Deadly Odds

by Jean Chapman

  Now Charlie cleared his throat. ‘I promised I would go back to Babs as soon as I could,’ he said. ‘I must do that tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t have to go at all!’ Jane said. ‘They’ll be here by lunchtime tomorrow. Babs said to tell you, and that Jonathan is fine.’

  ‘They are? He is?’ Charlie’s face at first lit up with pleasure, then as everyone looked his way, he brought his clenched fists down hard on his knees. ‘But …’

  ‘Well, well,’ Jane said quietly, ‘what now?’

  ‘You don’t understand. Your sister and her son,’ he said, ‘and I’m responsible for the death of Kevin Spracks, Jonathan’s father … What will they, Jonathan, Babs – people – think of that?’

  ‘Spracks is dead? No one said!’ Jane exclaimed.

  ‘We’ve hardly given them time,’ Tom Beale said, ‘but dead, you’re sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cannon intervened authoritatively, ‘I think you must hear the full story. He had Charlie at gunpoint, using him as a living shield trying to back away to escape. It was Charlie, or Spracks, the police marksman had no choice, and thank God the officer was a crack shot.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have … manhandled him,’ Charlie said.

  Jane looked to Cannon who related Charlie’s display of strength. ‘What am I going to tell Babs?’ Charlie agonized.

  ‘That it was one or the other of you,’ Jane said uncompromisingly. ‘We all know which she would prefer, and if we’re into guilt, I’m responsible for Spracks being Jonathan’s father in the first place,’ she stated, ‘that’s a harder cross to bear.’

  Tom Beale rose, looking the true patriarch bringing them all to order. ‘You’ve all in some way or other been responsible for my still having a grandson—’

  ‘And whoever fathered him, I reckon your genes have won the battle of who he is truly like,’ Jane interrupted. ‘He’s a horseman already and I reckon he’ll make a rancher. What do you think, Charlie?’

  ‘It would be a good life for him,’ Charlie replied, but he looked as if all the life had gone out of him and he left them for his bed shortly afterwards.

  ‘So what’s that about?’ Cannon asked when he and Liz finally went to their bed.

  ‘You really don’t know?’ Liz exclaimed, flopping down on the pillow next to him.

  ‘No, I saw you and Jane exchange glances.’

  ‘Wonder she didn’t just blurt it out – it’s her style.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, just blurt it quietly to me now,’ he said, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her.

  ‘Charlie and Babs,’ she said, grinning.

  He waited.

  ‘Charlie and Babs,’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ he said his voice heavy with weary patience.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, John!’ The exclamation was accompanied by a sigh as she stretched out on the bed. ‘Why do you think he came to America with her? And now there is the question of Jonathan coming to live in America. So will Babs do the same? It would make sense.’

  Cannon lay down flat, prone, and realized just how exhausted he was. He reached for her hand.

  ‘He might in all this time he has spent just with her – waiting by Jonathan’s bedside,’ Liz went on, ‘have decided he would quite like to spend the rest of his life with her. If he was a gold-digger, he would have asked her to marry him before now, but he’s humble Charlie Brown who’s not had a lot of luck with girlfriends. Now he feels responsible for the death of the man who fathered the son of the woman he loves and I am not sure how he’s going to handle that.’

  ‘No.’ Cannon, like a man going under an aesthetic, fought sleep to utter the one word answer.

  CHAPTER 30

  It was a bleary-eyed Tom Beale who greeted Cannon in the kitchen as soon as he walked in the next morning.

  ‘I’ve been looking over my old maps again, and made copies of this.’ He tapped a forefinger on the spot, where, behind the main houses on the Valdes place, was a large square-like lake. ‘From what Leah has told us, this is where I think Lucas’s father might have been … disposed of.’ The finger moved along the nearest shore. ‘There’d be no reason to take him far, and no danger at that time anyone was going to venture that near the homesteads to investigate.’

  Cannon noted the dog-eared folder next to the map, pasted on the cover was a picture of a man who had to be Lucas’s father, the likeness was unmistakable. The thickness of the file, and the handwritten notes that spilled out of it, said Tom Beale had never closed the case.

