Come Clean (1989) (27 page)

Leo led the way. ‘You probably know my side. There’s Anthony and Gerald, of course, and then three other full-time lads, Peter Fanton, Ashley Simpson – the one they call
In-off, don’t ask me why – and Greg Hales. After that, some odd-job people for now and then, heavies mostly, not pay-roll, so they don’t rate for splits: Willy Jute, High Pulse
Basil, that sort. With you, Phil Macey still, yes, and Norman. Who else, Benny?’

‘Lentle – that’s Bobby Lentle, you know him? Thirty-five, fair, crew-cut, ugliest sod since Maurice Chevalier, but one of the best. Going a bit fat? He’s quite new, but
he’s settling in very nice, oh yes, he’s going to be an asset.’

‘No, not a name I know.’ Leo smiled a bit bigger. ‘Justin with you these days? Justin Paynter?’

Loxton was not ready for that but smiled himself and said at once, no bother or choking on the fucking words because of the Metro: ‘Oh, Justin. No, he moved on. What’s called mutual.
Some things he could handle deft enough, a real natural talent, but some things very slack. Bit naïve and forgetful? It comed to a parting, had to. No hard feelings, nothing like that. He was
off to London or Wales or somewhere, reckoned he had bids. Could be. There was ability, but he just couldn’t get it working full rate, like Edward Heath. Maybe I’ll replace him. I
don’t know. For now like you, we use a lot of part-timers, people looking for something quick and then you don’t see them no more. Not the best way, but it works, and no overheads.
Steve Stevens, Winston Makepiece – that’s Towering Inferno – and Tommy Vit.’ He hated telling him these things, even these things that anyone could find out for theirselves
easy enough if they wanted to, but soon it would not make no difference. He hated talking to him about Justin Paynter, too, and felt troubled by questions like that, nosy, pushing bastard. Soon,
this would not matter either, though.

Three men and their women came a bit too quietly into this lounge and Loxton tensed up for a minute, but they seemed to be genuine golf people, not Mercedes, but maybe big Rover or Audi, and in
a while they started gabbling away about tournaments and shoe studs. They knew Leo and called out to him and chatted, like he was something quite sweet-smelling and British Standard. Christ, what
sort of outfit must this be? Better check if Sweeney Todd was there in the list of old captains.

‘I’ve enjoyed this,’ Leo said, standing. ‘I mean, quite apart from the business we’ve done today, it’s good to get together. Should have happened a long time
ago.’

‘It mustn’t go cold again Leo – not let things slide like that.’

They walked towards the door together. Loxton had brought the small Beretta in a shoulder holster and undid one button of his jacket as they went out. Leo noticed that right away and laughed
like an idiot. Immediate, he went half on to one knee playing a sniper and made the shape of a pistol with his hand, while he did bang-bang noises from his mouth, popping off at all round the
clock. God knew what the people here thought of that little mad show. He must really be sure of himself to believe they would wear it. ‘A bit of suspicion still, it’s natural, bound to
be, Benny,’ he chuckled. ‘We’ve lived with it too long, that’s the tragedy.’ He straightened up and blew on his two fingers, like down a hot barrel at the end of a
shoot-out. ‘Yes, a long way to go yet, Benny, but we’ll get there.’

‘Of course, and my very best to Daphne. Give her fullest congrats from me and Alma on the silver wedding, won’t you?’

‘She’ll be touched.’

Macey and Norman were at the house when Loxton returned, both of them looking pretty rough, but he could not talk serious to them immediate because Alma stayed in the room for
a while, sounding off about some new millions of needy down Africa way and saying how important it was to send the help and make sure of good organization, all that. Macey and Norman was nodding
like they thought of nothing else, you would expect they might make notes any minute or go to Africa theirselves, taking corned beef. Well, it
was
important, what she said, and he was in
favour of helping people having it bad like that, but Loxton wished she would piss off now.

‘Some mammoth task,’ Norman said.

‘A test for all the developed world,’ Macey added.

‘A matter of conscience,’ Norman said. He turned to Loxton. ‘We were just saying, Theodore, what a challenge this kind of situation is.’

‘The thing is, to force rich governments like our own to face up to this problem, the scale of it,’ Macey stated.

When Alma went upstairs to change, Macey said: ‘Benny, maybe they got an identification on Justin from that sodding Metro they pulled out of the dock yesterday. We found out they had a
load of heavy police down there, like Iles and Harpur. So, how the hell they find out the car was there and so important? This is one hell of a question.’

