‘No, Mr Stallworthy. No, all them papers is evidence. You can’t come in here an’ take things like that away. Not without Mr Mac says you can.’
He stood up, pushing the fellow off, leaving the shiny pale blue folder where it was, jammed in place.
Turning to face Horatio, he could feel the sweat in a heavy line of drops all across his forehead.
‘Look, it’s nothing,’ he managed to get out.
Christ, his heart was going like a trip-hammer. Thud, thud, thud.
‘Listen, mate, there’s nothing that matters in that file there. It’s just—’
God, what ‘just’ was it? What could it be?
‘Look, it’s only something personal. Something a mate of mine asked me to look for. The damn file’s got in among that stuff by mistake, and - and it’s making life difficult for my mate, not being able to look up what’s in it. It’s nothing more than that.’
‘Then, Mr Stallworthy, you better tell all that to Mr Mac’
The poor sod. He isn’t even daring to look me in the face. Knows I’m bloody lying. He ain’t even looking at the cupboard. Eyes fixed on the floor. Expression on his facè ashamed as if he’d peed in his pants.
‘Oh, hell with it, mate. I - I’ll come back sometime and talk to Mac. Why you have to …’
He barged his way out. Almost ran across the outer office. Turned sharply the moment he was through the door and into the corridor, and, walking at maximum pace, made his way - sweat now clinging everywhere on his body - round the nearest corner. Out of sight. Into safety.
Chapter Twelve
He felt lousy. Appallingly lousy. He stood where he was, a few steps round the corner from the corridor leading to Mac’s office just by the head of the stairs, clutching the red plastic-covered rail of the metal banister with both hands.
His heart was still thudding away. The sweat all over his skin had mysteriously turned in an instant from slobberingly warm to coldly clammy.
Christ, he thought after a while, rising to a sliver of inward irony, never mind pretending every time I’ve come here it’s to see the doc. Maybe I should’ve been seeing him for real.
The thought helped him to recover a little.
He set off down the stairs, keeping a sweat-damp hand sliding squeakily along the red plastic.
At last he blundered his way out into the fresh air. He stood breathing in deeply, and bit by bit felt himself getting back to his normal state.
Not that that’s been anything to write home about recently, he said to himself.
He set off then to his car.
It was only when he was sitting at the wheel, before he had even taken out his key, that the full realization of what his situation now was came over him.
I’ve bloody fucked it up again. I’ve comprehensively fucked up the last hope I had. The one reasonable last chance. No possible question of doing what perhaps old Horatio Bottomley thinks I will, going to Mac and saying all I was doing in there was trying to help out a mate. No, I’ve been banned by Mac from his office for ever. And how.
And, truth to tell, however bleeding humiliating that was, it was with good reason.
The only plus, for what it’s worth, is I don’t think old Horatio cottoned on to which file it was I was trying to get at. My back was to him when he came in like that. He can’t have seen exactly what I was doing. So, even if he’s told Mac what he found me at, Mac won’t be able to go and get that folder out, look it over and find out I was trying to get Emslie Warnaby out of a big hole, and—he’ll guess—being paid a hell of a lot to do it.
Because the long and short of it is now that I’m never going to get that blue folder.
It’s over. Finished.
Sitting there, in the familiar seat of the car, the wheel in front of him, the windscreen slightly fuzzed with summer dust, he felt a sweep of relief.
After all, he was not going to be the one who in the end had taken a huge backhander. He was not going to have finally shat on everything he’d done since he joined the police.
Since before that even, since that day long ago at school when I detected Herbie Cuddy. No, at least I won’t have turned out to be the total opposite of what I should have been all along in the CID. A good detective. At least I’m not going to become a bad detective.
Or not the very baddest sort of detective. A bad detective perhaps I am already. Anyhow some of the time.
But now I’m free of that really-really shitty piece of evil-doing.
Dare say I’ll go on in the old way over the little things, right up until I hand in my papers. Hard to stop. And we’ll need the cash.
