Time to Pay

by Lyndon Stacey

  Gideon walked back to the Land Rover, busily assimilating the new information he’d gleaned. Logan had said to find a common denominator for two or three of the names and then try to see where the others fitted in. It was looking pretty certain that the common denominator was the Modern Pentathlon and, more specifically, the training course before the Dubai Olympic Games, in which it seemed Lloyd, Robin Tate, Adam Tetley, Sam Bentley and Julian Norris had all taken part. That just left the schoolteacher, but Gideon was willing to bet that if he dug a little deeper, he would find that Stephenson had been there too.

  The only connection with Damien that they all shared appeared to be Marcus, who’d tragically committed suicide on that same course. Marcus, the sensitive young man who Gideon suspected had kept a diary detailing the bullying he’d suffered while he was away from home.

  Gideon got into the Land Rover and shut the door, putting the sheaf of brochures on the passenger seat.

  There was something staring him in the face but he just wasn’t seeing it. He decided it was time he took another look at the photocopied page and, if necessary, ask Tilly if she had any idea where Marcus’ diary might be.

  He sat gazing through the windscreen at a patch of tulips in the Norrises’ front garden, but they only registered as a red blur as his thoughts raced this way and that. The people named on the list knew he had a copy of it; what if they thought he had the diary, too? Was that why he’d been attacked? But if that was the case, why hadn’t they tried to make him give it up?

  Gideon ran his fingers through his hair and dragged his gaze back into focus. Maybe he was getting carried away. Tetley had shot Damien. The police had incontrovertible evidence against him; they had the gun.

  But what if he hadn’t been in it alone? There were five names on that list, if you discounted Norris. What if more than one were involved? What if they all were?

  Oh, God! Lloyd!

  It was high time he confronted Lloyd.

  With this in mind, he backed the Land Rover out of the drive and set off back to the Priory.

  The sky had clouded over while he’d been in talking to Marion Norris and, by the time Gideon turned into the long winding lane that led to Tarrant Grayling, a steady drizzle had set in and patchy fog had begun to form in the river valleys.

  About a mile from the Gatehouse, where the road was not much more than a single track, he saw a large green and yellow tractor nosing out of a field gateway.

  ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Stay there. Oh, you imbecile!’

  When he was not more than twenty yards distant, the tractor lumbered out in front of Gideon’s Land Rover, coming to a halt diagonally across the tarmac so that he was forced to slow up and stop.

  ‘Oh, bugger!’ he muttered. He repressed an urge to lean on the horn, knowing that with some farmers that was all that was needed to make them go even slower. Hopefully, the driver was just pausing to shut the gate.

  Sure enough, the cab door opened and a figure in a grubby green boiler suit jumped down, raised a hand in Gideon’s direction, and hurried back through the gateway, his cap pulled well down against the rain.

  ‘Yeah, well, get on with it.’ Gideon sighed and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, listening to the irritating squeak and scrape of the wipers. On each side of the narrow lane, soft grassy verges and shaggy unkempt hedges put paid to any thoughts of squeezing past, four-wheeled drive or no, and as there was no sensible alternative route to the Gatehouse, he had no choice but to wait.

  In his wing mirror he caught sight of the approaching headlights of another vehicle, which in due course pulled up behind the Land Rover and waited in its turn.

  Peering through his streaky windscreen, Gideon watched in vain for the return of the tractor driver and suddenly the vehicle started to rock as Zebedee broke out in a furious spate of barking.

  ‘Quiet, Zeb!’ he said, his patience beginning to wear thin. Where was the bloody man?

  A movement in his wing mirror caught his eye and he saw that the occupant of the car behind had got out and was walking forward to see what the hold-up was. Gideon wound down his window a little but as he drew level, instead of leaning down to speak to him, the man yanked the Land Rover door open, put a meaty fist in to grasp Gideon’s jacket and hauled him out onto the verge.

  Caught entirely unawares, Gideon went sprawling in the long wet grass and, in the back of the Land Rover, Zebedee went absolutely crazy.

