralization at the loss of their leader the remnants of the OR contingent – Carp-Isis and Smythe – were driven out of the Square and down towards the Red Letter public house. This appeared to have been a pre-schemed strategy by PU.

  Stage Five. The Red Letter has a car park walled on three sides. It functioned on this occasion as a trap. The OR survivors who were forced into this enclosure were easily picked off by PU weapons. Carp-Ises and Smythe suffered gunshot injuries, were hospitalized and subsequently arrested. Some desperate firing still came from the OR members, however, and it was during this final episode that Dale Hoskins was shot in the head. Landlord of the Red Letter, Clifford Grange, who had come out from the public house to investigate the disturbance in the car park, dragged Hoskins into the pub out of danger but he died on the floor of the snug.

  All personnel as listed by ‘Mandrake’ were accounted for at the end of the action except for Ralph Wyvern Ember who, it is assumed, withdrew from the PU party, although originally due to take part, having been a Vauxhall passenger and conducting his own, unaccompanied assessment of the battle area.

  Esther was thinking about this missing name and the other names involved in the events of that day when Iles called wanting to talk about a quite different collection of names, or, specifically, one name: ‘Gerald Orville Ludwig Davidson,’ Iles said.

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘He’s on a schedule I have here.’

  ‘What schedule?’

  ‘Is it your Gerald Orville Ludwig Davidson, Esther? Do I remember you referring several times to your husband as Gerald?’

  ‘Would there be other Gerald Orville Ludwig Davidsons about?’

  ‘Musician?’

  ‘Destined to it by the christening. What schedule?’ Esther replied. ‘What’s Gerald been up to, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Instrumentalists. We have a function on here – coaching of talented children.’

  ‘Yes, I knew he was coming in to your domain.’

  ‘Well, obviously we have to do paedo and other checks on the adults. There’s bound to be a lot of fingering and close contact – helping girls get to grips with their violas properly: that kind of earnest, physical assistance and pressure, some of it quite possibly necessary and non-grope. But, just the same, we need to know who’s likely to be doing one-to-ones with the kids. If music be the food of love how would you like a mouthful of this, my sweet little timpanist?’

  ‘Gerald and I have our eccentricities, but he’s not interested in underaged,’ she said. ‘He likes someone who can kick, claw and punch at least as hard as he does.’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Me. “Reciprocity” would be his middle name if he didn’t already have others. And he’s not a pink oboe man. Bassoon.’

  ‘Fine. But I thought I’d ring to see if Gerald is Gerald. We did some routine inquiries. He composes as well as plays, I gather. And he’s written something for their final concert. An all-rounder, indeed.’

  ‘I’ll have to sit through that.’

  ‘Yes, well I wondered whether you’d be in the audience.’

  ‘We stand by each other, you know.’

  ‘Yes, of course’ he said.

  ‘It’s not all mutual assault and battery.’ She grew uncertain of the real, hidden theme of this conversation. Nothing much had happened between her and him when they last met. He’d unofficially helped her with what turned out to be a doomed and tragic undercover operation. Not anything more than a friendship? Professional collaboration?

  ‘When I saw the name, I felt I ought to give a bit of advice, if you don’t mind, Esther.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Our inquiries came up with the news that there’ll be a post-concert party in one of the local clubs. It’s called The Monty. All very hospitable and convivial, perhaps. But I get a feeling it’s not an entirely safe place at Christmas. And I don’t believe I’m the only one who suspects that.’

  ‘Not safe why?’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t really say why. An intimation.’

  ‘You suffer from those, do you?’

  ‘These worries centre on the cl
ub. Ralph’s a strange fellow.’

  ‘Ralph?

  ‘The owner. Ralph Ember. You’ll probably meet him.’

  ‘Ralph Wyvern Ember?’ she said.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He missed an operation I ran in London. He should have been dead, or disabled or jailed. He’d disappeared, though.’

  ‘I think I remember that interlude on TV News. Peckham? East Dulwich?’

  ‘I was Gold.’

