Hawkins must have been rubbing his hands when David Bernstein approached him in Barbados and told him of the big potential profit in buying plantations and selling them on to the Government. One of the biggest private plantation owners happens to be Broga Cates so Joe can kill two birds with one stone: damage Silverdale and scare Broga off the estate.
The phone rang, interrupting my mental jigsaw compilation. It was Broga Cates. ‘Eddie, good news! We’ve just found out that Clemence has worked in the past for this Joe Hawkins guy.’
‘I know. Or rather I’d guessed.’
‘What?’
I told Broga everything. He was elated, kept congratulating me, saying, well done.
‘I wouldn’t get too carried away yet, Broga.’
The reality was that Joe Hawkins hadn’t made the semblance of a mistake. There was nothing to connect him directly with any crime. Sure, with Kenny’s problems he had the motive for defrauding Silverdale but with claims coming in from a wide variety of clients, none of them with personal fraudulent intent, there was no way the insurance company could establish any overall connection.
The murder of Conway and all the general mayhem would have been carried out by lackeys like Clemence and Mr. Dann. I was certain I’d find nothing to connect Joe Hawkins directly to any of the crimes.
Broga said, ‘It’s got to be worth going to the cops.’
‘What with? All we have is a very tidy theory. No witnesses. No evidence. The only chance we’ve got is if Kenny will testify against him.’
‘His brother? What are the chances?’
‘Remote. According to his wife, Kenny won’t talk to anybody never mind the police. He barely talks to her. He sent me packing last time I visited.’
‘It sounds as if his brother’s fucked his head up completely. This could be the chance for Kenny to get clear of him. What do you think?’
‘I think I’d better speak to Avril first, his wife.’
‘What about her? Does she know enough to convict Joe?’
‘No. Told me she didn’t even stay in the house when he visited.’
‘When can you go and see her?’
‘I’m trying to draw a very fine line timewise. I’ve asked Mac to get Silverdale to put up a big reward to help catch the guy who’s been doing the damage.’
‘You didn’t tell McCarthy about Joe Hawkins?’
‘I’m not quite as daft as I look.’
‘Sorry, Eddie. What did McCarthy say?’
‘He’s going to ask the Chairman. I’d like to hold off long enough for Silverdale to commit themselves, and then approach Avril and Kenny. That way, they come out with at least some of the money they could have got from the claim. Problem is the longer I leave it the more chance Joe Hawkins has of finding out I’m onto him, at which point it’s goodnight Vienna.’
‘You’d better go for it now then, don’t wait for Silverdale, go and see Avril and Kenny.’
‘And then Silverdale get Joe Hawkins for nothing and Avril and Kenny get zilch? I think I’ll risk things for a day or two.’ He tried to talk me out of it but I’d made my mind up. Bruce Cronin’s use of his Jockey Club contacts had sickened me; they deserved to pay. Joe Hawkins was still in Barbados and as long as he stayed there, I thought I’d be relatively safe. Broga promised to try and put a twenty-four hour watch on him saying he’d call if Joe made any suspicious moves.
‘You’ll be hard pressed. All his moves are suspicious.’
Broga chuckled and told me to be careful. I’d have to be. I’d already sussed that the only thing that had kept Joe Hawkins from killing or maiming me so far was the knowledge that it would have driven the final wedge between him and his brother. When Joe realized he was looking at life imprisonment I had the queasy feeling that all privileges would be withdrawn.
Sitting alone in the flat dwelling on the prospect of Joe Hawkins finding me out played on my nerves. At eight thirty, I rang McCarthy at home.
‘You contacted Bruce Cronin yet?’
‘I can’t ring him direct, Eddie, he’s the chairman.’
‘So?’
‘He deals with Lord Greenboro.’
‘Call Greenboro then.’
‘It’s the weekend, Eddie, for God’s sake! I’ll speak to him on Monday.’
It seemed Mac had quickly forgotten how ashamed he’d felt that afternoon. I fought to stop myself cursing at him again, tried to speak in a level voice.
