Never Go Back

by Robert Goddard

  ‘You can stay here, Harry. Then you and Barry can tell me what in God’s name is going on. Who’d want to kill Mr Dangerfield? He was such a kind and gentle man. How did you work out Barry was staying with me? And what are the two of you going to do now?’

  She had, it soon became apparent, many more questions than Harry had answers. He accepted her invitation and said he and Chipchase would see her later.

  Several brief calls followed: to the police, leaving a message for McBride to the effect that he could be found at the McMullen house, at least for a day or so; to Legg, Stevenson, MacLean, making an appointment with Kylie Sinclair for five o’clock that afternoon; and to the hospital, confirming that, as expected, Wiseman had been discharged.

  Anxious to assure Wiseman of his and Chipchase’s innocence, Harry then tried the mobile number listed for him in Dangerfield’s letter about the reunion. But he was soon to regret doing so.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Magister, this is Harry … Ossie. I—’

  ‘What do you mean by phoning me? Are you no longer in custody?’

  ‘No. But listen. Barry and—’

  ‘They’ve told me Danger was murdered. And that you and Fission are under suspicion. For that and sabotaging my car. I’ve no idea what the hell’s going on or—’

  ‘Neither have we.’

  ‘Or what you’ve been up to. But in the circumstances I’m amazed – horrified – that you should try to harass me in this way.’

  ‘I’m not harassing you. I’m just—’

  ‘Phone me again and I’ll report it to the police.’ Wiseman ended the call there and then. And Harry did not redial.

  Instead, he made one further call with what little credit remained on his card: to Erica Rawson. But she was not answering. He could do no more than record a message.

  ‘You said I should get in touch if I needed help. Well, I do. Badly. I expect you’ve heard about Johnny Dangerfield. There’s something I’m hoping you can tell me. It’s important. Could we meet up? Soon? I’ll call again later. ’Bye.’

  That done, he headed for the Prince of Wales.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  HARRY DID NOT have to wait long for Chipchase to join him. He was making inroads into a second pint of Bass when a familiar and disgruntled figure hove into view through the pub’s prevailing murk.

  ‘Those bastards,’ was all Chipchase managed to say before he made a start on a pint of his own, accompanied by a whisky chaser. Then he grew more eloquent. ‘Those sadistic bloody bastards.’

  ‘Did they take your passport?’

  ‘No. But only because I didn’t have it on me. I’ve got to deliver it to Smiley Kylie for onward transmission by the end of the day.’

  ‘That’s handy. I’ve made an appointment for us to see her at five o’clock.’

  ‘For words of good cheer and encouragement, I sincerely bloody hope.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Yeah. So do I. We’re up the creek without a paddle, Harry old cock. You know that, don’t you? They want my passport to stop me dashing off to Zürich and cleaning out that numbered bank account where they’ve convinced themselves I stashed the Chipchase Sheltered Holdings missing millions. And they want to pin these murders on us by any means it takes, fair or bloody foul.’

  ‘They’ve certainly convinced Magister we’re guilty. I phoned him. He threatened to have me arrested just for doing that.’

  ‘Paranoid prat.’

  ‘At least Shona’s standing by us. She’s invited me to stay at her house for the duration.’

  ‘The woman has a heart of gold. I’ve always said it. But is that what the next week holds, Harry? You and me bunked up at Shona’s waiting to see if Plod fits us up before the barking bloody madman who’s really doing this decides to pay us a call?’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’

  ‘No. Neither would I. So, what are we going to do?’

  ‘I’ve told Donna we’ll head for Swindon.’

  ‘Swindon? That’s all I need. A stroll down bad memory lane.’

  ‘It’s safer than waiting here.’

  ‘Maybe. But—’

  ‘Anyway, waiting isn’t exactly what I had in mind.’

  ‘Got a get-out-of-jail card tucked up your sleeve, Harry? If you have, let me tell you: it’s time to play it.’

  ‘Somebody’s killed three men, Barry. Three friends of ours. Who did it? And why?’

  ‘Haven’t a bloody clue.’

