by David Carter
‘It’s Mr Pilley to you. All members call me Mr Pilley at all times, and you will be no different.’
‘Of course, sir, yes, I didn’t mean...’
‘I don’t want you upsetting Caroline, or anyone else come to that. We run a quiet and friendly club and I want that ambience to remain. The parents of our members trust us and are happy at the way we do things. You understand?’
‘Of course, I am not here to upset anyone.’
Pilley bobbed his head and said, ‘Am I to understand your attendance to be a regular thing?’
‘For the short term, yes, I believe so.’
‘In that case you will need a membership card and pay the new member’s fee. It’s twenty pounds,’ and he dashed in his desk drawer, pulled out a small fold-over membership card, crinkly blue with smart gold lettering on the front, Chelsea Chess Club.
He opened it, grabbed a fat fountain pen, and said, ‘Name again?’
‘Walter Darriteau.’
‘Spell that, please.’
Walter recited the letters, and Pilley wrote and held the card high, and wafted it in the air to dry the dark ink.
‘Money?’ he said, and Walter drew two tenners from his stash and handed them across, money that disappeared into the drawer.
‘Excellent,’ he said, ‘you’re in, but behave yourself, and don’t give me any reason to bar you.’
‘I won’t,’ said Walter. ‘Is Caroline Meade attending tonight?’
Pilley bobbed his head and said, ‘Arrived five minutes before you. She’s always keen, and hot she is too, at the chess, I mean. She’s getting to the stage where she’s capable of beating all the boys. Garnered herself quite a fan club, you’ll do well to get near her.’
‘I see,’ said Walter, standing and grinning.
Pilley stood too, saying, ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to the membership,’ and a minute later they were standing outside the Charles Goodwin Room.
He opened the door, and they went inside. On the far side, gathered beside a huge antique marble fireplace, were four smart young guys, well groomed fancy mullets on display, and in the centre of them, Caroline Meade was talking and grinning, as she glanced past the tallest guy’s upper arm, and saw Mr Pilley, with the fancy young copper. Walter thought she looked amazing in a mauve cashmere jumper and tight pink cord jeans that attracted the eye. Maybe that was the idea.
The hum of conversation fell away as everyone stopped and stared at Pilley and Walter, imagining a new member was being introduced, and an exotic looking one at that. Perhaps he was the son of the Nigerian High Commissioner, or maybe someone fresh in from Jamaica, or even Brazil or the States, and everyone was intrigued. Fresh blood always invigorated the competition.
Horace Pilley jumped into the silence and said, ‘This is Walter, he’s joining us tonight. It’ll be interesting to see how good he is. Be gentle with him.’
Caroline beckoned Walter over. The young men watched on like hawks, amazed that she knew him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, smiling.
‘Looking to play chess,’ he said, ‘what else?’
The tallest guy said, ‘What do you do, Walter? When you’re not playing, if you don’t mind me asking.’
‘I’m a police officer, a detective.’
‘Oh, wow. Jeez, we’d better be on our best behaviour.’
Pilley opened a door on the side wall revealing another large square room, and they all trooped inside. Across the centre of the room were two banks of tables, eight impressive antique chess sets on display, natty new clocks ready to click time away, with some mismatched chairs, standing ready. Pilley handed round Gestetner duplicated sheets, detailing the first eight matches.
Walter glanced at the matchups. Horrigan, D, was his opponent, and a second later a short skinny guy who looked sixteen, tapped Walter’s substantial upper arm, and smiled and said, ‘I think that’s us, shall we?’ and he pointed to a vacant table, and they sat down, decided on black or white, and Horrigan tapped the clock and battle began.
Walter lost his first two matches. But they weren’t thrashings, and he took some comfort from that; and more still when he found his third and final game was against Caroline.
She smiled across the table and held out two clenched hands. Walter tapped the left one and found he was on black again, and that wouldn’t help.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she said, moving the Queen’s pawn out two.