‘I haven’t got until Monday, Mac. Neither have you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’ll explain when we meet tomorrow for lunch.’
‘I’m busy tomorrow.’
‘Be busy after lunch. I’ll meet you at the Camden and I want an answer from Silverdale.’
‘You’re being ridiculous!’
‘Get hold of Cronin. Ring Greenboro.’
‘On Monday—’
‘Now, Mac! Or I’ll ring him and tell him exactly what I know and exactly what I think of him. I’ll quote him a few of the potential Press headlines.’
‘Leave it! I’ll call you soon.’
Within half an hour he did. Greenboro was trying to track Cronin down and hoped to have an answer by tomorrow.
‘See you at noon in the Camden.’
McCarthy was waiting in the spacious lounge of the Camden Hotel when I arrived. Cavalry twill trousers and old roomy sports jacket were his choice for this Sunday lunchtime though I intended to leave him, for once in his life, without much of an appetite.
He rarely touched alcohol and I was surprised to see him sipping a pint of beer. I nodded toward it. ‘Pushing the boat out?’
He licked foam from his lips. ‘I wish. Shandy. What will you have?’
I took an orange juice and we went to sit by the window. ‘You get Cronin?’
‘Not yet. He’s in France for the weekend.’
‘What about Greenboro?’
‘He’s furious.’
‘I’ll bet he is. Probably already composing his letter of resignation. Is Cronin expected back tomorrow?’
‘I think so.’
‘I need a decision on the reward by Tuesday at the latest.’
‘Impossible.’ He sipped his shandy.
‘You’d better make it possible, Mac. The guy behind this is a twenty-four carat bad man. He’s got the word villain running all the way through him like a stick of Alcatraz rock.’
Mac half smiled. I said, ‘I’m being completely serious, Mac, this guy killed Conway.’
He stared at me. ‘How do you know?’
‘I know. And pretty soon this guy is going to find out I know. He has the best network of contacts you’ve ever seen. Once he’s sussed me he’ll want to find out who I’ve been talking to, who else I might have told about him.’
He laid a finger on his own chest. ‘Meaning me?’
I nodded.
‘But I don’t even know his name!’
‘I—’
He put a hand up. ‘Don’t tell me!’
‘Mac, it doesn’t matter if you know or not, he’s going to assume you do. He’ll come after you for that alone.’
He looked disappointed in me. ‘I don’t like your tactics here, Eddie.’
‘That’s rich, Mac. That is very rich.’
Shaking his head slowly he said, ‘Eddie, no offence, but I wish I’d never met you.’
I smiled taking some satisfaction from his gloom. ‘And whose fault is that? You came to see me, remember? One stormy night three years ago in that old caravan? Came to con me into doing your dirty work.’
Hangdog, he glanced at me. I said, ‘This is another little course to add to your experience as a gourmet, Mac. It’s called Just Desserts.’
McCarthy left the Camden with a considerably increased sense of urgency. He went home to ring Greenboro again to try and get a number for Cronin in France.
I was taking another gamble with pushing Cronin. I knew he’d have to convene an emergency board meeting to approve a bi
g reward and I had a strong suspicion that Joe Hawkins had a spy working at Silverdale. Somebody must have provided the company’s full client list in February.
I doubted that spy would be at boardroom level but there was a faint chance. If the spy was alerted, Joe Hawkins would be the very next man to realize I was on to him.
In my head, I now drew a deadline of midnight Tuesday for tying everything up, getting Silverdale’s commitment to posting a reward and Kenny’s cooperation including full statements to the police.
I knew when setting it that it might prove to be a deadline in the most literal sense of the word.
Back at the flat, I called Avril and told her I was still trying to fix something up for Kenny and that it would help if I could visit on Tuesday afternoon. She was hesitant.
I said, ‘You don’t have to tell him I’m coming. I just want to be sure he’ll be there.’
She sighed, depressed, very weary. ‘He’ll be here all right, Eddie. He hasn’t moved out of his room for the last two days. Won’t even eat now. Won’t see the doctor or anybody else . . . I’m at the end of my tether.’
