Time to Pay

by Lyndon Stacey

  ‘The one that was attacked the day we went to London?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Well, he discharged himself from hospital the other day, and now Tilly says he’s gone; moved on. They don’t know where.’

  ‘You can’t blame him,’ Pippa said. ‘I don’t suppose he’d ever feel safe again, poor man.’

  Gideon had told her about the attack on Reuben, feeling that Lloyd would think it strange if he didn’t.

  ‘Well, what’s odd is that he apparently left a package behind with Tilly, with instructions to give it to me.’

  ‘A token of his gratitude, perhaps,’ Eve said.

  ‘What’s in it?’ Lloyd asked, watching Gideon intently.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Tilly hasn’t opened it. She rang to say that she had to come over this way, so she’s dropped it in at the Priory. She would have left it at the Gatehouse but, of course, I haven’t got a letter box and she didn’t like to leave it in the porch, not knowing how valuable it might be. She said Reuben was pretty insistent that I get it. Apparently it’s something in a padded envelope.’

  ‘Shouldn’t think it’d be very valuable if that old tramp had it,’ Lloyd remarked dismissively.

  ‘You don’t know. He might be a nobleman who’s denounced modern ways and gone back to nature,’ Giles suggested, tongue in cheek. ‘He’s probably had the family diamonds squirreled away in a hollow tree somewhere for decades.’

  Gideon smiled and saw Lloyd glance thoughtfully at Giles. None of them knew how close his jokey remark had landed.

  ‘Tilly said there didn’t seem to be anyone about. I suppose Mrs Morecambe has gone to visit her sister.’ It had been her custom on a Friday for as long as he could remember. She left about noon and cycled down to her sister in the village for the afternoon, getting back around five.

  Conversation moved on. Gideon had begun to wonder if all his planning had been for nothing, when Lloyd suddenly exclaimed, put his hand in his pocket and drew out his own mobile phone.

  ‘It’s on silent,’ he explained, thumbing a key and putting it to his ear.

  The small circle of friends fell quiet once more, each striving not to appear to be listening.

  Lloyd’s conversation was short and to the point.

  ‘Oh. Hi, Simon . . . What . . .? When . . .? Have you called the vet? Well, it’s a bit awkward but yes, of course I’ll come. Yes, I’ll be there right away. Make sure you keep him on his feet. Yes, yes . . . OK. In about twenty minutes. Yes. Bye.’ He snapped the lid of his phone shut and looked round the circle apologetically. ‘I’m going to have to scoot. That was Simon, the kennelman. Badger’s got colic. The vet’s on his way, but I’d rather be there. Sorry, folks.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Pippa said instantly.

  Lloyd shook his head.

  ‘No need. You stop here and enjoy the lunch. There’s nothing you can do – especially dressed like that. I expect the vet’ll get there before I do.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Pippa looked a little disappointed. ‘I hope old Badger’s all right.’

  ‘Me too.’ Lloyd gave her a kiss on the cheek, waved to the rest of them and left, edging his way through the crowd towards the door.

  ‘Looks like I’ll be cadging a lift with you guys,’ Pippa said, forcing a smile.

  Somewhere at the top of the room, somebody announced that the meal would be served shortly, if guests would like to take their places, and – thanking providence for the timing – Gideon declared his intention of nipping to the toilet before he sat down to eat.

  Going out to the foyer, he waylaid a member of staff and asked him if he could wait five minutes, and then tell the diners at table eight that he’d had to nip out for twenty minutes but would be back. Then he went through to the back of the building, where he found the door that Eve had inadvertently opened earlier, and slipped down the corridor beyond towards the open air.

  Once outside, Gideon ran across the yard, knowing from a previous fact-finding mission that on this side there were no overlooking windows from the restaurant, and vaulted over a stone wall onto the road. The Land Rover was parked on the verge, a little way back up the road, and, as he climbed in and slotted the key into the ignition, he sent a silent apology to Giles and the girls, who would now probably have to call themselves a taxi.

