Hotbed

by Bill James

  ‘Four,’ Iles replied, ‘also, I can say – happily say – that I’m not one to harbour resentments about matters now unquestionably at an end. This was what I mean, you see, about the laughter over these recollections that Sarah and I happily share now. I can look at you two and see perfectly acceptable, indeed, admirable colleagues – colleagues who, it’s true, were disgustingly and deceitfully –’

  ‘Six,’ Garland said, ‘this man in the car was, according to the 15B version of what the girl told them, speaking into a mobile telephone, while intently watching 15A – perhaps briefing someone about the scene in Singer Road and 15A.’

  ‘Perhaps briefing someone inside 15A, Dumbo,’ Iles said. ‘You had a watchman, did you, Col?’

  Harpur never wondered how Iles had made it to Assistant Chief despite his frequent lapses into radiant mania, sometimes loud. He could show this fabulous intuition. Perhaps that was the other side of radiant mania. And his intuition and other gifts had taken Iles a long way, but not quite to the summit. Something else seemed necessary to lift him from Assistant Chief to Chief. He appeared to be stuck with his intuition, his other gifts and his radiant mania at where he was. What extra quality did the selection boards for Chief want? Consistency? Gravitas? Likeability? Moderation? Unobsessiveness? Radiant non-mania? Most of these he would find obnoxious and/or trite. Was he a career Assistant?

  And did he, perhaps, know himself to be a career Assistant? Possibly, he never even applied for Chief Constable posts. He would not tell Harpur if he did. And Harpur had not heard anything from the rumour machine. Maybe Iles needed, and knew he needed, one of those contexts he’d spoken of: that is, people below him, but also someone immediately above. He’d mentioned unofficially usurping the Chiefdom while Sir Matthew was made manageable. But, at least, Sir Matthew would be there, nominally supreme, and in charge of Iles. Likewise, his predecessor, Mark Lane, had apparently been Iles’s boss, though Iles generally ignored him, and had helped drive him into breakdown and then the Inspectorate of Constabulary. Yes, Lane was feeble but Lane was present, until his collapse. Iles accepted a place in Lane’s regime, and, using his splendid talents, set about trying to fuck it up, but not wipe it out. He could not do without subordination.

  Now, as to those splendid talents, Harpur wondered whether Iles also intuited that the young girl who called at 15A and shouted through the letter box might be Ralph’s daughter, Venetia. If he did, he wasn’t saying. Harpur could certainly make this guess at her identity. The note he’d picked up in the 15A hallway referred to a Welsh cob. Ralph’s place had horses and Harpur knew Ember’s daughters rode. Hadn’t Ralph boasted to Harpur about the paddocks and grounds at Low Pastures, so suitable for what Ember called Venetia’s ‘equestrian side’, and so different from Harpur’s home in Arthur Street? Harpur knew, too – so did many – that Venetia tended to fall hard for older men. According to Lamb, Turret had been up to Low Pastures at least once. Was that enough to captivate Venetia and send her desperately calling when he didn’t reappear? She’d discovered his address somehow? Harpur had heard those piping, passionate tones through the 15A letter box before she posted her note, a young girl, lorn, baffled and hurt. Nothing else that Harpur found in the hallway or in Turret’s pockets added up to much. He had £3K in his current account and subscribed to the National Geographic Magazine.

  ‘Ralph and Manse,’ Iles said. He spoke the names with big warmth. ‘Manse and Ralph.’

  ‘They’re certainly involved somehow in the Joachim death, sir, but I can’t see exactly how or why, yet,’ Garland said.

  ‘I’ve had new thoughts about them,’ Iles said.

  ‘Ah,’ Harpur remarked.

  ‘Yes,’ Iles said.

  ‘New in what sense, sir?’ Harpur said.

  ‘Yes, new,’ Iles said.

  ‘This is interesting, sir,’ Harpur said.

  ‘The theory, of course, is that they are lining up to fight each other for ultimate supremacy in the trade, and that Ralph sent Joachim in to report on Shale’s plans,’ Garland said. ‘Joachim was rumbled and slaughtered. To date, though, it’s hard to get evidence to back this theory.’

