‘The police?’ she said, outraged and anxious at the same time.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he assured her. ‘Only, please, in your own interest, answer me the same as you’d answer them, so there’s no contradiction.’
As an argument it didn’t feel all that weighty to Joe, but it worked for Mrs Tremayne.
‘Yes, I started cooking it, but no he didn’t eat it, if that’s what you’re getting at. Two eggs, three rashers, half a pound of pork sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and a slice of fried bread. No use to me when it’s cooked, is it? So I didn’t see why your friends shouldn’t pay for it.’
‘Ain’t no friends of mine,’ Joe assured her. ‘So when Mr Waring didn’t appear for his breakfast, what did you do?’
‘I yelled up the stairs, then I went to his room and knocked, then I opened the door.’
‘Did his bed look like it had been slept in?’
‘It looked like it always looked,’ she snapped. ‘A tip! I told him, Mr Waring, I said, if you want your room cleaned and your bed made, you had better start leaving it halfway decent. Till you do that, I’m not going in there!’
‘But you went in that morning and he wasn’t there?’
‘No.’
‘And when Mr Waring’s brother was settling his bill this morning, he didn’t make any fuss about exactly when Mr Waring had left?’
‘No. He was most accommodating. He said, “Mrs Tremayne, no problem, I’m perfectly happy to accept that my brother was here till the morning of the Wednesday the twelfth and left after eating his usual hearty breakfast,” and he insisted on me putting that down on the receipt.’
‘I bet he did,’ said Joe. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Tremayne.’
‘Is that all I get? What about some explanation?’ demanded the woman switching back to aggrieved-party mode. ‘I’m entitled to know what’s going on in my house.’
Joe sniffed. The steam seemed to be darkening and the boiling smell was being overtaken by the odour of burning.
‘Think what’s going on is your veggies have boiled over,’ he said.
With a scream of rage, she turned and rushed back into the kitchen.
Joe made his escape. As he headed up along Plunkett Avenue, he felt his sense of relief at escaping from Mrs Tremayne evaporate like the nourishment from her overcooked vegetables.
He was bearing news to rejoice and news to dismay the Young Fair God, and by now he felt he knew his man well enough to be sure which would prevail.
Pain
The Young Fair God was pacing up and down the Hoo car park in a state which came close to mortal agitation. Even the capsule of coolth in which he moved seemed to have shrunk to a mere aureola.
Joe opened his passenger door and said, ‘Get in.’
Human anxieties of course are no match for divine good breeding and, as he settled into his seat, Porphyry looked around with interest and said, ‘What a nice car. And a lot more comfortable than my sardine tin.’
‘Swap you,’ said Joe.
‘You bring me good news, Joe, and it’s a deal,’ said Porphyry fervently.
Anyone else, Joe might have asked for this on paper, but somehow with the YFG that would have been really offensive.
He said, ‘Chris, I got news and some of it’s good and some of it’s bad, and a lot of it’s guess work and, like the man said, sometimes my theories make them Harry Potter movies seem like documentaries.’
The man in question being Willie Woodbine, but he saw no need to name names.
He took a breath and began.
‘Don’t know what order most of this stuff is in, but here’s what I think happened. I’d guess it really started after you’d let Arthur Surtees take a look at the foundation document before the AGM in the spring. Having a drink later with his mates, Rowe and Latimer, talking about their favourite subject, money, he probably said something like, if you ever lost your membership, they should move quickly to buy up your shares as the Hoo site was worth a bundle. Now they knew that already, of course. What they probably hadn’t realized till Surtees spotted it was that the rule about giving up shares applied just as much to you as any other member. Expect you knew that already?’
Porphyry shook his head.
‘Never really thought about it,’ he said, clearly struggling with the implications of what he was hearing.
‘Why would you?’ said Joe. ‘The only difference is that your shares go to your successor on death whereas with everyone else the share merely returns to the pool. You still with me, Chris?’
Porphyry had got there and didn’t much care for where he found himself.
‘Joe, if you’re suggesting that Arthur or either of the other two may be involved in this business, then really I think you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ he said almost indignantly. ‘They’ve been members forever, and good members too. I mean, Tom’s vice this year, he’ll be captain next…’
This had been a foreseeable problem. Joe had guessed that getting Porphyry to believe ill of anyone of his ac -quaintance was going to be hard.
