A Very Good Hater

by Reginald Hill

  It had been a game from the start. He had allowed Templewood’s hysteria to infect him, then after the killing took place, it had been easier to go on playing the game than to put the pieces away and look at the realities of the situation. But now too many of the pieces had flesh and names for them to be easily swept into a box.

  He finished shaving and dressed. He had collected the suits Liz had sent to the cleaners and he deliberately chose the one he had been wearing the night of the reunion. With it he wore a white shirt and his regimental tie.

  He examined himself in the mirror.

  At least I look a good class of insurance salesman, he thought.

  He nodded at his reflection as though saying farewell. Everything he did tonight seemed to have a valedictory flavour about it. And the front door of the cottage swung shut behind him with a crash possessing the kind of finality which sends cinema audiences groping for their coats and handbags under their seats.

  Greenmansion tonight was a ghost-ship, scarcely distinguishable from the dark sky which pressed close behind it. What light there was inside was smothered by thick, heavy curtains which only permitted an uncertain glow to touch the window panes. Only in one of the dormer-windows were the curtains drawn back and Goldsmith thought he saw a figure outlined there, looking down on his arrival. He thought he could work it out that it was the dungeon alcove, but it was impossible to be sure.

  Jennifer Housman greeted him at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. They went into the lounge. She sat down and looked at him, making him feel as if he were being interviewed for some household post. In reaction he sprawled awkwardly into an armchair and stared back at her in silence.

  ‘I’m sorry I was not at home when you called on Saturday,’ she said finally. ‘I got the impression from what Dora said and from what I found on my return that you were looking for something.’

  No question. No curiosity.

  ‘I’d just been to see Munro,’ he said.

  ‘You decided to employ him after all.’

  “Not really. He was dead.’

  ‘That must have been very distressing for you. I don’t recall seeing any report.’

  Nor did he. Presumably Munro had been the kind of man who could disappear for three or four days without being missed. Or perhaps a simple accidental death did not rate a mention in these days of burgeoning violence.

  ‘There was someone alive there,’ he went on.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your late husband’s whore.’

  ‘Oh yes. That would be Miss Phillips?’

  She smiled slightly as she said it. He felt a flicker of anger for a moment, then it passed and he relaxed in the chair. The way to play this was to remain equally unperturbed.

  ‘You knew her?’

  I know of her. You must have guessed, Mr Goldsmith, that I hired Munro to check on my husband’s affairs with a view to divorce. His visits to Miss Phillips were mentioned in his report.’

  ‘How much did he want?’

  ‘Munro? Oh, the normal fee. So much a day and expenses.’

  ‘No. I meant for the whole report. How much did he want to keep quiet?’

  ‘I don’t understand you.’

  She looked beautiful, all delicacy and strength like a seabird above a cliff edge, balancing on a column of air.

  ‘I’m on your side, Jennifer,’ he said urgently. ‘I want to help. I know Munro had found out your husband was involved in bribing various people in local government to get contracts and that he threatened to destroy J. T. Hardy’s if you didn’t pay him off.’

  ‘You know more than I do, Mr Goldsmith,’ she answered.

  ‘For God’s sake! Can’t you see, I want to help you. Look, all I want to know is, have Munro’s records been destroyed? That’s why I came round on Saturday. That’s what I was looking for!’

  She looked at him with what to his bewilderment appeared to be real distaste.

  ‘Is that all, Mr Goldsmith? Just to help me? Suppose I assure you that you have nothing to worry about, that your distinguished career is in no danger. Will you have helped me enough then?’

  He looked at her with incomprehension. For a moment it had seemed to him that she must know he had killed her husband. But her words could not mean that. Her words clearly meant something else, and what they meant could only be one thing. But how could they mean ‘that. Unless … unless …

  He rose to his feet and she followed suit.

  ‘What are you trying to say, Mrs Housman?’ he demanded. ‘What are you implying?’

  Before she could answer a new voice interrupted them.

