by Ken McClure
"What kind of music is that anyway?" asked Kelly.
Fenton shook his head, "Some kind of string instruments maybe."
The size of the windows where the sound was coming from suggested that it was a very large room. "A ballroom?" suggested Kelly.
"A ballroom with a balcony…" added Fenton. He looked at Kelly and said, "I can't see them coming out on the balcony on a night like this can you?"
Kelly took his point and said, "There's a fire escape running up the side of it."
Jamieson pretended that he had not heard but Fenton and Kelly stared at him until he conceded that he had. "All right," he said. "Let's take a look."
Fenton climbed up the fire escape ladder first, Kelly followed and then Jamieson. Fenton got to the top and swung his legs over the stone balustrade. He nestled down in a corner, taking comfort in the fact that there was no danger of them being overheard because the music and laughter coming from within was far too loud. The only problem would be the possibility being seen in the light that flooded out from the tall windows.
The music stopped and the hubbub started to subside. Almost imperceptibly the lights began to dim. "Something's happening," whispered Kelly.
"I wish we could see what," answered Fenton. The lights continued to dim and Fenton decided to risk wriggling out along the base of the balcony to a point just below one of the windows. Kelly bit his lip as he watched him do it then signalled that it was safe for Fenton to raise himself up for there was no one standing near the window.
Fenton raised himself slowly till his eyes were above the level of the sill and his mouth fell open. He was looking at ancient Rome, a palace of the Caesars.
Men clad in togas and sandals reclined on couches to be waited on by slaves bearing wine jugs and trays laden with food. At one end of the room three musicians sat with lyres. At the other centurions in full leather armour guarded tall double doors. Another centurion was standing in the middle of the room and he carried a standard. Fenton thought at first that it was a Roman eagle but then saw that it was not that at all. It was a golden tree, the symbol of the Cavalier Club.
Fenton saw Vanney inside; he was sitting near the musicians and threw back his head to drain his goblet as Fenton watched. It was refilled almost immediately. Fenton crawled back along the balcony to join the others.
"A theme party?" suggested Jamieson.
"It looks too real," Fenton replied. "Everything, the mosaics, the marbles, the clothes, the trappings. They all look real."
Before there was any more time for questions a fanfare sounded from inside and Fenton signalled that they should move out to the windows again. Jamieson joined Fenton at his window; Kelly took the next one along.
"My God," murmured Jamieson.
A large square of rush matting was being spread out on the floor by four men dressed as slaves. When they had finished one of the Romans, a tall distinguished man wearing a purple trimmed toga, raised his arm for silence.
"That's Monkton," whispered Jamieson.
The double doors at the end of the room were opened to admit two gladiators, naked to the waist, their bare torsos glistening with oil. They marched down the centre of the room and saluted Monkton by crossing their forearms across their chests. Monkton nodded and the wrestlers began to circle each other on the mat. All lighting in the room had been extinguished save for wall torches and candles. Their spluttering flames were reflected in the sweat of the combatants as they struggled to gain advantage.
Fenton could not take his eyes away from Monkton's face for the man was in the grip of some terrible excitement. He was no longer the urbane man he had been at the beginning, his mouth quivered as he exhorted the wrestlers with silent words to greater efforts. His hand reached out almost absent-mindedly and gripped the thigh of the slave who stood by his couch. The boy, an effeminately pretty youth, winced as Monkton's fingers dug into his flesh but he smiled as soon as Monkton looked up at him. Savagely Monkton pulled the boy's face down on top of his.
"Nice to see a return to Victorian values," whispered Jamieson.
A few minutes later, as the wrestlers finished their bout to loud applause, Monkton and the boy left the room. Several other pairs did the same. The lighting came up again and the music re-started Fenton and the other two crawled back along the balcony floor and into the safety of the corner.
Fenton asked Jamieson if he had recognised anyone else in the room.
"A few," replied the policeman. "Mind you it's hard without their normal clothes. It took me ages to figure out who one of them was, although I knew the face well enough. Then I thought of him in a dog collar…"
"Did anyone see who Vanney was with?" asked Fenton.
"Couldn't see for the pillar," said Kelly.
Jamieson nodded and said, "We'll have to wait until he stands up."
Once more the lights began to dim inside and they returned to their positions beneath the windows in readiness. Fenton could see that the absentees had come back and Monkton was smiling, his features restored to distinguished calm. He raised his arm and the music ceased.
Four slaves marched towards Monkton carrying silver trays with wine jugs and goblets and waited until Monkton personally had poured a little wine into each goblet. All the Romans in the room gathered in a large circle as the wine was handed out then they raised their goblets in some kind of toast and drank in unison.
One of the slaves dropped his jug and it threw up a plume of red wine over Monkton's pristine white toga. Even in the dim lighting Fenton could see the clouds of anger roll across Monkton's face. The slave dashed himself to the floor but Monkton ignored him and made some kind of signal to the man Vanney had been with, the man who had been hidden by the pillar all night. The man had his back to the windows. He was wearing an elaborate head-dress and carried some kind of silver baton in his right hand. A centurion approached him and took orders.
