by J F Straker
Polly shuddered. ‘How ghastly! And it was just a diabolical trick? There wasn’t any gold?’
‘Oh, yes, there was gold. It’s scattered all over the blasted heath now. The police have got a vast area roped off while they look for it. They’ll be looking for it for months, I shouldn’t wonder, the way it’s been fragmented.’
‘It must have been quite a bang.’
‘It was. Ear-shattering. God knows how much explosive Slade packed into his little surprise, but it was more than enough, believe me.’ He poured more wine. It was an expensive wine and an expensive dinner. As Johnny saw it, this was an occasion; the end of a business association and the beginning, he hoped, of something more seductively pleasurable. He hoped she would see it in the same light. ‘Your eye looks better. Less colourful round the edges.’
‘It feels better. Does your head?’
‘Slightly. So do the ankle and the ribs, etcetera, etcetera.’ He fingered the left side of his scalp, where sticking plaster had replaced hair. ‘They had to stitch it. Does it look odd?’
‘A bit lop-sided, perhaps.’ She frowned. ‘Why did he do it, Johnny? Martin Slade, I mean. Why did he fix that murderous booby trap? And when did he do it? After he came out of prison?’
The ‘when’, Johnny said, was comparatively simple. Not after he had come out of prison, since he had gone directly into hospital and had left the hospital in a coffin. It had to be in the week preceding his arrest, either when he and Joe buried the bullion, or a day or so later. The latter, Johnny thought. The ‘why’ was more difficult, since only the Slade brothers could have supplied the answer, and both were dead. Certainly Martin had not foreseen the actual result; the Slades had not expected to be arrested, and neither man could have anticipated the time and manner of his death. They had expected in due course to enjoy their new wealth. ‘To my mind, that leaves only one reason,’ Johnny said. ‘Martin Slade didn’t trust his brother. No doubt they agreed to leave the gold where it was until the heat was off. But that could have taken months. Martin couldn’t be sure his brother wouldn’t get itchy fingers, and try to anticipate the disinterment.’
‘I thought you said they were close.’
‘So they were, by all accounts. But thirty thousand quid’s worth of solid gold could be pretty divisive. And affection doesn’t necessarily imply trust.’
‘I know. Still, to fix a death trap like that for your own brother! He must have been an absolute monster.’
‘He wasn’t exactly an altruist,’ Johnny said. ‘Witness Saturday night’s little incident. But I don’t think it was quite like that. I think he warned Joe that he had set a trap, but didn’t tell him how to spring it. That way, Joe knew where he stood. He knew that if he tried to lift the gold without his brother’s knowledge he’d be signing his own death warrant. That left Martin completely in command. And from what I knew of him, that was how he liked it.’
Polly sipped her wine, considering.
They were dining by candlelight, and the flickering flames shot copper glints through her hair and etched shadows into the dimples. Johnny thought she looked terrific. He prided himself on being fairly basic in his attitude to birds, and wondered how she would react to a hand on the thigh. Some birds were inclined to be a bit touchy about amorous advances in a public place. He decided to wait for the taxi; she might be more receptive then. And a taxi gave scope for further exploration if the initial advance succeeded.
‘I’m not so sure you’re right, you know,’ she said. ‘If Joe Slade knew of the trap, why didn’t he tell Lester and his friends when they started to beat him up? That would have saved him, surely. The gold too. They’d have known they’d be risking their lives if they tried to recover it.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Johnny said. ‘What I mean is, he wouldn’t necessarily have told them. He’d have realized they might not believe him, that they might suspect it was just a ruse to get them off his back, and go ahead willy nilly. I don’t suppose the thought of them blowing themselves up would have worried him, but he’d know that the gold might go skywards too. Even if it didn’t, the explosion would bring the police, and that would put paid to the gold as far as the Slades were concerned. Or maybe he intended to tell them, but Lester and his boys got too tough too soon, and he passed out before he got around to it.’
