The Green Flash (38 page)

I didn't mind. I didn't suppose his system was going to solve the riddle of the universe. What I did see – though, Lord knows, with Roger's jibes in my mind I'd hardly been looking or caring – was that he had been scribbling his sums on the front of an envelope. It was an unused window envelope. And in the left-hand top corner was the printed name MOTH AND BENNY EXPORTS.

III

I went to see Mr Matsuko in his suite at the Savoy. Either he was among the higher aristocracy or it was a Japanese custom, for all his subordinates bowed low every time they came into the room and left.

He was very civilized, very grave, scrupulously polite, but discreet conversation brought out the fact that Erica had rather jumped the gun. It was true that Nihon Kuni and Co. had bought Globe Differentials, but it was not true that they had made any firm decision about new factories in Wales and Lancashire. They were considering it. They were in negotiation with Austin Rover, with the government, with several local councils. It was all rather airy-fairy, well meant, sincerely intentioned, soberly considered. If or when this full expansion took place they would want a new man to oversee it. They were not at all averse to considering me as an immediate possibility to represent their present interests in England. But whether the position offered real scope – and really big money – depended on decisions yet to be made.

When I told Erica this, she was furious that I'd not grabbed the half-chance that had offered itself. She had heard, her father had heard, it was only a matter of time, perhaps only a few months, before the big deals went through. Then there would be others with far wider experience clamouring for the job. This was the time to take it, at the outset, before anyone else was in the running.

I said I'd keep it very much in mind. Just what I'd told Mr Matsuko. For a while she wouldn't speak to me.

But just at the moment Erica was on teeters about everything as the Olympics drew nearer. She'd collected the necessary number of points; there were five or six others who had, but she was second in total, so selection was pretty much of a sure thing. But that was only the first step before Moscow. She hadn't, she said, a hope of a gold or a silver – there were two outstanding women who'd fight it out between them – but she fancied herself for a bronze. There was a very good Rumanian she'd never seen, and a West German she knew well and was sure she could beat. It was a matter of luck and fitness on the day.

From now on, she told me one night, she was going to remain a virgin.

‘I thought it might be a relaxation,' I said. ‘All work and no play makes Jill …'

‘You think sex only tires a man? Think again.'

‘I've never been husband to a female athlete before. I wonder how tennis players do. Hardly worth marrying, I'd think. Or do they say, ‘‘I've only got old so-and-so to play tomorrow: it's all right tonight, John''?'

As it happened the withdrawal of sleeping facilities didn't upset me too much. Things hadn't been too happy between us for several weeks. It was as if I was losing the taste – or this particular taste. No doubt it would come back, because she was an attractive girl.

I told Shona what I had learned and seen in the Cellini, and she at once wanted to bring in the Serious Crimes Squad from Scotland Yard; but I said no, give me a week or two more. There wasn't much to go on yet but it was more than we'd had before. I consulted Van Morris and we found there was only one Vince Bickmaster in the book and he lived in Maida Vale.

No idea of his personal life at all, and I couldn't ask Derek for fear of rousing suspicion. Van went up to watch. Seemed, he reported after a few nights, that Vince lived by himself, second-floor flat, no buzzer device on the door and the lock would be a doddle.

I hesitated at this moment, wondering whether to involve Van Morris further. For some years he'd been following the fount whence honour springs, beating out a modest living and married to a respectable frigg. What would old Essie think if we got copped for something and I'd let him into it – even with the best of intentions? What was worse, he was clearly enjoying it.

The fourth night I went up with him in an old Austin he owned – this being a lot less conspicuous than my big thing – and we parked a few cars down from Vince's flat on the other side of the road. We chatted and listened to the cricket close-of-play scores, and Van told me some of the problems of his married life. Coral was a queen, ace-high and the rest, kept everything nice and tidy, careful with money, always there to welcome him home; only trouble was she couldn't stand his mother. If he went to see Mum there was always a row when he got home. Jealous as fire. Couldn't understand it: he never objected to her going to see
her
mum. Women are peculiar that way –

‘Here he comes,' I said.

