Local Legend

by Trembling, Paul;

  We took the hint, and left.

  The trip back was as uncomfortable as before, but at least we didn’t face the uncertainty of not knowing what would happen at the end of it. Nevertheless, I was once more feeling bruised and nauseous when Casey finally opened the doors and let us out again. We were parked in the same place we had left from, right next to my car.

  He handed back our phones and the car keys. “I would suggest that you do not delay in contacting Mr Lonza,” he said, in his menacingly polite military tone. “The sooner this matter is resolved the better.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply, but got back into the van and drove off.

  Sam took the little brass pyramid out of his pocket. “I thought this thing was going to punch a hole right through my leg when we took that sharp bend,” he said, glaring at it.

  “Well, why did you take it anyway? Just a bit of tat.”

  “Yes, I know, but I thought we might want to know where Adi’s holed up. Especially since he went to so much trouble to hide that information.”

  I looked at him with raised eyebrows. “And how, pray tell, is a little brass knick-knack going to tell you that? Does it have some sort of esoteric properties that will guide you along the ley lines? Is divining one of the skills you picked up in your travels?”

  He laughed. “Of course not, Dad. I did try divining once but couldn’t get the hang of it. But I do know where Adi is.” He turned the pyramid over and looked at the base. “Mill House, River Lane, Corsten.”

  “What? Show me that!”

  He held it up so that I could see the small label that had been stuck on the bottom of the pyramid, with the address neatly handwritten in dark blue ink.

  “The original owner was a Mrs Horton-James,” he said, referring back to the label. “Very meticulous woman, it appears. I bet she labelled every item in the house.”

  “That other ornament you were fiddling with – the globe – that had one as well?”

  “Yes, but at some time it had been put down on a damp patch, and the ink had run. Almost illegible. So I had to find another. The tricky bit was checking the base without Casey seeing. He was standing right behind us. But I managed to keep it out of his line of sight, and Uncle Adi was too busy telling his story.”

  “But how did you know?”

  “I didn’t. But I could see that all that stuff wasn’t Uncle Adi’s, even before he told us. I thought it was worth a closer look. I doubt if Adi had ever given it a second glance.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I agreed. “Good thinking!”

  I gave my son a long look. For someone who had been kidnapped at gunpoint, he was remarkably calm and obviously more capable of clear thinking than I was. It would never have occurred to me to check the ornaments for clues. I wondered again just what he’d been up to in his wanderings. The young man who had come back to us was not the lad who had left, and that put a twist in my guts.

  He met my gaze guilelessly. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I dissembled. “But I know where Corsten is – just a few miles away. Ten minutes’ drive, maybe fifteen at the most. We were rattling around in the back of that van for half an hour, each way!”

  “Just normal practice, Dad. He didn’t want us to know how close Adi was.”

  “Normal practice for who?” I asked.

  “Anyone who ever read a spy novel,” he said with a grin. “So, are you going to phone Lonza, then? I’ve got those numbers from Wayland’s phone – we could try one of them, perhaps? Might be quicker than trying to go through his office.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I agreed. “But first of all, there’s something much more important we need to do.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “Go home and have a cup of tea,” I told him, and got in the car.

  For every occasion, there is the right tea. Or so I’ve always believed. Earl Grey, for example, I consider ideal for social occasions – unless of course we’re eating Chinese, in which case it has to be a green tea. But what on earth should one drink before talking to a senior member of an organized crime gang?

  It would have to be the Irish Breakfast Tea, I decided. I had a special blend from a local merchant which was darker and stronger than my normal English Breakfast Tea, but smooth as well, and – unlike Sharkey’s Navy Special – it didn’t leave your mouth feeling furry. I normally kept it for special occasions, and this definitely qualified.

  I prepared a pot and left it to brew, keeping an eye on my watch.

  “You’d better get started before Mum comes home,” said Sam, watching the process.

  “She’s working late tonight,” I told him. “Some event at the library.” She had told me what it was, but it had slipped my mind. The day had been quite full-on. “Perhaps it’s just as well. I think this whole situation is going to be easier to explain after the event.”

  Sam smiled. “Good luck with that, Dad. Is that tea ready yet?”

  It took two cups before I was ready to face the next stage.

  “Right. Let’s have that number, then.”

  Sam had his laptop up, and swung it round so I could read the screen. “That top one,” he pointed out. “That’s the one that was never actually contacted, so I’m surmising that, if the other one belongs to Handy Jack, then this one is probably Lonza. Of course, they might have ditched the phones when Wayland was killed, in which case we’ll have to try getting him through his office.”

  I took a deep breath and dialled.

  The ringtone sounded. And again. And again…

  After about six rings, I was expecting an answering service. After eight, I was beginning to think that no one was going to answer, and allowed myself a cautious amount of relief.

  At ten rings, it was answered.

  “Who is this?” An American accent, a surprisingly cultured voice with a rough edge to it.

  “Mr Lonza?” I asked.

  “Who is this?” he asked again.

  “My name is Graham Deeson. I’m an old friend of Adi Varney. I have something of his that you might be interested in.” It was all I could do not to gabble the words out. Now he had answered, I was afraid he’d hang up again before I could capture his interest.

