Deadfall (38 page)

‘Yes, I know. I'm sorry. You know what I'm like with the bloody thing. Hannah calls it my immobile phone because it hardly ever leaves the house. Mum's always trying to reach me on it and then it starts to ring just behind her or in my coat pocket in the hall! Was she okay?'

‘Yeah, she was fine. I just felt a bit awkward, that's all.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry, Linc. I really don't think she's got a problem with you but things are a bit tense today . . . Abby's coming home this afternoon, all being well, and nobody's quite sure how it's going to work.'

‘That's great,' he said, wondering, even as he did
so, what it would mean for his relationship with Josie in the short term. ‘The doctors must be pleased with her.'

‘Mmm, they are. Physically, at least. Emotionally might take a bit longer.'

‘Well, it's a good job she's got you lot to support her. I guess it might be best if I stay away for a day or two, as I can't ride Noddy anyway.'

‘Do you mind dreadfully?'

‘Yes,' he said flatly. ‘But this isn't about me. I'll ring in a day or two. No – second thoughts – you ring me, okay?'

Robbed of the chance to talk it through at length with Josie, Linc mulled the offer over in his own mind repeatedly, always coming back to the same question: did he ignore his instincts and go with the guy for the sake of his Olympic ambition, or did he throw over what looked to be a generous deal because of personal prejudice?

The age-old conflict – head or heart.

He was still undecided when Sandy phoned him a couple of days later.

They exchanged the normal platitudes and Sandy asked if Noddy was up to being ridden yet, to which Linc returned a regretful negative, adding that he had just that morning booked the services of an equine physiotherapist.

‘Are you in a hurry to offload the saddle?' he enquired. ‘Because I can pay you for it, if you like, and then if we have to change it, we'll sort out the difference later.'

‘No. No hurry,' Sandy assured him. ‘So, have you thought any more about Al's offer?'

‘Did he ask you to call?'

‘No. I just wondered . . . Well, yes, actually,' he amended. ‘It's just the way he is. Likes to keep things moving along. What have you been thinking? It
was
a good offer, wasn't it?'

‘Very generous,' Linc agreed.

Sandy obviously picked up on the reserve in his voice. ‘I know he can seem a bit full on at times. I mean, a bit pushy perhaps . . .'

‘I think rude is the word you're searching for,' Linc put in.

‘He's all right when you get to know him, though.'

‘Is that why you let him walk all over you?'

‘Oh, I've known him forever. Anyway, as I said before, he did me a big favour once, so I kind of owe him. It'd be different with you . . .'

‘Hmm,' Linc said non-committally.

‘He's a good businessman. Surely that's what matters?'

It had been Linc's argument with himself all along but suddenly, hearing Sandy say it, he knew it wasn't enough. If he was going to turn the offer down, though, it was only fair to tell the man himself. He changed the subject.

‘Why does Judge call you Larry? Is it your real name?'

Sandy hesitated. ‘No. It's rhyming slang. Larry Adler – saddler. Stupid, really, but it's stuck.'

‘So what's your nickname for Judge?'

‘Er . . . We haven't really got one. We just call him “the Boss”.'

‘We?'

‘Sorry. Old habits die hard. I used to work for him.'

‘So what's slang for boss?'

‘Pitch. Pitch and toss,' Sandy said, adding hurriedly, ‘Look, somebody's just come. I'll have to go now. Speak soon. And don't let the man put you off the money, eh?'

‘Okay. I'll bear it in mind.'

Linc rang off and sat looking at the office wall. Had Judge used his apparent hold over Sandy to get the saddler to try and influence him? If he had, it had backfired somewhat. Through no fault of his own, Sandy's gentle prodding had finally decided Linc against the deal. He just hoped his backing out wouldn't make things awkward for his friend.

He was still deep in thought when the phone rang again.

‘Linc? It's Mike. Mike Farquharson.'

‘Oh, hello, Mike.' He hadn't heard from the wine merchant since he'd met him in Blandford that day.

‘Look, I'm in a bit of a hurry but I'd like a word with you sometime. Can you meet me?'

‘Yes, sure. Where and when?'