  Iles went silent for a while. Then he said: ‘His gang colleagues won’t have liked getting ditched then. It upsets the agreed plans and causes a numbers problem – leaves a combat unit one short. Possibly, his absence indicates a rejection of those agreed plans – agreed by all the others – and he walks away. Not easily forgivable, Esther.’

  ‘Betrayal?’

  ‘Something like. He disappeared to here, maybe not immediately, but he’s very much in place now,’ Iles said. ‘Yes, I’ve heard he had that London beginning, but nothing clear or proved. He’s become a big trader – country house with paddocks, daughters in private school, Welsh cob ponies, fervent, very worthy letters to the Press on environmental matters, especially river pollution. All that might enrage survivors of the London battle. He vamoosed, abandoned them, and then somehow creates a fine, new life for himself. The club’s a right dump but it turns a profit.’

  ‘And dangerous, you say?’

  ‘There’ve been incidents. Someone shot Blake there.’

  ‘Blake?’

  ‘William Blake. A decoration on the protective steel barrier he’s installed at The Monty. A truly terrible beard injury. The mad blast-off was the kind of hilarious event that gets talked about, draws attention to Ralph. He believes, or pretends to believe, he can turn this den into somewhere as respectable and refined as the top London places. In a way, it’s an admirable, wholesome ambition. I’m fond of Ralph. Daft determination. Ludicrous hope, but hope. He’s in pursuit of a distant prize. In fact, it couldn’t be more distant. Yet, he’s not always daft. He possibly applied his brain to that proposed gun fight, decided it, not he, was crazy, and therefore doomed, and acted intelligently by opting out. That’s how he’d see it, but not his chums of that era. I understand he longs to start The Monty’s magical transformation by inviting all these heavyweight, distinguished musicians, festooned with respectability, achievement and artiness like Gerald to the après-gig rave.’

  ‘Gerald would enjoy that. He adores kudos, as long as it’s aimed at him. He doesn’t get much of it these days. I provide some for him, naturally, but he doesn’t really value that, regards it as only conjugal. He wants it from the world.’

  ‘The point is, Esther, I can’t really look in on The Monty do, to check things are going OK and peacefully, because it would unsettle, inhibit dear Ralph in front of his classy guests. I mustn’t do that. He’s liable to disabling panics. He might fail to make the most of this occasion. He thinks of me as a gross troublemaker, disrespectful, contemptuous – I don’t know why. Just keep watchful. Tell Gerald to keep watchful. If you can, get into a part of the bar covered by William Blake. I understand the beard has been patched up admirably. Make good references about his literary taste and knowledge of the Romantics. The metal’s thick enough to stop anything but a cruise missile.’

  ‘Well, thanks, Desmond.’

  ‘Old time’s sake. And I must preserve Ralph. He’s part of the atmos here.’

  She found she was glad Iles wouldn’t be at the party. If Gerald saw them talking together intimately in the club, with, obviously some shared past experience, he’d be almost sure to assume a major and secret link between them. Gerald was exceptionally good at suspicion. He could get very unpredictable, especially after some drinks following an exciting, adrenalined evening in the concert hall. It would be unhelpful if he fell into a rage fit and turned destructive, possibly trashing The Monty and causing injuries. At this time of the year, there might be a Christmas tree he’d adapt into a weapon. He could bring a true inventiveness to violence. She loved that in him, of course.

  But Esther would almost certainly be trying for a chief constable post soon. It might not be a plus if interviewing panels heard she had a husband who went berserk in a notorious, underclass drinking joint. Some strands of liberalism were allowed in the police service these days, but not that many.

  TWENTY-SIX

  As well as an entitlement to reserved seats at the youth orchestra’s final concert, Ralph and Margaret Ember, and other parents who had made a donation to cover the cost of extras, were invited out to Corton school to see the tutors and young pupils actually teaching and learning all aspects of their instruments.