It was, she agreed, a plausible explanation. ‘When do you think Martin decided to use it as he did?’ she asked.
‘When he knew he was dying, I suppose. Since he couldn’t take the gold with him, he decided to use it to revenge himself on his enemies. His “Dr Fells,” the Boozer called them.’ He frowned. ‘Dr Fell. What’s the quotation? I’ve forgotten.’
‘I do not love thee, Doctor Fell, The reason why I cannot tell; But this alone I know full well, I do not love thee, Doctor Fell,’ she recited. ‘I don’t know what it comes from. Who gets the gold now, Johnny?’
‘The owners, whoever they may be.’ He laughed. ‘Imagine what will happen when the authorities decide it’s all been gathered in, and remove the barriers. The locals will descend like flies, scratching around in the hope that the odd fragment may have been overlooked. There are quite a few people there already, prospecting outside the barrier.’
‘You’ve been down there, then, have you? Since Saturday, I mean?’
He had gone down the following morning, he said, to inspect the scene by daylight. When she asked him to describe it he did so briefly and somewhat reluctantly. He realized that, as Polly saw it, the main purpose of the dinner had been to satisfy her curiosity, and he had been happy to oblige. But they were still at it, and they had already reached the sweet. It was time the conversation took a more intimate turn if he were to get full value from the taxi. Yes, he said, the Porters had been arrested. The arresting charge had been one of false imprisonment, which carried a penalty of anything up to two years.
‘Two years?’ she said. ‘That’s not much, is it?’
‘It’s only for starters. There will probably be other charges; it depends how deeply they were involved. The police need a holding charge while they sort them out.’
‘How were they involved, Johnny? Have you any idea?’
Not for certain, he said. His knowledge was confined to what the Porters had written in their statements, the gist of which had been confided to him by an ex-colleague. Jill Porter was Lester’s sister; but according to the two statements, which more or less tallied, neither she nor her husband had been in Lester’s confidence. They had known he lived outside the law but had been unaware of the manner or extent of his criminal activities. Both claimed that their connection with the present affair had started innocently, when Lester had told them he needed to get in touch with Obi Bullock, and could they help? Porter had said that, so far as he knew, Obi was working at the Saladin, and why not drive down there? Fine, Lester had said. But first, would Porter call on the Frazers to discover if there had recently been a letter for Obi and, if so, whether they had forwarded it? Porter had agreed, and on his return had reported that Mrs Frazer had denied there was a letter, but that her manner had suggested she might be lying — although he had believed her when she claimed not to know Obi’s present address. Lester had then suggested it might be more expedient if Porter were to visit Obi at the Saladin. He needed Obi for a conference at the club that evening, he said, and Obi was more likely to be persuaded into this by Porter, whom he knew well, than by Lester, who was practically a stranger. So Porter had driven down to the Saladin, and had telephoned from there to say that Obi had left, and no-one seemed to know where he had gone.
‘You thought he’d followed us, didn’t you?’ Polly said.
‘Well, I wondered. I mean, it was quite a coincidence, two people inquiring after Obi the same evening.’
She nodded. ‘And I suppose it was after Porter’s telephone call that Lester sent his two thugs round to beat up Mother and Dad.’
‘Yes. Dear old Stan and Chipper.’ His mouth watering, he watched her spoon up the last o
f the liqueur from her Crepes Suzette. Crepes Suzette was what he would have ordered for himself had his wallet been bulkier. But the dinner was costing a bomb, and he had contented himself with cheese and biscuits. ‘Polly, how about —’
‘That was delicious,’ she said. ‘Absolutely superb. I could do that all over again.’
‘You could?’
‘Yes.’ His anxiety must have shown, for she laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I could, but I won’t. Now, tell me some more. What about Cooke? How did he come to be in the cellar?’