  ‘Well, this is cosy. Evening, Goldsmith. Nice to see you. Jennifer, I’ve tucked her in and told her one of my more respectable bedtime stories, but I’m sure she’d like a goodnight kiss from her mum. I’ll entertain Mr Goldsmith for a bit.’

  Jennifer turned, smiled at the newcomer and left the room without speaking.

  ‘Hello, Uncle Rodney,’ said Goldsmith to Templewood.

  CHAPTER XIX

  THEY SAT and drank whisky together like old friends newly met after long separation. And the tenor of their conversation, to start with at least, was amicable.

  ‘You told her that I was one of the local government men involved in her husband’s fiddles?’

  ‘Not told her, exactly. Let her believe, yes. I mean, it seemed fairly obvious, Billy. Even your policeman friend thought so, didn’t he? And it was a jolly good explanation of your visits here.’

  Templewood smiled as though inviting compliments on his cleverness.

  ‘I see. So she doesn’t know of my connection with Housman’s death?’

  Templewood shook his head.

  ‘Nor of yours then?’

  ‘Mine?’ said Templewood, surprised. ‘I’m not connected.’

  ‘If I am, you are. Never forget that, Uncle Rodney.’ Templewood did not seem bothered.

  ‘Something seems to be troubling you, Billy boy. Why don’t you grab hold with both hands and show it the daylight, as the bishop said to the actress?’

  ‘Christ, you’ve got a one-track mind!’ said Goldsmith. ‘How any decent woman can look at you twice, God alone knows!’

  Templewood poured himself another drink and grinned broadly.

  ‘Is that all the trouble, Billy? Me and Jennifer? Or me and all of them? You want to know the secret! I’ve told you often enough, boy. Honesty! Remember the story about the shy lad who fancied this bird at a dance? His mate said, “All right, let’s try her,” walked right up to her and said, “Fancy a jump then, girl?” She laid one on his jaw that knocked him flat. The shy lad picked him up and said, “Christ, you must get a lot of clouts that way,” and he said, “Ay, but I get a lot of jumps.” So you see, me, I make no secret of what I want. With you, it’s all tucked away so that nobody knows. I mean, are you a success or a failure, Billy boy? Can you tell me?’

  Goldsmith half listened, forcing himself to relax. Templewood’s little speech was self-indulgence. It gave the opposition time to organize. And that they were in opposition he had no doubt now.

  ‘I never doubted you were a good salesman, Tempy,’ he said.

  ‘No? Well, I’ve certainly sold myself to Jennifer,’ said Templewood brutally.

  ‘A bargain, I’m sure. When?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When did the sale take place? How long have you known her?

  Templewood looked at him cautiously.

  ‘You know me, Billy boy. Greased lightning. Remember the ten-minute rule.’

  ‘I remember it. I never believed in it.’

  ‘We all have our own set of rules.’

  ‘That’s true. Munro had his too.’

  ‘Munro? Who’s Munro?’

  ‘Now, take it steady, Tempy,’ said Goldsmith sympathetically. ‘It’s very easy to forget what you should and shouldn’t know. I told you about Munro the other day, remember?’

  ‘Oh that fellow. The private eye. Has he been botherin
g you again?’

  ‘No, not me, Tempy. But he bothered Jennifer, I think, before his accident. He was trying to blackmail her. He had not only collected evidence that Housman was having a bit on the side. He’d also found out the kind of tricks J. T. Hardy’s got up to.’

  ‘I don’t understand a word you’re saying. If Munro’s a blackmailer, why not tell the police?’

  Goldsmith’s laughter was ninety-per-cent genuine.

  ‘You do stick with a part, Tempy! Munro’s beyond questioning and all the evidence seems happily to have disappeared. And you know what? I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out to be not very far away from us here.’

  ‘I think you’re going a bit funny,’ said Templewood seriously. ‘Was that what you turned the house upside down looking for? Jennifer was most distressed. And did you find anything? Clearly not, else you wouldn’t need to sit there trying to turn words into facts!’

  Goldsmith sipped his drink reflectively. It was difficult to see where to go from here. A gentle tap at the door saved him from immediate decision.