‘How do you know – Iles and Harpur? And who says an identification? Who told you?’ Loxton replied.

‘It’s right, about Iles and Harpur. We got a rumour and Norm made some calls and done some checking.’

‘Checking?’ Loxton said.

‘It’s all right, Benny,’ Norman said. ‘I was very careful. No invitations to look our way.’

‘He got no clothes on, right?’ Loxton asked. ‘No jewellery, tattoos, scars, missing bits? He’s got no record, so they can’t do it from fingerprints. Nothing in the
car? How would they get an identification so fast? No, it can’t be. You did take the coat off him?’

‘Of course,’ Macey said.

‘And it’s gone? Blood traces, God knows what.’

‘Yes, it’s burned.’ Macey kept on at what was troubling him. It troubled Loxton, too. ‘So, how did they know he was there?’ Macey asked again. ‘We got a leak?
Why Iles and Harpur down there? Far as they knew, this was just some dead in the dock, happens every day. But all the brass on the spot.’

‘Who said Iles, Harpur?’ Loxton asked.

‘We think so,’ Norman said. ‘I haven’t talked to any police, obviously, but docks people around there say one man was grey-haired, in a hell of a good suit and driving a
Granada on his own. That has to be Iles. And then a fair, big bloke looking like a boxer, bit scruffy, talking to the divers. Harpur?’

Macey kept on. ‘Why they there, Benny? This a leak?’

‘How could there be? What you saying, Phil? Who you looking at, for Christ’s sake? Who’s going to leak? It could put us all in trouble. Talk sense. Only us three knew about him
being there. Who else?’

‘Yes, only us three,’ Macey replied. ‘Them people at the Monty –’

Loxton was growing tired of him. ‘The Monty don’t come into it. Whatever they saw there, they didn’t see the car go into the dock, did they?’

Alma Loxton came back into the room wearing a topcoat and said she was going to drive to the shops. ‘Yes, Norman’s right, a challenge to all our governments, and to all of us,
personally. Some approach to our MP, immediately, I think, Theodore.’

‘That’s the kind of thing we been discussing while you were out of the room,’ Macey replied. ‘As a matter of fact, Theodore said the MP.’

‘It would be a worthwhile start,’ Norman added.

‘Perhaps I’ll call into his committee rooms while I’m down there this afternoon,’ she said.

‘Good notion, Alma,’ Loxton told her.

‘While the iron’s hot,’ Macey added.

When she had left again, Loxton said: ‘None of this makes no difference. They got no identification, that’s obvious, or we would have heard on the radio, in the paper. That
Metro’s not going to tell them a thing, it was taken miles away, a nowhere car. Even if they did get an i.d. eventual, they might not even know Justin worked for us. He been here no time at
all, really.’

‘They’d know,’ Macey said. ‘He’ll be on the collator.’

‘So?’ Loxton asked. ‘Suppose he is. Would we kill one of our own people, for God’s sake? What kind of sense is that? They’d think Leo’s crew –
Lay-waste, in one of his little spasms, probably. The fights around the Dreyfus, all that. That’s how it would look to them. But, this stage, it don’t come into it. They don’t
know who they got in that car, so relax. What I hear, they’re keeping an eye on Leo. Iles been down the Chaff, acting friendly, but that one don’t know what friendly is. He been taking
a look, that’s obvious.’

‘I don’t like all this – Iles here, Iles there. His wife can tie us to Justin, don’t forget,’ Macey said. ‘We been seen in that club.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Phil, they don’t know it’s Justin,’ Loxton said. ‘And she’s not going to talk, anyway. We already decided that, how long ago? Less
so now. She going to tell her husband she’s into a mucky killing, for God’s sake?’

‘Yes, well, all right, Benny, but we just got to find that Aston,’ Macey said. ‘He can sell us, too, and still maybe fuck up the silver wedding arrangements, That jerk Ralph
– I still reckon he warned him to get clear. We should of seen him off proper, not just a beating.’

‘If you killed him, that’s more police activity, yes?’ Loxton replied. ‘Serious police activity. They’d be all over, and we can’t accommodate that just now. A
good thumping’s enough, for the time being. That’s private. Ralphy knows the procedures. In any case, he haven’t got the guts to give Aston the tip. He’s just useless,
that’s all, couldn’t find a tit on a topless beach. Why he’s where he is. Forget him now. Nothing’s going to mess up the silver wedding. That’s certain.’