We could go on for ever like this, he thought dolefully. But he told her. According to the Porters, Lester had met Cooke on the Friday evening, in response to a telephone call, and had brought him to the club. It was then he had told them about the bullion. Cooke, Lester had said, was demanding five hundred pounds for certain vital information; but Cooke was a proved double-crosser, and Lester had wanted to lock him in one of the club cellars overnight while he checked. Porter had reluctantly agreed (you’re in this too, Lester had said, whether you like it or not, but the money will be good), but it was not until late that night, when he had gone down to stoke the boiler, that he had discovered the treatment Cooke had suffered. ‘In his statement he claims he was too frightened of Lester to interfere or protest,’ Johnny said. ‘But I doubt it. He also claims he didn’t know about us being there. Not until his wife came down to inquire what was going on. I doubt that too. His attitude when he tried to stop our escape didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence in his good intentions.’
‘Nor me,’ Polly said. ‘Is Cooke going to recover?’
‘I gather it’s touch and go.’
‘Will he go to prison if he does?’
‘Probably. Withholding information — forgery — fraud — they’ll find something that’ll stick.’ The waiter came to clear away the plates. Yes, Johnny said, they would like coffee. ‘How about a liqueur?’
‘Not for me, thanks.’
He was uncertain whether to be glad or sorry. The bill would be the lighter, but a liqueur might have made her more receptive in the taxi. ‘Just coffee,’ he told the waiter.
‘I suppose his greed overcame caution,’ Polly said. ‘I mean, you warned him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. But he shouldn’t have needed warning Not after what he’d learned of Lester’s habits.’ He avoided the details. If Polly did not know about Dolores Cash — and he believed she didn’t — this was not the time to tell her. It would create the wrong atmosphere. ‘Mind you, I don’t think it was only a final killing that tempted him. He also saw a chance to hit back at me.’ As the waiter approached with the coffee he drained his glass. ‘Now, how about changing the subject? I can think of more pleasant topics.’
‘So can I. But you haven’t mentioned the reward. There’ll be a reward, won’t there?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘How much?’ The waiter poised the coffee pot above her cup. ‘Black, please. I mean, how much will Obi get?’
‘That depends. Whatever it is we’ll split three ways.’ He grinned. ‘You can pay my bill out of your share.’
‘What bill? For finding Obi? But you haven’t found him.’
Had it not been for Nicodemus he would have agreed to scrub it. But they were partners, and Nicodemus would insist on presenting a bill. ‘I’ve had expenses,’ he said lamely. Win or lose, they have to be met.’
‘Oh, come off it, Johnny! What expenses? You haven’t given Obi a thought since I showed you that letter. You’ve been too busy chasing that damned bullion.’
‘If you ask me, it’s damned lucky for Obi I didn’t find him.’ He was peeved that she should have adopted this carping attitude. He was also growing desperate. The meal was practically over, and not even a hint of sex! ‘Had it gone as Slade had planned, Obi would now be scattered all over the blasted heath, along with Lester and Bagiotti and Mrs Slade.’ He had telephoned Alice that afternoon. Her manner had been cool, and she had not repeated her request that he should visit her. No doubt she assumed he had betrayed her confidence. ‘Instead of which he’s going to get a fat slice of the reward. He has a lot to be grateful for, has friend Obi.’
‘Perhaps.’ She had finished her coffee and was scrutinizing her face in a mirror. ‘No, that’s unfair. You’re right, of course. And I’m sure he’ll be grateful. I know I am. Forget I queried your expense account.’
‘It’s already forgotten.’ This was more promising. ‘And to make sure you get value for money I’ll pop over to Holland next weekend. How’s that?’
She shook her head. ‘It won’t be necessary. We had a card from Obi this morning. He’s coming home, and he wants his room back.’
‘Damn! At least — well, it’s fine for you, of course. But I was looking forward to the trip. I was hoping you might stretch the gratitude a bit, and come with me.’
She smiled. ‘If you’re after a dirty weekend you should ask Jasmine. She obviously adores you.’