  Lloyd was nowhere to be seen, his sage green Range Rover absent from the space he’d collared close to the door of the restaurant. If Gideon hadn’t known where he was going the cause would have been lost at the outset, but Gideon knew exactly where Lloyd was going.

  He drove as fast as he dared, knowing that Lloyd’s vehicle was significantly faster than his own. Either the bike or Eve’s Aston Martin would have been much more suited to this pursuit, but if he’d accidentally got too close behind Lloyd in either of those distinctive vehicles, the game would have been up. This reminded him that he must replace the Aston’s distributor cap when he got back.

  Turning off the main road towards Tarrant Grayling, Gideon hoped against hope that Tilly had remembered to alert Logan as they’d arranged.

  Out of necessity, he’d spoken to the policeman on the Monday, telling him enough to get his interest, and seeking his advice. Logan was no fool, and had initially refused to co-operate until he’d had the full story. When Gideon had called his bluff and threatened to go it alone, he’d finally agreed.

  Almost of its own volition, Gideon’s hand came off the steering wheel and checked the presence of the matchbox-sized transmitter that was hidden in the breast pocket of his shirt. Logan had bought it from an Internet website, explaining that red tape rendered obtaining one from police stores virtually impossible. Rostered off duty from six on the Friday morning, he’d promised to be in the vicinity of Tarrant Grayling from noon onwards with the receiver, waiting for Tilly to confirm that the plan was in motion.

  As the Land Rover swayed round a tight bend, barely holding the road, Gideon’s phone began to ring.

  Tilly again.

  ‘Hello, yeah?’ This was no time for pleasantries.

  ‘I can’t get hold of Logan!’ Tilly sounded agitated. ‘I’ve been trying ever since I spoke to you, but all I get is his answering service.’

  ‘Shit! Well, keep trying! But if you can’t reach him in the next minute or two, you’d better ring Rockley – though God knows how far away he’ll be! And God only knows how you’ll explain it all to him, come to that!’

  ‘But you can’t do it without Logan, he’s got the receiver!’ Tilly protested.

  ‘I know,’ Gideon said grimly. ‘So keep trying!’

  The thought of going after Lloyd without Logan on hand as back-up didn’t appeal to Gideon at all, even though on this occasion Lloyd wouldn’t have had the time or seen the necessity to mobilise the heavy mob, but the idea of drawing back and trying again another day wasn’t one Gideon was prepared to entertain. They’d never again be able to set up such a brilliant opportunity to catch the man red-handed. Also, crucially, they’d made the decision to use the real diary as bait because Gideon was pretty sure that if Lloyd tore open the package, then and there, and discovered he’d been duped, there would be no hope of getting him to talk.

  As it was, he wasn’t quite sure what Lloyd’s course of action would be. To remove the package entirely would doubtless give rise to much speculation, but maybe, as he believed them ignorant of the diary’s existence, he would take a chance on that. After all, he had no reason to think they suspected him, and Gideon had told him that Reuben was long gone.

  Gideon swung the Land Rover into the drive of Graylings Priory, gritting his teeth as it skidded on the damp tarmac under the trees. His first priority was to get to the house while Lloyd was still inside.

  At the top of the drive he slowed down, pulling into the cover of the rhododendrons just out of sight of the house. There he stopped the Land Rover, switched off the ignition and got out, leaving the door open so as not to make a noise.

  Lloyd would have entered the house through the boot room
into the kitchen, making use of the back-door key, which Mrs Morecambe habitually left in one of the old wellies. The Priory’s keys were large in size and few in number, and it was a general rule that the less often they left the property, the better. In fact, John Norris had tutted in horror at their scarcity and recommended that Giles arrange to get some copies made as soon as he could.

  Ducking low under the level of the window sills, Gideon made his way through the stableyard, noting the presence of Lloyd’s Range Rover with a strange mixture of satisfaction and apprehension.

  Unsure how close on Lloyd’s heels he might be, he peered cautiously into the boot room before entering. It was empty, and he moved forward to the door into the kitchen, his heart beginning to thud uncomfortably hard.

  What if Lloyd had somehow seen his approach and was waiting on the other side of the door, with heaven knew what in his hands? A carving knife, perhaps, or the poker from beside the fire?