Loxton pondered. ‘Find Aston? Yes, we ought to. The only way is if we get a whisper, which I agree don’t seem likely, or if we watch Mrs Iles, I mean, really watch her, not off and
on like before, or hanging about in front at Rougement while he goes out the back way. Them two got to make contact eventual. That’s what love’s about, yes? Why don’t you put
Tommy Vit on her, if he’s around? Tommy’s a real tail, and these days mostly he don’t get violent. That other business was nasty, but years ago, and he’ve definitely
quietened. Best thing, he wasn’t with you at the Monty with Justin that night, so it’s a new face. Ask Tommy just to follow, nothing else, and to get a fix on Aston, same as we told
Ralphy, only Tommy will find the bugger. Make it real clear, nothing more than that at this stage. Tell him three times, maybe four. He’ll understand. Then. If he locates Aston to come on to
us immediate and we’ll get there fast and do the rest. Tell him that a few times, too. Tell him, no delay, give us a location immediate.’

Macey and Norman stayed to see the local evening news on television. There was still no name for the body, just a lot of the usual chatter about further inquiries and forensic. The programme
took the chance to re-run film from yesterday of the Metro being lifted and Loxton tried to make out Iles or Harpur in the group on the quay-side but failed. That could be panic rubbish. Macey
seemed a little better now and had a giggle at the car spinning on the end of the cables, with Justin hidden inside. ‘Like a fun-fair,’ he said.

Alma returned, very pleased about her interview at the MP’s committee rooms. ‘Extremely positive response,’ she told them. She said she had promised to start any local campaign
with a gift of £1000.

‘That’s reasonable,’ Loxton said. ‘The boys hung on to hear what news you had, dear, about Africa etcetera.’

‘This sort of thing does need someone with drive, like Alma, don’t it, Theodore?’ Macey said.

‘Nobody better,’ Norman remarked. ‘Happily, there are fine impulses in most people, but those impulses have to be encouraged, released. So much untapped goodness
about.’

‘What Alma is is what’s known as a catalyst,’ Macey remarked. ‘A real catalyst.’

‘Thank you, Philip,’ she said.

A woman Harpur did not recognize was waiting in his lounge when he went home, but he guessed at once who she was, and, for a moment, felt dazed and appalled at having to face
her now. He pushed those feeble reactions to the side: being dazed and appalled did not get you far in this job, or any other, unless you were playing Hamlet.

Megan was out somewhere and the children had been looking after the visitor, chatting and feeding her tea and cake, though she seemed to have drunk and eaten very little. About twenty-five, she
was a bit unkempt, modish unkempt, with a blue reefer jacket over grey cords, and beautiful in what Iles would probably call a Pre-Raphaelite way: large-eyed, wan, with long, red-brown hair, the
sort of features any man would admire, but which Harpur found somehow unexciting these days. Occasionally, he wondered whether all this new choosiness meant his sex drive was on the fade. In any
case, perhaps this girl was not always so pale. She looked anxious and sleepless, her eyes not simply large but wide and staring and over-bright. He could feel sorry for her and, at the same time,
reckon she was probably in a condition to do some useful talking.

Hazel said: ‘This is Amanda, dad. She has to see you urgently. Why couldn’t I be called Amanda? Hazel, for God’s sake – it’s so chintzy and historical. Which of you
picked that? People’s aunties in the Boer War were named Hazel, I bet.’

‘Girls were called Dolly Grey,’ Jill told her.

‘Mr Harpur, I saw something on television,’ the girl muttered. ‘That’s why I’m here. I didn’t want to go to the nick, not in the circumstances.’ She
seemed about to say more, but glanced at Harpur’s two girls and paused. He knew well enough what she had seen, anyway.

‘Wise not going to the police station, Amanda,’ Hazel said. ‘There’s currents and cross-currents down there, and you might be far out to sea before you can say, “I
want a solicitor”.’

‘You know who I am, Mr Harpur,’ the girl said. ‘I can tell. So, you’ll understand why I came to your house?’

‘Of course.’

‘How? How do you know who she is?’ Hazel asked, at the top of her voice. ‘She said she’s never met you. How do you know, then? Are you supposed to be a magician or
something now?’

‘Amanda’s got big trouble, dad,’ Jill explained. ‘She won’t tell us what, but anyone can see it’s important.’

‘Old laser eyes,’ Hazel said.

‘I think we’ll have you two out of here,’ Harpur told the girls. ‘Amanda might have something confidential to say.’

‘About what?’ Hazel asked. ‘What on television?’