  “What something?” The rough edge, I thought, was suspicion, and it was getting stronger.

  “Some papers… information about certain assets of his. Property, shares, that sort of thing. If you’re Lonza, that is.”

  There was a longer pause, perhaps some muffled words in the background. I imagined Lonza holding his hand over the phone while he talked to someone. Probably Handy Jack.

  “OK, I’m Lonza.”

  “Right. Good. Well, I understand that you worked with Adi over in the States.”

  “Who says so?” The suspicion was thick enough to curdle.

  “He did. I got a letter from him, a little while ago. Along with these papers. He said he was setting up a football – soccer – team for someone called Rocco Lonza. But he was a bit worried about how things were going and so he wanted me to hold on to these things for him. He said that they were worth a lot – hundreds of thousands. And he was right – I’ve checked.

  “But then it all went quiet. Didn’t hear anything else from Adi. Instead, you turn up here, with someone made up to look like Adi, even wearing Adi’s jacket. And at the same time someone starts to try to take over Adi’s sports centre. Turns out that that someone is you.”

  “I get it now. You’re that guy who’s been following us around.”

  “Not following. Our paths have crossed, no fault of mine.”

  “No? And Jimmy Wayland falling off a roof? You saying you had nothing to do with that?”

  “No! That was an accident. I was just trying to talk to him.”

  “Yeah, sure. Listen, Mr Deeson – you were seen. One of my guys was there and he can testify that you were up there with Jimmy and you pushed him over the edge.”

  “No! That is absolutely not true!” Somehow, Lonza had wrested the initi
ative away from me and gone on the offensive.

  I felt a light touch on my hand. My mobile was on speaker and Sam was listening; now he reached over and tapped the mute button.

  “He’s just trying to rattle you, Dad. You know he can’t go to the police with this story. Don’t forget it was Jack that took the body!”

  I nodded, and unmuted the phone.

  “You still there, Deeson? Because…”

  I interrupted him. “Enough games. Wayland fell, he wasn’t pushed. Your man got rid of the body, because obviously you couldn’t cope with the publicity a dead Adi Varney would generate, especially not a fake dead Adi Varney. You were going to use him to pressure the sports centre trustees to give up without a fight and hand over the property, which could be worth millions once the Delford Mills Project gets under way.

  “The fact that you had a fake Adi with a genuine Adi jacket – believe me, I know it well – means that something bad has happened to the real Adi. So now I’ve got all his assets, and you’ve got a fight on your hands – because I’ve talked to the trustees, and they’re not giving in without one. Especially as we’ve now got the resources to do it properly – take you to court, here and in the States if necessary – you personally, Mr Lonza, as well as your company. We’ll press for your prosecution for the kidnap and murder of Adi Varney, and I’ll give evidence about the fake Adi. We’ll block every attempt you make to take control of the sports centre, and whatever signatures you might have from him we’ll contest. We’ll allege that they were obtained under duress. We’ll dig into your past history, Mr Lonza, and expose it – in the courts, in the papers, on TV – and Adi’s money will fund it all!”

  I looked over at Sam as I finished my little tirade, and he gave me a big grin and a thumbs up.

  “Or,” I added into the silence from the other end of the line, “we can make a deal.”

  The silence was shorter than I expected. “Let me take a guess at this. I back off from the sports centre takeover, you hand over Varney’s assets – right?”

  He was quick on the uptake, but I suppose that would be necessary in his business. “In a nutshell,” I confirmed. “Or, to put it another way, several hundred thousand – sterling, that is – upfront, no strings attached. Or see you in court, and all over the news as well.”

  “You should be careful who you threaten, Deeson. You think I’m some lightweight who’ll just fold with a bit of tough talk? There’s a lot of guys who’ve thought they could take me down – in a court or out of it! Only, they tend to change their minds after a while.”

  I’d been threatened before, of course. Occupational hazard – some people just don’t like the press, especially when we tell uncomfortable truths about them. Lonza was much more polite than most of them – and much more convincing. What he implied was more frightening than anything he might have said.

  But I couldn’t back down now.

  “I’m not talking threats, Mr Lonza. I’m not looking to start a war. I’m just offering a deal, that’s all. Something you want for something I want. And you get a bonus: no bad publicity, no court challenge, and – here’s an extra – if anyone should happen to be investigating Adi’s disappearance, I won’t give them the other information he sent me. The stuff about what was really going on with California Strike Superstars; about what he was afraid would happen to him. And your part in it.”

  “That’s a lie. CSS was a legitimate business venture as far as I was concerned, and I lost a lot of money on it. Whatever Varney told you – and I’m not convinced he told you anything – I had nothing to do with it, and nothing to do with him disappearing.”

  “Then you’ll have no problem with me going public with all this.”

  After years of interviewing people, I was sensitive to the subtle nuances of silence. There are silences that give nothing away, and there are silences that speak volumes. Lonza’s silence was that of a man reluctantly accepting he couldn’t take the risk.

