Outside Chance (37 page)

‘I'm sorry . . .'

She shook her head without looking at him. ‘No. Let's just forget it. My timing's pretty crap, too. You don't need this tonight. I'm going to bed, I'll do the dishwasher in the morning.'

Left alone and deep in thought, Ben stared at the open doorway until he found himself nodding off, at which point he levered himself to his feet by way of the tabletop. Switching off the lights he followed Lisa to the bedroom, his stomach muscles reminding him, with every step, of the abuse they'd suffered.

Between his physical discomfort and his mental state, it looked like being a long old night.

LISA WANDERED INTO
the living room at eight-thirty the next morning wearing an oversized ‘Save the Rainforest' T-shirt and looking heavy-eyed.

‘How long have you been up?' she asked, finding Ben there before her.

‘Couple of hours. Couldn't sleep and I was afraid I'd wake you.'

‘Not much chance of that,' she said, yawning. ‘How d'you feel?'

‘Marginally better than I look.'

‘That's not saying a lot,' she commented, surveying him frankly.

‘Well, I'm all right if I don't move, laugh, cough or breathe deeply. Sneezing is definitely out. Apart from that . . .'

‘Coffee?'

‘I've had one – but I'm sure I can manage another, thanks.' He held out his empty mug.

When she returned with the brew, Ben patted the sofa next to him and she sat close, folding her legs up and resting her head on his shoulder.

‘About last night . . .' he began, but she interrupted him.

‘No, please. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I think it was just the shock of seeing you like that. Forget it.'

Ben shook his head. ‘No. You were right. I haven't been fair. I guess it's got something to do with my family stuff – you know, my parents splitting up and what happened to Alan. I know that's not an excuse, but it's probably the reason. But anyway, I'm sorry, love. It's time I grew up.'

‘So?'

‘So, I'm in this relationship long-term, and I mean as a proper relationship, not a ships-passing-in-the-night affair. I can't promise that I'll get it right first time, but I promise I'll try.'

Lisa snuggled closer, the top of her bent head under his chin.

‘You know you're a bastard with words? You've made me feel like a worm!'

‘Oh, that's a shame, I think I ate the last one yesterday,' said Ben, apologetically.

With his recent pledge in mind Ben spent the best part of an hour, over and around breakfast, filling Lisa in on the Cajun King case and all its attendant twists.

‘And you really think your Hungarians might have the horse?' she enquired, as he told her of the link between Truman and Jakob Varga. ‘Where on earth could they hide him?'

‘That's just it. If I'm right, they haven't hidden him. He's been on full view the whole time if anyone had thought to look.' He told her about
the part the ‘wild' horses played in the performance. ‘They all look alike: all roughly the same size, no markings – just a bunch of brown and bay thoroughbreds milling around. You don't pay them much attention; it's all about the white horse that's controlling them.'

‘You say Cajun King has white markings, but I suppose those could be dyed out.'

‘Yeah, but the problem would be his mane and tail. All these horses have long manes and tails; his mane is trimmed short and his tail is quite frankly pathetic. Look.' He took the print Truman had given him from his wallet.

Lisa took it and studied it thoughtfully.

‘I suppose – this is going to sound daft – but I suppose you can't do hair extensions on horses, can you?'

‘I don't know. I hadn't thought of that. I don't see why not; it's hair isn't it? What's the difference?'

‘Well, I don't know, but then I'm not a hairdresser.'

‘No,' Ben said with rising excitement. ‘But Jeta is! Nico's sister. And if he's involved there's no reason to think that she couldn't be. Lisa, you're a genius!'

‘Well, thank you. I try,' she said, smiling. ‘But if they have got the horse, it must be a million-to-one chance – I mean, you already doing an article on them and then Truman asking you to look into his disappearance.'

‘You'd think so, wouldn't you?' Ben agreed. ‘And, actually, I'd far rather I wasn't involved with the Csikós because the worst of it is, I like
them a hell of a lot more than I like Red bloody Truman!'

‘I'm not surprised. But if you're so sure he sent those men round here last night, can't you tell the police?'