  ‘I’ve, er …’ The old man took the huge, old fashioned can from the hob and poured coffee. ‘Also called in a few favours.’ He gave him a meaningful look as the mug changed hands. ‘They’re ready to go when you are.’

  Cannon carried his coffee out to the porch, where Lucas was waiting with his dog, and on the drive was a police car and a police van. The favours, he thought, must have been considerable to bring these resources at such a time.

  Leah was collecting empty mugs from the men who stood nearby. There was going to be nothing covert about this mission. Cannon took his breakfast with him, shared the sausage and bacon sandwiches with Lola in the back of the police car as they drove fast, and without hindrance, not just to Palm Spring Ranch, but right in, and between the two main houses, from which if anyone was watching no one appeared.

  ‘And remember,’ had been Tom Beale’s parting words, ‘the level of the lake will have fallen – many of our lakes have – so look well above the water line.’

  All he had said to Cannon had obviously already been conveyed to the officer in charge, a man with an autocratic profile and manner to match, but Cannon approved of the way he got on with things. No sooner had they reached the lakeside than his men assembled round him, and were detailed to form a line, Cannon and Lucas found themselves either side of a man with a metal detector.

  ‘We have time to do this once,’ the officer said, ‘let’s make it count. Mr Lucas has his dog, and one of his father’s old coats for scent, and we have a metal detector – you have been told why. These may help, or they may just side-track us. So while we will proceed in a line, as usual, if either the dog or our metal detector expert want to stop to investigate, dig something or other up, I still want the line to reform and move slowly on. They will let us know if they want us to stop. Right?’ He looked from man to man. ‘So let’s get on with it.’

  They had gone no more than some fifty metres when the man with the detector stopped, Cannon and Lucas with him.

  ‘Getting a positive here, and …’ He moved further up the shore a pace or two. ‘And more here, but that’s deeper.’

  He went back to where he noted the first acute signal and unslinging his shoulder bag, produced a small folding spade. ‘A careful look,’ he said, ‘we mustn’t disturb anything important.’

  The spade raked slowly, the information panel on the detector was consulted from time to time, and the operator was soon down on his hands and knees, his gloved hands carefully sifting the shingle. Then he revealed his find. A ring, a big ring, a man’s ring. Cannon felt disappointed, rings were the kind of things people lost all the time.

  ‘Let me see,’ Lucas said.

  ‘Hold on.’ The operator produced a bottle of water from his knapsack and, balancing the ring on the palm of his hand, rinsed the ring off. Now they could all see it was a powerful representation of a buffalo’s head. It was a magnificent thing.

  ‘Aaaah!’ The shock and anguish in Lucas cry was heart-rending.

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘belonged to my father, he never took it off.’

  ‘Wait then, stay just where you are, while I …’ The operator picked up the detector again and went a few yards to one side. ‘There is a bigger, deeper signal from here, it’s possible … but … we should have help.’

  He took a police whistle from his pocket and gave one shrill blast. The line of searchers stopped at once, and the officer came running back to them.

  Shown the ring, an
d hearing and seeing Lucas’s reaction, the search was quickly confined to an area a few metres wide, and was conducted by the most experienced men. Cannon was by Lucas’s side when through the grey shale they saw the first piece of rusty chain. The links were near eroded away with what looked like mere fragments of bone interwoven.

  ‘The action of the water and the shale …’ the officer said. ‘But this is work for a forensic anthropologist. We must mark and guard the site until properly trained men can come and remove everything to the lab.’ He turned to Lucas. ‘And you understand that there will have to be an inquest, the actual cause of death will try to be established,’ he said as he put the ring into a small evidence bag.

  Cannon watched Lucas’s eyes follow the ring into the official system, and wished there could have been a way the son might have had his father’s ring there and then. The moment needed a touch of humanity.

  ‘So, after all these years,’ Lucas lamented, ‘all these yearning weeks, months, years, he’s found after a few minutes. He’s here … here! Right here! And he was put in chains. He was buried as Leah said, he … he …’ He suddenly fell to his knees, spread his hands to the pieces of vague red and ivory colours in the grey: a son by his father’s resting place.