  13

  GIDEON’S FIRST INSTINCT was to get to his feet as soon as possible but the owner of the meaty fist plainly had other ideas, and he found himself flattened, face down, amongst last year’s bramble runners at the foot of the hedge, with what felt like a knee in the small of his back.

  His first thought was to curse himself for a stupid, unwary fool. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned, for God’s sake!

  There was no sense in struggling. It was impossible to mount any form of resistance from the position he found himself in. Shouting was still an option, but there was only the tractor driver within earshot, and Gideon wasn’t naïve enough to continue supposing that the blockage was anything other than part of the whole set-up.

  ‘You jest lie still, matey,’ a rough voice advised unnecessarily, then shouted, ‘Hurry up, for Christ’s sake!’

  Suffering from a severely restricted lung capacity, all Gideon could hear for a moment was his own breathing and the patter of the worsening rain. Then, above it, came the sound of footsteps running on the road.

  ‘Right,’ his captor said briskly. ‘Let’s get ’im up before somebody comes. But watch ’im though!’

  Gideon’s upper arms were grasped and the weight lifted cautiously from his back, but if they expected him to scramble instantly to his feet, they were forced to think again. As they pulled on his arms he remained limp, the whole of his six foot four, fourteen-stone frame dragging downwards.

  One of the men muttered a curse.

  ‘Come on, get up, you bastard!’

  They hauled him to his knees, but hadn’t got the height to raise him any further. Gideon let his head slump forward, as if unconscious, hoping that if they thought him incapacitated, they’d be lulled into a false sense of security and lower their guard.

  ‘What’s the matter with ’im?’

  ‘Buggered if I know. C’mon, stand up! Stop fuckin’ around!’

  The rain was fairly pelting down now, soaking coldly through Gideon’s guernsey and running through his hair. It drummed on the hollow metal of the vehicles and blattered on the road, and it was a moment before he recognised the swishing hiss for what it was . . .

  An approaching car.

  ‘Shit! Someone’s coming! Leave him and go. Quickly!’

  Abruptly, Gideon’s arms were released and he had to put his hands down to save himself from falling on his face in the grass once more.

  He scrambled to his feet and raced after the two men, who were both heading for the dirty blue hatchback, but they weren’t hanging around. When Gideon was still some yards away they were in the car and had the engine started, and as he came level with the driver’s door, the hatchback went into rapid reverse and the approaching Range Rover had to swerve to avoid being hit.

  The blue car reversed into a gateway, then drove out and away with a spray of mud and a squeal of tyres.

  ‘Bugger!’ Gideon said forcefully, staring up into the rain. He hadn’t even been able to read the number plate of the blue car, due to a combination of mud and the rapidly failing visibility. He thought back over the last couple of minutes. ‘Matey’ the man had called him. Where had he heard that before?

  ‘Gideon? Are you OK? What the hell was all that about?’

  The Range Rover had stopped a little way behind his own vehicle, with two wheels sunk into the soft grass of the verge, and as luck would have it, its driver was Lloyd. He came striding towards Gideon with a look of bewilderment on his face.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ Gideon told him. ‘Just cold, wet and distinctly pis
sed off!’

  ‘So what was all that about? What did they want?’

  Gideon came to an abrupt decision. ‘Look, it’s a long story. You’re getting wet and I’m getting wetter. Why don’t you come back to the Gatehouse and I’ll try and explain.’ He looked at the tractor, still blocking the lane. ‘I don’t suppose you know how to drive one of those things . . .?’

  Lloyd did, and while he set about moving it off the road so they could get past, Gideon rang the police and reported it abandoned.

  The Gatehouse was blessedly warm and dry after the foggy dampness outside. Gideon showed Lloyd through to the kitchen, where Elsa took one look at him, jumped off the Aga and disappeared into the sitting room.

  Gideon laughed. ‘Don’t take it personally. She’s a bit set in her ways, and not too fond of strangers. It took her almost a month to accept Eve.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’m not really a cat person, anyway. Dogs are more my line. Aren’t they, boy?’ Lloyd added, scratching Zebedee behind the ears. The dog sat down beside him and assumed an expression of euphoria.