‘I did. I told Logan, but you see, I've got no proof.'

‘But you've got the tape. The one they were sent to find.'

‘Yeah, but I doubt it would hold up on its own, and I don't think we can rely on Lenny Salter standing up in court to tell his story, not that I blame him. Besides, even if he did, it would only be his word against Truman's; he's got no more proof of what he said than I have. Probably the most we'd achieve is a bit of bad publicity for Truman, and a whole load of trouble for ourselves.'

‘So what happens next?'

Ben sighed.

‘Next I have to find out for sure if my Hungarian friends really do have King and, if they do, try and persuade them to give him back.'

‘Just like that.'

‘Mmm. Well, something like that, anyway. It's the only way I can see that they've got a hope of getting out of it. They've been lucky so far but it can't last.'

‘You won't go on your own?' Lisa frowned. ‘Look what happened at that animal lib place.'

‘I'll be all right. I can't see Jakob turning nasty.'

‘But the others . . . You said yourself he couldn't have done it on his own.'

‘No, he couldn't have. In fact, Ian Rice said
there were three of them when they pulled the lorry over. But Jakob is a kind of patriarch; they all respect him. It'll be OK.' As he spoke, Ben remembered something else. Ricey had reported that the hijackers had guns. He'd forgotten that, but, in spite of his promise of openness, he didn't think it was something Lisa needed to know. There was a limit to sharing, after all.

Lisa patently wasn't happy but she let it go, asking instead what he meant to do about Truman.

He shrugged. ‘Not much I can do, really. But it'll be interesting to see his reaction when I turn up – all outraged innocence – with my tale of violent burglars.'

Lisa looked skywards. ‘You know you're crazy, don't you?'

Logan rang just before midday.

‘Ben? How're you doing?'

‘Surprisingly, not too bad, thanks,' Ben replied. ‘Just spent half an hour trying to get some sense out of my insurance company, but I guess we've all been there at some time or another. Apparently they're short-staffed just at the moment and it's unlikely that anyone will be able to come and assess the damage until Wednesday. The female I spoke to said it would be best if I didn't touch anything until then. Yeah, right!'

‘I can print you off some copies of the photos I took,' Logan offered.

‘Well, actually, I was going to ask you if you could,' Ben admitted. ‘I told the girl I'd got pictures.'

‘Yeah, no problem. Look, I got hold of a friend of a friend about this car crash in Hungary, and I've got some answers.'

‘Already? Wow!'

‘Well, there's no point in hanging around,' Logan said. ‘Anyway, I don't know whether it's going to be any help to you, because we haven't really found what you were asking for.'

‘Oh.' Ben was disappointed.

‘Yeah, well, I don't know if you got the dates mixed up or something, but I got the guy to do a sweep of all recorded RTAs within a twenty-mile radius of Szolnok, and within a couple of years either side of the date you gave me. Stefan Varga's name didn't come up, but there were two in which the casualty was an unknown young man. One was a fair bit earlier – almost a year earlier, in fact – and the other was six months after your date.'

‘Was he sure?'

‘Yep.'

‘Any other details?'

‘In the first the vehicle was burnt out, and the second apparently drove into a wall at high speed. I think the verdict was suicide. Neither car was registered and there were no dental records, it seems. Whether that's because the Hungarians weren't hot on them in those days, or whether the deceased parties weren't registered with one, I'm not sure.'

‘And did DI Ford find out anything more?'

Logan raised his eyebrows. ‘That would be confidential police business.'

‘But you did look, right?'

‘He got more or less the same. I think he assumes that Varga was killed in the second incident.'

Which, Ben reflected, was the assumption
he
would have made, if Nico hadn't told him about the fire.

‘So, are you going to tell me why you wanted to know?'

Ben hesitated. He didn't want to say too much at this stage; Logan was so damned sharp.

‘Er, well, it's not common knowledge, but there could be a child involved. I just wondered whether there was any possibility that Varga was still alive.'

‘The child is searching for him?'

‘Not exactly. He's got no idea who his father was. At least, he hadn't when he turned up at Truman's yard, yesterday. I don't know what's happened since. I should imagine Ford must know by now.'

