Last Reminder dcp-4 Page 16

  ‘Lies, lies, lies!’ Watts shouted at me. ‘All lies. If any drugs were found it is because they were planted, by you.’ He reinforced his words by stabbing a finger at me. ‘Twice before my son has been falsely incriminated. Now he is not allowed to sleep in the safety of his own home without being persecuted by you. This is not over yet, Mr Partridge. I will take this up with my MP.’ He jammed the hat on his head again and grabbed the briefcase. His parting shot was, ‘This whole sad story has been motivated by jealousy and racism, purely and simply, but I will stamp it out. Believe me, I will.’

  Before he reached the door I said, ‘I understand you have a shop in Lockwood Road, Mr Watts.’

  He turned and took a pace back towards me.

  ‘Yes, I have. Are you now about to tell me that I am charged with peddling drugs from there, too?’

  I pulled the T-shirt from the carrier and held it up for Partridge to see. ‘Make my day, kill a pig,’ I read from it. ‘A young friend of mine bought this, earlier today. A black friend, from your shop. Printed on your machines, no doubt. He’s as disgusted with it as I am.’ I hurled the T-shirt at him. ‘Take it back where it came from, Mr Watts, and never dare accuse me or my men of racial prejudice again.’ It draped itself across his shoulder, then fell slowly to the floor.

  He yanked the door open. ‘You will be hearing from the Council for Civil Liberties about this!’ he shrieked at me.

  ‘And you will be hearing from the Crown Prosecution Service!’ I shouted after him.

  Partridge had his head in his hands. As silence fell in his office he removed them and peered at me.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I confirmed.

  He let out a long sigh. ‘You’d, er, better leave me a copy of that report,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And, er, before you embark on anything like this again, er, have a word with someone, eh?’

  ‘We took at least six kilograms of heroin out of circulation, sir. Probably a lot more. At a conservative estimate it cost them a hundred thousand pounds, so they’ll be hurting. It’s called pro-active policing, sir.’ The ACC is big on proactive policing. He wrote a paper on it. He’s written papers on most things.

  ‘Quite,’ he said.

  I sat there, feeling awkward, wondering if that was it, and I was dismissed from his presence. He didn’t exactly smile, but the frown slowly slipped from his face, like the shadow of a cloud passing from shrubbery.

  ‘I, er, might have a little job for you,’ he said, and nodded slowly and repeatedly, as if congratulating himself on finding just the sucker he’d been looking for.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Ye-es.’ He opened a drawer and pulled a big envelope from it. ‘In fact, you’re just the man. Next Friday — week tomorrow — I’m supposed to be delivering a lecture at Bramshill to a bunch of…a party of overseas officers. Unfortunately I can’t make it. I rang them and they said, “That’s OK. Just send someone else.” It’ll be a nice day out for you. You can have my first class rail warrant, too. How about it, eh, Charlie?’

  Suddenly it was Charlie again. I thought about offering to wash his car every week for two years, but he didn’t look in the mood for bartering. I said, ‘Fine, sir. What’s the lecture about?’

  ‘Ethics. Here you are.’ He passed the envelope over.

  ‘Ethics?’

  ‘Yes. What do you know about them?’

  ‘They beat Yorkshire by ten wickets, didn’t they?’

  I was still a policeman when I left his office, which was a surprise. I popped my head round a few doors, looking for Sergeant Kim Limbert, only to be confronted by shiny faces that I’d never seen before. She wasn’t in, so I missed out on a coffee and sympathy. I walked out of the building with my car keys in my hand, then realised I needed a lift. A friendly panda took me back to Heckley, and as we drove past the municipal sewage works I looked into the sky and watched the huge flock of seagulls that scavenge a living there. They were looping the loop and practising their barrel rolls.

  I needed to unwind. Nigel had a date and Sparky shook his head when I suggested going for a drink.

  ‘Sorry, Chas,’ he said. ‘Going out with Shirley.’

  ‘Oh. Anywhere special?’