‘It’ll get better, Avril, honestly. Are the children okay?’
‘They’re at my mum’s. They’re living there for now.’
She sounded awful, drained, defeated, condemned.
‘Avril just hang on, please.’ I wanted desperately to make promises, tell her all the good things that would happen if everything stacked up over the next forty-eight hours but I couldn’t build her hopes up.
‘What is it you’re planning, Eddie?’
‘Can you hold till Tuesday? I’ll tell you then. There are still a few ends to tie up.’
‘See you Tuesday then.’ No hope in her voice, total resignation.
I spent a long day waiting by the phone. Padge dropped by in the evening, red hair frizzy from a recent shampoo. ‘Coming down the pub?’
‘Sorry. Busy.’
‘You look it.’
I smiled. ‘Waiting for a call.’
‘Still dabbling around with those dead horses?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Did you find out who owned them?’
‘Not exactly but I appreciate you making those calls for me.’ He waved away the thanks. ‘Forget it. I’ll be in The Corner House till ten if you want one.’
‘Thanks.’
A few minutes later Mac rang. He’d got hold of Cronin. ‘What did he say?’
‘Every chance of a very substantial reward but he’ll have to convene a board meeting. His secretary’s making arrangements now, trying to contact directors.’
‘So when do we get an answer?’
‘Maybe tomorrow. Tuesday at the latest I should think.’
‘Ring me as soon as you know.’
That was it for the evening. No more calls to wait for. I decided I’d earned a large whiskey and thought I may as well have it in the company of normal people for a change. I walked down to The Corner House to join Padge and his gang.
Forty proof alcohol and overuse of my brain dropped me gently into the deepest sleep I’d had since returning from Barbados and it took me a while to realize the ringing of the telephone at 3 a.m. was real.
I was groggy when I picked it up. Broga Cates. ‘Eddie!’
‘Uhuh.’
‘Joe Hawkins just left Grantley Adams airport.’
‘Eh?’ Forgetting the five-hour time difference, I was trying to work out how you could fly at three in the morning.
‘Joe Hawkins! He could be heading for England!’
Could be? ‘What flight?’
‘There are no flights to London till tomorrow. He chartered a jet.’
He chartered a jet.
The sentence bounced around in my head throwing out its full implications. He’s in so much of a hurry to kill me he’s chartered a jet.
‘What are you going to do?’
I didn’t know. My brain was too heavy with sleep.
‘I need to think.’
‘You’d better get out of the flat, Eddie, he knows where to come.’
‘Yeah. Ten hour flight, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Good. I’ll go back to bed for half of it. Ring you in the morning.’
‘Eddie—’
I hung up. Half-asleep and still half-drunk, nothing seemed so frightening. Anyway, he wouldn’t reach London till around one. I’d be long gone. Didn’t know where to, but long gone. I was sure. Set the alarm for eight.
And slept.
56
By 10 a.m. I had a bag packed and a destination planned. Two hours of driving north would take me into the wildness of Snowdonia among the mountains and rivers and remote little inns. If Hawkins found me there, at least I’d die in a beautiful place.
I’d been trying Kenny’s number since 8.30 with no success. I wondered if Avril had had enough last night and gone to her mother’s. By the time I was ready to leave there was still no answer. It was essential I got Kenny out of there. If Joe was heading here first, he’d be going to Kenny’s next.
I decided to pass the responsibility for moving Kenny to McCarthy. I called his office. He was at an important meeting with Lord Greenboro; his secretary claimed she didn’t know where the meeting was being held or when she would hear from him.
I watched my hand slowly ease the phone into its cradle. There was no one else I could ring.
Decision time.
It was after ten. Joe Hawkins would be far out over the Atlantic. Three hours away. Pushing it, I could be at Kenny’s place in just over an hour. But what if Avril wasn’t there? What if Kenny wouldn’t let me in?
