by Bill James
WITNESS TWO (Mr Rex Marchant):
I was walking the dog near Mitre Park at about ten forty-five p.m. on October twenty-fifth – I habitually take the dog out for ‘watering’ at about this time before bed if the weather suits – when I became aware of a red Volvo parked in the shadows under some trees. We have problems with car-borne lovers in this area, and I assumed that the vehicle was here for that purpose. I would not want it thought that I stare in to such cars with a prying, voyeur intent – termed, I believe, ‘dogging’, though I don’t know why. It seems a slander on dogs, such as mine. But as I and the dog passed it, I could see that in fact there was only one person in the car, a square-built man wearing what appeared to be a green cardigan. He was in the driver’s seat. He did not look towards me, though he must have been aware of my nearness to the car. I had the idea that he did not wish to show his face properly, or to offer any greeting, in case this caused me to stop and perhaps signal that he should open the window for a conversation. He might be expecting questions as to his intentions, or even a rebuke. I did not find his behaviour reassuring. It, of course, occurred to me that he might be what is called, I believe, ‘casing’ the district for future break-ins – or about to attempt a break-in there and then. I decided that on my return I must memorize the Volvo’s registration number, which would be possible without having to pause and so alert the driver. I continued my walk.
Shortly afterwards, I thought I heard the running feet of more than one person. Then came angry shouting, all male, and maybe there was the sound of a struggle – shoes impacting heavily on the ground, and perhaps a degree of breathlessness in the shouting. I could make out some words. I think a man yelled, ‘He’s not coming I tell you. He’s not coming. Never.’ After a minute or so I heard a vehicle’s engine start behind me, most probably the Volvo’s, and then the slamming of two car doors. I deduced from this that two or three people had entered the Volvo, depending on whether two or one used the same rear door on the pavement side to get into the car, plus one into the passenger seat. I heard the car pull away in what seemed a rush. When I and the dog came back from our stroll, the Volvo had gone. I had therefore lost the chance to note the car’s registration number. I can only say that it appeared to be a quite new model and not the anti-stylish, boxy type. It appeared that the car had waited at this agreed point to pick up the people I’d heard running, and then leave. But there appeared to have been some kind of dispute, which I cannot explain.
An odd factor – or in my view, at least, an odd factor – was that as I neared the site of where the Volvo had been I could see ahead of me the man I think had been in the driver’s seat originally. I recognized – think I recognized – the green cardigan. The dog barked, having also spotted this figure in the dark and perhaps wanting to alert me. The noise caused the man to look back, and then he seemed to increase his walking speed and soon disappeared.
The Volvo turned out to have been lifted from a municipal car park earlier in October. The vehicle’s registration number wouldn’t have disclosed anything about the driver and his companions, even if Mr Marchant had managed to get, memorize and report it. Harpur wanted to believe him when Marchant said he wasn’t interested in an ogle and objected to the night use of the area for car sex. People did get upset by lovers at it in parked cars close to their homes. Harpur couldn’t altogether understand this, unless it was envy. The couples in the cars would be reasonably quiet and self-focused. Iles had a framed cartoon from an ancient copy of some American magazine, showing a man and woman leaving their car and carrying the back seat into the woods. The ACC would normally keep this in a drawer out of sight, but during that longish period when he was trying to drive the previous Chief Constable, Mark Lane, off his head, he’d take down the portrait of the Home Secretary in his suite and replace it with the cartoon, if he knew Lane was about to look in on him. Iles liked the multi-use of cars himself; would speak of it to Harpur sometimes. He’d said once, ‘Col, think how this can bring humanity to what is otherwise nothing but a banal metal box with mirrors.’
‘As you’ll know, that’s the exact wording of the Oxford Dictionary definition of a car, sir,’ Harpur had replied. ‘“A banal metal box with mirrors.” Or might it be “extremely” banal.’