‘Yes, I can’t believe it’s you.’
‘A coincidence, is it?’
‘Of course. How could I have known you’d be here?’
‘Mmm...’ she said, sounding unconvinced.
Walter said, ‘How did you fare in your previous games?’
‘Oh, two wins, not too taxing, if that doesn’t sound bigheaded. I’m hoping you might present sterner opposition.’
‘We’ll soon find out.’
‘How did you get on?’
‘Two losses, but they were close.’
‘Beware of the wounded animal,’ she said in a teasing fashion, before adding, ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t get too excited, Walter. Not in that way.’
He wondered in which way she meant, but didn’t ask, and she was already talking again.
‘You come to our house telling us you are investigating Grahame’s murder, and within days you show up here and ask me to believe it’s all a coincidence.’
‘That’s because it is.’
She brought her queen-side bishop out into a threatening position and looked happy about it, before saying, ‘Do you know what skill a good chess player must possess?’
Walter tried to defend against the bishop, but was uneasy with his response. He already knew she was different gravy to the others when it came to naked aggression.
‘Intelligence, I guess.’
‘Not a bad answer. You’re on the right lines. Do you know what my IQ is?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘One four one,’ she said in a rush, checking on his face for any reaction. ‘What’s your IQ, Walter?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, smiling across at her.
‘Maybe as well,’ she said, introducing a knight into another hostile place. ‘I’d be willing to bet my IQ is the highest here, not wanting to sound too full of myself, and that includes you, Mr Darriteau, and even our esteemed leader and former champion over there, Mr Pilley.’
‘Could be. Who am I to argue?’
‘And I don’t believe in coincidences at all; and that leads me to wondering why you are here.’
‘I told you, I want to improve my chess. Seeing you was a bonus.’
‘That almost sounds sincere. I knew there was something peculiar about your weird friend the moment I set eyes on him.’
‘Sergeant Vairs? He’s okay.’
‘I’ll take your word for that. He thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes, too clever for his own good. But he hasn’t the wit to recognise when he’s barking up the wrong tree. You deserve better, Walter, much better. But what is crystal clear to me is that neither of you realised I’m a confirmed doughnut bumper.’
Thirty-Six
Suzanne Meade tapped on her father’s closed study door and waited to be called. He didn’t keep her waiting. She heard him bark, ‘Come,’ and she went inside, smiled down at him, as he said, ‘Hi, darling, take a seat.’
Not far away in Knightsbridge in Saint Patrick’s One, they couldn’t have known that Eamonn and Liam Banaghan had embarked on a similar meet.
Liam nodded at his son and said, ‘How did you get on? Sit down and tell me about it.’
Eamonn said, ‘She showed up. I thought she would, but there must have been some doubt. But that’s the first hurdle jumped. Contrite too, said she and her sister were physically sick after you know; the meal. She’s either telling the truth or she’s a bloody good actress.’
‘Don’t believe anything a Meade ever says. Nest o
f frigging serpents, the lot of them.’
‘I don’t believe her, dad, I’m not stupid.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Hungry Lion.’
‘Any good?’
‘Average. I kept wondering what the meat was we were eating, and I think that idea crossed her mind too.’
‘What did the little bitch have to say?’
Eamonn grinned and repeated everything. How she wanted the kids from both families to meet and work towards a merger, a union to topple the older generation.
‘Fancy that. The cheeky mare! Do you think this was her idea?’
‘I’m not sure. She’s a clever kid, but that seemed a whole new ball game to me.’
‘Maybe if it’s a merger she’s after, perhaps we should offer precisely that.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Maybe we should set up a meet, get them all there, and who knows, perhaps some crazy gunman might appear on the scene and wipe out the entire Meade dynasty in five minutes flat. There’s some merit in that.’
‘And you’d do that?’
‘If need be, yes. Wouldn’t you?’