  He steeled himself to open it, and saw at once that there was nothing to fear. Pippa’s dogs, Fanny and Bella, and Giles’ two terriers were all standing by the far door that led into the hall, those who had tails waving them gently. No clearer indication was needed of where Lloyd had gone.

  When Gideon shut the boot room door, all four dogs turned and bounded across, bodies wriggling and squirming their delight. He was heartily glad that he’d left his own dog at the Gatehouse, because he was almost certain that Zebedee would have given voice to his joy with a series of loud barks.

  To be sure of leaving the kitchen without inadvertently letting one or more of the dogs escape, he gave them each a Bonio from the cupboard, and then opened the door a crack and looked through into the entrance hall beyond.

  It was empty.

  Light poured in by way of the tall, ornate leaded window to the side of the huge front door, illuminating gently whirling dust motes, and he could see that the mat in front of it was unadorned by a parcel of any kind.

  Lloyd was clearly in the building, but where?

  Gideon stepped quietly into the hall and closed the door behind him, his mind running through the possibilities. He had half-expected to meet Lloyd coming back out with the diary under his arm, or failing that, to find him ripping the padded envelope open in the hallway. The worst scenario he’d contemplated was being altogether too far behind and for Lloyd to have put the whole thing in the Aga without stopping to look at it, but he felt this was the least likely outcome. The lure of reading the journal after all these years would surely be too strong for anyone with an interest in it, and besides, as far as Lloyd knew, he had all afternoon.

  So where was he now?

  Perhaps, Gideon reasoned, Lloyd hadn’t been one hundred per cent sure the package did contain Julian Norris’ diary. Perhaps he had decided to open it carefully and make sure, before taking any further action. If that was the case, Gideon had a good idea where he might have gone: the one place he could be sure of finding scissors, Sellotape and the like. Giles’ study.

  Moving to the foot of the grand staircase, he peered up, wishing he could see beyond the turn. He knew from experience that the stairs creaked badly – after close on five hundred years, they could be excused that – but, just now, a nice straight modern flight would have been a godsend.

  Gideon hesitated. If he was right, and Lloyd had taken the diary to Giles’ study, then he should be some distance from the head of the main staircase. On the other hand, if he waited in the hall, then surely, sooner or later, Lloyd would have to pass him on his way out. Where was the hurry?

  Even as he thought it, he heard a door bang and the sound of someone walking across the old floorboards overhead. Another door opened and shut, and the footsteps moved over the landing towards the top of the stairs, accompanied by the jauntily whistled strains of ‘Greensleeves’. Hurriedly, Gideon moved back out of sight as the whistler began to descend.

  Lloyd came down the lower flight of stairs casually carrying the padded envelope in one hand, and headed for the front door, presumably to replace it on the mat.

  ‘Curiosity get the better of you, Lloyd?’ Gideon said, stepping out of hiding behind him.

  Lloyd paused, then turned smoothly, faint surprise showing on his misleadingly pleasant face.

  ‘Gideon! Well, well. What happened? Didn’t you like the menu?’

  ‘Ha ha,’ Gideon said humourlessly. ‘I might ask the same of you. Weren’t you supposed to be rushing to the side of a sick horse? Badger, wasn’t it? How is the poor old boy?’

  ‘In a bad way,’ Lloyd said feigning concern. ‘But I couldn’t do much in my Sunday best, so I called in to pick up a change of clothes.’

  ‘Which you appear to have forgotten,’ Gideon observed. Lloyd still wore the cream trousers and brown wool blazer he’d been wearing when he left the restaurant. ‘Christ, Lloyd! Give it up, I’m not buying it. You left the lunch early because you were desperate to see what was in the package Reuben sent me. Why was that, I wonder?’

  ‘Looks like I wasn’t the only one.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need to look at the package, because I know what’s in it.’

  Lloyd’s eyes narrowed and he stood perfectly still, haloed by the sunlight from the window. Gideon imagined his brain racing, wondering how much Gideon knew and whether there was still a way out with honour, or if all was lost.

