Retiring to his office, he returned with a chequebook and, as Moe saw without too much surprise, what looked suspiciously like the missing shop copy of the betting slip. Quickly noting some payout figures on the original, Legge smacked a staple through the two bits of paper.
Marie and Rachel exchanged victorious smiles as the bookmaker opened a chequebook. “Whose name?” he barked, wanting to get it over with now.
Downes was between Marie and Rachel, escorting them out in true celebratory style, when Legge reverted to type, bawling after him.
“Don’t you ever come back. I told you before – you’re barred!”
Downes ushered the women ahead of him into the street before turning back with a withering grimace of contempt at the bookmaker.
“No problem. You always were the worst possible kind of shit. Hopefully, you’ll find your way into the sewer soon enough.”
With this final salvo, the old man went out. Puce with fury, Legge hauled himself from behind the glass screen in pursuit. But he took no more than a few steps before Moe and Swift, with Harry Mee looming up close and personal, blocked his path. There was a stand-off, unexpectedly broken by the shop door springing open once more to admit a posse of police, led by DI Tighe in the company of a tall, sober suited individual with a commanding presence. Tighe saw Swift and stopped in mid-stride, leaving his posse to surround Legge.
“What are you doing?” Tighe shot at Swift. “You’re supposed to be with me.” The DI was muttering to the sober suit as Swift identified the other man to Moe.
“That’s DCI Cuff … leading the murder investigation.” Then he was speaking to Tighe. “But I am with you, sir. And to prove it, I’m here.”
Tighe shipped Swift a mean look, but the DCI was smiling broadly. “Smart work, Sarge.” He turned to Tighe. “I like initiative in my officers.” The DI blinked uncertainly.
“All right, my turn.” Cuff was giving Caesar Legge the full benefit of his sober suited senior presence.
“I am Detective Chief Inspector Cuff. You, I take to be Caesar Legge, bookmaker of this address. Is that correct?”
Legge lapsed into surly defiance. “Yeah … what of it?”
Cuff stepped back and waved Tighe forward. “All right, Adrian, do the necessary please. Tell this gentleman why we’re here.”
Moe hadn’t considered the fact that Tighe might have a first name. Adrian was nice. Tighe gave Swift a nudge and together they stepped up, the DI taking Legge by the arm.
“Caesar Legge,” he said firmly, “you are nicked, old son.”
Cuff leaned forward, examining manicured fingernails. “A little more detail, Adrian. You know what those people at the CPS are like for legal niceties.” Tighe responded valiantly, reciting a well-rehearsed litany of incitement to murder and conspiracy to unlawfully import and possess controlled drugs with intent to supply, before ending his recital with an immaculate caution. Cuff smiled like a benevolent uncle and gave Legge a long five seconds to think about things.
“I make that ‘no reply”, Cuff said, “put the handcuffs on him.”
Moe and Marie stood on the pavement opposite the betting shop, watched by Rachel and Downes. Marie teased Moe with the cheque.
“It IS in my name, you know. What are you going to do about it?”
“I reckon you deserve it for your performance in there,” Moe replied, feeling a wonderful warmth as he moved to her. “But I suggest that you skedaddle off to your bank and pay it in.”
“You mean … I can … like right now?”
“I mean … you’d better … like right now.”
“I agree,” Downes said. “There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip.” Marie had scarcely departed in the direction of the town centre when Cuff and his team emerged with a chastened Legge in their charge.
While the prisoner was being placed into a waiting police car by Harry Mee under Tighe’s watchful eye, Swift was leading the DCI across to Moe.
“This is the man responsible for that information I passed on, sir.”
“Right idea. Wrong motor. We’ve got the suspect in custody already. A disfigured wretch with a disfigured wreck of a car that did the dirty deed.”
“The Capri!” Moe suddenly clocked. Cuff seemed impressed. “Right. How did you know about that?” Cuff looked at Swift for enlightenment, but Tighe was interrupting, wryly humorous in tone. “He’s a skipper from the Met. Insisted on sticking his nose in last night. Caught Carter when he tried to leg it from the Capri.”