By Christ, we’ll need every penny we can get. If I’m to complete the purchase of April Cottage, even with a big, big bank loan.
And April Cottage …
That’s what I’ll have to tell old Lil tonight. It won’t be, Hey, this is my big secret, I’m the proud owner, as from today, of a certain hotel going by the name of the Calm Seas, on a certain island, to wit Ko Samui. No, she’ll never know how near she got to her dream life, old Lil. Not, anyhow, if I can manage to keep my big trap shut. What she’ll have to content herself with after all is Hey, I’ve done it, my girl, I’ve bought us one of those houses in Devon we saw last summer. April Cottage. That’s where we’re going to live when I chuck it in at the nick. April Cottage. What d’you think of that? Throw in that video The Lovely World of Lilies, promise her every kind they’ve put in it. Once I’ve found a copy.
And, damn it, it shouldn’t be too bad down there. In April Cottage.
Only, fact is, Lil’ll take some convincing. Wish to God the bloody telly had broken down that night. The night she saw the programme about bloody Ko bloody Samui.
He yanked the car key from his pocket, thrust it home, jerked it round. The engine rattled into life.
It was only as he parked behind the nick that, vaguely turning over in his mind how he would spend the rest of the day—anybody he could make a few quid out of? - he realized that not only had he got to tell Lily what her future was going to be but he had also got to tell Emslie Warnaby he was not going to get his precious blue folder.
Oh, let the bugger wait. Don’t owe him a sodding thing, do I? When that bitch of his rings again - and won’t be long till she does, I’ll bet - I’ll let her know she and her big boss lover will have to find someone else to do their dirty work. Or take the consequences. Why not?
He cut off the engine, climbed out, locked up and headed for the CID Room.
Might, after all, have a word with Herbie Cuddy - if he’s at home - about the old Vicar’s pet gargoyle. Got to keep the Guv’nor sweet now.
*
The musicians were going at it full blast. Which, as they were mostly strumming away at guitars, was not as noisy as it might have been. But noisy enough. Especially as almost everybody at the tables was adding to it by shouting at the tops of their voices, let alone the girl singing full blast into a mike.
Something Jack supposed was flamenco. Whatever that was. At least a great deal of castanet-clicking was involved. Plus heel-stamping. And fiery glances.
A maitre-d’, very Spanishy in looks, ushered them to their table. Little heavily gold-embroidered jacket. Tight black pants, showing all he’d got in the way of tight little bum.
Lots of ‘Señor’ and ‘Señora’, too, and ‘’Ave a nice evening.’
‘I certainly mean to, it’s my birthday,’ Lil chirped up at once.
Trust her.
‘Ah, many ‘appy returns, Señora. It ees twenty-one, yes?’ Stupid ponce.
Lily did her sort of bashful look.
‘Well, just a teensy bit over, shall we say?’
‘But we must finda the special treat for the Señora. Champagne. Tonight you must drinka champagne.’
He waltzed off.
And fuck-all said about, ‘On the house-a.’
But, truth to tell, old Lil don’t look all that much over twenty-one. Or not over thirty-one. And that’s a fact.
/> Better tell her so. Going to need all the credit I can earn meself. Once it comes to April Cottage time.
Compliment to Lily delivered, more or less - ‘my little English rose, still in full bloom’ - he looked at the great big menu they had each been handed. Picture of a charging bull on the front.
He skimmed down the list of dishes.
Christ, that bull ain’t the only thing that’s charging. And to think I’m risking my reputation being here at all. A bloody Harry Hook property. Not that I’ve got all that much of a reputation, if what that CI Parkinson told Emslie sodding Warnaby’s right. But I’m not safely out of the force yet. So the cleaner I seem to look the better.
Still, if this place is what Lil fancies … Give her a good time while I can. ‘Cos the tough times ain’t so very far away. When it’s no longer Detective Sergeant Jack Stallworthy, and the odd few quid coming in lefthanded - pity I couldn’t get hold of Herbie this afternoon, been a treat to squeeze something out of him - but just plain Mr Stallworthy and drawing your pitiful pension from the Post Office every Monday morning.