Eamonn nodded and muttered, ‘I guess so.’
‘But enough of planning protocols. You leave that to me. Let’s talk about important things. Did you get the hot bitch into the flat?’
Eamonn smirked and nodded.
‘You did? Well done, my son. And did ya screw her?’
‘Da..ad!’
‘Come on, boy, you can’t leave me swinging, not knowing how far our little plan has progressed.’
‘Not yet, dad. But I’m making progress, trust me. I’ll get there, you can count on that. It’s just that she’s very wary, and maybe that’s understandable after two recent deaths.’
‘Yes, I suppose there’s that. Did she like the flat?’
‘Loved it. Said she couldn’t wait to return.’
‘I knew she’d love it. You stick at it, son. You know what you have to do.’
‘I do, dad, and I will. Don’t doubt me.’
IN THE BIG HOUSE IN South Street, Mayfair, Howard watched his daughter sit down. Not a trace of make-up, but she never needed it. Her natural beauty shone through. Tight blue jeans and a white blouse, minimalistic and stunning.
She glanced across at her father, inspecting her.
‘What?’ she said.
‘I’m just amazed at how your mother and I could have created and produced such a beautiful human being.’
Suzanne threw her head back and said, ‘I’ll bet you say that to all the girls, inside the family and out.’
‘Certainly not,’ he said, ‘I’ve always been faithful to your mother.’
Suzanne let go a dismissive laugh. Everyone knew he was a rampant womaniser but was bound to deny it. Revelled in his reputation, and the only thing that would end that would be when he could no longer manage it, or premature death. It was a fifty-fifty bet which would arrive first. He was fifty-three and looked it, but still attractive, lined face, maybe, but that indefinable something was still present. Like an aging Hollywood actor, still expecting to land the twenty-something girl, and usually he did. Who could blame him? Suzanne was young but knew how the world worked.
‘So,’ he said, settling back in his chair. ‘How did it go? Your hot date. Tell me everything.’
She paused and gathered her thoughts.
‘Well, as you know, he turned up.’
‘That was the first hurdle. Where did he take you?’
‘Hungry Lion.’
‘Awful place; wouldn’t be seen dead in it. I’m not surprised a Banaghan boy would think it a suitable place to take his love. What was he thinking? What did you eat, veal?’
Suzanne laughed and said, ‘No dad. Of course not. We both had steaks, though neither of us finished it, and I guess that wasn’t surprising. I think we both pondered on what it was we were eating.’
‘And afterwards? You were late back.’
‘He’s got a smart mews flat. Revelled in telling me about it, and in taking me there afterwards.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘12 Chelsea Park Mews.’
Howard wrote it down, before saying, ‘And this is his flat?’
‘So he says.’
‘I wonder what he did to deserve that. Those places don’t come cheap.’
‘He said he’d carried out a special assignment for the family.’
‘Any idea what?’
‘No, not a clue, and he wouldn’t say.’
‘Keep working on that. I’d like to know. Did he try it on?’
Suzanne grinned.
‘Of course he did, dad, what do you expect?’
‘But you didn’t let him...’
‘No, dad. We didn’t do anything we shouldn’t. But one day we might.’
‘Be careful with that. You don’t want to allow your feelings to interfere with business, and this is business, Suzanne, and important and dangerous business at that.’
‘I know, dad. I can handle it. I’ll only do what I want, and I’ll always be able to walk away. Trust me on that. You know me better than anyone.’
He grinned across at her. Of course she would. She was his daughter and had inherited the “love them and leave them” gene. The ability to turn the charm on and off, like a light switch. She’d lead him a merry dance, but Howard knew at crunch time, the Meade interest would take precedence, and she’d dump him like a crock o’shit.
‘You’re an incredible girl.’
‘Thanks, I think so.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘About what?’
‘About their family, what they might be thinking, what they might do to avenge Eilish’s death?’