Cuff was even more impressed now.
“Excellent! Thank you indeed, Sergeant …?”
“Moe, sir – Arthur Moe.”
“Sergeant Moe – thank you! Two murders AND a drugs bust.” He was chortling. “If you were younger, I’d recommend you transfer down here. We can use fellows like you.” With a vigorous shake of Moe’s hand, he rumbled with inward jollity into the front seat of his car, leaving Tighe to climb in the driver’s side. The latter shouted back to Swift.
“Come on, Sarge. We haven’t got all day. Get your skates on.”
Swift rolled his eyes at Moe. “Now comes the hardest part. All that bloody paperwork.” He started towards the police car, then stopped and swung round at Moe. “If I were you, I’d get that cheque paid in ASAP. Know what I mean?” Moe waved him on his way.
‘You can bank on it,” he called back.
“Mission accomplished, old mate,” Downes murmured, snatching a quick look up at the sky. Moe knew how he must be feeling and gave his arm a pat. “Amen.”
“Who’d love a copper?” Rachel sighed, watching Swift climb in the back of Cuff’s car before giving her a little au revoir wave out through his window.
Moe was trying for a smart reply when there was a voice at his elbow. “Will he be coming back?” It was Legge’s young assistant. Moe felt sorry for her. She was a nice kid. Then a light came on in his head. “Ever thought of working in a holiday park?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The landlord of The Pig and Truffle was always willing to put himself out for group bookings when business was slow; even more so when the party consisted of his number one singer and her friends.
And never mind that it was her night off. He reckoned he might prevail upon her good spirits to perform one or two songs later on.
A paragon of conviviality, he presided over their needs with a smooth efficiency that had earned him a ‘Pub Manager’ award from the brewery on more than one occasion.
He noted with approval that they were ordering the very best from the menu, and only occasionally did he harbour an ungrateful suspicion that they might resent paying the bill. It was just that he was the naturally suspicious type of pub manager, hence his success to date in his chosen career.
Had he known of the events that had led to this very merry and increasingly costly get-together under his roof, he might have scoffed at the absurdity of his misgivings as he hurried about his business.
“I have to say,” said Marie Mee, taking a gulp of her third spritzer, “that I find the idea utterly disgusting!” She burped. Moe sipped reflectively on his pint.
“Can you think of a better place to bury something out of sight? And if you’re the one employed to do the digging, it’s a doddle making sure that it stays buried until wanted.” He regarded Marie with the fondness that a jeweller lavishes on a precious jewel. “Who would’ve suspected that the cemetery was a centre for heroin distribution?”
DS Swift grunted his agreement and winced as he adjusted his thigh under Rachel’s firm grasp.
“Legge must’ve thought he had it made with his lieutenant – Miller – cosily established in the town police station as a traffic warden acting as his look-out cum informant. Neat, I call it. Who would pay any attention to a traffic warden going about his business?”
Moe agreed. “In the unlikely event of ever being challenged for any reason when sniffing around, he would have no problems bluffing his way out. And out in the town, the secret partners setting everythi
ng up under Legge’s beady little eye.”
“Until Miller got himself crushed to death by one of the partners in his battered old Capri. Hard to spot new damage on that one.”
Marie shivered and took a big swig of her drink as Swift sucked in both cheeks. “He claims that Legge told him to get rid of Miller … that he was becoming a liability since he was messing things up AND getting greedy to boot – a dangerous combination.”
“Dangerous to Miller, as it happened.” Moe was enjoying the beer.
“It was a set-up made to look like a fail to stop. And it nearly worked.” Swift arched an eyebrow at Moe. “He’s looking to plead diminished responsibility. Don’t you just love it?”
Moe snorted. “He’ll turn up in court in a new shirt, tie and suit to hide his tattoos, and adopt the saintly air of a contrite choirboy.”
“What’s new?” Swift countered. “At least he’s where he should be now – in custody. Did I tell you Customs got the guys from the boat that dropped the stuff? Cronies of Legge’s. They soon gave him up. Said that Legge wouldn’t give them the snot from his nose.”