  ‘New in the sense that these most recent thoughts rather contradict what I’ve said previously,’ Iles said. He grinned as he confessed to this. This grin was different from the smile he had used when referring to the cosiness of the meeting, and came close to making him seem almost genial and unharmful, even benign. The uniform followed the lines of his body splendidly, and you could believe that, although the grin made him seem almost genial and unharmful, even benign, he would, at the same time, be always ready to do his formidable best for whatever he might believe in. Harpur considered that what Iles believed in would most probably be OK, give or take a few enormous details.

  ‘Contradict former ideas?’ Harpur said. ‘Oh, you were never one to be shackled by a mind-set, sir.’

  ‘I see Ralph and Manse as human beings,’ Iles replied. He spoke quietly, like someone awed by a sudden revelation, possibly of a spiritual nature, but, in any case, life-changing.

  ‘Human beings? That’s a point, yes, sir,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Do you recall a time in the club when Ralph claimed Monty special occasions showed the humanity of his clientele? This seemed rather fruity then. Yet, perhaps humanity is important. I don’t know whether you’ve ever thought at all about humanity, Harpur. It might not be within your range, but those two – Ralph and Manse – are not mere elements to be pushed about by a political theory. I’m afraid this goes back on what I described to you, Col, only a little while ago. My view then you see, Col, Francis . . . my view then placed Ralph and Manse as fated, doomed, by the pressures of market demands to seek monopoly. And therefore each must try to dispose of the other, despite their long affiliation and possible friendship. This theory seemed feasible, coherent. It appeared academically convincing. However . . .’ He paused lengthily. Harpur and Garland waited, silent. Iles said: ‘However , I wholly reject this notion now. It might be academically convincing but does it square with Life?’ He spoke with the capital letter. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, K. Marx.’

  ‘That’s almost poetic, sir. It’s a treat the way these thoughts just seem to come to you.’

  Iles stopped strolling and held up two hands, as if in surrender. ‘No, no, don’t say anything out of your habitual good nature to excuse my volte-face, Col. I am routinely grateful for that kindness, even from someone who casually yet repeatedly debauched my wife in flea-pit rooms, or municipal park flower beds, or police vehicles, or back lanes, or beaches, or train lavatories, but I must not accept such kindness now. Would you say it was casually yet repeatedly, Harpur? I’m not certain what answer I want to that. Which do you think would be preferable to me, Col – the casual or not casual debauching of my wife? “Casual” would suggest no serious attempt to take her from me. Non-casual might mean intent.’

  ‘Has anything specific brought about this change of mind on monopoly, sir?’ Harpur replied.

  ‘Yes, something specific,’ Iles said.

  ‘This is fascinating,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Naturally, I’m speaking of Unhinged Humphrey.’

  ‘Ah,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Clearly, this is what lay behind my reference to Ralph and Manse as human beings,’ Iles said.

  ‘Right, sir,’ Garland said.

  ‘Obviously,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Unhinged, as we saw, insulted and assaulted Mansel’s fine and, for all I know, at this stage, clean and reputable, fiancée in the Monty.’

  ‘Unhinged can be like that,’ Harpur said.

  ‘This is someone very precious to Manse,’ Iles said. ‘He is ready to take her on full-time, despite the experience he had with that earlier, wandering piece, Sybil, the mother of his children, though that didn’t seem to bother her much when she hopped it.�
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  ‘Manse and Naomi met through art,’ Harpur said. ‘It’s rather inspiring. I hear there’s a lot of picking up done in galleries. People loiter and make themselves receptive to the stuff on the walls. In that state, conversations can occur with other loiterers. Some women get turned on by almost anything in a suitable frame.’

  ‘Now, who was it who first took action against Unhinged during that disgraceful attack in the Monty?’ Iles said.

  ‘I heard Ember hit him with a Kressmann armagnac bottle,’ Garland said.

  ‘I find that so meaningful,’ Iles said.

  ‘Ralph usually has a bottle of Kressmann’s near,’ Harpur said. ‘When there’s plenty in it this can give a very effective smack.’