He said, ‘Chris, just listen, will you? You don’t like my theory, that’s fine. Should know pretty soon if there’s any facts to support it, but, just in case, you gotta listen, OK?’
‘Yes, of course. Sorry, Joe. Go on.’
‘Right. Then Latimer probably mentioned this to Ratcliffe King – you know Ratcliffe King?’
‘Not personally, but I’ve heard of him. Little good, I’m afraid. He’s not involved, I hope?’
Welcome to the real world, thought Joe.
‘I think he is,’ he said. ‘King Rat – that’s what his friends call him – thought about it a bit, then saw a way that this could be turned into really big money, with himself getting a fat slice, coming and going. It involved getting Sir Monty Wright fired up to throw huge sums of money into acquiring the site to build a new branch of Wright-Price on.’
‘But why on earth would anyone want to build a supermarket here? Couldn’t do it anyway. This is Green Belt. And what about access? Even some of our members complain about these little country lanes. Building new access roads alone would cost a fortune, and they’d never get planning permission…’
‘Chris, you’d better believe me, everyone knows – everyone ’cept you maybe – that King Rat’s got hold of enough people’s strings to get permission to put up a massage parlour in the town cemetery if that’s what he wants. As for the roads, I reckon he’s been quietly buying up a lot of the land they’ll have to cross, at agricultural prices, natch. No, the Rat only needed two things to make this work. First was to get Sir Monty fired up enough to make him ignore the fact that the Hoo’s a really stupid place to build a new hyper-mart. That was easy. Latimer proposed Sir Monty for membership and then blackballed him.’
‘You mean Bert was right and it really was Tom? But that’s…’
‘Not playing the game? Yeah, these guys aren’t playing the game, get your head round that, Chris. And the real clever thing was that Latimer made it personal to Sir Monty by letting him think it was you did the blackballing. Second part of the plot was harder. You had to lose your membership of the club. The only way they could see of doing this was getting you caught cheating. Like you said, the rule here’s absolutely clear. You get found guilty of cheating, you’re out, no appeal, right?’
Porphyry was still in denial.
He shook his head and said, ‘Joe, this really is crazy…I mean, the Sir Monty thing was nothing to do with me;
unfortunate, but these things happen, and as for catching me cheating…’
‘Chris, when you’re King Rat, you plan things carefully, you take your time. I’d guess that the Triangle worked out half a dozen schemes that would put you in the frame for cheating. Some of them probably involved Latimer or Surtees or Rowe or all three giving evidence. At its simplest, it just needed two of them to testify they’d seen you do something dodgy, and what’s the Rules Committee to do, specially as two of them are on it?
But best of all would be if they could keep right out of it and someone no one would suspect of having an axe to grind pointed the finger. Some old chum of yours, like Jimmy Postgate.’
‘You’re not saying Jimmy…?’
‘No way! He was conned like everyone else. I bet they had half a dozen possible schemes, but this was the one that worked out first. Lucky for them, unlucky for you. I guess everyone in the club knows about you being such a long hitter that you usually tried to carry the corner on the sixteenth. Jimmy Postgate told me you were one of the few people who’d ever put a ball in his pool. Every time you played that hole for the past few weeks, I bet one of the Triangle was lurking in that bit of wood. Then, during your Vardon Cup match, it all fell perfect. You clattered one into the trees and Colin Rowe saw his chance.’
‘Colin…how can you be sure it was Colin?’
‘’Cos I had another word with Mr Postgate and he recalled that just after the ball plopped into his pool, Rowe turned up at his house. Said that committee he’s chair of…’
‘The Greens Committee.’
‘That’s the one. Said they were thinking of relocating a couple of bunkers and he wanted to sound Jimmy out. I reckon Rowe heard your ball hit the tree, maybe even saw where it finished, so he picked it up, and placed it nice and handy right at the edge of the fairway then took off into the woods and lobbed another ball into Postgate’s pool.’
‘But he’d have needed one of my own personalized balls…’
Joe was getting a bit exasperated.
‘Chris, you gotta get it into your head these people aren’t playing around. They’d been planning this for months. They probably got more of your personal balls than you have!’