“Now that is REVOLTING,” Rachel cried, and Swift yelped, feeling the force of her fingers.
“What’s revolting?” Harry Mee enquired, prising himself away from a close tête-à-tête with his pretty girlfriend.
“I don’t think I should repeat it. We’re here to eat,” Rachel said sniffily.
“Talking of revolting. Carter has been singing like a cemetery canary. Would you believe, he asked Cuff for a priest?” Swift shook his head at the vagaries of human nature. “And having confessed to The Cloth, he made a statement admitting the murder of his old man.”
Moe was surprised to experience not only grim satisfaction but also a strange compassion. Carter HAD tried to kill him; but it seemed, in hindsight, to be pathetic, envious rage. Moe’s visits to his parent’s grave, his obvious love and respect for them, had somehow reached in and touched Carter … touched something in the man that had been still born in him as a child. A child that had never known a caring father; never experienced the love and affection that Moe had always been able to take for granted.
He thought of the gravedigger living … no, existing … for all those years with that awful thing locked away deep inside, gnawing relentlessly at him. And he thought of him now, alone in his cell, forced to confront the terrible reality of his wasted, brutal and brutalised life. Moe found himself going over the words of the old Lamplight hymn.
Lord, shine a light, Lord shine a light,
And turn night into day;
Lord shine a light, Lord shine a light,
And show us all the way.
“What’s the matter, Arthur?” Stan Downes bent towards him. He’d been sitting quietly, enjoying the company. Now he had picked up on Moe’s sudden lapse into reflection.
“Nothing much. Just thinking of other days.”
Downes sat back and sighed. “Join the club.” Then he leaned in again. “Can you do me a favour? A small one.”
“Name it.”
Downes fidgeted self-consciously with his tie.
“That pal of yours – in London. I wonder, could you give me his name and address? I’d like to get in touch with him and his wife. Like a pen-pal … that sort of thing.”
“Great idea! And I’ve got another. I’ll offer them the use of the caravan during the coming year.” Moe sneaked a sly glance at Marie. “I don’t plan on using it myself for the foreseeable future.”
Marie crumpled under the blow. Hurriedly, he continued.
“I’ll be looking for something here long term – for my retirement.” There was a silence around the table. Marie’s face was now suffused with a glow from within and she seemed oblivious to everyone but Moe.
“Well, that’s good … that’s good news “ Stan replied, gazing around happily. Wasn’t everything working out just fine?
“Retirement? Did you say ‘retirement’?” Swift poked forward.
“I’ve done my bit,” Moe said, “and now I’ve decided to turn to other things … other people. If I’ve learned anything from the past weeks, it’s that you have to treasure what you have … while you have it.”
“Hear that, porker?” Rachel demanded. Swift’s eyes were watering under the increased pressure on his thigh. Harry Mee raised his glass.
I’ll drink to that. And I’ll drink to your retirement too.”
“And so say all of us,” Swift said. “Everyone … a toast to the imminent putting out to grass of an indefatigable public servant.” Indefatigable. That was a word Moe hadn’t heard much. He liked it.
They all raised their glasses and drank to Moe’s retirement.
“But Arthur, you’ll be bored out of your brain. What will you do?” Swift wiped the foam from his lips with a flourish.
“Plenty of time for that,” Moe replied. Then he grinned. “I night try for the job of manager at the holiday park. I believe there’s a vacancy right now.”
Swift chortled with unseemly glee. “You would too, you sly dog.” Moe met Marie’s enquiring look with equanimity. She had nothing to worry about.
A music trio had begun playing in the background and that heralded the pub manager on the ‘hurry-up’ to whisper his earnest entreaties in Rachel’s unreceptive ear. But they all joined in the pleading, and with Marie virtually lifting her from her seat towards the small stage, she finally gave in and agreed to sing.
