‘I hear what you say, sir. And I agree with you. It’s not right but, don’t forget, I warned you that Sinclair would try something, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t think he’d do anything like that,’ Zachary said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.
‘Well, now you know what sort of man he is. Quite frankly, the sooner you give yourself up, the safer you and everyone associated with you will be. Only when Sinclair knows you’re out of his reach will he leave you alone.’
It was sensible advice but Zachary was too obstinate to take it.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but I can’t go along with you on that. Once I come out of hiding, I’m certain Sinclair will be able to get at me, wherever I am. You can’t protect me even if I’m in gaol and I’m sure you know that. No, my best chance is to stay in hiding.’
‘I’m surprised you can still say that. Even you must see that Sinclair doesn’t care who he hurts. He’s a psychopath and men like him think they’re above the law. The only thing you can hope for is that sooner, rather than later, he’s going to make a mistake. When he does, we’ll be waiting for him.’
‘Well, it had better be quick,’ Zachary said darkly. ‘He wouldn’t wait for me to get him his money and now I’m in no mood to wait for this mistake, as you call it.’
‘Bravely said, sir,’ Connolly said, dryly. ‘By the way, I hope you can prove what your wife told me and that you really do have an alibi for where you were when the house was torched. Otherwise, you’ve got even more explaining to do.’
‘What do you mean? You don’t think I would deliberately kill my own brother-in-law do you?’
‘All I know is, your house wasn’t selling as quickly as you hoped and getting the insurance money for it might be your way to short-circuit the process.’
‘Not with Barry sleeping there.’ Zachary was aghast at the suggestion.
‘Perhaps you didn’t know he’d be there that night. Our information suggests he usually slept in his mother’s house. But, as I just said, your wife assures me you were together miles away from Croydon and that you both have excellent alibis for when the fire was set. So, at the moment, the possibility that you had anything to do with the fire is just that, a possibility. If you don’t mind me saying, sir, you don’t seem to be having much luck, lately, do you?’
‘That’s not true, Inspector. I’m getting plenty of luck; it’s just that it’s all bad.’
‘Very droll, sir, very droll,’ Connolly said. ‘Well, I can do no more than repeat that you should give yourself up and to warn you not to get involved with Sinclair. The man’s as slippery as an eel, he’s got plenty of resources and he’s totally ruthless. Leave him to us, you hear. Stay away from him.’
‘Thanks for the warning, Inspector and I know you mean well but you must realize I can’t allow Sinclair to get away with what he’s done.’
‘I repeat, leave him to us professionals. If you try to take the law into your own hands, you’ll only do yourself harm. The last thing I want is to arrest you for interfering with Sinclair or his business or, even worse, being asked to identify your body. It’ll be one or the other, believe me.’
With Connolly’s words echoing in his mind, Zachary hung up.
He spent the rest of the day thinking and worrying about what he could do to get even with Sinclair. Connolly had convinced him that the legal way of putting Sinclair away was doomed to failure. Sinclair and his men would always have cast iron alibis and if it were left to the due process of the law, there would never be any redress for Jeannie and her family. The wealthy and powerful could always manipulate the law to suit their needs and it seemed there was no way to stop them. With their fake alibis and smart lawyers, the law would even protect them. Zachary could have cried with frustration. It was so unfair. If Sinclair were to be made to pay for what he’d done, dangerous as it was, someone had to take the initiative and by now, he knew who that someone had to be.
He was also in complete agreement with Jeannie. Sinclair had forfeited all rights to any further payments. Not that the cash would appease the fellow, in any case. Sinclair would still want revenge for what he regarded as an undermining of his authority.
Declaring war on Sinclair was likely to be a very one-sided affair, Zachary mused. Then, as an afterthought he added, ‘but only if I fight fair.’ The germ of an idea was beginning to form in his agile mind.
On initial examination, Sinclair appeared to hold all the cards but the closer Zachary looked at it, the less true that began to appear. Almost certainly, Sinclair owned a big, expensive house somewhere nearby. He also, probably, owned various other valuable properties across the southeast; he also had a large staff on his bankroll, the majority hired to do legitimate work, but some like Hancock and Snell to serve a far more dubious purpose. In other words, Sinclair was very exposed whereas Zachary was a lone operator with little of any material worth to lose. Yet, was that such an advantage?
Sadly, he was not as unscrupulous as was Sinclair and while he could almost certainly arrange to burn down the other man’s various properties, other than placing yet more lives and jobs in jeopardy, he would probably cause only minor inconvenience to Sinclair because, almost certainly, the man was insured up to the hilt. A good blaze would probably be all the excuse the crook needed to make yet more money. That was when Zachary got an even better idea and for the first time that day the ghost of a smile played on his lips.
To make his idea work, he needed to know much more about his enemy than he presently did. That would require the expenditure of some of his dwindling money supply. He also had to change his appearance yet again because Snell and Hancock now knew what he looked like
The next day, responding to a private advertisement that he spotted in a shop window, he purchased a second-hand motorcycle together with a set of badly worn protective gear, including a crash helmet. The motorcycle was a non-runner and had been in its previous owner’s way. As a result, Zachary got it virtually for nothing. Having carefully examined the machine before buying it, he was fully confident that, with his mechanical expertise, he could quickly restore the machine to full working order. It would take much longer to make it a work of art, but he was confident he could turn it into a reliable form of transport.