  ‘No. Just…out.’ He was uncomfortable, almost blushing. This was a rare event, like a visit from Halley’s comet, or Mrs Thatcher contemplating that she might have made a mistake.

  ‘Whaddya mean, out?’ I demanded.

  ‘Out. Just…out. That’s all.’

  ‘Why all the secrecy?’

  ‘It’s not secrecy. We’re just going…’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Yes. Out.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me to mind my own business?’

  ‘Because I’m too polite.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘But you’re thinking it.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Right I will.’

  I went home, showered, and walked down to the pub about half a mile away; the nearest thing I have to a local. I only go there as a last resort.

  Nothing had changed since my last visit. The landlord resented my interrupting his conversation with the three cronies who occupied their permanent positions at the little bar, and checked the tenner I handed over by holding it up to the light. I did the same with the fiver he gave me in my change. The regulars were local businessmen of the upstart variety. Their Pringle jumpers had crossed golf clubs on the breast, and they fell silent while I was being served. I ordered a home-made chicken pie and chips and found a table away from the door.

  The food was reasonable. No, fair’s fair, it was good. I enjoyed it, and a second pint relaxed me. Long time ago I started hitting the booze hard, but not any more. It’s an occupational hazard, an antidote to the long hours and the stress of the job. I saw where it was leading me and looked for a different strategy. I decided it was all a matter of attitude.

  A third was tempting, but I decided to stick to my two-pint limit. As I placed my empty glass on the bar one of the cronies said, ‘You’re the policeman, aren’t you?’ making it sound like an accusation. He had a Zapata moustache that made him look much older than he probably was, and would have been horrified to learn that in some circles it was a badge of homosexuality.

  ‘That’s how I earn my living,’ I confessed.

  He elbowed his way round his colleagues. ‘I’ve just been done for speeding,’ he declared, which was more-or-less what I’d expected. ‘Said I was doing fifty-five on the by-pass, and I wasn’t doing an inch over forty-eight. Bloody diabolical, I call it. When somebody had a go at the wife’s Clio you didn’t do a thing about it.’

  ‘It’s a forty limit on the by-pass,’ I said. ‘And three people have been killed on it so far this year.’

  ‘One of them was in a stolen car.’

  Presumably that didn’t count. I smiled at him. ‘Just regard it as payment for all the times that you weren’t caught,’ I suggested, turning to leave.

  ‘It’s all right for you, though, isn’t it?’ one of the others said.

  ‘What is?’

  He nodded at the glasses on the bar. ‘This job.’

  ‘You mean drinking and driving?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s all right for you.’

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘It’s the same for me as it is for anyone. Possibly even worse. That’s why I walked here tonight.’ This time I made it out of the door before they could reply.

  As soon as I arrived home I rang Sparky’s number. ‘Hello, Sophie,’ I said when she answered. ‘It’s Uncle Charlie. Can I have a word with your dad, please?’

  ‘Hello, Uncle Charlie. They’re not in. Did you see our picture in the Gazette?’

  ‘Yes, it’s good, isn’t it? Are you sending for a copy?’

  ‘Mum said she would, and one for you, too.’

  ‘That’s kind of her. Where have they gone?’

  ‘Urn, I can’
t tell you.’

  ‘Oh, why not?’

  ‘Because Dad said that if you rang to ask where they’d gone, he’d kill us both if we told you.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘He meant it.’

  ‘Right. Put Daniel on.’

  He was right there. ‘Hi, Uncle Charlie,’ he said. ‘Did you watch the match?’

  ‘Never mind that. If you don’t tell me where your dad is I’m coming straight round and I’ll dig your kidneys out with a chair leg. Understood?’

  ‘He made us promise, Uncle Charlie.’

  ‘Right! And I’ll wear my flared jeans with budgie bells on the bottom and play a Bob Dylan tape while I’m doing it!’

  ‘Whaaa! Anything but that! I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘They’ve gone line dancing.’

  ‘Line dancing!’

  ‘I never said a word!’