Vince Bickmaster walked down the steps and got into a flashy Mitsubishi parked nearby.

We watched him drive away. We sat in silence. Van lit the stub end of a cigarette and smoked it till there was nothing but a few flakes and a bit of rice paper sticking to his lip.

‘How about it, guv?'

‘What would Coral say?'

‘Won't know, will she?'

‘Not if we're quick, I suppose.'

‘Then let's be quick.'

We went in and up the stairs to the second floor. Van'd been up before and knew the way. The lock took him, I suppose, ninety seconds. Then we were in.

What neither of us expected was a yapping dog.

It was a long-haired dachshund. But these furry things can nip. It came towards us in a ecstasy of annoyance and hostility yet half ready to be servile. Not a guard dog in the proper sense of the word, but the racket sounded like a burglar alarm. Did the neighbours underneath complain?

Taking a chance, Van stretched down a hand, and the object rolled over on its back expecting to be tickled.

To the accompaniment of dog noise urging us on, we began to go through the flat. Four rooms, all sizeable, set out in art-deco style. I did the living-room while Van tried the bedroom, rooting for scraps of paper, old letters, notebooks, visiting cards which might be in his suits.

I went over to the desk and began to go through the drawers. You'd think a damned dog would get a sore throat, but this one didn't. There was no guarantee how long the owner would be away from the flat.

Van came in with a wad of £20 notes he'd found in an envelope under the mattress.

‘Nothing else,' he said. ‘Keeps all his pockets nice and clean.'

‘Put them back,' I said.

‘Seems a pity, guv.'

‘It's black money somehow and he'd never dare to complain; but I don't want him to know anybody has been here.' I was staring at a little Beretta automatic pistol in one of the drawers. Not quite the City gent picture. Just as well maybe if he came back unexpectedly that he wouldn't be carrying this.

Van was looking through the curtains, watching a car parking near by.

‘For God's sake can you do something to that dog?' I said. ‘Anything short of strangling it!'

I pulled out another drawer. Under the file were some girlie magazines, under the magazines more letters. One, without address, but dated April, said:

Dear Vince,

Now the stuff has all come in I'm more or less a freelance again, so shall be trying out one or two of your new ideas. When I saw Roger last he was cagey about getting tied in to it all personally. I rang you a couple of times at the old address in EC, but the telephone people said the number had been disconnected. Hope you get this.

There are many Maurices in the world but it isn't the most common of Christian names. Under the letter were half a dozen pieces of printed paper with the Moth and Benny Exports heading, an address in East Croydon. Apart from that not much. Nothing new. I wanted something to lead on, not lead back. The dog had stopped barking. The sudden silence scared me. Van, as I knew, did have strong hands.

Another drawer and a file. Bills of lading, receipts, cheque stubs, letters. Would take a week even to skim this lot.

Van was back. ‘I'll have a mouse around the bathroom. Some folk keep odd things in bathrooms.'

‘What have you done to the hound?'

‘Given him something to eat, guv. Seemed the best thing!'

As he loped off I looked at my watch. We'd been in twenty minutes. Half an hour ought to be the maximum. Unlikely Bickmaster would take his car if he was intending to be back sooner than that.

The living-room didn't have any other drawers apart from this desk, and precious few pieces of furniture that looked likely to give me any information to help. Try the kitchen.

No windows in the kitchen, so I put on the light. Dachshund was in a corner slurping up some sort of food Van had found. Must remember to clear it up when we left.

The supply cupboard: usual tins of coffee, packets of tea, jars of jam and marmalade, spices, etc. Pans in a lower cupboard; must say it was all pretty orderly, more so than my pad before I married money and had a slave to do it for me.

Van again. ‘ There's some of this in his medicine chest. Looks like skag. Want to catch him out for possession?'

‘No. Put it back. It's time we went. There's nothing else?'

‘Nothing I can latch on to.'

