by Graham Hamer
“What's HSV-2?”
“I had to look it up afterwards. Seems that there's HSV-1, which is the sort of herpes that gives you blisters and things on your lips. And there's HSV-2 which is a sexually transmitted disease that gives you genital herpes.”
“So why did you want blood samples of genital herpes?”
“I didn't. Like I said, I would have preferred hepatitis B, but beggars can't be choosers and I got hold of some HSV-2 instead. I'm not actually sure if it would work, but it was worth a go.”
Dave picked at the beer mat, shredding the corner. “You were going to inject him with it then?”
“No, I was going to make him inject himself. Have you ever tried injecting an unwilling victim with one hand while you've got a gun in the other?”
“It wasn't on the curriculum when I took my bricklaying exams.”
If I'd managed to get Tweedle to inject himself with it, it wouldn't have killed him, but it would have make his life bloody uncomfortable. There is no available vaccine and once infected, there is no cure; you have it for the rest of your life. Typical symptoms are clusters of inflamed lumps and blisters, like painful cold sores, on the outer surface of the scrotum.”
“Oooh - painful.”
“Exactly! I thought it would remind him what a complete and utter prick he had been, every time he had to scratch his balls.”
“So how did you sneak out the blood?”
“While Claire was answering a phone call on her mobile, I nicked a couple of vials then stored them at home in the back of the fridge. I brought them over with me, along with one of Claire's syringes. I filled the syringe before I got to Tweedle's house.
So that was the scheme. Make the bastard inject himself with a painful, unpleasant virus. It would have been foolproof too. No witnesses; just Tweedle with an arm full of contaminated blood. He could have gone to the police if he'd wanted, but so what? He'd just be a man with a pin prick in his arm. And when he got itchy gonads, it could just as easily have come from normal sex with someone who was infected.”
“So you told him what was in the syringe?”
Ian nodded.
“What happened when you gave it to him?”
“That was the curious thing. He told me to bugger off. Told me he'd rather have a bullet.”
“What? Tweedle?”
Ian nodded again. “Thinking on it now, I reckon he just didn't believe that I would shoot him.”
“And would you have done?”
“No way. The only reason I asked you for a couple of bullets was so that I could shoot one into the wall or ceiling to scare him a bit and show him I meant business.”
“But you didn't shoot?”
Ian responded with a flush. He picked up his glass from the bar and nodded towards a nearby table that a young couple had just been vacated. Dave followed him.
“So then what?” Dave asked, as they sat face to face. “What happened when Tweedle told you to bugger off?”
Ian shrugged. “I still wanted the bastard scared. I wanted him to plead for mercy. I wanted him to crawl. But, as always, he seemed to have an ace up his sleeve.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I pointed the gun at him and started a countdown. You know, like 'The Good, The Bad and The Ugly'.”
“You were The Good, and Tweedle was The Bad and The Ugly.”
“And the invincible,” Ian said. “I aimed at his face, but I would have shot over his head in the end. And if that hadn’t worked, I would probably have just grabbed hold of him and tried to forcibly inject him while I held him down. But I never got to that point. I started at five, but Tweedle didn't even move - got to four, and he just pulled on his fag - three, and he blew smoke at me, but started to look a bit concerned - two, and he was looking worried, but all of a sudden his eyes lit up, like the cavalry had come over the hill - one and the bloody lights went out.”
“What? You mean someone turned them out?”
“Not quite, this bastard woman chucked a rug over my head and just took the gun away, calm as you like.”
“What bastard woman?” Dave asked, wide eyed.
Ian laughed, but it was a moping laugh of resignation. “No idea who she was, old son. Tall bird. Legs right up to her bum. When I got the rug off my head, she just stood there, behind me, bollock naked and pointing your gun in my face.”
“Bollock naked?”
“Bollock naked. She was a good-looker, I can tell you. Mid twenties, long dark hair, good tits, slim.”
“And pointing a Browning in your face.”
“Exactly.”
“And then what? Why didn't she call the police or whatever?”
“I've no idea, old mate. She even knew who I was - called me Ian, straight away.”
“What did she say to you? What did Tweedle do?”
“Tweedle sat watching and smoking. Didn't say a single word – just had one of his arrogant grins on his face, like he'd won again. The girl took the syringe off him and put it on the table.”
“Are you sure he wasn't drunk?”
Ian drained his glass, savouring the taste and smell of the hops. “Pretty certain. It was something else, Dave. I thought about it afterwards and wondered if it was drugs that were giving him a bit of courage.”
“What? Tweedle?”
“Well, when Snaefell Homes collapsed, and Sean put pressure on him, it was because he'd found out that Tweedle was buying drugs from George Riley. Sean threatened Tweedle that he'd shop him to the police.”
“What? George Riley as in — er — George Riley?”
“The same. Sean didn't think that Tweedle was buying them for himself, but maybe he was wrong - maybe he was. I'd always assumed they were for Ron Scott, but I'm beginning to wonder now.”
“Jesus, boss, what an evening. Do you want another pint?”