At least I could warn him. Shout through the door. Push a note under. I could leave Kenny’s and be down on the Devon moors well before Joe’s plane landed.
Or I could head north as planned, take the chance that Joe would never harm his brother. But Joe knew Kenny was the only one who could get him convicted. He’d have to silence him somehow.
Decision made. I’d go to Kenny’s, call from my mobile every ten minutes on the way down, and try to alert them as soon as possible.
I hurried downstairs and told Padge I’d be away for a few days and if anybody called, he should say I’d gone abroad somewhere. I threw my bag in the car and headed out.
About five miles down the road the engine spluttered a few times making the car buck then slow then stop. I cursed and turned the key. It wouldn’t start. Then I saw the red warning light on the petrol gauge.
Empty. In the middle of nowhere.
Fuck it! I was sure I’d had enough petrol, positive I hadn’t driven that far since my last fill up.
The nearest garage was about two miles down the road. I locked up and set out for it jogging on the grass verge, ducking under branches.
Maybe half a mile along a big blue Volvo pulled up twenty yards in front of me and as I reached it, I heard the window whisper down. I looked in. A friendly looking guy, middle aged smiled across. ‘Is that your car back there?’
‘Yeah, out of juice.’
‘Want a lift?’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘Jump in.’
I did.
‘Bad area for breaking down,’ he said.
‘It is. Just my luck.’
‘Never many people about.’
‘No.’
‘It must be your lucky day with me coming along just at the right time.’
‘Yeah, I appreciate it.’
He waited at the garage while I filled the petrol can I’d bought and drove me all the way back to the car.
‘I’m very grateful. You’ve saved me an awful lot of hassle.’
‘Well you know the old saying, if I can help someone as I pass along my way etcetera.’
He dropped me and waved cheerily as he turned and drove off. Almost restored my faith in human nature. A swarm of flies from the woods must have smelt my sweat on this warm still day and as I stooped under the branches holding the spout into the
tank mouth, they buzzed around my head.
I cursed them, swatting with my free hand then someone said, ‘They know shit when they see it, Malloy.’ I’d heard it only twice before but I immediately recognized the man whose telephone voice held such menace.
I didn’t turn toward it. My mind whizzed searching for options.
‘There’s nothing I’d like to do more than spread your brains all over the roof of your car. Just give me one little reason. Just once don’t do what I tell you. Please.’
The petrol can gurgled the last few drops into the tank.
‘Put the can inside the car, slowly and carefully.’
I did.
‘Walk round to the driver’s side. Slowly.’
I did and I saw him for the first time as he came out of the trees. Cropped yellowish-fair hair, blue eyes, thirtyish, surprisingly cherubic face. He was around six foot wearing a black polo neck. He was aiming a pistol at my head as he moved along the passenger side parallel with me.
‘Get in.’
He opened the back door and slid in behind me.
‘Half a mile down there’s a dirt road off to the right, take it.’
I did, my mind still trying to figure something out, still not accepting I was trapped. He made me drive deep into the woods to a clearing and park beside a big black BMW. We got out. He threw the keys to me.
‘Open the boot.’
It was empty but for four loops of white plastic and a thin green tube which was what he must have used to siphon off my petrol.
‘Lie down on your stomach and put your hands behind your back.’
I did it.
‘Hands together, back to back.’
I didn’t get it right.
‘Palms outwards!’ He kicked me in the ribs.
Palms outwards. He slipped a loop over and tightened it hard round my wrists, the plastic ridges rasping as the catch sped along.
‘Get into the boot.’
I got in.
‘Lie on your side facing the engine.’
I turned. Felt the rough carpet on my face, smelt petrol and upholstery cleaner. Whose blood had they scrubbed out?
He tied my feet too then locked me in the darkness and drove me bumping for what felt like hours. I listened for outside noises, trying to work out where I was. There were no sounds of buses or honking taxis, no street vendors. Birdsong. Cattle. Countryside noises, quiet, lonely, countryside.
Running Scared (The Eddie Malloy series Book 4) Page 22