Meanwhile, here’s Lil doing the usual with the menu, choosing and changing her mind and choosing again and changing her mind again. She could have done that at Romero’s, where we went before, and half the price.
Well, never mind … Last time she gets a night out like this, I dare say.
So when am I going to do it? Bring out the cheery surprise. We’re going to live in Devon, me old duck. So say goodbye to all them dreams of tropical sunshine, brown-skinned servants bobbing and smiling, and nothing to do all day.
No, you ain’t finished doing the washing-up yet awhile, my girl. Not never, come to that.
And she won’t like hearing that. But she’ll just have to put up with it. Price of having a hubby who’s said no to a big, big bribe. Thank God.
Could I duck out of telling her, though? For tonight, anyway?
The waiter came up. Another black-trousered bumflasher. Bringing the champagne. Making a big performance out of pouring it from a great height. Stupid prat.
‘And the Señora is ready to order? The Señor also?’
‘I’ll have the same as the wife. Whatever it is.’
‘You’ll be lucky. I haven’t made up my mind yet.’
But in the end, with more than a bit of help from Bum-flasher, she did decide what it was going to be, and the waiter lit the candles on the table - there were candles, there would be - and went prancing off.
At once Lily leaned across towards him.
‘Well now, what’s this big secret you’ve been keeping from your Lily? Speak up, me lad. I’ve waited long enough.’
So much for ducking out.
He felt a sheen of sweat come up on his face.
But perhaps that’s just the white shirt, black tie and DJ. Truth is, I’m that much thicker round the neck than I used to be. Anyhow, whichever … I’ve got to do it now.
Give her the old cocky smile. Used to work. Years ago. Probably what did it in the end. Got her to say, Yes.
‘Yeah. Well, it’s like this. You know this is the last time you’ll be celebrating your birthday with Detective Sergeant Stallworthy, don’t you?’
‘No? Who else will I celebrate it with, if it ain’t you, Jackie boy?’
Well, that’s a fucking good start.
‘No, no. You know what I mean. I’m going to be off the force sometime in the year ahead, ain’t I?’
‘Off the–’
Oh, God, she got it arsy-versy again? But, no.
‘Oh, you mean when you retire. About time, too, I say. It’s doing you no good, you know. Chasing about after common criminals all the time.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be glad to be shot of it, tell the truth. Used to be meat and drink to me, it did. Nothing I liked more, but—’
‘Hey, nothing you liked more. Ain’t there something you liked more than your old police? Something sitting right here in front of you this minute?’
Another boo-boo. Christ, this is going about as badly as it could do.
But she’s right, all the same. Was something I liked more than the police. The little darling sitting right opposite. Did from the moment I set eyes on her. Still bloody do.
Arrival of Bum-flasher with first course. And more smarm. ‘This ees ver’ ver’ special. The Señora will love this. The Señor also.’
God knows what the muck is, but if it makes my Lily happy …
So put up with all the Spanish bowing and smiling. Even try and look as if I think it’s not a lot of fucking cobblers. At least it’ll give me a chance to get off on the right foot again, once little Bum-flasher’s on his way.
”Ope all ees to your satisfaction, Señora.’
And off he goes. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.
Straight away he leant across the candle-lit cloth towards her. If it’s got to be done …
‘Right. Well, when I am retired we won’t want to stay in Abbotsport, will we?’
‘I should hope not. You know I hate the place. Always have, even when I was just a kid. Nothing ever happening. No life. And the cold. Even in summer. And as for winter …’
Quick. Get in. Or she’ll be on to bloody Ko Samui in a moment.
‘Okay, so what do you think about Devon? Glorious Devon, right? Remember those nice little houses we looked at last summer, just outside Torquay?’
‘Not sure I do. You dragged me round so many places.’
Yes, and who’s been dragging me off to bloody Ko Samui every five minutes ever since? But, quick, don’t let her mind drift off to that bloody tropical paradise.
‘No, you must remember those houses. On that little estate. Nice little places, all named after the months of the year.’