FOUR
AFTER
Harpur went now to the police record of ‘Interview One’ with a member of the Volvo team that night: Ivor Wolsey, aged thirty-seven, one previous conviction, for theft. Wolsey had turned Queen’s Evidence. That is, he would talk, would betray mates – tell everything he knew to the police. In exchange he’d expect kinder treatment by the court, suppose the case came to trial, plus special safeguarding as a snitch in jail, if he was sent down. Those who turned Queen’s Evidence came in for a lot of hate in the crooked world.
INTERVIEW ONE
Inspector David Hinds: ‘I’d like to begin, Ivor, with you and the others setting out in the stolen Volvo.’
Answer: ‘Right.’
D.H.: ‘What was the purpose of your mission in the Volvo?’
A: ‘To locate and eliminate Justin Paul Scray.’
D.H.: ‘Eliminate?’
A: ‘You know.’
D.H.: ‘No.’
A: ‘Kill.’
D.H.: ‘This was the specific objective?’
A: ‘The only objective.’
D.H.: ‘Why?’
A: ‘Leo had decided after a long time thinking about it that Scray was damaging the firm. I gathered he’d had warnings.’
D.H.: ‘Leo being?’
A: ‘Leo Percival Young.’
D.H.: ‘Head of the firm?’
A: ‘Right.’
D.H.: ‘He considered Scray was damaging the firm in which way, ways?’
A: ‘Oh, you know.’
D.H.: ‘No.’
A: ‘The usual.’
D.H.: ‘That being?’
A: ‘A firm within the firm.’
D.H.: ‘I don’t understand.’
A: ‘Oh, come on. Of course you do. It happens.’
D.H.: ‘What does, Ivor?’
A: ‘Private dealing.’
D.H.: ‘What kind of private dealing?’
A: ‘As I said, a firm within the firm.’
D.H.: ‘He looked for a clandestine profit?’
A: ‘“Clandestine” – that’s it. That’s the word.’
D.H.: ‘How did he make this clandestine profit?’
A: ‘Clandestinely.’
D.H.: ‘Thanks, Ivor.’
A: ‘He made that very-well-named clandestine profit by not telling Leo and the rest of us about a string of special punters he’s selling to clandestinely. He clandestinely built his own little clandestine firm within Leo’s firm and clandestinely siphoned off a lovely amount of clandestine gains.’
D.H.: ‘But how did he finance that personal firm?’
A: ‘Overmixing, mainly.’
D.H.: ‘What does that mean?’
A: ‘Oh, come on.’
D.H.: ‘Overmixing what?’
A: ‘Overmixing the commodities, of course.’
D.H.: ‘Which commodities?’
A: ‘Oh, come on. Charlie, mostly.’
D.H.: ‘I have to get things clear, Ivor. We’re talking about bulking out what was originally high-quality cocaine with cheapo additives like boric acid, procaine and so on, are we?’
A: ‘I knew you couldn’t be as dumb as you were making out.’
D.H.: ‘So Scray drew a nice personal profit, did he?’
A: ‘Of course. Purity low, low, low of some of the stuff he pushed – down to not much more than thirty per cent.’
D.H.: ‘Thirty per cent charlie, the rest filler?’
A: ‘So what he got from the firm – Leo’s firm, the proper firm – went a good bit more than twice as far as it should have.’
D.H.: ‘Scray and his self-created, parasite, discrete firm trousered the difference?’
A: ‘Clandestinely discrete, that’s right. Almos
t right. Not just trousering. He was looking for even bigger gains. He invested.’
D.H.: ‘He was after growth potential?’