  The door was pushed open a couple of feet and Dora’s head appeared. Templewood jumped up.

  ‘Hello, what’s all this then?’ he asked. ‘Why aren’t you in bed, my love? I thought your mum was up there with you?’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen making some coffee, I think,’ said Dora.

  ‘Is she now? And you thought you’d go for a little walkabout, did you? Well, step inside a mo’ out of the draught. You know Mr Goldsmith of course.’

  ‘Yes. Hello.’

  She stepped into the room. She was wearing a pretty blue and yellow night-dress and carrying under her arm an old, battered leather document case. She spoke accusingly to Templewood.

  ‘I was doing some tidying up after Mummy went downstairs and I found this in my secret place at the back of my dolls’ house. It’s not mine and I wondered if you’d left it there, Uncle Rodney.’

  Goldsmith beat Templewood by a short head and took the document case from the girl’s arm.

  I think it’s mine, Dora,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I hid it there on Saturday. Did you enjoy your swim, by the way?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I like to swim under water till I think I am drowning, then dive up to the top with a big splash of air.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Goldsmith.

  ‘Now you run along to bed, Dora love, before your mum finds you,’ said Templewood. ‘Off you go.’

  ‘Just one thing, Dora,’ said Goldsmith. ‘Uncle Rodney and I were just trying to remember. How long have you known him?’

  She looked at him pensively through her clear grey eyes.

  ‘I think it was just after my last birthday that I really met him for the first time. But I’d seen him sometimes before that.’

  ‘And when’s your birthday, Dora?’

  ‘February the fifteenth. Nearly Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ said Goldsmith. ‘Good night now.’

  The girl left and the two men looked at each other, Templewood warily, Goldsmith blankly.

  The case was locked.

  ‘Is there a key?’ Goldsmith asked.

  There was no reply, so he crossed to the bureau, picked up a heavy brass paper-knife and began levering the catch open.

  ‘Jennifer’s idea, I should think. Keep all your precious things together. Funny, that was the only room in the house I didn’t search. But it must have been your idea to hang on to this stuff. I wonder why? Insurance? There it goes.’

  The catch gave way. He opened the case. In it were papers, photographs and two rolls of tape. These last he pocketed, glanced cursorily through the rest and thrust them back in the case.

  ‘Well, Uncle Rodney. Do you want to fall on your knees now and confess your sins?’

  ‘Sins?’

  ‘Well, for a start, you didn’t get these from Munro as a leaving present, did you?’

  ‘He was a blackmailer,’ said Templewood with a shrug. ‘I found him dead. What did you expect me to do? I grabbed the evidence and left.’

  ‘A real’ stroke of fortune that,’ said Goldsmith. ‘But let’s start at the beginning. There seem to be two versions of that. One starts, “One day in September I was walking down Regent Street and I saw this man who looked just like Nikolaus Hebbel.” Now that one’s a bit of a fairy tale, I think. The other one begins, “One day six months ago, or a year ago, or perhaps earlier, I met the wife of this man Housman whom I knew vaguely through my business connections. I turned on the charm, automatically at first, but soon began to realize that I was on to a very good thing indeed.” Now to me, Tempy, that one rings true, that has that genuine changing-room stench I associate with you.’

  ‘I love the woman,’ said Templewood with a simple sincerity which might have been touching if Goldsmith had not seen it at work before.

  ‘Lucky her. Now, she wants a divorce. Housman is a bad lot, in more ways than she imagines, perhaps. But you; now you, Tempy, are not so keen. I wonder why? Perhaps you really do fancy her, but if she gets a divorce, what has she got? A big chunk of alimony which may well decrease if she marries again. You’re better off with the status quo, all the oats you can eat and no rent for the stables.’

  ‘Quotation is a subtle form of flattery,’ said Templewood.

  Is it? Well, in a minute, I’m going to quote what you said to me before die reunion. “If it’s Hebbel, I’ll know what to do,” you said. ‘You follow him, I’ll check up on his home background,” you said. Then off you beat it up the AI to check on the colour of his bedroom wallpaper. Again.’