‘That’s monstrous!’ exclaimed the YFG.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Joe, gentle now as he remembered the real pain that was still to come. ‘Monstrous. That’s what they are. So Rowe showed up, which stopped Jimmy wandering off into the wood looking for you, which would have ruined everything. Also, after chatting for three-quarters of an hour or so, Rowe suggested they went up to the clubhouse for a drink and even reminded Jimmy to bring your ball along so he could return it to you. They timed it perfect. Maybe Latimer or Surtees belled Rowe and told him you and the guy you beat were in the bar and he was telling the tale of how you came from behind and took the game from him. Like I say, perfect. Except for one thing. Someone had seen Rowe placing your ball at the edge of the fairway.’
Hope lit up Porphyry’s face.
‘You mean you’ve found a witness? Joe, you are a marvel!’
‘Hold it there, Chris,’ said Joe. ‘Said I think there was a witness, didn’t say I’d found him. I think it was Steve Waring.’
‘Steve? But if it were Steve…then why hasn’t he…?’
‘That’s the question, Chris,’ said Joe. ‘Why hasn’t he come forward? I think he was working somewhere round there, maybe he’d dipped into the woods to have a quick fag where Davie wouldn’t see him. He heard the ball hit the trees, saw Rowe pick it up and place it, then disappear. Bit later he probably saw you come along and play it.’
‘But surely he’d have spoken to me?’
‘To say what? “Hey, Mr Porphyry, that friend of yours, Mr Rowe, he just done you a favour by really improving the position of your ball.” No, Steve liked you, he knew how you’d helped him and his mum. If someone wanted to give you a helping hand, that was OK by him. He took off and it wasn’t till he was talking to Bert, the steward, later, that he heard about all the fuss there’d been when Postgate turned up in the bar.’
‘So why didn’t he say something then?’
‘Wanted to talk to Rowe first, make sure he’d got things right. Got Bert to tell Rowe that he wanted a word, urgent. Rowe came out to see him. Must have nearly squittered himself when he heard what the lad had to say. Laughed it off and said, Oh yes, I can explain that. Just hang on here a few minutes while I sort out some stuff I got to do in the clubhouse, then I’ll explain to you exactly what’s been going off. Went somewhere quiet and belled Ratcliffe King.’
‘Why King? Why not talk to Latimer or Surtees?’
‘’Cos in a real emergency, the Rat’s the man you turn to to get things fixed. King wasn’t going to rely on Rowe to sort it. He said he’d send out one of his own guys to make Waring an offer he couldn’t refuse. There’s this guy called Hardman that the Rat uses when he wants to persuade people to co-operate.’
‘Sorry? Co-operate?’
‘When he wants bribes paid or arms twisted,’ said Joe. ‘The Rat probably told Rowe that Hardman would be waiting for him somewhere along the road to Upleck. All Rowe had to do was get Waring in his car and bring him along. So Rowe wanders back and says to young Steve, Why don’t I give you a lift home while we talk? Steve’s got his scooter here but likes the thought of getting a ride in a comfortable posh car, and kids never worry about what they’ll do tomorrow, do they?’
‘No,’ said Porphyry. ‘Steve lives very much day by day. Are you saying they bribed him to keep quiet? Oh God. Poor devil. He always dreamt of being rich, you know. That would explain why he took off like that. His conscience wouldn’t let him face me. Poor Steve. Can’t really blame him. I’ve always had money. Not having it must be a terrible trial.’
It broke Joe’s heart to hear the YFG talking like this. Even if the boy he’d helped so much had let him down, he would find excuses, never dream of condemning him.
He said, ‘I think it could be worse than that, Chris. I think that Hardman got into the car and told Steve something like, You get a lot of money if you keep your mouth shut; you get a lot of pain if you don’t. Usually works. Only this time, I don’t think it does, ’cos Steve reckons he owes you. They’re getting close to his lodgings now and he probably feels safe. Anyway, he’s in Mr Rowe’s car, and Mr Rowe’s a member at the Hoo, a gent, so no real problem there. He says he thinks he’ll just check things out with you, see if all this really is no problem like they say. He pulls out his phone and hits the speed dial…’
‘That’s right! I told you there was a call from him that night…’
‘Yeah,’ said Joe, wanting to get the next bit over quick. ‘And when he hits that button, I think Hardman, sitting in the back, hits him.’