‘Well, I shall be in Blandford this afternoon. Is that any good for you?'

‘Er . . . yes, I think I can manage that.' It was a public day at Farthingscourt and his father wouldn't be pleased, but Mike sounded quite buoyed up and Linc was intrigued.

‘Great! How about Hopgoods again? Three o'clock okay?'

‘Half-past would be better,' Linc told him. He'd try and get Crispin to stand in for him, and the fewer hours' cover he needed, the more likely he was to be successful.

‘Terrific. I think it'll be worth your while. See you later then.'

Linc was late. A last-minute telephone call from the millwright had left him with a quarter of an hour to make up, most of which he'd regained before a police speed trap put him back where he started.

He was on a roundabout just outside Blandford when a grey Judge Haulage lorry cut across his bows to change lanes. Linc leaned indignantly on the horn, at which the driver stopped his vehicle, opened the door and let loose a string of abuse before continuing on his way.

Linc recognised the man. Lean, fortyish and mean-looking: it was Marty Lucas, the man from the greyhound track. Small world.

In Blandford he parked the Morgan, bought a ticket, and then set off at a brisk pace for the coffee shop, taking with him the laptop Crispin and Nikki had given him for his birthday. He had some work to catch up on, and it
had
been his intention to use any spare time to do so. That was before his timekeeping had gone awry.

Hurrying so as not to keep Mike waiting, Linc rounded the corner into the high street and walked slap-bang into a youth who was coming the other way.

‘Oh, sorry.' Linc turned sideways to let the youngster pass and saw combat trousers, a torn tee-shirt, an eyebrow ring and a stretchy hat pulled down over his hair.

Beanie!
It was turning into quite a day for meeting old friends.

‘Hey! Come here!' he exclaimed, grabbing for the lad with his free hand.

If he hadn't had the laptop under his left arm he might have held him, but it was debatable. The boy was just as strong as Linc remembered from the night in Shaftesbury, only this time, in a busy street, he wasn't disposed to hang around.

With a muttered obscenity, Beanie tried to pull away from Linc, and when that didn't work, struck out with his fist, catching him on the cheekbone and knocking him off-balance. With a final tug he pulled free, ripping his tee-shirt still further, and before Linc could recover, was off down the pavement at a run.

‘Bugger!' Linc straightened up and watched him go. It was no earthly use trying to give chase. He was already twenty or thirty yards away and Linc doubted he could even match his speed carrying the computer, let alone overhaul him.

‘Linc! Are you all right?' Mike came hurrying up breathlessly. ‘I saw what happened.'

‘Yeah, yeah. I'll survive,' he sighed, rubbing his face. So near and yet so far.

‘He didn't get it, then. Well done!'

‘Get what?'

‘The laptop, man. That's what he was after, wasn't it? I saw him pulling at it.'

Linc shook his head. ‘Actually,
I
was trying to hold on to
him
! It's a long story, I'll tell you about it over coffee. I just wish I could have held on to the bastard.'

‘Well, if you're sure you're okay, let's go and get that coffee,' Mike suggested.

They went together to Hopgoods and ordered a cappuccino and a large Irish coffee, as they had
before, and at a quiet, corner table, Linc gave the wine merchant a potted version of the attack in Shaftesbury.

‘So you see why I wanted to keep hold of him,' he finished. ‘If I could find out who he is and who he was working for that night, I might be a bit nearer to finding the men who put Abby in hospital.'

‘But I know who he is,' Mike said, surprised. ‘Most people round here do. That's Scott Phillips. Vandal, school bully and all-round thug!'

BECAUSE HOPGOODS WAS
a ‘mobile-free zone', Linc had to go out into the street to ring Rockley, but came back in without having spoken to the man himself.

‘Rockley wasn't there,' he told Mike as he slid back into his chair. ‘Nor was Manston. They're out on a case.'

‘Probably that security scare in Bournemouth. I heard about it on the news, lunchtime. Some crackpot sitting on the top floor of a double-decker bus in the city centre, threatening to blow it up if his demands aren't met.'

‘What demands?'

‘Search me. I only turned it on for the weather, and they obviously weren't going to get round to that in a hurry, so I got it on Ceefax.'