‘Puppy love,’ he said modestly. ‘The hand that pays her. Anyway, she’s below the age of consent.’ She wasn’t, but no matter.
‘Too bad.’
‘I’m not bothered,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier about Obi?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I was too interested in what you were saying.’
He had assumed that nothing could interest her more than her precious Obi. ‘You know something?’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking I might ask your mother to rent me Obi’s room. My present digs aren’t so hot.’ He sighed. ‘Well, that’s out. But I’m sorry for your parents. They’re losing an ideal lodger. Respectable, clean, sober, and almost solvent.’
‘And lecherous.’ Her smile took most of the sting from the comment. ‘But if you really want to move I’m sure it’d be O.K. with Mother. I told you, she’s taken a fancy to you.’
‘Really?’ His spirits soared. Living in the same house, he should have it made. ‘You’ve got two spare rooms, have you?’
‘No. But mine will be vacant. I’ve arranged to share a flat with a girl at the shop.’
‘Oh!’ Gloom descended, and with it came bewilderment. ‘How come? I mean — well, it’s a bit off, isn’t it, moving out just as your precious Obi moves in? I don’t get.’
‘Because he’s not my precious Obi, that’s why.’ The snub nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘If you must know, I can’t stand the man.’
Johnny gaped at her. ‘But I thought —’
‘I know you did. That’s what I wanted you to think. Otherwise you might have been less sympathetic.’
‘Well, I still don’t get. Why so much concern for someone you dislike? It doesn’t add up.’
She sighed. ‘I’m not sure I can explain. It’s all rather woolly. Still, if you really want to know —’
‘I really want to know.’
She had been fourteen, she said, when Obi came to live with them. She had liked him at first: he used to give her presents, and sometimes he took her to the cinema. She hadn’t much liked the way he used to touch and kiss her, or being pulled on to his lap while they were watching television, but she had supposed these were merely his rather crude ways of expressing affection. Her parents had noticed nothing untoward; he’s very fond of you, dear, her mother would say — just like an uncle, eh? It was not until after he had fished her out of the Thames, when (encouraged, perhaps, by her gratitude) he had attempted further intimacies, that she had realized he was motivated by lechery rather than by avuncular affection. She had said nothing to her parents because it had seemed ungrateful to complain about someone who had saved her life. But his attentions had gradually become so persistent and so obnoxious that about six months ago she had warned him that unless they ceased she would be forced to tell her parents.
‘What was his come-back to that?’ Johnny asked.
‘He said he couldn’t help himself. He said I had become an obsession.’ Johnny nodded. He could appreciate Obi’s obsession. He was a bit that way about her himself. ‘So I told him
he’d have to leave. Either that, I said, or there’d be a flaming row and he’d be chucked out.’
‘Very reasonable.’
‘Obi didn’t think so. He took a lot of persuading.’ Polly grimaced. ‘It was pretty revolting, really. But after he’d gone — shouldn’t we have some more coffee? We can’t just sit here, can we?’
Johnny beckoned the waiter. ‘Afterwards?’ he prompted.
Afterwards, she said, but not until some weeks afterwards, guilt had started to infiltrate her conscience. Had she perhaps been too hard on him? Because she had come to dislike him, had she allowed imagination to magnify the lechery? Could a man be blamed for an obsession? ‘It got me worried,’ she said. ‘I mean, it was bad enough knowing I owed my life to someone I’d come to loathe. But to feel that I’d been horrid to him in return — that made it a damned sight worse. And when the letter came — God, I felt awful!’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because if I hadn’t forced him to leave he could have acted on it. As it was, I’d as good as robbed him of a fortune.’
‘It didn’t worry you that the fortune had been stolen?’
‘We’ve been through that before,’ she said impatiently. ‘No, it didn’t.’
‘All right. So you decided he had to be found. Hence Nicodemus and Inch, eh?’
