‘You were just at Barry Granger’s funeral, weren’t you, sir?’
‘Yes, I was,’ Zachary said, continuing his slow shuffle down the path.
‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’ Connolly said, all the while looking hard at Zachary.
He quacked under the gaze. It was almost as if Connolly could see behind all the artificial bits and pieces to the real Zachary beneath.
‘No thank you, I haven’t far to go and at my age I like to give my legs a bit of a stretch. You know what they say,’ he said trying to sound cheerful, ‘use it or lose it.’ He must have sounded convincing because, with a final look and wave, Connolly nodded to his driver who accelerated away.
When Zachary’s racing pulse finally returned to normal, he gave a wry smile. At least I’m making progress, he thought. I’ll know a few more people in future.
After buying a sandwich, a can of orange juice and a newspaper from a nearby corner shop, he retrieved his motorbike and drove slowly to a local park. He had a few hours to kill before the next phase of his campaign could begin.
It was almost five o’clock when he arrived back in the centre of Croydon. He had done his homework while staying in North London and through the Yellow Pages for Greater London and his A to Z, he knew exactly where Sinclair’s betting shop was. Parking close by and with his recently repeated promise to Jeannie ringing in his ears, for the second time in his life he entered a betting shop.
This one was busier than the one in Edinburgh and was full of people of many ethnic backgrounds. Otherwise, it was designed along very similar lines. The excitement of the very respectable win he had made on his previous visit to such an establishment was still fresh in his mind but Zachary had no intention of placing a bet. He hoped that with so many people milling about inside, he might be able to remain discretely anonymous in the background while he watched and waited. On his way in, the first thing he saw was a security camera that captured an image of everyone entering and leaving so he was already on tape somewhere in Sinclair’s security system. If he wished to avoid attracting unwanted attention it was vital that he should now act as normally as possible, whatever that was.
He pretended to read the racing papers while discretely watching what everyone else did and it was not long before he discovered that many of the men – almost all were men – appeared to have nothing better to do with their time than to hang around waiting for lightning to strike. If that was all that was needed, he was confident he could blend in. The wait still seemed interminable and it was not until shortly before the betting shop closed that his patience was rewarded. Ten minutes before closing time, big Leo Snell arrived, pushing people aside as if he owned the place. Indeed, he almost knocked Zachary over as he made his way to the back of the shop, not that he paid any attention to the old man who, accidentally, got in his way.
He went straight into the office and Zachary, with pounding heart, left as casually as he was able. Outside he hurried to where his motorcycle was parked and quickly pulled on his all-enveloping weatherproofs and helmet before driving back to a position from where he could keep the front of the shop under observation. Shortly after the last punter left, Leo came out carrying a small, brown package. Zachary was pleased to see that, as the huge fellow made his way across to where a flashy sports car sat waiting, he still had a pronounced limp. He also recognised the driver of the sports car as none other than the man whose nose Jeannie had rearranged with her handbag. If he needed further confirmation, the man sported a large plaster across his injured feature.
Zachary kept a discrete distance behind the car as it headed south out of town. In Purley, a few miles further down the road, the pair stopped outside another of Sinclair’s betting shops where Leo Snell again collected the day’s takings. The Purley betting shop appeared to be their last pick-up of the day because, from there, they took the A2022 road out towards Banstead. It was the rush hour and there was lots of traffic about but with his much more manoeuvrable motorcycle, he easily kept the pair in sight while remaining hidden behind other vehicles. He was pretty confident he had not been spotted but to be on the safe side, when Sinclair’s men eventually turned off the road and into what appeared to be a large private estate, he drove past and only stopped a half mile or so further up the road at a small petrol station where, still in his disguise, he limped in to buy some chocolates.
‘There are some pretty fancy properties out this way, aren’t there mate? he wheezed, striking up a conversation with the middle-aged man behind the counter. ‘One of them yours?’ he asked, a tired smile on his face.
‘I wish,’ the man said. ‘You’d need a spare five or six million before you could afford one of those.’