  ‘Do you want to let them get away with it?’

  ‘Of course I don’t. Danger was a good bloke. And I wouldn’t have wished ill on the other two either. But just at the minute I’m more concerned with getting you and especially me out of the frame rather than putting someone else in it.’

  ‘Same difference.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘You said you hadn’t a clue. Well, I’ve got one. Several, in fact. Since the police don’t seem to want to follow them up, I—’

  ‘Hold up. I’m not playing Dr Watson to your Sherlock bleeding Holmes.’

  ‘I’m just talking about asking a few questions, Barry. That’s all.’

  ‘Yeah. And that’s all it’d take for friend Ferguson to pull us in for obstructing his enquiries. One night in the cells is more than enough for me.’

  ‘He’s not making any enquiries. Not in the right place, anyway.’

  Chipchase frowned sceptically. ‘Going to tell me where the right place is, are you?’

  ‘What sparked off the killings? The reunion, yes?’

  ‘Well, I …’

  ‘The notice about your nursing homes fraud was planted on Askew to—’

  ‘Fraud my left buttock,’ Chipchase barked. ‘How many times do I have to explain to you that—’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Harry raised a placatory hand. ‘Your sadly unsuccessful business venture. Call it what you like. I don’t mind. The point is that the subject was dragged in to deflect the police’s attention from where it should have been focused: on Kilveen Castle fifty years ago.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something happened there that you and I missed. Something linking the dead men and some of the others. Something they were – and are – keeping secret.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because nothing else makes sense. Danger organized the reunion. Now he’s dead. So, it’s too late to ask him why he really organized it. Even supposing he’d have told us. Which I don’t. Not for a moment.’

  ‘I thought it was for old times’ sake.’

  ‘Think again. There was a hidden agenda from the start, Barry. Askew as good as told me that at Waverley station. I just wasn’t listening. Lloyd started behaving oddly as well. Then Stronach—’

  ‘Stronach? Are you telling me the old buzzard’s still alive?’

  ‘And kicking. He called the reunion “risky”. As if we were tempting providence by getting back together. As if …’ Harry paused for a reflective slurp of beer. ‘I don’t know. But we’ve got to find out what it was really all about.’

  ‘How are we going to do that?’

  ‘Like I said: ask questions. And see what answers we get.’

  ‘Starting with who?’

  ‘Erica Rawson. She’s as close to a neutral observer as we’re going to find. I phoned her earlier and left a message.’

  ‘You’re talking about Starkie’s research assistant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, any excuse for a chat with a sexy girl, I suppose. Bit of a looker, as I recall.’

  ‘As you recall?’ Several seconds passed before the discrepancy assembled itself in Harry’s mind. ‘When did you meet Erica Rawson?’

  ‘I didn’t exactly meet her. She was driving out of Sweet Gale Lodge when I got back there … Thursday afternoon. Yeah, that’s right. Danger told me who she was. He’d already mentioned she was going to be at the reunion. Missing out on a closer encounter with her was the only thing I regretted, to be honest
.’ A nervous grin suddenly crossed Chipchase’s face. ‘Well, that and a chinwag with you, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Did Danger say why she’d called round?’

  ‘No. I assumed … to confirm she and Starkie were going to turn up. I don’t know. I didn’t really think much about it. I was too busy putting together my cover story for doing a runner come Friday.’

  Chipchase’s explanation for Erica’s visit to Sweet Gale Lodge was by far the likeliest. Somehow, though, Harry was unconvinced. And troubled. Maybe she was not so neutral after all. ‘Is there a payphone here?’

  ‘Think so. Yeah. At the far end of the bar.’

  ‘Wait here. I’m going to give her another call.’

  It was a vain effort. There was, once again, no answer. This time, Harry did not bother to leave a message. He did not want her to think he was badgering her. If he had brought his mobile with him – and charged it – he could have left a number for her to call him back on. But he had not. It seemed there truly was a price to pay for resisting the intrusions of technology.

  Chipchase had lit a cigar in Harry’s absence. He had grabbed a discarded newspaper from a nearby table and was studying the racing page between puffs.