  ‘I see an unshiverable bond between Ralph and Manse,’ Iles said. ‘If something of Mansel’s is threatened – for instance, his fiancée – Ralph regards it as an inescapable duty to protect her, a duty more compelling than even that capitalistic duty to compete. He acted regardless of the fact that, as far as I’ve discovered, Ralph isn’t doing anything with her himself at this stage. Knightliness – we witnessed a kind of knightliness. We saw unbreakable comradeship. They stand by each other and, I now think, on this evidence and my accumulated knowledge of them, always will. They are part of the fabric, a lasting, proven part. Further – oh, yes, magnificently further: further, there comes the notable way Manse expertly backed up with his knuckle-duster Ralph’s use of the bottle as bludgeon. This is two men beautifully in concert, two men viscerally connected, Col, Francis, in that case via a woman, but also generally, profoundly. On the face of it these may seem small, accidental incidents. In a way, yes. But they are also indicators. They tell us of larger issues – or, at least, they tell me, who is, possibly, exceptionally attuned to such hints owing to my reservoir of empathy.’

  ‘You don’t any longer think they’ll try to wipe out each other in the predestined fight for capitalistic dominance, as proposed by Marx?’ Harpur said.

  ‘My point now is, they are bigger than any mere woolly claptrap about the inevitable need for commercial monopoly.’ The ACC tightened his jaw to demonstrate

  certainty. ‘Bigger in which respect, you may ask.’

  ‘Bigger in which respect, sir?’ Harpur said.

  ‘Oh, don’t you see it – don’t you sense it, Col, Francis? Bigger because they are human, human, human, gloriously, unimpeachably human.’ Iles almost sang, almost chortled. He beamed. This hugely surpassed a smile or grin. It tried to warm the room. Yes, it was as if the ACC had seen a vision, a happy one, unique to him. ‘They will act according to human impulses, not formulae,’ he said. ‘They will, in fact, deliberately, unenslavedly, resist those formulae.’

  ‘But we still have Turret dead, sir,’ Garland said.

  Iles frowned. Here was that sodding nitty-gritty, to foul up those splendid abstractions. ‘Yes, Turret dead. I think they both now suffer major regrets over Turret – Ralph for placing him secretly, treacherously, in Manse’s outfit, Manse for killing him, or having him killed. Both acts violate perfect blood-brotherliness.’

  ‘But how can you know they repent like that, sir,’ Harpur said, ‘if I may ask this, too?’

  ‘Yes, Col, ask, ask away! How? I’ll tell you: I feel it.’ Iles struck the uniform at stomach level with the palm of his right hand. Harpur thought it must be to show how visceral this, also, was. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t push too hard at the Turret inquiry, Francis,’ Iles said. ‘After all, what was Turret? Offal. We have a balance to keep. That balance will see Ralph and Manse maintain their long, fruitful tolerance of each other in the trade. We then enjoy continuance of assured peace on the streets. This is precious. To make too much of the Turret death will endanger such peace, cause finger-pointing. Let’s avoid that.’

  ‘His brother is still around, sir, pressing for a rigorous inquiry, as you might expect from a brother,’ Garland said. ‘He has some clout – a famous actor. Press friends, possibly. I wouldn’t want him or them to regard us as slack.’

  ‘Famous, certainly – and deservedly. My wife and I will definitely try to get up to London to see him in No Man’s Land,’ Iles replied. ‘That’s the kind of joyful, open, stimulating trip she and I often take together these days – a bit damn different from your activity in – to list at random – flea-pit rooms, or municipal park flower beds, or police vehicles, or back lanes, or beaches, or train lavatories, wouldn’t you agree? Theatre – such a wonderful link between us!’

  Garland said: ‘On the whole I accept the word of the neighbours at 15B, but that word doesn’t take us very far.’