‘Oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember those, couple of ‘em called something else, weren’t they? Spring Cottage, Christmas Cottage. Bit small, I thought. Hey, you know what I saw in the Argus yesterday?’
What the hell was she on about now? Just like her. Batty-brained, always was.
‘I ain’t talking about the bloody Argus. I’m talking about those cottages in Devon.’
‘Yeah, I know. But this is important, Jack. It’s to do with us when you retire. I’ve been meaning to say about it ever since yesterday. You know what it said in the Argus? In the business pages, it was.’
‘The business pages? You don’t read the business pages. You ain’t got the least idea what any of that’s about. Nor have I, come to that.’
‘Oh, yes, I know all that. It was just what I happened to see when I was looking for the stars. See what my future was.’
And I know what you’d have found there, my girl. Always do. A future lolling in the sun on bloody Ko Samui.
But better humour her. Need to keep her sweet just now. If ever I did.
‘Well, what was it you saw reading the business pages? My little financial wizard.’
‘Oh, go on. You know, I can’t make head or tail of all that. But this is what I did see. Abbotputers Shares Jump. It was a big headline. Don’t know what that was all about, something to do with some big American computer firm. Didn’t understand it at all. But what I did think is: Jack, why do we go on putting all the money into that tin in the garden? Why didn’t we buy some of those whatsits - shares? Abbotputers shares. We could of made a killing. P’raps we still could.’
Oh, God, how to explain to little bird brain.
He gave a sigh.
‘Because, my darling, everything what goes in that tin is naughty money. Maybe not very naughty money, but naughty enough. Anyone come along and want to know if I been bunged the odd wedge, then they only got to look at our bank account, see we’ve bought a whole packet of shares in Abbotputers. Never mind then how much they’d jumped, we’d be the ones for the high jump, I can tell you.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes. I never thought of that.’
‘So let me go on with what I was saying, yes?’
‘Yeah, what were you saying? Oh, I know. Those bungalows with the fun
ny names. Can’t say I much—’
Quick. Stop her. Say something, or it’ll be too late.’
‘Yeah, you got it. The names of the months, and there weren’t no November Cottage neither. Just Autumn. But you said at the time they’d suit us just perfect. Well, this is the news. Your birthday present. Plus a little something more to come.’
Oh, it’s okay. I’ve hooked her again. That give-me light in her little eyes.
Whizz on.
‘Well, thing is, the other day - well, it was April, April the first, really - I got lucky with a horse. Called April Fool. One of the lads in CID had said something about me being an April fool, and I thought it was a kind of omen. Anyhow, it worked. I put something on. Well, a hell of a lot, as a matter of fact. Some spondulicks I’d just got lucky over. And April Fool came in at sevens. So I had enough to put down the deposit on one of those bunga—on one of those little cottages. And April Cottage was still going. So I’ve bought it. Bought it, all bar fixing up a loan on the rest of the price. April Cottage, how about that?’
For a moment it seemed to hang in the balance.
But then the enthusiasm he had managed to put into telling her paid off.
‘You mean you’ve bought a house? For me? Oh, Jack, you are good. I mean, even if it…’
She was doing her best to make him feel good. He knew it in a deep corner of his mind. It was not all that often she put him totally first. Only really when he was in bed with the flu or something. Then she would do anything for him. The nicest side of her coming out.
Like it was now.
‘Yeah, well,’ he said, ‘I think we could really make something of the place. I mean, I know it’s only just been built and it’s all pretty rough round there. But that’ll improve. When there’s grass put down on the verges of that entrance road an’ all that. And the garden’s great, our garden. Not too big, not too small. I thought I’d put in a lot of lilies. Lilies for my Lily. Right?’
‘Oh, Jack … Jack, thank you. Thank you. What a birthday.’
‘Twenty-one today, eh?’
He lifted his glass, drank to her. To April Cottage. To a life after the police.
And, in secret, to his own life for the rest of his police time. The life of a good detective.
The Bad Detective Page 12