  ‘He told you? Well, I don’t know why the old tramp sent it to you. It’s just the ramblings of a manic depressive who’s no longer around. Here, you might as well have it.’ He tossed the envelope to Gideon, frisbee fashion.

  Gideon caught it, pulled the tape away from the flap and took out the diary. Leafing through to the end of the written pages he discovered that the entries now stopped at the twenty-first of April. He looked up and found Lloyd watching with apparent nonchalance.

  ‘So, what did you do with the pages you cut out?’ he asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing Lloyd’s composure slip for a moment.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The pages where Julian explains what happened the night Marcus Daniels died. The pages Damien photocopied and sent to you and the others.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lloyd scoffed, but Gideon could see he was shaken. ‘Look, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a horse to see to.’ He started moving towards the kitchen door.

  ‘Oh, come on! We both know that’s rubbish! I’ve read those pages you so carefully removed.’

  Lloyd paused and turned. ‘You’re bluffing . . . How could you have?’

  ‘Easy. Just before I wrapped it up.’

  ‘You sent it?’ Lloyd’s mask of indifference was showing cracks. ‘Oh, I suppose you think you’re a real smart-arse, don’t you? But it doesn’t prove a bloody thing. And now you haven’t even got the evidence.’

  ‘Damien’s not the only one who’s got a photocopier,’ Gideon pointed out.

  There was a pause while Lloyd visibly regrouped.

  ‘And who do you think’s going to be interested in something that happened twelve years ago?’

  ‘Well, you appear to be pretty worked up about it. Now why would that be? I ask myself. Perhaps there’s more to this than meets the eye . . .’

  ‘You’re talking complete crap! It was an accident. The boy was drunk, tried to balance on the wall, slipped and banged his head. So – we covered it up . . . yeah, maybe that was wrong, but it was nobody’s fault.’

  ‘On the face of it, maybe, but what if one of his mates – and I use the term loosely – what if one of them, the one, in fact, who suggested the dare, knew damn well that the boy had no head for heights? What if it was known that the mate in question had seen the lad absolutely paralysed with fear on top of a haystack? Don’t you think that might make a difference when the inquest is reopened?’

  ‘You’ve got no proof.’

  ‘I’ve got a witness, who’ll testify if needs be,’ Gideon stated, reflecting that Stephenson might’ve
been less than happy to hear him say that, but it was academic, at the moment.

  ‘I’d say your political career was looking a little shaky now, wouldn’t you?’ he went on. ‘And that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Protecting your ambition, your status, your standing within the community. Oh yes, Damien knew just how to make you suffer, didn’t he?’

  ‘You know fuck all!’

  Lloyd moved towards the door to the kitchen, grabbing the handle and then flattening himself against the heavy wooden panels when it didn’t open.

  ‘You looking for the key, by any chance?’ Gideon enquired. He was almost enjoying himself.

  ‘Give it to me,’ Lloyd said low-voiced.

  ‘Or else?’ Gideon wasn’t a habitual fighter, but he knew a few moves remembered from a couple of years in his university karate club and, besides that, he reckoned his extra height and reach must count for something.

  Lloyd advanced on him, no longer troubling to disguise his loathing.

  ‘You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? Well, you’re not. I was in the study when you drove up – oh, so carefully – and parked under the rhododendrons. I guessed you were up to something, and I was waiting for you. That’s why I picked up this!’

  On the final word he produced from his left pocket a slim shiny blade, some six or seven inches in length, which Gideon recognised as Giles’ antique paperknife from the desk in his study.

  He stepped back hurriedly as Lloyd jabbed the point towards his face. As knives went, the cutting edge wouldn’t win any accolades, but Gideon was uncomfortably certain that it had the potential to be an exceedingly efficient stabbing weapon and, from the expression on Lloyd’s face, he was within a hair’s breadth of finding out.

  ‘So, what now?’ he asked, watching the knife and striving, for pride’s sake, to keep his voice steady.

  ‘Now you give me the key,’ Lloyd hissed.

  ‘And you go . . . where exactly?’

  ‘Just shut up and give me the key!’

  Gideon took a deep breath.