  ‘Neighbourhood fucking Watch,’ Iles replied. ‘I should think the young girl with the bike was Ralph’s daughter, Venetia. Did you recognize the hopeful, sad, teenage, loving, letter-box voice, Col? Have you ever met her? I hear Turret went to Low Pastures for a discussion, perhaps discussions, with Ralphy. If this girl saw him there she’d probably take a fancy. Wispy beard? Moustache? She’s rather that way, isn’t she? Even in the condition we found him, Col, one could see he might have had some third-rate, short-term, underclass attractiveness. But I’d say, keep her right out of things, please, Francis. I don’t know how it could affect Ralph if we start harassing his daughter. True, Ember wouldn’t have liked Venetia making a play for Turret, but possibly he’d feel angry with Mansel for bringing her distress. I’d rather he was not angry with Manse. Things between them seem good now, but might also be delicate for a while. We seek peace, don’t we, Col, Francis? It is our duty to preserve the Queen’s Peace, God bless her. We are, as Colin said, her triumvirate, her happy, united triumvirate. This doesn’t mean I forget you helped your respective selves to my wife, but we are professionals and can be happy and united in that boundaried, workaday fashion.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Ember and Shale had one of their routine, private business pow-wows in Manse’s house, the former St James’s rectory. Shale wanted to finalize some accounts before his wedding and honeymoon. Suppose he got through the ceremony alive, Manse and Naomi would leave immediately afterwards for Stockholm. Shale had told Ralph he didn’t want any of those ‘touristy’, ‘obvious’ spots, such as Venice or Las Vegas. ‘Them northern countries, such as Sweden, Norway, Finland – there’s a sort of cleanness to them, Ralph. As you know, I’m always seeking that – cleanness. Such as fjords for Norway – that clear blue water and snowy cliffs– and islands all around Stockholm, more beautiful water, some sea, some fresh. I hear they got what’s called an “ice bar” in Stockholm, which is a bar in an hotel where everything is ice. The bar itself – what they serves the drinks off of – is a big lump of ice and you can see right through it because ice is so pure. Great! There’s a lad over there, Upsalla way, running a really sweet H and coke operation, and it will be nice to call in on him and check any new angles we could learn from, Ralph.’

  Ember and Shale talked now, as they often did, in what Manse termed ‘the den-room’. Ralph reckoned Manse didn’t care for the word den on its own, because it would make him sound like an animal, and not an attractive or odour-free animal. Ember thought Manse’s eyes looked ferrety, so you could understand his worry about the word ‘den’. This was not a cruelly personal view of Manse’s eyes: several people had mentioned the blatant ferretiness of them to Ember. He found ferretiness difficult to define exactly, but the eyes radiated something stony, clever and unmerciful.

  Shale had told him once that he liked to work in here doing the accounts and so on because he felt it put him in touch with vicars and rectors who might have used this room to draft sermons, and write testimonials. Manse loved that sort of connection with the upright, even holy, past. Maybe it chimed with what he described as the desire for cleanness via Scandinavia. His den-room had a large mahogany table-desk and a suite of furniture in red leather. Original paintings hung on the walls, one of a plumpish woman who looked as though she would be Dutch. On their way through th
e house, Ralph had seen other paintings in the hall and, through an open door, in a larger room off it, some more daubs, probably from that Pre-Raphaelite movement Manse adored. They drank coffee. It was early evening.

  Ember would never allow these meetings to take place at Low Pastures or even in the Monty. Not at all fucking on. Ralph felt committed to keeping his home and the club clear of any contact with a trade he knew to be generally viewed as crooked. Naturally, he recognized that Low Pastures could not be wholly clear of his trade because trade money helped buy it. But he’d prevent any further link between the property and the business. Making sure the Monty stayed separate from the trade was less easy. After all, the club had its tainted, villainous, aspects, regardless of any connection with Ralph’s other career: why Ralph wanted to transform it. Just the same, Ralph greatly disliked the thought of making the Monty a site for regular strategy meetings about the drugs game.

  Inevitably, he realized that Manse might ask why, then, his place, with its evident religious history, should be considered suitable for their meetings. Ralph didn’t have much of an answer, but often he’d bring a bottle of Kressmann’s around to solace him. He could tell that Shale, in his fucking small-minded, niggly way, was not totally convinced by this. Ralph certainly regarded Manse’s attitude as regrettable, and, ultimately, Manse could go stuff himself.

  Immediately the two lots of figures had been agreed – one set for Manse and Ralph, the other for the general, companies’ dinner at the Agincourt – Shale said: ‘What I appreciated above all, Ralph, was the way you looked after Naomi in the club the other night when Unhinged turned rancid , like he so often does.’ He sounded genuinely warm and matey, though his eyes couldn’t match this.

  ‘Oh, an automatic response, Manse – nothing extraordinary.’

  ‘An automatic response for you, yes, Ralph. But for many another it would not of been that. This was something deep and personal in you – in you, Ralph Ember. And I felt proud to join you in this flattening of Unhinged. Such cooperation, Ralph. Such very special, brilliant comradeship.’