‘I suppose they belong to film stars and footballers? They're the only ones with that sort of money.’
‘Nah, there’s all sorts living in them. You’d be surprised.’
‘Like who?’ Zachary said.
‘Oh, I dunno, company directors, bank managers, You know, that sort of thing.’
Zachary was getting nowhere so he tried the more direct approach. ‘Now you remind me, someone told me that a bloke who runs a chain of betting shops owns one of them.’
‘Yes, that’s right. He’s an Irishman called Sinclair. He’s just down the road on the left although you can’t see the house from the road; he’s got a great pair of gates blocking the entrance. Up to no good, I reckon. Why else would he need gates like that?’
‘We’re in the wrong business, mate,’ Zachary said gloomily as he paid for his purchases.
‘Don’t I know it,’ the man said, equally despondently.
On his way back, Zak drove slowly back past the entrance to Sinclair’s property. Set well back from the road he glimpsed the gates the man in the petrol station had mentioned. He even spotted the ubiquitous security camera mounted on one of the support pillars. He almost punched the air with delight as he carried on down the road. Quickly and easily he had discovered where Sinclair lived. What better conclusion to his first day’s investigation could there be? Then, all of a sudden, the reaction set in. He had been under a lot of pressure and suddenly he felt tired. It was time to go home. Before doing so, however, there was one last thing he had to do.
He drove back to Croydon and Disraeli Street where he paused briefly outside the blackened shell of what once had been number 17. It was a dismal sight and he said a short prayer for the unfortunate Barry, a young man he had never known but who had died because of his brother-in-laws foolishness.
He stopped once more on his way back to the Costello household. He was not sure if the Costello’s would be home from the funeral by the time he arrived back so he removed his disguise in the men’s room of a large McDonald’s fast food restaurant he spotted on the way. In fact, there was no car in the drive and the house was in darkness when he arrived back. After putting his motorcycle away behind the Costello’s garage, he let himself in and went up to his room. In just one day he had made huge progress but how to make use of that information to make Sinclair suffer was the next problem. He hoped Jeannie would return the next day. She might have some ideas.
Chapter 16
Zak
Zak had finally managed to get into Jenny’s bed but so demanding was she, he was finding life extremely tiring. Regardless of how many times he thought he had satisfied her needs, she always came back for more; a state of affairs he found profoundly depressing. Clearly, he was now doing something the other Zachary had never managed to do but except for that one problem he had no reason to complain. Jenny smiled, cooked, cleaned and gave every indication that Zak was her one, true love.
Once again, fearing he might have misjudged her and that her fling with Phil was more a cry for help and understanding than anything else, he agonized about his continuing relationship with Naomi. All his doubts were finally settled early on the following Thursday evening just as they sat down for dinner.
‘I hope you won’t mind if I go to my Bridge group this evening,�
�� Jenny said, smiling her most winning smile at him.
Zak looked down quickly in order to hide the surprise and consternation that, involuntarily, leapt to his eyes.
‘No, of course not, luv; you go and enjoy yourself,’ he found himself saying in a perfectly level and unconcerned tone of voice. He was fast learning duplicity.
Jenny’s statement was far more than a blow to his morale, it also brought home the truth he had been in danger of ignoring. He really knew nothing about his new wife or what made her tick.
After waving goodbye to her, with the promise that he would see to the washing-up, he immediately rang Brierley. Fortunately, the detective was again free of other engagements.
‘My wife has just gone off to play Bridge,’ he said.
‘Has she indeed!’ Brierley said. ‘She certainly is a creature of habit. ‘Shall I try to monitor what they say to each other?’
‘I think that would be a good idea if you can'.
‘I’ll try but I can’t promise anything. It really depends on where they decide to set up the table,’ he added with commendable delicacy.
In the event, Brierley was unable to hear much of what was said when the pair met up but the very fact of the meeting settled one important fact for Zak. Without the least shadow of doubt, he now knew he could trust neither his wife nor his financial director. His gut told him that something rather more complicated than simple lust was going on but he still had no idea what it was.