‘He didn’t say much about anything. Honestly, dad, he’s a little vacuous, not much going on upstairs, if you get my drift. All looks and dim as a spent light-bulb.’
‘I’m surprised. My reports always said he was one of the brighter Banaghans.’
‘That’s what I thought. But that’s not what I’ve seen. Maybe he is, and that says everything about the family.’
‘You could be right. Okay, I’ll take your word for that. When are you seeing him again?’
‘Friday, same time, same place.’
‘And his family don’t know you are seeing him?’
‘Not an idea in their collective thick heads.’
Howard Meade nodded and mumbled, ‘Good, keep it that way. Find out what he did to warrant the flat, and what his special assignment was.’
‘I’m on it, dad. When I’ve finished with him, he’ll be eating out of my hand.’
‘Off you pop,’ said Howard, grinning and nodding at the door.
Suzanne bobbed her head and stood up, her father leaving her with one parting comment.
‘Be careful; remember what happened to our Grahame and their Eilish. I can’t afford to lose you too.’
‘I’m always careful, dad, you know that,’ and she smiled again and was out of there before he could ask any tougher questions.
Thirty-Seven
The same three vehicles were outside Mandamus as Karen pulled the car to a standstill. A little summer drizzle splashed through the air as they headed for the front door. Mrs French opened up, looking surprised.
‘I didn’t know young Mr Wilderton was expecting you today.’
‘He’s not, Mrs French, you don’t need to bother him,’ said Walter, stepping into the hall. ‘I’ll find him,’ and before she could reply he set off down the long corridor, Mrs French puffing to keep up, as Walter went for the rear sitting room, confident Jago would be there, and he was.
‘Ah, Darriteau,’ he said, ‘sorry about the other day. It’s a lot to deal with, dad’s death and sorting out his affairs. I apologise if I was offhand.’
‘No apology necessary, Jago. We wondered if anything had turned up vis-à-vis the diaries; and maybe anything else you could recall about events from thirty years back.’
‘I ha
te to disappoint you, Darriteau, and I hope you don’t think I’m being obstructive, but there’s nothing new at this end. Mrs French! Coffee all round, and some of those awful biscuits, the chocolate digestives that bring on heart attacks. They’re great.’
Mrs French nodded and grinned and headed for the kitchen.
Jago rubbed his newly shaven chin and said, ‘And you, any progress at your end?’
‘We have made headway, but we need extra pieces to complete the picture.’
‘Oh, do tell, I’m all ears.’
‘We’ve found a witness who worked at the bank thirty years ago. It would seem your father had the hots for her, if she’s to be believed.’
‘Don’t put too much store by that. Dad couldn’t pass a skirt without getting hot under the collar. Had a bit of a reputation, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t think it went anywhere, relationship wise. She didn’t fancy him at all, but they enjoyed each other’s company, and he told her a fair amount.’
‘Oh, like what?’
‘She knew a good deal about the secret society she called the “fifteen”.’
‘Then she knows more than I do.’
‘And she worked with the late Peter Craig, and remembered that when the economy was booming, Peter and your father made a lot of money. Torquil introduced substantial new business via his contacts, gaining both the bank and your firm big fees. But when the downturn hit, their relationship soured.’
‘I’m not sure I like where this is heading.’
‘That’s as maybe, but it’s true. Many businesses brought to the bank by your father found themselves in financial difficulty, and Peter Craig was over-zealous in calling in the loans. That resulted in many of those companies going under.’
‘And you think that is adequate motive for my father to murder this Peter Craig fellow?’
‘Don’t you?’
Jago shifted in his chair.
Walter continued. ‘Some of the families found their precious homes being repossessed, and many of them refused to speak to Torquil again. It seems there was a campaign to bar him from the local Conservative Association, and whether or not that succeeded, soon afterwards, the house by the golf club went up for sale, and the Wilderton family moved down here to Christleton. But you know that better than anyone.’