‘OK. By the way, was this dish on the floor?'

‘No, on the side. By the square packet. Greedy little bastard, aren't you; I give him a fair dollop.'

Hound had finished and looked as if he wanted more. As I picked up the dish he began to yap again.

I rinsed the dish under the tap and dried it, put it beside the packet. The packet was called LITTLE WOLF: ‘Finest food for all dogs. Gives his teeth lots of vital crunching. An enriched, meaty, compound food nutritionally balanced to contain all the proteins, vitamins and calcium your dog needs to get the most out of a happy life.'

It was packed by Best Friend Dog Foods of Hackney.

‘You look as if you've found something,' said Van, reappearing round the door.

‘I don't know for sure.'

IV

After all, dogs have to be fed, and how better than by a product which promised so much and must be in every other supermarket? And yet and yet. An odd coincidence.

Years ago when I'd had that first big row with Shona over my little side venture and she had dispensed with my valuable services, I had fooled around one day and made my way across London without paying my bus fare to see what Henry Gervase Ltd were doing now that all but the hardest porn magazines were freely available at the local station bookstands. I had found that Henry Gervase were no longer there; the premises were occupied by Best Friend Dog Foods. Roger Manpole had been the controlling shareholder in Henry Gervase. Was it not likely that he was behind the new firm? Clearly they produced dog foods. What else?

On that day I had not gone in, not wanting to come up against anyone who might think I was looking for a job; but, as I passed, a man came out whom I thought I'd seen before somewhere. I realized now that I hadn't properly recognized him because I hadn't ever seen him wearing a hat before. At certain perfumery exhibitions I'd observed him at the de Luxembourg stand.

My mind also ticked off the fact that Maurice Laval was slim, dark, youngish, middle-aged, and wore a thin moustache.

I

I was home about ten, not displeased with the evening's work. It might still be all guesswork but the threads were sporing other threads. In another week with luck I might have something to put together. I thought maybe I ought to have been a cop. There was more to tracking down this bit of dirty work than the boring old routines of every day.

A light in the flat; in fact, lights; nearly all were on. I whistled but no reply. I hoped to God I hadn't forgotten some affair Erica had arranged: too awful if there were a dinner party and the host didn't turn up till the coffee was served. Or maybe the two maids were here scouring the house or polishing silver for a future event. Both of them had daytime jobs.

I went down the hall and into the living-room. Having not so far described the furnishings of this room I won't bother now, except to say that it was all very elegant and expensive. And the lady who had spared no expense was at present standing at the bay window, the curtains undrawn, hands on elbows, stiff as buckram, gazing out over the lights of Hyde Park.

‘Hullo,' I said. ‘OK?'

She didn't speak or move.

‘Hope you didn't wait for supper,' I said. ‘Fact I've had none myself, so a bite or two wouldn't come amiss.'

No answer.

‘Erica,' I said. ‘Remember me? There's nothing wrong, is there?'

She turned slowly then. Hair in ponytail this evening. Cream silk jumper, darker cream slacks. I had a good opportunity to admire the down-curve of her mouth; the brackets around it said the weather was stormy.

‘So the conquering hero returns. What have you been doing, having it off with Derek at the Cellini?'

I picked up the evening paper, looked at the headlines. ‘The Cellini has a lot of facilities but none of that sort, at least as far as I know. What's the matter, pet? Been waiting in for me?'

‘You could call it that. I've been trying to telephone you since four. They said you'd already left the scent shop … After a couple of hours I even lowered myself to ring Shona asking if you were with her. Apparently not, if she was telling the truth.'

‘So probably you tried the Cellini too, did you?'

‘Naturally, since you seem to spend all your spare time there nowadays. They pretended you hadn't been in.'

I turned to the back page. ‘I was out at Stevenage. Then I picked up Van Morris and we've been on this forgery lark I told you about. Just that. Nothing fancy. Doing a bit of tec work that I think will pay off. What's wrong? I thought you were fencing tonight.'