  ‘All right, Billy. So I knew Housman. But I really did think he could be Hebbel. And, knowing how important this would be to you, I felt I had to let you know. It would just have complicated matters if I’d explained everything. I wanted you to look at him completely unprejudiced.’

  ‘It doesn’t wash,’ said Goldsmith wearily. ‘What you wanted was for Jennifer to be a rich widow with a controlling share in J. T. Hardy’s, that’s what you wanted.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Billy,’ protested Templewood urgently. ‘He could have been Hebbel. Everything fitted. Christ, there’s still no proof he wasn’t! Is there?’

  Oh yes. I’ve had Housman’s fingerprints checked. I was on the phone to Colonel Maxwell earlier tonight.’

  Templewood looked genuinely worried.

  ‘Christ, Billy. You were discreet, I hope.’

  ‘Very. And you won’t be surprised to know that Housman is Housman is Housman. No, Tempy, what you had in mind was a little disposal job. And for some reason you thought of me. Old Billy Goldsmith with whom you discussed the hated Hebbel once a year. Suppose you could convince that well-known gullible fool that Housman was Hebbel? What a weapon you would have created!’

  ‘And that’s where your theories fall to bits, Billy,’ said Templewood. ‘If you recall, when I saw you at the reunion, I told you that I’d found nothing to support the identification and I remember I even apologized for wasting your time. What happened after that you did off your own bat and it took me absolutely by surprise, I tell you!’

  ‘I’m sure, I’m sure,’ agreed Goldsmith. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Yes, you’re quite right, you did change your tune, didn’t you? If my theory was right, then you’d have come back with some bits of incontrovertible evidence that it was Hebbel.’

  ‘Right,’ said Templewood. ‘So bang goes your crazy idea. Let’s have another drink.’

  ‘But suppose,’ said Goldsmith ignoring him, ‘suppose that when you came north for those two days, Jennifer confided in you that despite your advice to the contrary, she’d hired a detective. And that at that very moment he was following her husband around London, collecting evidence, wouldn’t that give you pause? You must have realized what a near squeak you’d had. All this build-up to killing Housman, and a trained eye was watching over him all the time! No wonder you cooled things down when you came back!’

  ‘No won
der you’re in politics, Billy,’ said Templewood admiringly. ‘You can make yourself believe your own fantasies! What was I going to do – get you to slip a cobra into his pyjamas? Or a bomb in his car perhaps?’

  Now Goldsmith helped himself to another drink.

  ‘No,’ he answered. ‘Not quite. I’ve been thinking about that. I mean, why me? You’re an ingenious fellow. And I know from experience that you don’t value other people’s lives very highly. But why involve me? I puzzled about it as I drove down here tonight. Nearly had a crash because my mind wasn’t on my driving. And then I think I got it.’

  ‘Keep taking the tablets,’ said Templewood half-heartedly. ‘And no alcohol, mind.’

  “You must have wanted me for a special reason. I mean, why think of Hebbel at all? You must have thought of me first. So there had to be a connection between me and Housman, and the other day I saw it. In fact I mentioned it to you the first time you mentioned J. T. Hardy’s. They hire from us. Housman himself was due to be picked up at Leeds airport on his return from London. You knew Harewood Hire-Cars had the job. Perhaps Jennifer had mentioned it, or Housman himself. And instantly it clicked. What did you have in mind, Uncle Rodney? Mechanical failure? Or me leaving the back-end of a limousine across a railway line? Perhaps I was to bash him over the head first and hope it would be put down to the crash? Whatever happened you’d be out of sight. And Housman would be dead before he could be so inconveniently divorced. A simple accident. Simple as stumbling and falling into the electric fire. Only you found out how to do that one by yourself, didn’t you, Tempy? Or you found yourself another partner.’

  The suggestion evoked no answer. Templewood merely sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

  “You’re not going to go round proclaiming these daft ideas, are you?’ he asked finally.

  ‘That depends on what you’re going to do.’