  Ralph would admit he didn’t know a terrific amount about classical music, but on the whole he was not anti. It could do no real harm. Radio Three was always there, but you could take it or leave it alone. A lot of the stuff had been around for centuries so there must be certain parts that were reasonably OK. He’d read somewhere that music by top people from the past was played in mental hospitals to help keep the patients more or less peaceable. This proved it had true usefulness and was not just noise. And then, during the Second World War, a famous tune had notes at the beginning that imitated the Morse code, dot, dot, dot, dash, meaning V for victory. Britain broadcast it to Germany to scare Hitler. ‘We’re going to stuff you, Adolf.’ Ralph had an idea this piece of music was actually written by a German. It must have been a real pisser for Hitler to have it turned against the Nazis.

  Ralph had heard there was a lot of what was called ‘in-house fucking’ that took place in adult orchestras, such as, say, a harp player with a trombonist, two different sections of an orchestra, but, when it came to fucking, the instruments they played wouldn’t be to the point. This sort of carry-on didn’t seem to Ralph to matter, except it showed fine music even from centuries ago could get the people who made it very excited and eager now. Often the brass section of an orchestra had a French horn and this might be where the word ‘horny’ to signify dying for it came from. The French were famous for sex and intelligent music.

  Ralph felt that to watch and listen to pupils and teachers actually working on orchestra skills was the kind of thing that could help him really well now with his plans for change at The Monty. It would show he knew about culture, and not just about culture as such but the way culture needed to be carefully prepared and created. It meant he’d have a practical grasp of culture, more than simply the airy-fairy word. At the club they occasionally had music, such as what were termed ‘Golden Oldies’, like ‘Roll A Silver Dollar’ and ‘They Try To Tell Us We’re Too Young’, or numbers by Bowie and a girl from Iceland, though Ralph could be copped for performing rights and a payment for these. That kind of music was all right in its own category and a full bar chorusing ‘They Try To Tell Us We’re Too Young’, regardless of age, could be quite impressive. He liked to imagine the Queen and Prince Philip having a little singalong together with this tune. But Ralph wanted to get himself, and therefore The Monty, associated with symphonies, rondos and intermezzos – that brand of much deeper thing.

  He liked symphonies because they came in a collection of what were called ‘movements’, each movement commenting on the others and fitting in nicely with them. This suggested good order and control. Also, with concertos, the solo player would stick his or her bit in at just the right place when he or she got a wink from the conductor, and stopped at just the point where the orchestra would take over again. This meant the solo player couldn’t hog the whole performance and behave like some superstar. Orchestras were a community.

  So, Ralph decided they could accept the invitation and go to Corton to observe the courses under way. There had been a moment when he’d thought it might be best not to. The trouble was that Basil Gordon Loam, the dim prick who’d opened fire on William Blake, had three children at Corton and would most certainly have coughed a contribution, so would also ge
t invited. And if he was invited he’d attend, no question. He loved to show he had funds. Well, putting three kids through Corton at £19,000 each a year, acted like a cash boast. This was a private school, yes, but not boarding, so 19K for just teaching, tuck shop and the sports field was pricey. The donation could be another bit of flashiness, because Loam would tell everyone he’d made it. ‘One is only too glad to back worthwhile artistic effort.’ Fuck off, you jerk.

  Ralph didn’t know where Loam’s money came from, but that would be true of many members of The Monty. It did come, though. And seemed to keep coming. Probably quite a few Corton households had incomes it would be hard to explain. Not all of them did their share-out at the club after successful activity and selling to a middleman. Although for Ralph himself the fees were a flea bite and hardly noticed, he felt disappointed that, despite getting screwed in this way, the school did not teach the classical languages, such as Latin and Greek, but had stories to do with the one-eyed Cyclops and similar yarns, in English only. It was a mistake to put them into a lingo people understood. These tales were so stupid they ought to be told in words people had to struggle with and weren’t quite sure about. The crappy quality of the tales wouldn’t be so obvious then. There was another one about somebody pushing a bloody great rock up a hill but just when it got to the top it would roll back down again. Of course, no explanation came, in English, Latin or Greek, of why this chap had to push the rock up there. It was hard to visualize a shortage of rocks anywhere, unless the very big sort were needed to keep gypsies from setting up illegal camps.