  ‘You’re back soon. No joy?’

  ‘She’s probably busy.’

  ‘Or giving you the brush-off. If you’d had the benefit of my salutary experiences in life, Harry old cock, you’d know people go right off the idea of answering the phone to you once you’ve got into a spot of bother.’

  ‘She suggested I call her if I was in trouble,’ said Harry stiffly.

  ‘Just busy, then.’ Chipchase’s expression implied he suspected otherwise. ‘Like you say.’

  A minute or so of silence followed, while Chipchase continued to scan the odds. Then he sighed heavily.

  ‘It’s tragic, really. Even if I won a fortune on a five-hundred-to-one outsider in the three thirty at Kempton Park, I couldn’t jet off to the French Riviera to spend the money and forget my troubles, could I? No bloody passport. At any price. Nope. I’d still be stuck here, bulging wallet or no. Or maybe in Swindon. Which isn’t exactly a glamorous alternative. With you, though, either way. Waiting, like a pair of turkeys, for Christmas to—’

  ‘All right.’ Harry drained his glass. ‘Drink up. We’re off.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Wait and see. I’ve had an idea.’

  ‘God help us.’

  Harry stood up. ‘Are you coming?’

  Chipchase polished off his whisky, clamped the cigar between his teeth, grabbed his hat and coat and rose to his feet. ‘Apparently,’ he mumbled.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  WHEN CHIPCHASE DISCOVERED that their destination was the Caledonian Hotel, he expressed the candid view that Harry was mad.

  ‘Ferguson will have given Lloyd’s widow and daughter the clear impression we sabotaged Wiseman’s motor. How do you think they’ll react to us popping in for a cup of tea and a chat?’

  ‘Danger was going to assure them of our innocence.’

  ‘Yeah, but look what happened to him.’

  ‘We have to make them understand how absurd that whole idea is, Barry.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘And the daughter can tell us more about what happened during Askew’s overnight stay at her house in London.’

  ‘Did anything happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  It was, however, as Chipchase had pointed out, easier said than done. The receptionist at the Caledonian informed them that Mrs Lloyd and Mrs Morrison, her daughter, were both out. This was no real surprise, given why the pair had come to Aberdeen in the first place.

  Harry retreated to a table in the foyer to record a message for Mrs Morrison on a sheet of hotel writing paper. It was hard to know how to word it and harder still to concentrate on the task with Chipchase craning over his shoulder. But he persevered.

  Dear Mrs Morrison,

  I hope you do not feel we are intruding on your grief. Please accept our condolences. Your father was a good man. The police are mishandling their enquiries into his death. We only want to learn the truth. I am sure you do too. Could we meet to discuss what happened? It might be helpful for all of us. You can contact us on—

  He broke off to remind himself of Shona’s phone number. But, as he was delving into his pocket, Chipchase said, ‘You can give her my mobile number, if you like.’

  Harry stared at him in amazement. ‘You’ve got a mobile?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Chipchase plucked a smart-looking model from inside his coat. ‘You should get up to speed with the communications revolution yourself.’

  ‘But … you let me troop off to the payphone in the pub. You even directed me to it.’

  ‘A man in my straitened financial circumstances has to watch his budget. This is a strictly pay-as-you-go jobby. I can’t have you holding rambling conversaziones on it. You’ll be dialling the delectable Donna before I know it. But for receiving calls, in an emergency, which I suppose this counts as, well …’ Infuriatingly, Chipchase smiled. ‘Be my guest.’

  Harry finished the note and delivered it to the receptionist; then, with a sarcastic excess of politeness, he asked if he might possibly make brief use of Chipchase’s mobile. He rang Erica, who was still incommunicado, but this time he was able to leave a message complete with a number to call back on.

  After a late and hurried pizza-parlour lunch, they took a taxi out to Torry and kept it waiting while Chipchase fetched his passport. Shona was wherever her Tuesday afternoon cleaning duties took her and Benjy mercifully absent. The house was small and cramped, a Victorian dock worker’s dwelling not dissimilar to 37 Falmouth Street, Swindon, but more fashionably furnished. Chipchase spared a moment to draw Harry’s attention to the convertible sofa he was destined to spend the night on – ‘Looks like a real back-breaker, doesn’t it?’ – before they left.