‘Good Lord! The bastard. Would he do something like that?’
‘Oh yes. Probably didn’t mean to hit him too hard. Or maybe Steve tried to fight back, so he thought he’d give him a bit of a bang. Doesn’t matter. Steve keels over. Rowe thinks he’s been knocked unconscious. They’re near the lodgings in Lock-keeper’s Lane now. Hardman tells him to keep going, not to stop. He feels for a pulse in Steve’s neck. Can’t find one. The car gets to the end of the road. Keep going, he tells Rowe. Finally he has to stop ’cos he’s reached the fence in front of the old lock. And now Hardman gets the boy out of the car and tries to revive him. But it’s no good. He’s dead.’
There, he’d said it. Whatever shocks to the YFG’s system he’d administered before, this was the big one. This was reality wake-up time.
‘Dead? You’re saying Steve might be dead?’
His tone was incredulous.
‘Can’t be absolute sure, but yeah, I think it’s likely.’
‘But surely for something like this…I mean, why would they kill him for something like this?’
‘Don’t think it was meant,’ said Joe. ‘You recall telling me his dad had this thin skull condition so that, when he fell over, a bang that would just have given someone else a headache killed him? Well, seems it can be inherited. I think Hardman gave him a tap with some sort of cosh maybe and it fractured his skull. There’d be bleeding in the brain. That would kill him.’
Probably not instantly. Still hope with rapid treatment. But even if the lad had been alive when they stopped in Leck’s Bottom, even if Rowe had wanted to call up help, by the time he and Hardman were through arguing, it would be too late, and Hardman would be able to say, He’s gone, you want to call up help now an
d explain all this?
But he didn’t want to load Porphyry with the possibility that Steve might have been saved. He was having difficulty enough accepting the possibility of the boy’s death.
‘Joe, this is terrible…but it’s just theory, right? I mean, what makes you think this is more likely than that he accepted a pay-off and headed out somewhere?’
‘Because I got a message from Ratcliffe King saying that the pressure was off you, that this cheating thing was going to go away.’
This should have been the news that brought a sunburst of relief to Porphyry’s face, but he remained sombre.
‘I don’t understand – what’s this got to do with Steve? Unless he’s decided to give evidence…Couldn’t that be it? Steve’s told them he’s going to come forward and tell the truth?’
‘No, Chris. I’m sorry. I told Monty Wright what I thought had happened. When I got through to him that it wasn’t you but Latimer who’d blackballed him and that it was probably the Triangle who framed you for cheating, I reckon he just wanted to step right away from the whole business. Probably didn’t make much commercial sense for Wright-Price anyway. So I think this afternoon he rang King Rat, told him what I’d told him, and asked him to confirm or deny it. Whatever King Rat replied, it was enough for Sir Monty to realize I was telling the truth. Then he probably told King Rat he was pulling out. Not only that, if these accusations against you weren’t made to go away, he’d make a public stink about it. He’s a very sporting guy, Sir Monty.’
‘And that was enough for King to scrap the whole deal, despite all the money he must already have put into it, buying land and such?’
‘I think it would be a close call. I think that King Rat would know very well that, with regard to you, they were in the clear. What proof did Sir Monty have? What proof did I have? There was a good chance they could still get you out and get their hands on your shares. Worth a fight anyway. Except…’
‘Except for Steve!’ cried Porphyry triumphantly. ‘If they knew Steve was going to tell the truth…’
‘No, forget that, Chris,’ said Joe urgently. ‘They’d taken his gear and his scooter and dumped them in Leck’s Bottom. They’d got his landlady to say he was still around on the Wednesday morning. But he wasn’t. I think that the previous night, when they realized he was dead, Hardman put him in Rowe’s big golf-bag carrier that he had in his boot, plus a few rocks maybe, zipped it up and dropped it in the lock basin. That’s what tipped the balance with King Rat. When it comes to financial deals, and regulations, and legal trickery, he can run rings round anyone. Bodies are different. Bodies can’t be explained away with figures. All you can do is hide them and hope they never show.’
The Roar of the Butterflies Page 20