  ‘Right, Daniel. Let’s just call it our little secret. See you sometime.’

  Line dancing! I’d struck pay dirt. This could run for weeks and weeks.

  I had one shoe off when the phone rang. I clip-slopped over to it, smiling like a toyshop, willing Annabelle to be on the other end.

  ‘Priest,’ I growled, in my pretend officious tone.

  It was Heckley control room. ‘Hi, Mr Priest,’ the duty sergeant said. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but a woman’s been asking for you. Said she’s called Lisa Davis. Do you know her?’

  ‘Hardly. Interviewed her husband sometime last week. Did she say what it was about?’

  ‘No. Wanted to speak to you and you alone. She sounded ferret and skunk to me. I’ll give you the number…’

  I wrote it on the pad. ‘Cheers. I’ll give her a ring.’

  ‘Please yourself, Charlie, but I said I’d pass it on. One of your many fans, I expect.’

  ‘Work, Arthur,’ I told him. ‘You know how it is: CID never sleeps.’

  I flipped the cradle and dialled the number he’d given me. She must have been sitting right by the phone.

  ‘Hello,’ a husky little voice greeted me.

  ‘It’s Charlie Priest, Lisa. You wanted me to ring you.’

  After a hesitation she drawled, ‘Hello, Charlie. I didn’t think you would.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I just didn’t. Nobody seems to want to talk to me, tonight. I don’t know why.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you, Lisa. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Thank you. I could tell you were kind. I bet you’re a Virgo, aren’t you? That man at Heckley police station wasn’t very polite.’

  ‘Wasn’t he, by jove! I’ll have a word with him, first thing in the morning.’

  She gave a little laugh. ‘You don’t mind me ringing the station, do you? I hope I haven’t got anybody into trouble.’

  ‘Of course not, Lisa. So what’s it all about?’

  ‘Oh, you know, I’m feeling a bit fed up. And lonely.’

  ‘Has Justin gone?’

  ‘Yes. Is Annabelle there with you?’

  The message coming through was that Lisa Davis could be bad news. I remembered the warning Annabelle had given me. ‘No, she’s not here at the moment,’ I replied. No need to say she was two hundred miles away.

  ‘So you’re on your own, like me,’ she observed.

  ‘That’s right.’ I didn’t feel like playing counsellor to a spoilt bitch, which was what I suspected her to be. I needed some TLC myself, but not from her.

  ‘Do you get lonely, Charlie?’

  ‘Yeah, sometimes.’ I reached down and unlaced the other shoe. ‘Everybody gets lonely sometimes, Lisa. It’s all part of life. When do you go out to Australia?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I might not go.’

  ‘I think you should. Justin will be disappointed if you don’t go.’

  ‘Him!’ she sniffed.

  There was an awkward silence. She broke it, saying, ‘I’m frightened, Charlie.’

  ‘Frightened? What of?’

  ‘This house. It’s spooky up here, when you’re alone.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. Why don’t you have a nice warm bath, a cup of cocoa, and go to bed, eh? Then you’ll feel a lot better.’ She had a point. I think I’d have been scared, living up there on my own, with the wind howling round the eaves like Heathcliffe on Carlsberg Special.

  ‘Why don’t you come up and go to bed with me?’ she replied. ‘That would make me feel better.’

  No doubt about it, bits of me wanted to. I said, ‘Er, no, Lisa. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  She sounded disappointed. Offended, probably. ‘Don’t you like me?’ she sniffed.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘You’re a very attractive woman, but I think we’d both regret it, afterwards.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ she declared, sounding as if she spoke with the confidence of experience.

  ‘Well, I would. How much have you had to drink?’

  ‘Just a little bit.’

  She was as tight as a screw top. A thousand gallons is a little bit, when you’re talking about leaking tankers. ‘What a pity,’ I said. ‘It’s an offence for a policeman to take advantage of an intoxicated woman. Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Mmm.’ I decided to change the subject. ‘How’s the parrot?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s lovely, but he’s not very cuddly.’