‘Well, you could be right. Anyway, I left a message about young Scott. I hope Rockley gets it.'

Just in case he returned the call, Linc switched his phone from ring-tone to vibrate and put it back in his trouser pocket.

‘So, what can I do for you, Mike?'

‘Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten. Well, I've had a bit of luck, or rather the company has. We've managed to land a deal with K & B Cruises – you know, they operate out of Southampton. We've been contracted to supply them with all their wines and spirits, and it's a mind-boggling total, I can tell you!'

‘I'll bet it is. Well done, Mike! My congratulations. I'd drink your health but I can't really do it in coffee.'

‘Thanks. But that's not what I asked you here for. The thing is, with things on the up, I started thinking again about the idea of sponsoring you. I felt awful about what happened last time.'

‘But, my father . . .'

‘Yes, I know. But to be honest, although the Farthingscourt account is one we're very pleased to have, it wouldn't bring the company to its knees if we lost it, especially now. And I'm not sure your father really would take his custom elsewhere, because – if you think about it – it would look a little strange if he did that when Farquharson's was seen to be supporting his son's sporting ambitions.'

‘I guess so,' Linc said slowly. ‘Though I wouldn't bank on it. You know how bloody-minded he can be!'

Mike shrugged. ‘Oh, well. If the worst comes to the worst, we'll wear the loss. After all, come the day when you'll be Viscount Tremayne.'

The proposition he laid before Linc was well thought out and forward-thinking. It was not, perhaps, upon quite such generous lines as the Judge Haulage offer, but the excitement Linc felt as they discussed the terms was untempered by any of
the doubts he'd had about doing business with Judge.

‘Well, there it is. What do you say? Are we a partnership?'

‘Just show me where to sign,' Linc declared happily.

‘Brilliant. I'll get my solicitors to draw up the draft copies and we should be ready to roll mid- to late-July.'

Feeling that it was only fair, Linc phoned Al Judge as soon as he parted from Mike. He used the contact number he'd been given but it was a woman who answered.

‘Oh, I'm sorry. Is Mr Judge there?'

‘He's a bit busy at the moment. Who shall I say is calling?'

Linc gave his name and heard the woman repeating it, presumably to Judge. After a moment, the man himself came on the line, his tone warm and welcoming. Linc's hackles rose instantly.

‘Ah, Linc. I was hoping I'd hear from you soon. Ready to sign on the dotted line, are you?'

‘Er . . . no, as a matter of fact. I'm afraid not. It's a very generous offer but—'

Judge didn't let him finish. ‘Look, Linc, we need to discuss this but I haven't time just at the moment. I think we should meet. Where are you now?'

‘Well, actually, I'm in Blandford . . .'

‘Good. Could you meet me later?'

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but there's really not a lot to say. I've had a better offer and—'

‘Nonsense!' Judge stated briskly. ‘Look, I've got
to go out to the new site in about, what . . . three-quarters of an hour. Can you meet me there? It's just off the A350. The Meadows Industrial Park, you can't miss it. Come on, you owe me that much at least!'

Linc looked at his watch. It was nearly five o'clock and he had things to do, but . . . ‘I suppose I could. Okay. Quarter to six. I'll see you there.'

He rang off and sat staring at his mobile in frustration. Why had he agreed? For his part there was nothing more to say, but he had a feeling that he was in for a very uncomfortable session with Judge.

‘Damn, damn, damn!' he said aloud, thumping the Morgan's steering wheel with his fist. He had some paperwork to finish and some e-mails to send, and didn't particularly want to spend all evening in the office. It was a good job he'd brought the laptop. Crispin had helpfully installed all his contact addresses on the computer's memory for him that morning, so there was nothing to stop him working from the car as long as he could get a decent signal on the mobile. Feeling that the industrial park couldn't be any noisier than the town car park, Linc decided to go straight there and work while he waited for Judge to arrive.

In spite of Judge's assurances, Linc did manage to miss the turning into The Meadows, mainly because it wasn't signposted from the main road. A large board advertised the name of the construction company but the industrial park itself was at the end of a long, wide approach road, and hidden from the highway by an environmentally conscious fringe of trees.