Fenton watched spellbound as a metal frame was brought in to the room and dragged up in front of the man with the baton. Another signal and the slave who had dropped the wine was tied to the frame. One of the guards from the door approached and removed his helmet and cape. In his hand he held a whip.
The man with the baton spread the fingers of his left hand twice to indicate the number ten and the punishment began. Through the glass Fenton and the others could hear the sound of leather hitting flesh. The slave's teeth were bared in anguish and his eyes rolled as the skin on his exposed was back was cut open to mingle blood with the sweat of his fear.
After five lashes his torturer paused to adjust his stance and cover new ground. As the man raised the whip again Fenton got a good look at him and felt weak. "He was the bastard who beat me up in the pub!" he whispered to Jamieson.
The slave appeared to have passed out. The Roman with the baton put his hand out to his neck to check but as he did so the slave suddenly sank his teeth into the back of his hand. The Roman wrenched his hand away and raised his baton in anger. Fenton waited for it to fall but it did not. The Roman regained his composure and spread his fingers to indicate another five lashes.
The unconscious slave was carried out and the floor cleaned of blood. The lights went up again, glasses were replenished and Monkton held up his hand for silence. "To business gentlemen!
A murmur ran round the room and then it became quiet. Fenton noted that Jamieson had taken out his notebook. He smiled at Kelly.
"The figures please!" said Monkton.
Monkton stood to one side and another man, small and balding with several long strands of dark hair combed individually across his scalp got to his feet. He held a sheaf of papers in front of him.
"Hale-bloody-lujah," whispered Jamieson.
Fenton and Kelly looked at him and the policeman said, "That's Vanney senior."
Vanney cleared his throat and said, "Fifty thousand pounds from Theta Electronics for rating concessions on their new premises." There was applause in the room.
"Two hundred thousand pounds from Corton
Brothers for assistance with planning permission for their new housing estate and re-defining of the green belt in that area.
More applause.
"Forty-two thousand pounds for motorway maintenance contracts, fifty thousand pounds for housing stock maintenance contracts in the central region and a total of one hundred and eight thousand pounds for various supply contracts in the country as a whole."
Loud applause.
"And now gentlemen, an extra item.”Twenty thousand pounds from Saxon Medical for our assistance in obtaining a Department of Health license for their product. Despite subsequent 'problems' I am reliably informed that the sale of the license by Saxon to International Plastics will be deemed tomorrow by the courts to have been made in good faith."
Vanney held his hands up and shouted above the hubbub, "I think you all know who we have to thank for that!"
There was general laughter.
"This concludes my report."
Monkton got to his feet again and announced an end to business for the evening.
“ Let’s get out of here," whispered Jamieson.
Nobody spoke until they were back at the car then Fenton said, "I think I'm out of my depth."
"You are not alone," conceded Jamieson. "To do this right is going to take time but I'm going to get every last one of them."
Fenton said, "I wish I could have seen the face of the man with the baton. There was something familiar about him."
"I thought that too," confessed Kelly. "But I'm damned if I can think why."
THIRTEEN
Fenton deliberately chose to drive home fast on the winding coast road for he needed some distraction from thoughts of the evening. Controlling the Honda at high speed demanded his total concentration. Bend after bend loomed up ensuring that the bike was seldom upright for more than a few seconds before being swung over yet again. The road surface had almost dried out, leaving only the occasional puddle to be thrown up into the waving grass caught in the headlight.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the city Fenton was both physically and mentally drained. He slowed for the final roundabout and sat upright to proceed sedately along the well lit tarmac until he reached the flat.
The gas fire burst into life and Fenton switched on the kettle to make tea before sitting down to think. Jamieson was right. It would take time to put the case together against the Cavaliers if he were to break the organisation as a whole and that was certainly the way to do it. An isolated prosecution would only put the Cavaliers on their toes and give them time to re-group. But he was off to a flying start with the names and figures he had obtained from Vanney's report. He knew exactly where to look for evidence of corruption and that was half the battle.
Fenton still had difficulty in accepting how widespread and powerful the Cavalier organisation was. It was frightening but his resolve to see Neil Munro's killer brought to justice was undiminished. The kettle started to whistle and he returned to the kitchen to make tea.
There had been no mention of Nigel Saxon at Helmwood and this was both disappointing and puzzling. It meant that he could still not be sure where Saxon had fitted in to the scheme of things. If Saxon had been the originator of the plan to defraud International Plastics why hadn't he rated a mention at Helmwood? And if millions of pounds were involved in the fraud why was only the relatively paltry sum of twenty thousand pounds mentioned. Even if Saxon in the end had turned traitor under pressure surely something would have been said or was the elimination of a fellow member by murder too insignificant a matter to merit comment? Fenton found it a chilling thought.
A fitful night's sleep did not help improve matters. Fenton was still in bed when Jenny came home. She opened the curtains.
Fenton said, "Isn't it strange, you can't get to sleep all night yet the minute it gets light…" The words tailed off and Jenny said that she knew the feeling. She sat down on the edge of the bed and asked how things had gone.
Fenton told her everything and watched her face register shock as he told her about Helmwood and disgust when he told her about the slave.