A: ‘With the clandestinely discrete, parasite profits, Justin provided for growth potential, yes. You’ll remember that parable of the bags of gold, called talents, in the New Testament. Some people hid their bags of gold away and although the gold stayed safe it didn’t grow at all. But one guy went out and speculated with his in true risk-taking, entrepreneurial, capitalistic fashion, and he got Jesus’s business award. And that’s how Justin was. He used the surplus funds to buy stock from a wholesaler – not Leo’s wholesaler, obviously – and then sold to his own special, very private list, offering them the top-grade substance he or an associate had been holding as custodians of quality, so establishing and developing a fine reputation for magnificent charlie and other products. What I meant by a firm within the firm. He looked as if he was working for us, and he was, partly, but also he’s working for himself, taking care of a secret, select clientele, middle-class mostly, still OK for money, despite the recession. He could do the chat all right with that kind of punter. Justin had an education. Mortar board, gown, a rolled-up bit of paper signifying a degree – I’ve seen the photograph. Totally genuine, I’d bet on it. Archaeology, mathematics, King Richard the third – he can talk about any of them without sounding at all like a bullshitter. Some of these professors and thinkers of that sort would say to him the trade should be made legal, and he’d have the sense to get on their side and reply, “True,” but really he’d fucking hate it, of course, because there’d be no need for people like Justin if trading was out in the open. No need for people like Leo, either, of course.
‘But the way Justin was going on would taint the firm’s image – that’s Leo’s firm’s image – by pushing poor gear to ordinary users. Some of the stuff was at kids’ rave level. Plus, to up his takings more he was overclaiming bribe money paid to your Drug Squad friends and friendesses. OK, that’s commonplace, I know. Almost routine. There’s no receipts for backhanders, so naturally people are ambitious and imaginative about what they’d like reimbursed from the company’s coffer, please. Managements recognize this and are willing to do a bit of blind-eyeing. But with Scray, the difference between actual and claimed was enormous. Just one of a crateful of swindles. It had to be stopped.’
D.H.: ‘All this had been established against him as fact?’
A: ‘It had been established enough for management to decide he had to go.’
D.H.: ‘You said he’d been warned.’
A: ‘He’d lie low for a while, then drift back to it. A kind of pride. He considered himself worth the extra. He considered himself brilliant to have set up his own private, loaded list. He considered himself a star salesman-pusher. A kind of arrogance. A type of greed. Yes, yes, greed is commonplace, too, I’ll admit. As someone said, the economy is juiced by it. But Scray’s was brazen, contemptuous, selfish greed.’
D.H.: ‘And your selfish lad was already at the top of the main firm?’
A: ‘The only firm, as far as we saw it. And, of course, it had a bossman.’
D.H.: ‘Leo Percival Young?’
A: ‘With Martin Abidan at number two, a trifle nervy now and then, but generally sweetly subservient, capable and obedient, not a bit selfish, in charge of this operation. A team guy, often referred to as “Empathy Mart” – no sarcasm. Someone like Scray challenged that kind of happy, ordered, effective set-up. He looked like future chaos, didn’t he? So, get rid.’
D.H.: ‘But it didn’t work?’
A: ‘No, it didn’t.’
D.H.: ‘He’s still around.’
A: ‘Obviously.’
D..: ‘Our witness says three of you leave the car and walk together up Monthermer Street in a “purposeful” way. That correct?’
A: ‘Three leave the car and go up Monthermer Street, yes. I suppose you could say “purposeful”. Yes, we had a purpose. We were on a hunt, weren’t we?’
FIVE
AFTER
Iles looked in to Harpur’s office and interrupted his reading. The Assistant Chief was in uniform for some local function he had to attend later in the morning. He looked especially insolent and impervious. Iles more or less always looked insolent and impervious, and many people who didn’t know him probably thought his ordinary appearance of insolence and imperviousness was itself at the exceptional point. But he could up the insolence and imperviousness by at least two or three notches for some outstanding occasions. ‘Royalty will be there, Col, as you’ll have heard.’
‘They’ll know it’s their good fortune, sir.’
‘In what sense, Harpur?’
‘To have you round and about there.’
‘If they come trying to get familiar, I’ll put in a word for you, Col.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You won’t be there in person, so you can’t mess up any recommendation I make to them on your behalf by sight of your fucking clothes and joke haircut.’
‘I think it’s called serendipity, sir.’
‘What is?’
‘The sort of accidental advantage that comes in a situation where you’re doing your bit by being there and I’m doing mine by not.’
‘I want something to distract them from embarrassing me with their overdone, obnoxious regard, Col. If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate it’s being kowtowed to.’
‘I’ve heard many say that.’
‘What?’