  ‘Something to drink? Coffee, tea? Something stronger?’

  ‘The last would be nice. I’ve only got to drive up to the house.’

  ‘Think I might join you. I’m not sure tea would quite hit the mark.’

  Gideon fetched a half-bottle of malt from the sitting room, soothing the cat’s ruffled nerves as he passed. He put the bottle and two glasses down on the table beside Lloyd.

  ‘Help yourself. There’s water in the tap, and ice in the top of the fridge. No soda, I’m afraid, but you might find lemonade somewhere. Look, I’m just going to go and put something dry on. Won’t be a minute.’

  When he came back downstairs in a clean pair of jeans and a dry rugby shirt, Gideon found Lloyd leaning back in his chair, with a large measure of what looked like neat whisky in his tumbler. He reached for the remaining glass and poured himself one.

  ‘So, tell me what I walked – or drove – in on,’ Lloyd said. ‘Those two men looked as though they meant business. Who were they?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’ Gideon paused, looking thoughtfully at Pippa’s boyfriend, and then decided to go for it. ‘If I gave you the names Sam Bentley, Garth Stephenson, Robin Tate, Adam Tetley and Julian Norris, what would you make of it?’

  ‘Sam Bentley? You were asking about him the other day, weren’t you? I’m not sure about him, but the others all did pentathlon at around about the time I did.’

  ‘Even Garth?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lloyd nodded.

  ‘Were they all on that training course you went on?’

  ‘Yes, they were. Why?’

  ‘But not Sam Bentley?’

  ‘I’m not sure. There were about twenty of us and I don’t remember all the names. Look, what’s this all about?’

  Gideon took a deep breath.

  ‘Remember that list of numbers and letters that we found in Nero’s things? Those were all initials and telephone numbers. Yours were on there, too.’

  ‘Mine were? How come I didn’t notice that?’

  ‘It was the way it was written out,’ Gideon explained. ‘Actually it was your old number – your wife’s.’

  Lloyd looked mystified.

  ‘Why on earth would Damien have had all our names on a list? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I hoped you might be able to tell me . . .’

  ‘Well – no, I’m sorry, I can’t.’

  ‘I – er, wondered if it could have anything to do with Marcus . . .’

  ‘Marcus Daniels?’ Lloyd sounded incredulous. ‘But he committed suicide.’

  ‘On that training course . . .’

  ‘Well – yes, but the list must be ages old, if it’s got anything to do with that business. I mean, that was all – what? – twelve or fifteen years ago. And as I said, there were twenty or more of us. Christ! I haven’t seen those guys for donkey’s years. Some of them could be dead by now – well, yes, Julian Norris is, isn’t he?’

  ‘Ah, but his name was crossed off, so that argues that the list wasn’t so very old, or at least that it had been updated. And however out of date it might be, someone would still much rather I didn’t ask questions about it.’

  ‘Someone on the list?’

  ‘Well . . . yes, I suppose so. I just assumed it was.’ Gideon hadn’t considered the alternative. The idea made the whole thing even more worrying. If not one of the names on the list, then where the hell would he begin looking?

  ‘So what do you think it’s all about?’

  ‘Blackmail?’ Gideon tossed the word into the conversation like a stone into a pool, and watched to see what ripples it produced.

  Lloyd appeared momentarily stunned.

  ‘Blackmail? But don’t you think I’d know something about that – as my name’s on the list, I mean?’

  ‘And you don’t.’

  Lloyd shook his head emphatically.

  ‘No. And while we’re on the subject, what am I – we – supposed to have done that we’re so ashamed of?’

  Gideon hesitated. This was where it could get awkward.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t got that far. I’m probably barking up the wrong tree altogether, but there’s definitely something to hide, because I’ve been warned off – and pretty forcefully, too.’

  ‘You mean those men today?’ Lloyd asked, watching him closely.