  Next stop was Legg, Stevenson, MacLean, where Chipchase left Harry to pay the taxi driver, arguing that the fare could be offset against future phone usage. It had not taken long, Harry reflected, for his former partner to revert to freeloading type.

  Kylie Sinclair was in clinically efficient mode, relieving Chipchase of his passport and making a note of their address in Torry before giving them an unvarnished assessment of their situation.

  ‘What happens when you return to the police station next week depends entirely on what Chief Inspector Ferguson and his team learn in the interim. If there’s anything to your disadvantage you think they might learn, you should tell me about it now. Forewarned, gentlemen, is forearmed.’

  ‘There’s nothing,’ said Harry.

  ‘Less than nothing,’ added Chipchase. ‘Ferguson’s barking up the wrong baobab.’

  Miss Sinclair puzzled for no more than a fraction of a second over Chipchase’s weakness for colourfully customized metaphors. ‘I need to know any and all relevant information. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘We do,’ Harry responded. ‘And we’re being completely open with you.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What really worries me, though, is what I pointed out in my interview. By concentrating on us, the police are giving the real murderer ample opportunity to cover his tracks.’

  ‘Or hers,’ Chipchase chimed in unhelpfully.

  ‘Quite,’ said Miss Sinclair. ‘Well, that really is their problem, isn’t—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Chipchase interrupted. ‘It’s our bloody problem if we’re next for the chop.’

  ‘Are you genuinely concerned about such a possibility?’ The expression on Miss Sinclair’s face suggested it had simply not occurred to her until now that they might be.

  ‘Of course we are. Wouldn’t you be? Say, if several of the legal eagles who qualified at the same time as you started turning up dead in suspicious circumstances.’

  ‘It’s an unlikely scenario.’

  ‘Well, it’s th
e scenario we happen to be in, unlikely or not.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I don’t see—’

  ‘We’ve thought of checking out a few possibilities ourselves,’ Harry cut in. ‘You know? Ask some of the questions we reckon the police should be asking but aren’t.’

  ‘That would be most unwise. Chief Inspector Ferguson could interpret such behaviour as interference in his conduct of the case and hence a breach of your bail conditions.’

  ‘A complete no-no, then?’ asked Chipchase.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Despite—’ An electronic travesty of the theme music to The Great Escape suddenly started jingling inside Chipchase’s coat. ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling out his mobile. ‘I should have … Hello? … Ah, yes. Of course. Hi. Er, good of you to …’ He rolled his eyes meaningfully at Harry. ‘Yes. Well, it’s, er …’

  ‘If we’re barred from taking any action ourselves, Miss Sinclair,’ Harry said, speaking loudly enough to distract her attention from Chipchase’s burblings and improvising as he went, ‘are we also barred from taking ourselves off to what we think might be a safer location? My mother’s house in Swindon, for instance. We could stay there until next week, couldn’t we? We can’t flee the country without our passports, so what would be the objection to us getting out of Aberdeen for a few days? I mean, it’s not as if—’

  Harry broke off as Chipchase ended his conversation with the words, ‘See you then,’ and sheepishly tucked his phone back into his pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he said, grinning apologetically. ‘Mrs McMullen. Checking up … on our whereabouts. Where, er, were we?’

  ‘Discussing the possibility of you spending the period between now and your appointment at the police station next Tuesday in Swindon,’ said Miss Sinclair.

  ‘Ah. Right. Excellento. Swindon-by-the-Sea. The Wiltshire Riviera. Can’t beat it.’

  Once again, Miss Sinclair was only momentarily bemused by Chipchase’s badinage. ‘Well, I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t base yourselves there in the interim. Citing a concern for your safety could even make a favourable impression. Chief Inspector Ferguson might ask you to report to the police in Swindon while you’re there, but he has no justification for vetoing the trip. If you give me the address … I’ll run it past him.’