‘They’ll remark, “That Mr Iles, if there’s one thing he can’t tolerate it’s being kowtowed to.” And some will add that they, in fact, have never come across anyone more hostile to being kowtowed to.’
‘Which many? Which some?’
‘Many. I’m glad to be useful in distracting the visitors from fawning on you in that way.’
‘They, in their turn, can mention your name, perhaps, to some creep high in the Home Office. We have to go there soon, you and I, for a pre-task briefing. I’d like to think you’ll get some respect from the bastards.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘This is how things operate, isn’t it?’
‘Which things?’
‘A woman,’ Iles replied.
‘Which woman?’
‘She’ll give us the picture. Some Home Office blazing intellect. People like that won’t have come across your kind of person previously, Col. I can sympathize with her. Preparation is needed.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘There’d be no benefit in shock.’
‘Whose?’
‘Hers. If someone influential has spoken your name she’ll assume there’s more to you than the distressing way you look.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Maud,’ Iles replied.
‘What?’
‘Her first name.’ He sang in a persuasive, castrato voice: ‘Come into the bear garden, Maud. I’ll be there at the HO alone, but for Col Harpur.’
When Iles had gone, Harpur went back to the police interview of Wolsey.
D.H.: ‘The three? You said three left the Volvo.’
A: ‘Abidan, me, Tom Parry, as we knew him then. Tom Mallen, actually. Sergeant Tom Mallen. That soon comes out, after his death. Jamie Meldon-Luce stays with the car for our getaway.’
Harpur liked the switch to the present – the vividness, even though it was still only words on paper. So were books, but some could give you a lift.
D.H.: ‘You walk together but then seem to break up.’
A: ‘Like that, yes. Abidan directs. He would go towards Guild Square. Tom had been allocated the Rinton shopping mall. I get the three arcade.: Morton’s, Victoria, New.’
D.H.: ‘The thinking is that Scray will be out in one of these locations dealing, is it?’
A: ‘We don’t know exactly where. We do know he works at around this time – nine p.m. to eleven – and generally these are his stations. Whoever finds him is to mobile the others. He isn’t somebody to take on on
e-to-one, because he wouldn’t be just one.’
The tenses got mixed now, but still intelligible.
A: ‘He’d have protection with him. Scray would know Leo was peeved. And he’d also know that when Leo was peeved, Leo was likely to do something to deal with whatever’s peeving hi.: in this case, Justin P. Scray and his cherished, confidential list. Jamie would move the Volvo up towards Mitre Park. He couldn’t stay at the bus stop. It would get him noticed.’
D.H.: ‘It did.’
A: ‘Cars parked in the dark around the Mitre are very usual. It’s one of those intimacy venues – cheaper than a hotel room. Mostly hetero, but not entirely. More charming than a public Gents.’
D.H.: ‘That’s your exit point?’
A: ‘Pre-agreed. Job done, we run to it.’
D.H.: ‘But the job wasn’t done, was it?’
A: ‘You could say that. But we run to the Volvo, anyway. Job done or not done. There’s a switch car at Pallindon Lane, a Ford, also stolen, of course. We have to get there and swap vehicles, leaving the Volvo. The front’s in a mess after the incident, and noticeable.’
D.H.: ‘But, Ivor, we’ve galloped ahead a bit. Go back to quitting the Volvo at the bus stop. The three of you walk up Monthermer and then split. Your personal duty to trawl the arcades.’
A: ‘Well, you know the scene I expect. There’s the Alfonso wine bar in Victoria. A deli and restaurant – Au-Dessus. And a coffee shop in the New. Half of Morton’s is shut off after six p.m., but a One-Stop on the corner at the arcade entrance is open till eleven. Scray would meet people in any one of these berths – his personal-list people, mainly. Or that’s what Empathy reckons, and he gets good intelligence. Scray liked, likes, Au-Dessus best of the lot, apparently. He can snack with a client, clients, in the restaurant. It makes things sort of civilized, but the French name gives a touch of raciness, too. That’s an interesting combination for Justin Scray’s quality snorters – it’s chiefly snorters, but some H.