‘And you think the boy might bear Truman a grudge?'

‘Heavens, no! He's just a kid. A kid with a good deal of steel in him, but just a kid, nevertheless.'

‘So what about the article in the paper about the horse? I take it that wasn't your doing.'

‘No. My guess is Helen: Truman's eldest. I think she rather hoped I might get the blame.'

‘Charming. By the way, I filled Ford in on the fun and games here last night and he's not happy, to put it mildly, that you didn't call in the troops. I got an ear-bashing and, unless I'm much mistaken, you're in line for one, too.'

Ben groaned.

‘I suppose it was inevitable. Let's hope he doesn't bring Hancock with him, that's all. I swear I'm going to sock him one, one day.'

‘Ah, DS Wanker,' Logan said on a note of recognition.

‘You what?'

‘Hancock. That's what one of my colleagues calls him: DS Wanker. He reckons the name Hancock derives from Handcock, but to be honest I think he made it up because he can't stand the bloke either. Listen: anything else I can do for you?'

‘Um, I don't suppose you could find out what Cajun King's microchip identification is without letting Truman know you're asking? Ford would have it, wouldn't he?'

‘Probably,' Logan said slowly. ‘Ben, do you think you know where the horse is? Because, if you do . . . '

Ben hesitated.

‘Let's just say, I want to be sure I know where he's not.'

‘And just what the hell's that supposed to mean?'

‘It means, I'm pretty sure the idea is crazy, but I'll sleep better if I check it out.'

In his car, rapidly approaching the Csikós' Romsey encampment, Ben remembered the soothing words he'd spoken to Lisa that morning, and doubted that he could imbue them with as much confidence now if she were there to hear them.

Zipped securely into his jacket pocket was a grey plastic device – roughly rectangular and some six inches by three by one – with a digital screen in the top quarter of one face. It was a microchip scanner, and Penny, the young, female vet at the RSPCA centre who'd handed it over to Ben at closing time that afternoon, had done so with no small measure of reluctance, making Ben promise faithfully that he'd return it first thing in the morning, as soon as the centre opened. He'd known Penny ever since collecting Mouse from the centre four years previously and had even dated her in the early days; he knew this was the only reason why she was going out on a limb for him now.

If getting the scanner had been a little tricky, finding the opportunity to put it to use was going to be even more so, and the mental picture of himself moving among the loose horses was one that Ben had to keep pushing away, lest his nerve fail before he started.

He had set out in good time but the route he took to Romsey was tortuous. He took in several narrow lanes – where he pulled into a couple of gateways to check for following vehicles – and once he did a complete circuit of a roundabout for the same reason. His fear was that Spence and his mate might be watching the cottage or the surrounding roads, with instructions to see where he went, and he really didn't want to turn up on the Csikós' doorstep with those two in close attendance.

If anyone was tailing him, they were obviously better at their job than he was, because he didn't
spot them. He arrived at his destination as certain as he could be that he'd made the journey alone.

At his suggestion Lisa had left to stay with her mother, and phoned just before he set out, to say that she'd arrived safely, so that was one worry off his mind.

Logan had rung back midway through the afternoon with Cajun King's microchip ID number, but thankfully he'd asked no further questions about how Ben intended to use the information.

Looking at his watch as he climbed stiffly out of the car, Ben could see that there was less than half an hour to go before the show was due to start and the Csikós' camp was the usual hive of activity it was before a performance. The final touches were being put to the horses' grooming; tack waited, polished and shining, and the members of the troupe wore chaps and coats over their show costumes as they worked.

Not wanting to get in the way, but nevertheless loving the sense of controlled urgency that pervaded the stables at these times, Ben strolled through the building in search of either Nico or Jakob. He found the older man first, in the small barn helping Anna and Jeta brush out the long manes and tails of the string of loose horses. It was the first time Ben had seen any of the herd horses being handled and, in view of his mission, it was encouraging that they seemed content to submit to being tied up. Feeling the hard oblong of the scanner in his jacket pocket he wandered closer.