"What's Jamieson going to do?" she asked.
"He's going to get to work on breaking them but it will take some time to gather all the evidence."
"And then what?"
"I don't know."
"What about Vanney junior?"
"That's up to Jamieson."
Jamieson phoned Fenton at around ten thirty to tell him that things were well under way with the investigation into the corrupt contracts and the police computer when fed with the registration numbers that Jamieson had collected at Helmwood had obliged with some very interesting names.
"What about Vanney?" asked Fenton.
"With Murray's help and a bit of luck over the car we think we will be able to nail him for Sandra Murray's death. With that facing him and being the little shit he is he might be spill the beans about the rest. Mind you, I still think that it was Saxon who killed your friend Munro. He was the only one with a motive."
"But if it really was Saxon how could he have hoped to blame it on someone else? Just coming up with a name would have been no good. The killer had to be someone in the lab at the time Neil discovered the truth about the plastic.
"Saxon was probably in a blue funk when he phoned you and prepared to blame it on anyone whether it made sense or not."
"Maybe," Fenton conceded.
"People do strange things when they're desperate." said Jamieson. "Believe me. I've seen it all."
Charles Tyson came into Fenton's lab just before noon and said, "I've got a staffing problem. Ian Ferguson has just phoned to say that he has injured himself working on his car. The point is he was due to be on call tonight and I have to go out this evening. Mary Tyler has a meeting at the school and…"
"No problem," said Fenton. "I'll do it. I wasn't doing anything."
"Thanks," said Tyson.
At eleven thirty that evening Fenton had cause to regret his generosity in agreeing to take over Ferguson's duty. He had been working almost non stop since seven in the evening and now the acetylene gas cylinder had run out. He would have to bring up a new one from the basement on his own and change over the reduction valve, a task best carried out by two people.
Cursing his luck, Fenton ran down the stairs and switched on the basement light. He wheeled the cylinder transporter over to a row of gas cylinders and rolled an acetylene one out on its heel. He manoeuvred it with some difficulty on to the transporter and secured it with the catch chains before pressing the button for the service lift and waiting while the painfully slow motor brought it down.
As he came up in the creaking lift he heard a car draw up outside the lab and this was followed by a key rattling in the lock. Fenton assumed that it would be Tyson coming in to check on things after his evening out and was surprised to see Ian Ferguson appear at the head of the stairs while he was manhandling the transporter out of the lift.
"I thought I would drop in and apologise for this," said Ferguson, holding up his bandaged hand.
"You picked the right night to be off," said Fenton. "I've been running around like a cat with its arse on fire since seven o'clock and now this!" He nodded to the cylinder.
"I'll get the spanners," said Ferguson.
"What happened anyway?" asked Fenton.
“ I changed my car on the strength of my promotion. I was checking the oil in it and the bonnet fell on my hand."
"Nasty," said Fenton. "Anything broken?"
"No, just bruised."
Fenton brought over the empty cylinder to change over the head gear and looked to see if Ferguson had come up with a spanner.
"Will this one do?" asked Ferguson, holding up a spanner with his back still to Fenton as he continued to look in the drawer.
Fenton's blood ran cold. He was transfixed by the sight for, in his head, the spanner was transformed into a silver baton. The back view of Ferguson was the back view of the Roman with the baton!
Ferguson turned to
see why Fenton had not answered. His smile faded when he saw the look on Fenton's face.
"You!" Fenton accused in a hoarse whisper. "The knowledge, the motive and the opportunity! Neil told you about the plastic! It was you at Helmwood! There was no accident with the car. The slave bit you!" The look on Ferguson's face told Fenton that he was right.
Surprise gave way to arrogant resignation. "Well, well, well," said Ferguson quietly.
"You bastard, it was you who killed Neil!"
The spanner hit Fenton just above the left eye. He had been totally unprepared for it when Ferguson suddenly threw it at him and now the room burst into a galaxy of stars as he slid to the floor.
When he came round Fenton found himself bound hand and foot with the chains from the transporter. Ferguson was looking down at him with a sneer on his face. "So you finally worked it out Fenton," he said.
"Bastard!"
"Tut tut. You always were a bit rough Fenton, bright but rough."
"Why? For Christ's sake why?" asked Fenton, struggling impotently with the chains.
Ferguson looked as if he was enjoying Fenton's discomfort. He looked down at him like a parent patronising a five year old. "Money. What else?" he said.
"But how? What did you have to gain?"
"Saxon was in love with me," said Ferguson. "I played him along and made out that I loved him. It was too good a chance to miss. Everyone wants to fall in love with a millionaire" Ferguson laughed at the thought. I arranged for him to become a member of the club and we helped him get his license for a fee. He was pathetically grateful. The fat clown promised that when the deal went through with International Plastics, he would sign over half his share to me and afterwards make me the sole beneficiary in his will, just as if I were his wife."
"And you had to kill Neil to make sure that the deal went through?"
"When Munro told me about the flaw he had found in the plastic that morning I saw all that money disappearing. I couldn't have that now could I? I took a short cut down to the Sterile Supply Department and waited till he arrived. You know the rest."