  His dog tried to get her muzzle to his face, but he pushed her away. Then as if to placate him, Lola picked up the old coat of his father’s from where it had been discarded and took it to him, pushed it onto his lap.

  ‘Oh, Lola,’ he whispered, ‘I’m sorry, come here, gel, you understand.’

  The dog sat between Lucas’s knees, his mother on one side, Leah and her sister on the other. Tom and Jane were at the kitchen table: the senior Beales in central position. On the far side, Liz sat between Charlie and Cannon on the long easy settee.

  ‘So now you’ve told me everything?’ Mrs Ida Lucas asked.

  Lucas nodded. It had been the account of the chains, the police taking the ring, and, perhaps most of all, how quickly his father’s body had been found that had overwhelmed her son. Now it was all told, he looked utterly, utterly weary, but at least more at ease as he took and held his mother’s hand.

  Charlie, by contrast, seemed about as at ease as a man still in the firing line. Everyone knew he was listening for the arrival of Babs with Jonathan. Conversation became strained as inevitably all eyes strayed to the one man who made no contribution, sat silently in their midst.

  ‘Know what, I’d like a walk,’ Liz said.

  ‘Good idea,’ Cannon agreed. ‘Charlie?’

  He shook his head decisively.

  ‘Yes,’ Jane decided, ‘and we’ll begin organizing dinner.’

  ‘Yes, but all men out on the porch, please,’ Leah added.

  ‘We’re done here,’ Liz said as they reached the first of the paddocks, where Lord Ebony, third in the Kentucky Derby, was grazing contentedly. ‘He’s like us,’ she said, ‘he’s done his job, now he’s home, and we should go home.’

  He knew she was right. ‘More than anything I’d like to know Austin is safe and well – see him.’

  ‘I worry about his injury,’ Liz said, ‘but surely we would have heard if—’

  ‘Then there’s Charlie.’

  ‘Perhaps we may see an answer to all Charlie’s problems when Babs and Jonathan arrive,’ Liz said quietly.

  ‘Babs and Jonathan will come back here,’ Cannon said with certainty, lifting his eyes to the pastures, the horses grazing, the mountains beyond. ‘This sure is a beautiful place, and Jane and the old boy are going to need them more and more as time goes on.’

  ‘It’s certainly what Tom Beale wants,’ Liz said, ‘but I’m sure Charlie shouldn’t be parted from Babs. They’ve clearly come to worship the ground each other walks on. Whether Charlie will ever have enough ego to ask her to marry him is another matter. He’s been muttering about being a curse to any woman.’

  ‘Luck’s never been much on his side.’

  ‘But now Spracks has gone, Valdes has gone, and the police are still rounding them up,’ Liz said. ‘Surely, surely, his share of tragedies must end.’

  When Babs and Jonathan did arrive looking relaxed and very American in casual trousers, check shirts and stetsons, it was difficult to understand what Jonathan had been through. He was pale, a little thinner, but as he stood with his great grandfather, his aunt and his mother, they looked like Beales – a smiling family group.

  Cannon glanced at Charlie – he saw it all too, and smiled, then looked away.

  CHAPTER 31

  Betterson had made time to come to Louisville airport to see them off.

  ‘I shall be here another couple of weeks at least,’ he told them. He anticipated the next question – Austin. ‘“Debriefing” is all I’ve been told, so he must be in the right hands, but where, or how, he is …’ He paused, held out his hand. ‘But you two got him out, mission accomplished. By the way, there’ll be someone to meet you at Heathrow.’

  This information was given as their flight to New York was announced. Cannon opened his mouth to ask, but Betterson shook his head. ‘You’ll see,’ he called after them.

  ‘Not Austin obviously.’ Cannon was still wondering when they were in the air.

  ‘It’ll be Hoskins,’ Liz said.

  He gave such a hoot of laughter the steward came bustling along the aisle, obviously worried he might have a disruptive passenger aboard.

  They were still speculating as they walked through customs at Heathrow, but the names of the three who waved madly from behind the barriers had never come into their guesses.

  ‘It’s Paul, Helen and …’

  ‘Little John Paul,’ Liz finished for him.

  ‘Hey.’ Cannon dropped his bag when they reached the trio, took the toddler’s harness out of Helen’s hands and scooped him up. ‘Who’s a big boy?’