Ian straightened his shoulders, which had become hunched during the conversation. He tried to straighten his thoughts, but couldn't. “Yeah, go on, why not?”
Dave caught Ann's attention and ordered two more beers.
“I take it you'll get round to saying a few words to your favourite landlady when you're done gossiping,” she called, as she placed the refilled glasses on the bar.
“Sorry,” Ian said. “Dave and I are just doing a bit of catching up.”
She laughed. “Just pulling your leg. Don't look so serious.”
He smiled outwardly and slumped inwardly. The reflections on the copper bed-warmers, the smell of wood smoke, the welcoming warmth of the room reminded him of everything that was missing in his life thanks to Tweedle.”
“So what happened next?” Dave asked, with a ring of froth round his lips.
Ian sipped his beer. “This bird with the legs and the boobs sat down in the other chair, still wearing her birthday suit, and asked me what the hell was going on. I told her, briefly, the history of Tweedle and myself and what I'd planned to do. She seemed to know more about it than I did.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, when I said about Tweedle following me to Kuwait and so on, she said there was nothing personal in it; that he was just giving me the elbow because I screwed up his car. She said that the Snaefell Homes episode was no more than a Tweedle business decision – again, nothing personal if you like. The only bit she didn't know was that Tweedle had tried to run Claire down in the street, and that was the only point when Tweedle spoke. He reckoned it was an accident. Said he had no idea it was somebody I knew.”
“But then again Tweedle had the law looking for you in Kuwait. It was a bit more than personal then.”
“Only because I thumped him. And that was because he got a bit excited when I told him I'd pissed in his ice tea.”
“Did you tell this woman about that?”
“Yeah. She found it quite amusing. She didn't seem a bad sort, Dave. She was sort of — er — smiley and so on, but she never let the gun off my face and I'm sure she'd have used it if she'd had to.”
&nb
sp; “So in the end she just told you to leave, and she kept the gun?”
The claws of failure leaped back into Ian's gut. “Sorry about the gun,” he said. “I asked her if she intended calling the law, but she said that, as far as she was concerned, it was all just a misunderstanding, and that no good would be served by getting the police involved. She even got Tweedle to nod in agreement.”
“Who do you think she is?”
“No idea. She must be some little plaything of Tweedle's,” Ian paused. Dave had been understanding and sensitive so far, but he wasn't sure whether to continue. He'd only ever trusted his real feelings to Claire. He spoke slowly, grasping his way from one word to the next. “There was something she said. Something that makes me think she lives in Laxey —”
“Like what?”
“Something that came as a bit of a shock. She asked me why I thought Tweedle was responsible for everything that had gone wrong. I told her the same as I've told you. Tweedle caused the split between me and Nancy, which resulted in us having to sell the house, blah blah blah. But she reckoned that Nancy and Wormald-Welch were meeting behind my back well before I even met Tweedle. She said she'd seen Nancy going to his house almost every Thursday morning. Sort of 'clockwork shagging'.”
Dave spluttered in his beer. “Bloody hell, you're joking aren't you?”
“No joke, old son. If what she says is true, then my ex-wife and her live-in solicitor - my old school buddy - were rutting like sex-starved rabbits for years, and I was none the wiser.”
“Fuckin' outrageous!”
“Just a bit.”
“Do you think she was just lying, to give Tweedle an excuse?” Dave asked, wiping spilt beer off his jacket.
“No. I never even mentioned The Worm's name, it was her that brought him into the conversation. Anyway, thinking on it, it all makes sense. Nancy did used to bugger off every Thursday. Even the day when you fell off the roof, she must have been with him, because I asked her why she'd not called me at Sean's office to tell me.”
“What did she say?”
Ian thought for a moment. “I don't rightly remember. We ended up having a row as I recall. I think the bank phoned or something and she flew into a rage.”
Dave studied him and paused before speaking. “How do you feel about it, Ian?”
“I'm not sure yet. It's too soon to think about it after everything that's gone on this evening. I guess when I've calmed down a bit and had time to think things over, I'll be fairly pissed off!”
* * *
“Feeling alright now, Richard?” asked the naked young lady, pouring him a large Scotch.
“Never felt better, my dear. I just can't believe that the gun was loaded. I can't understand why he's so bloody angry, after all it was him that thumped me, not the other way round. I was sure his gun was just some little toy and that he was bluffing me into making a fool of myself. If I'd thought for a moment that it was for real, I might well have reacted differently.”
“Well I can assure you it was very real, Richard. If I hadn't been here, you'd either be dead, or walking round with a very unpleasant virus in your blood.”
“I'm beginning to think you're right. I think your timely intervention saved the day, old boy.”
“You're welcome,” she said, uncrossing her legs for his benefit.
He offered her a cigarette, which she refused. “You're a very resourceful lady, and I'm very grateful too you, Cindy. But why did you let Gidman go? We could have handed him over to the police.”
She laughed and brushed back her long black hair, exposing her perfect breasts to his staring eyes. She spoke in a gently mocking tone. “I didn't think you'd be too pleased to have the law tramping round the place and asking difficult questions about your various business interests.”