  “OK, I’ll take a look at these documents.” He spoke as though he was doing us a favour, but that was just to save face. We both knew he’d been outmanoeuvred. “If they’re what you say, maybe we can do a deal.”

  “Thank you, Mr Lonza,” I said humbly. It was in my best interest to help him save face, I decided.

  “Merstan House. It’s in some place called Priory Green. You know it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “On the main street, at the end of the village. You go past a bar called the Priest Hole and it’s about five houses along on the left.”

  “No problem. I’ll find it.”

  “An hour from now. Be alone and don’t even think about doing anything stupid like wearing a wire.”

  “A wire? Oh, right. No recording or anything like that. Fine by me.”

  “OK.” He hung up abruptly.

  I sat back and looked at my hands, which were shaking. I suppose that was a reasonable reaction to negotiating with Mafia bosses.

  “You all right, Dad?”

  “Yes. Just thinking that I’ve used up more adrenaline in the last few days than in the past five years.”

  He grinned. “You should get out more.”

  “I’m not saying it’s a good thing.”

  “Don’t knock it, Dad. Good cardio exercise, gets the blood pumping. And you did OK. We’ve got what we wanted.”

  “What Adi wanted. Thanks, anyway.” I glanced at my watch. “Plenty of time to get there. I’ll put the kettle on again. Hey, do you want to know something funny?”

  He gave me a suspicious look. “Are you going to tell a dad joke?”

  “No. And what’s wrong with dad jokes anyway? Never mind. It’s just this address Lonza gave us. Priory Green is just a few miles from Corsten. Adi and Lonza are practically neighbours!”

  Merstan House was an elegant, three-storey Georgian building, set back only a short way from the road but screened off behind high railings and thick shrubbery. Through the gates we could see a gravelled parking space and a glossy white front door.

  I looked across at Sam, who was driving. “You really shouldn’t be here. Lonza did say ‘come alone’.” I was very glad he was with me, and simultaneously worried that I was risking him as well as myself.

  “We’ve had this discussion, Dad. No way was I going to let you come here on your own.”

  “Did I ever tell you how much you’re like your mum?”

  “Yes. I have her hair.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. As you know full well. And did you really need to bring that?” I nodded at the back seat.

  Sam glanced over at the cricket bat he’d taken out of my office. “I find it reassuring.”

  “Yes, well, just bear in mind that that’s a serious collector’s item. It’s signed by every member of the last English team to win the Ashes. So don’t damage it!”

  Sam gave me one of his trademark grins. “I’d have preferred a baseball bat, but you haven’t got one. Don’t worry, it’s only there to make me feel more secure.” He indicated the gate. “Shall we do this?”

  We’d parked on the opposite side of the street to take a look. Sam put the car in gear, and pulled over to face the gates – which immediately swung open.

  “We’re expected!” he said. “How polite.”

  There were no cars in front of the house, but the gravelled area continued round the back, presumably leading to the garages. Sam, however, parked near the front door, manoeuvring carefully to face the gate. By the time he’d finished, the front door was open and a man was walking towards us.

  I’d expected Handy Jack, but this was someone new to me. A short, compact figure in a nondescript grey suit, his most noticeable feature was badly pockmarked skin. I opened the door and got out as he approached.

  “Deeson.” A deep, gravelly voice. “You were told to come alone.”

  “My father has a heart condition.” Sam stood up and leaned on the inside of the open door. “I drive him.”

  “You stay in the car.” The
tone of voice left no room for negotiation. “This way, Deeson.”

  Sam shrugged, and got back behind the wheel. “I’ll be waiting here, then.”

  “It shouldn’t take long,” I told him. I leaned back into the car to pick up Adi’s package from the dashboard, and followed my guide in through the front door.

  The hallway was nicely decorated and furnished in keeping with the exterior, but I had no time to stop and admire. It led to a wide flight of stairs, with a landing halfway up that gave you a choice of directions, left or right, both leading to a wide mezzanine with doorways off it in all directions. We went right, along a corridor, and through a door. First floor, rear, I thought to myself.

  The room had the same feel as the hallway, all very period, apart from the large modern desk with two computer monitors on it. Lonza was sitting behind it, fingers on a keyboard and eyes on the screens.

  He barely glanced up when I came in, so I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. The tall windows behind him had their curtains pulled back, allowing in a lot of late afternoon sunshine and leaving Lonza partially silhouetted from my point of view.

  The pockmarked man stood on my right, but level with the desk. Handy Jack, complete with leather jacket, stepped out of the shadows by a window and stood next to Lonza. He barely spared me a glance, and appeared to be staring at whatever Lonza had up on the computer.

  This, of course, was pure showmanship, as was the sunlight in my eyes. All standard tactics to make me feel on edge and intimidated.

  However, the same sunlight would have been reflecting off the monitors and making them difficult to read. If Lonza had really been interested in what was on them, he would have drawn the curtains.

  I wondered how long he planned to play this game. I could have just tossed the package onto the desk, but there was no point in upsetting him unnecessarily. I could let him have his fun.

  So I waited, and Lonza pretended to be too busy for me for about five minutes, before he finally glanced up at me again, then looked at his watch to let me know how little time he had to spare for me.