  ‘No, it was a couple of days ago. I got a call to go and see a pony and found two men waiting for me, instead. It was obviously a set-up. I’m not sure whether it was the same guys, it might have been, but there was no doubt about the message – stop poking your nose in where it’s not wanted, or else!’

  Lloyd took a long considering sip of his whisky.

  ‘You told the police, of course.’

  ‘Yeah, I did.’ Gideon didn’t elaborate.

  ‘Good. And?’

  ‘They’re looking into it but there isn’t a lot to go on.’

  ‘And what did they make of the list?’

  ‘I didn’t show it to them.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to make more trouble for Tilly and her family,’ Gideon hedged. He fancied Lloyd relaxed a degree or two at the words, but then, guilty or not, he wouldn’t welcome the publicity that a police investigation would bring.

  ‘So why didn’t you tell anyone about the attack?’

  ‘I told Eve. There didn’t seem any point in worrying Pippa and Giles.’ Gideon drained the last of his drink and stood up, collecting Lloyd’s empty tumbler along with his own on his way to the sink, and rather hoping he’d take the hint and be on his way.

  No such luck.

  ‘So how long have you known about the list – the names and numbers, I mean?’ Lloyd asked.

  ‘Oh, not long.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you think I had a right to know, as my name’s on there?’ Lloyd sounded a bit peeved, and Gideon couldn’t really blame him.

  ‘I wanted to try and find out what it was all about, first.’

  ‘Well, I might have been able to tell you.’

  ‘Or not,’ Gideon couldn’t resist saying.

  ‘As it turns out, but you didn’t know that. Don’t you trust me?’

  About as far as I could spit you, Gideon thought, but he merely said, ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘So have you spoken to the others? What did they make of it?’

  ‘I spoke to a couple of them,’ Gideon said, deliberately vague. He shrugged. ‘They either didn’t know, or they weren’t telling; it’s difficult to say which. But one of them must know something, else why go to the trouble of warning me off?’

  Lloyd was silent for a moment, and Gideon leaned back against the range, enjoying the warmth and thinking over what had been said. If Lloyd knew anything, he was hiding it well. He’d volunteered the information about the connection between the names, and seemed more upset about being kept in the dark than at the prospect of Gideon�
��s investigations.

  ‘Well, all I can say is if there is something going on, nobody’s let me in on the secret,’ Lloyd said suddenly. ‘It’s strange that Tetley’s name is on the list. I suppose you didn’t get a chance to speak to him?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘So what are you going to do now? It seems to me that whatever reason Damien might have had for making that list, it’s probably died with him. Is it really worth getting yourself beaten up for?’

  Gideon shook his head and sighed.

  ‘Probably not. I really don’t know any more.’

  ‘Will you give the list to the police?’

  ‘I haven’t decided. I guess I should ask Tilly what she wants to do.’

  ‘Well, speaking for myself, I’d just as soon you didn’t,’ Lloyd said, getting to his feet. ‘Give it to the police, I mean. The less of that kind of attention I get, the better it is for my political career. But, of course, that’s purely selfish. If you think it’s important . . .’ He smiled. ‘Well, I guess I’d better be going. Pippa’s expecting me.’

  Lloyd walked through to the hall, took his coat off its hook and then paused with his hand on the front-door handle.

  ‘Look,’ he said, with a touch of awkwardness, ‘I know Pippa’s pretty special to you, but she is to me, too, and I will take good care of her, I can promise you that. The thing is, we’re not saying anything just yet, but we intend getting married when my divorce comes through, and I’m going to do everything I can to make her happy.’

  ‘Married? Congratulations!’ Gideon managed a smile, even though he had the strangest sensation that someone had clamped an iron band round his heart and lungs. ‘What does Giles say to that?’

  ‘Actually, we haven’t told him yet. I shouldn’t really have said anything to you, so don’t breathe a word, eh? Not even to Pippa. I just wanted you to know that I’m serious.’

  Gideon shrugged. ‘It’s none of my business – surely you should be talking to Giles, not me. But, anyway, I hope you’ll be very happy.’