He laughed with her. “Like I said, you're a very resourceful lady.”
The long-legged young lady stood up and took two steps to where he sat. She leaned forward and rested her hands on his shoulders so that her breasts were just inches from his face. “Shall we carry on where we left off?” she murmured.
“That's a good idea,” he said, ignoring the small tattoo and staring at her pink nipples. “But hadn't we better put that gun somewhere safe first?”
“Any suggestions?” she asked, reaching deep into his dressing gown.
He drew in a deep breath. “I'll pop it in the safe under the stairs on the way back to the bedroom.”
She giggled and pulled him up from the settee. “That's a good idea. Let's go and play under the stairs.”
SUNDAY 12 OCTOBER
Ron Scott frowned. “That's a hell of a story, Sandra. It's a bloody good job you were there.”
“Yes, otherwise you, Uncle Ron, might now be answering all sorts of difficult questions down at the police station. It wouldn't have taken the law long to have investigated Tweedle's business affairs once they found him with a bullet in his head.”
“Do you really think Gidman would have pulled the trigger?”
She laughed. “No idea, but it wouldn't have had much immediate effect - the safety catch was still on.”
“So what would you have done if Tweedle looked like he was going to inject himself?”
“Same thing. I've got to sleep with the silly bugger until we find out the combination of the safe, so I'm hardly going to let him give himself some nasty virus, am I?”
Scott nodded. “Pity about that combination though.”
“I thought I had it. When Tweedle suggested putting the gun in the safe, it seemed a dead cert, but it was too dark to see what he was doing. I think I got the first two numbers, but that's all.”
“Never mind, Sandra, we've still got three or four weeks.” Scott stood up, scratched his crotch, and sat down again. “So poor old Gidman got the good news about his wife, did he?”
“Yes. It's a pity really. He seemed quite a nice bloke.”
“Nice bloke, my bloody arse. You're talking about the tosser who broke my bleedin' nose. He's nothing more than an intelligent thug. Anyway, if he's that friggin' nice, why did you tell him that his missus had been bonking the solicitor all these years? I don't suppose that did much for his self-esteem.”
“I didn't like doing it, Uncle Ron. But if he'd carried on thinking that Tweedle was the cause of all the world's ills, he might have decided to come back and have a second go.”
“I guess you're right. Even if he goes and kicks three shades of shit out of his ex-wife or her boyfriend, it doesn't affect our plans.”
* * *
William turned his head as Nancy padded into the study in a long, pink housecoat and matching slippers.
“Come to bed, love,” she said. “What is it that's been bothering you?”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Just a little problem at work that doesn't seem to want to go away.”
She sat down at the oak table that served as a desk and held his hand. “Would it help to share it?”
He replaced his glasses. He didn't usually discuss business details outside the office. On the other hand, he could rely on Nancy to be discreet. “Do you remember me telling you about old Jack Tweedle coming to see me just before he died?”
“He wanted you to administer his will, didn't he?”
“And that's the problem, Nancy. He divided his estate into three. About six million pounds a share.” He smiled as she drew in her breath. He'd never mentioned the value of Tweedle's estate to her.
“Good heavens, that's eighteen million pounds.”
“Quite. The problem is that he left it to me to trace the third party.”
“You mean he didn't know where they were?”
William stopped for a moment and stared at the sheaf of papers that were strewn in front of him. “I'm not sure, Nancy, and that's what's bothering me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when he came to see me, he was very specific about the way the will was to be dealt with. It involved me personally.”
“How?”
He pointed to a large white envelope. “The old man left a third of his estate to an illegitimate child. His instructions were that I should trace this child and personally give him this envelope.”
“You mean you can't post it or anything?”
“Exactly. I agreed to hand it over myself, in person.”
“So what's the problem?”
“There are two problems. First of all I'm beginning to get a horrible feeling that this somehow involves me. Why else would my neighbour, who I almost never spoke to, single me out of all the advocates on this island? Second, I'm no nearer to finding the beneficiary than I was almost twelve months ago when Jack Tweedle died. We've traced back as far as we can in the public records and we've placed advertisements in local and national papers, but so far with no effect.”
Nancy eyed the envelope suspiciously. “And there no clues in there?”
“I don't know. My instructions were to give it personally to the beneficiary, unopened.” He picked it up and turned it over to show her the large, wax seal on the back. “The other thing that's disturbing me is that Richard Tweedle contested the will. In my view, if he'd continued, he would have stood a reasonable chance of success since we've been unable to trace the third beneficiary. It might have taken a few years but ultimately he would have almost certainly inherited the other share.”
“You mean he's dropped the case?”
“Yes, yesterday, and that makes me nervous. It's difficult to imagine why he, of all people, should give up a fight when there's six million pounds at stake.” He pushed the papers aside and stroked the back of her hand. “Ah well. I don't suppose it'll do much good worrying about it. Alice Alston will have to remain an enigma a while longer I guess.”
Nancy's face changed colour like a cloud blocking the sun. He shoulders seemed to sag under their own weight.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “You look as though you've just seen a ghost.”
“Oh William.”
“What, love? What is it?”