It was a great surprise to George over the next two days when, from an upper window, he watched Zachary working below. His pride, however, would not allow him to speak to his brother-in-law. Instead, he observed from a distance as Zachary expertly stripped the motor cycle down, repaired or replaced the damaged parts and, as efficiently as he had taken it apart, he put it all back together again, carefully oiling every moving part as he did so. Not wishing to attract attention, Zachary paid particular attention to the exhaust system. By the time he had finished he had a smoothly working, quiet, inconspicuous form of transport. His expenditure had been minimal and only his hands, unused to handling solid, sharp, machine parts, had suffered.
He tried to keep in touch with Jeannie by telephone, and it was she who told him the date, place and time of Barry’s funeral service. It was about then that he began to notice a change in her attitude towards him. It was only little things at first, like her not wanting to speak for very long because her mother or some other important matter needed her attention. Then he noticed just a hint of a cooling in her previous warmth towards him. Small as these changes were, they did not escape his attention. At first he explained them away as her being confused and in despair but it soon became evident that other forces were at work. He was finally driven to the conclusion that someone was doing his or her best to drive a wedge between them.
Gloria travelled down to Croydon every day, so she was the obvious candidate. It was also abundantly clear that, while Gloria and George allowed him to stay on in their home, they still only barely tolerated him. They rarely spoke to him and when he was not working on his motorcycle in the driveway outside, he tended to confine himself to his room. It was probably just as well that Gloria was dow
n in Croydon so much and that George had a business to run because, despite all those irritations, he still had a safe, rent-free place to stay. He also, now, had his own transport and the silent disapproval of his in-laws saved him having to answer the awkward questions they might otherwise have been tempted to ask.
The evening before Barry’s cremation, in a rare break from his usual silence, George knocked on the door of Zachary’s room to ask if he wanted a lift to the cemetery the next day. Zachary thanked George but refused, explaining that it would be far too dangerous for him to attend since, almost certainly, the police would be waiting for him. George pressed his lips together in a further sign of disapproval and, without another word, turned on his heel. From his room, and as he was intended to hear, Zachary listened to George’s raised-voice conversation with his wife.
‘It’s just as I told you. The man has no honour. He was the cause of Barry’s death but he’s too concerned for his own skin even to attend the boy’s funeral. How can Jeannie stand him? He’s nothing but a millstone around her neck.’
On the morning of Barry’s funeral, Zachary waited quietly in his room while Gloria and George made their arrangements to travel to South London and, later, from his window, he watched them drive away. When, a few days earlier, he had taken his crumpled, abused suit to a local dry cleaner, the assistant had accepted it only after many tuts of disapproval and even more disclaimers. He had picked it up late the previous day but he no longer intended wearing it to the funeral.
In the two weeks he had been in hiding, the fake tan he had applied to his face and hands had mostly disappeared. He had been pleased with his first attempt to change his appearance but this next time he decided to be more ambitious. After completing his motorcycle project, he spent a day at a theatrical outfitter in central London. There he purchased a wig, artificial ears and nose, spray-on artificial skin and a pair of horn-rim glasses with clear lenses. Following that, he purchased various other items of clothing, including shoes and a threadbare suit, in a local Charity Shop. He had since been practising with the ears and the nose, using the spray-on skin to fix them into position and was now confident he could make them merge in with the rest of his face.
After watching George and Gloria set off for the Croydon Crematorium, Zachary spent the next hour carefully working on his disguise. With his new face in place, he dressed in his newly acquired clothes and was delighted with the result when he examined his reflection in the full-length mirror in the Costello’s bedroom. An overweight stranger in his late sixties in a faded, shiny suit looked back at him. He hated the cheap, threadbare suit but it definitely enhanced the image of the tired, old man he was trying so hard to create. The result far exceeded his expectations and he gave a nod of quiet satisfaction. Jeannie might recognize him but it was doubtful if anyone else would.
Something else had also given him cause for satisfaction. When he had tried on his old suit after collecting it from the cleaners, both the jacket and the trousers seemed looser and more ill fitting than he remembered. He was getting slimmer.
After completing his preparations, he checked the time. Since losing his Rolex, the cheap plastic timepiece he now wore was proving to be surprisingly reliable. He would need to get a move on. After struggling into his motorcycling gear, he went down and let himself out of the house, carefully locking up behind him. He could not afford to do anything that would give his in-laws an excuse to kick him out.
The driver’s licence he had inherited revealed that he was not licensed to ride a motorcycle but he was not about to let such a formality spoil his plans. He was, however, concerned that the body he had inherited would have none of the memories built into it that are naturally laid down whenever a new, physical skill is acquired. He would have to be very careful to keep his brain fully engaged throughout the journey.
In the event, the experience of riding proved not to be as traumatic as he feared and even though he managed to get lost several times, he still arrived well before the start of the service. He left his motorcycle in a side street outside the grounds of the crematorium and carrying his waterproofs in a cheap, replacement holdall – his original holdall was still in Olivera’s house – he trudged the last half-mile to the chapel of rest with the aid of a walking stick.