But before Marie could make her way back to the table, Rachel had hold of her arm and was calling out to the three musicians. Then it was Marie’s turn to protest, but then she too gave in when Rachel placed a song sheet on the stand in front of them. With a gracious smile, Marie remained and together, they launched into a hushed and heartfelt duet of ‘The Man I Love’. The pub went quiet.
Uneasily, Swift shifted in his seat and beckoned Moe closer. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he whispered.
Stan Downes overheard. “Take it from one who knows. You’ve got NO chance! Isn’t romance wonderful?”
The song ended to loud applause and the two women, high on their reception, were taking their bows when Swift directed Moe’s attention towards some new arrivals heading for a darkened corner table.
“See who I see? Isn’t romance wonderful?”
Moe found himself watching Adrian Tighe and Randy Hands being led to their seats. They reminded him of Batman and Robin, but minus the comic suits. Tighe might have been any sharply dressed man about town with his partner in tow. Only the gender was different from usual.
As he was being seated by the ever-efficient manager, Randy gazed artlessly around at the other tables. Moe waited. It would only be a matter of time before he was spotted by the youngster. And when Randy did indeed recognise him, he was greeted by a dazzling smile and a shout that swung a few heads.
“Hey … Mr Moe. I see you!”
Marie quickly latched on to the flashing teeth and murmured to Swift. “Isn’t that your Mr Tighe over there? Who’s that with him?”
“Oh … just an informant, I should think.”
Moe was more precise. “That’s his friend.”
“Ah.” Marie and Rachel spoke as one. The latter narrowed her eyes. “He’s yummy.”
“Darling, your taste buds are out of alignment,” Swift joked.
“You say! I say he’s yummy. Don’t you think so, Marie?”
“Umm,” Marie agreed. “He’s delicious … but he’s not our bowl of fruit.”
Tighe looked as rigid as a test case on Viagra as Randy jumped to his feet and continued his shouted familiarity at Moe.
“Hey, don’t do anything we wouldn’t – or couldn’t.”
Moe cracked up. Randy was a one-off … quite without a self-conscious side to him. But his companion was pulling him down, whispering at him with a face as black as the sky outside. Moe was impressed to witness a startling deflation in Randy’s demeanour. For once, he appeared subdued, almost chastened, eyes downcast before the contai
ned anger of the older man.
“Well now, “ Swift said, “I’ve never seen Tighe lose his temper like that before. He’s usually so damned controlled.”
Tighe might have heard him, the way his head came up; back in command of himself once more, impassive and impressive, acknowledging them all with a brittle smile and a slight nod of his head. Then he and Randy began studying their menus with fierce concentration. Swift saw Marie and Rachel watching the two newcomers with keen interest.
“You were a little premature with that song.”
Stan Downes was bemused and bewildered. What were they talking about? He wondered sometimes whether his old career had taught him anything very much worth knowing.
Tills were looking forward to the final takings of the evening when Swift got a signal from Tighe. Without much enthusiasm, he went over to his boss and bent down, listening intently to what was being whispered. Randy was staring into the middle distance, waiting only for the inaudible conversation to end so they could leave. It was apparent that Swift wasn’t relishing what was being said. His ruddy face had assumed a paler shade and he cast despondent glances back at their table. A short response saw him rejoining his table companions.
“What was that about?” Moe’s curiosity was aroused by Swift’s reaction.
“He says he didn’t want to spoil our evening,” Swift banged back into his seat, “but he thought you should know. Sorry, Arthur but I did warn you.” With an apologetic heave of his shoulders, he went on. “There’s a freeze on Legge’s assets as of today. They got a court order, aided and abetted by the boys from Customs who don’t take kindly to people smuggling dangerous drugs in their parish. Not only that, the Inland Revenue have been on the case. He said sorry about the cheque.”
Moe was lifting a hand in a goodbye wave at Randy who was following Tighe out into the night. Swift sniffed. “Bloody awful luck. We all know how slow banks are at crediting cheques.” Moe exchanged intimate eye contact with Marie. Some knew more than others, he thought.
November Uniform or the Wagers of Sin Page 18