  ‘Me!’ John exclaimed and leaned back to examine his admirer, they exchanged cheeky grins and the toddler screamed, grabbed Cannon’s hair, began a rigorous pounding on top of his godparent’s head, singing, ‘All pat the dog.’

  ‘And what better welcome home could you want than that?’ Paul said.

  ‘Who taught him that?!’ Cannon exclaimed. ‘I’m so pleased to see you guys. So you’re…?’

  ‘Allowed back home yesterday,’ Paul confirmed as the friends hugged, kissed, and were all in turn treated to ‘pat the dog’ as they came within little John’s range.

  ‘Morbury Park’s been cleared, scoured, stands empty,’ Paul told them as he escorted them to his car for the drive back to Lincolnshire. ‘And I won’t make you lie down under a blanket,’ he told Cannon as he opened the door, ‘but what about Charlie Brown? When is he coming back? Hoskins will want to know.’

  ‘Charlie,’ Liz repeated with a sigh as they settled in their seats. ‘What should be happening is that he should have proposed to Babs, become a US citizen and move lock, stock and barrel – or in his case, forge, anvil and hammer to the Beale ranch, but Charlie being Charlie, is going to miss out … again.’

  ‘He’s had so much bad luck, he feels like a Jonah, seems afraid to take …’ Cannon said.

  ‘What we feel is in his grasp – what everyone wants,’ Liz stated.

  ‘They’ll have to come back when their visitors’ visas run out,’ Helen said practically.

  ‘And what then?’

  Cannon shook his head. ‘We’ll have to hope for the best, unless someone has a brilliant idea.’

  ‘Pity it’s not a leap year,’ Paul said.

  ‘I don’t think Babs’s experiences have exactly filled her with a feeling of self-worth,’ Liz said.

  John soon fell asleep in his seat between Liz and Cannon. Cannon closed his eyes – just for a moment – and woke with a great snort.

  ‘Welcome back,’ Paul said.

  ‘I’ve been asleep?’

  ‘You certainly have.’

  Cannon realized he was in familiar countryside. ‘I have,’ he agreed, and he consulted his watch. ‘We’ll arrive just past
opening time,’ he said.

  ‘And we shall get away once we’ve dropped you off, been a long day for us all.’

  They drove into the car park. Liz and Cannon both turned to each other and with lips pursed with pleasure, nodded to each other. The Trap flower tubs were a mass of multi-coloured nemesia and there was not a scrap of paper, not even a cigarette end to be seen.

  There was a shout from the kitchen door. ‘Welcome home! Welcome home!’ Bozena came bustling out. ‘Ah, but you look tired,’ she said as she helped take the luggage from the boot, ‘you need TLC. Yes!’

  Then Alamat came from the front of the pub. ‘Ah,’ he cried, ‘the king and queen come back to their castle. Good journeying?’

  ‘Fine. Everything all right here?’ Cannon asked.

  ‘All good – except stock, I …’

  ‘Ah,’ Cannon dismissed the sudden anxiety, ‘we’ll deal with that later.’

  ‘I think I mix dozens with grosses,’ Alamat added.

  That hit straight to Cannon’s parsimonious heart, but Paul and Helen were ready to leave. ‘I owe you both,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think so, old boy,’ Paul replied, ‘we’ll see you soon.’

  Waving them off, they found Alamat and Bozena had already taken all the luggage inside.

  Grosses instead of dozens, he thought, as he walked through into his bar.

  ‘My,’ a voice said from near the counter, ‘worries of the world on your shoulders. Not a relaxing holiday then?’

  ‘Not a holiday,’ Cannon said, and went to the pew seat in the corner by the counter to shake his best customer’s horny old hand, and felt he was really and truly home. ‘How have you been managing without us? How’ve you been?’

  ‘We’ve managed,’ he said dourly, and added almost as if it was dragged from him, ‘missed you both.’

  That for Hoskins was touching. ‘I’ve missed you, but looks like this place has been well tended, the brasses shining, the front spotless.’

  The door swung open and Cannon prepared to get his hand immediately back in and serve the new customer.

  ‘Evening, landlord,’ a cockney voice said.