There are two chapels in Croydon’s Crematorium; a large one and a small one. When he arrived at just after eleven-thirty, there were many people milling around, most of them looking as lost and confused as he felt. Zachary knew that Barry’s service was scheduled to begin at midday in the larger of the two chapels but, of course, he recognized no one so he stood to one side watching and waiting. Fortunately, everyone was so engrossed in catching up with old friends and rarely seen relatives, no one came near him. Shortly before eleven forty-five, a hearse drew up followed by a single mourner’s car. Again, he recognised no one as the occupants of the mourner’s car got out but suddenly, as if in response to some previously agreed signal, the majority of people standing about began filing into the chapel and he was left with a mere handful of other people outside. These began looking at each other and some, who previously had been standing alone, approached other mourners. This was a dangerous time for him and he moved further away to discourage unwanted advances.
The business of burying the dead was thriving in Croydon. At both chapels it operated with conveyor-belt precision. No sooner did one group disappear into the bowels of one or other of the two chapels than a new group of people began forming up outside ready to take their place. As one set of mourners filed out via a back door, a new set of mourners filed in through the front door.
He was now confident that the group presently beginning to congregate outside the large chapel were friends and relatives of Barry, all come to mourn his untimely end. Still, he recognised no one but nor did he expect to. The only people he would know were Jeannie, Gloria and George. He had no idea what his mother-in-law looked like but no doubt he would be able to identify her when she arrived with her two daughters. It was highly unlikely they would be present but he reckoned he would also be able to recognise Sinclair’s persuaders should they attend in the hope of picking him up. Nor did he know what Connolly or any of his men looked like. They would be able to mix with the genuine mourners, just as easily as he was doing.
At three minutes to midday the hearse carrying what was left of Barry’s body arrived, followed by two cars of mourners. By that time, almost a hundred people were gathered outside the chapel. He may have been a waster but, clearly, Barry had been a popular waster. From the very back of the crowd, he watched as Jeannie and Gloria, assisted by George, helped their mother into the chapel as soon as it became vacant. One of the last to enter, he squeezed in at the back.
The service was short but poignant. A friend of Barry’s read a short lesson; the minister did a fine job; a few hymns were sung; and it was all over. Zachary had hoped to exit the way he had come in but an officious attendant barred his way, forcing him to follow behind the other mourners. Because of that, he was the very last mourner to shake hands with Mrs Granger and her two daughters. None of them paid much attention to him except Jeannie who asked anxiously if there was anyone else behind him. She seemed disappointed when Zachary, in the slightly wheezy voice he was using, replied that he was the last.
‘There, I told you he wouldn’t come,’ Gloria hissed in Jeannie’s ear while Jeannie flushed scarlet with embarrassment.
It took a supreme effort of will for Zachary not to reveal himself as Mrs Granger, in a tired voice, invited him back to her home for refreshments. Indeed, it was lucky he did not blow his cover because, as he shuffled away, he noticed a tall, hard-faced man approach the three grieving women.
‘So, your husband didn’t show, Mrs Storie,’ he said, stating what he imagined was the obvious.
‘No, he didn’t, Inspector Connolly. He probably guessed you’d be waiting for him and he was right, wasn’t he?’ Jeannie said.
‘I’ve told him, and now I’m asking you to tel
l him, he’s got to give himself up before we have another tragedy on our hands.’
‘Humph. It wouldn’t be as big a tragedy as all that,’ Gloria said.
Zachary was pleased to see that both Jeannie and her mother glared at her.
‘That’s enough of that kind of talk,’ Mrs Granger ordered.
The four continued talking but the rest of the conversation was lost to Zachary because a voice that was familiar to him began speaking to him. It was George.
‘We haven’t met, I don’t think,’ George said. ‘I’m George Costello, Barry’s brother-in-law. Are you a relative or a friend?
Zachary was not sure how long his disguise would hold up under very close scrutiny and in the same wheezy voiced he had practised, he said, ‘I’m just a friend, Mr Costello. I used to drink in the same bar as young Barry. He was a nice lad, if a bit wild.’ Shaking his head he added, ‘very sad, very sad.’ Then, pretending he had just seen an old friend over George’s shoulder he said, ‘I must just go and pay my respects to someone over there but perhaps we’ll have an opportunity for a longer chat back at the house.’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ George replied as they went their separate ways.
Zachary heaved a sigh of relief. His disguise appeared to have passed two severe tests. If those nearest and, in one case at least, dearest to him, had failed to see through his disguise, there was indeed hope for him when he went after Sinclair. Of course, he had not the slightest intention of going back to Mrs Granger’s house for the reception. That really would be pushing his luck. As discretely as he was able, he extricated himself from the other mourners and began making his way back along the path that led to the exit. His progress was slower than would normally have been the case because he was determined not to let his disguise slip. Using his stick, he limped slowly to the exit and had almost reached the gate when a large black car with two men in it drew up alongside him. The passenger was Connolly.
SWITCHED: The man who lost his body but kept his mind. Page 27