  I had an idea. ‘Why don’t you stay with Justin’s parents?’ I suggested. ‘They have a big enough house.’

  ‘Are you joking?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No. What’s so funny?’

  ‘Ruth wouldn’t have me anywhere near. That’s what.’

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  Good, I thought. We were moving on to safer territory. ‘I’m all ears,’ I said. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘She hates me.’

  ‘Why? For marrying her precious son and taking him away from her?’

  ‘Mmm. Partly.’

  ‘And what’s the other part?’

  ‘Oh, me and K. Tom, you know.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me.’ I made myself comfortable, sitting on the floor with my back against a radiator.

  ‘Well, let’s say I knew K. Tom a long time before I knew Justin. That’s all.’

  ‘In the biblical sense?’ I risked asking.

  She laughed. ‘What do you think?’ she replied. ‘He didn’t insult me like you did.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t like too many complications.’

  ‘It needn’t be complicated, Charlie,’ she assured me.

  The last thing I needed was convincing that it wouldn’t be complicated. ‘So how did you meet Justin?’ I asked.

  ‘Through K. Tom. I worked as a temp for him and he was good to me. Helped me start up on my own. When Ruth became suspicious he introduced me to his stepson.’

  The ultimate revenge. It sounded damn complicated to me.

  ‘Does Justin know about you and K. Tom?’ I asked.

  ‘No! Of course not,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘So why have they fallen out?’

  ‘Ah! Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  ‘Yes. Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘It’s just conversation, Lisa. Like you said, we’re both on our own, and I like talking to you.’

  ‘Do you really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I told her. ‘I’ve got cramp.’ I stretched my legs and adjusted my position. ‘I’m sitting on the floor and it’s a bit hard.’

  ‘Ooh!’ she cooed. ‘Tell me more!’

  ‘Lisa Davis, you’re a wicked lady,’ I reprimanded her. ‘Ah, that’s better. Now, you were telling me why Justin and his dad fell out.’

  ‘Oh, you know, it was because K. Tom asked Justin to do him a favour, and Justin
refused.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like Justin. He must have had a good reason. What sort of a favour was it?’

  ‘He wanted him to bring something into the country. Or take something out of it. I’m not sure.’

  ‘You mean…smuggling?’

  ‘I suppose you could call it that.’

  ‘Well, I’m not surprised Justin wouldn’t do it. There’s big penalties for smuggling drugs these days. It’s just not worth the risk. So what happened?’

  ‘It wasn’t drugs!’ she protested, jumping to her father-in-law, and lover’s, defence. ‘What made you think it was drugs? K. Tom wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs.’

  ‘What was it, then?’

  ‘I…I can’t say.’

  ‘Money!’ I announced. ‘Bet it was money.’

  ‘Money? Why would anybody want to smuggle money?’

  ‘Good question,’ I replied. ‘It does sound silly, but people do it, I’m told. Suppose you get a better exchange rate, that way. Hardly sounds worth bothering.’ I paused for a few seconds, then, as if realisation had at last dawned, I proclaimed, ‘Oh, it’d be the gold. I’d forgotten about the gold.’

  ‘W-What gold?’ she stuttered.

  ‘Never mind. No more questions. How are you feeling, now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What did you have for your dinner?’

  ‘Ah! Do you really want me to tell you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.’

  ‘I had yoghurt, banana and a small jacket potato.’

  ‘It sounds horrible.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. It was quite nice.’ She’d resorted to her little girlie voice. ‘Charlie…’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Will you come and see me, sometime?’

  I’d be seeing her, sometime, no doubt about it. I just wasn’t sure about the circumstances.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, Lisa,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you said you liked me.’

  ‘I do, Lisa. I think you’re terrific’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘I can’t make it, tomorrow.’

  ‘Saturday?’

  ‘No. I’ll be seeing Annabelle over the weekend.’

  ‘Then it will have to be tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m busy, tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to know all about K. Tom. And the…you know…the stuff.’

  ‘You mean the gold?’