It was at this stage that the gambler in him finally asserted itself. This was partly the result of not having Naomi easily on hand to tie and untie his bandage and partly because he was dying of curiosity to find out what game Phil Williamson was playing. Abandoning all excuses to delay, he asked Phil to set up a new meeting with the solicitor and bank manager. The look of relief on Phil’s face was almost worth the decision in itself. The man could scarcely contain his excitement, which once more pricked Zak’s curiosity. It was obvious, even to someone as innocent as he was that Phil expected to benefit from the takeover far more than from the thank-you bonus he might reasonably expect to receive when the deal was completed. So, over the next few days, while Phil went around with a newfound spring in his step, Zak tried to learn all he could about the deal.
It was wasted effort; he could find nothing wrong with the acquisition. Wragg’s business appeared to be thriving; there were no hidden debts - at least none that Zak could find; and the asking price was attractive but only to a business like Zak’s which could make economies through sharing. It was not a venture Zak would have chosen to get into, at least not as things presently stood, but he could see why it had attracted the other Zachary. All he could do was keep going and pretend he didn’t have a suspicion in his head in the hope that, eventually, all would become clear.
He continued to visit Naomi, though sometimes only fleetingly. He wanted to make sure she was all right and needed for nothing. She, of course, professed to need only him but because he was a man with scruples where human relationships were concerned, he only resumed making love to her once he discovered that Jenny was continuing with her infidelity. If truth be told, it was only after he decided he would no longer try quite so hard to satisfy Jenny that he felt he had the strength to attend to Naomi’s needs.
It was only following his discovery that Jenny’s Thursday ‘Bridge Game’ was continuing, that his relationship with Naomi underwent a gradual but major transformation. Whereas before he had merely been attracted to her, as any red-blooded male would be, his affection and trust for the young woman began to grow. This was partly because he desperately needed someone to love and trust in this new dimension but also because he finally realized he did not love his present wife and never could. He also knew he would never trust her again and just as soon as he found out what game she and her lover were playing, he would divorce her.
When Zak told Brierley of his intention to go through with the acquisition, the detective did his level best to dissuade Zak from embarking on what might well prove to be a disastrous course of action. Brierley also failed to persuade Zak to fire Phil. The fact was, Zak was stubbornly determined to play the situation out to the bitter end and nothing the detective said could make him change his mind.
Desperately short of people he could trust, Zak was anxious to continue his relationship with the detective and he asked the man to continue monitoring all conversations between Jenny and Phil as well as between Phil and Bill Wragg. Despondently, Brierley agreed. He liked his client and had been around long enough to realize that the situation still had plenty of time and opportunity to turn nasty. He could only hope that Jenny or Phil would reveal their true intentions before matters got out of hand.
More quickly than Zak expected, the rearranged day for the signing arrived. Stafford Crowley, the bank manager was the first to arrive, closely followed by Vincent Osborn the solicitor. The air was festive and Zak was in the conference room with his guests when Diana, the receptionist, telephoned to say that Bill Wragg was held up in traffic but expected to arrive within the next ten minutes. Phil had even arranged a modest spread to celebrate the big event. Everyone seemed in high good humour but Zak had to force himself to appear relaxed and happy.
When Bill Wragg finally arrived, the man’s mood seemed almost despondent. He seemed completely out of step with the rest of the people gathered there. He was not at all like a man who was about to sell his business for a handsome sum and who then intended to relax into comfortable retirement. His attitude seemed to be, ‘let’s just get this business over and done with as quickly as possible’.
The signing and exchange of contracts reminded Zak of those grand occasions when he had seen Prime Ministers signing international treaties. It was all so alien to his former life. It hardly seemed possible that just a few short weeks earlier he had been a total failure on the run from the police. The thought prompted him to wonder briefly how his other half was coping with the quite awful predicament into which he, so innocently, had been dumped. All the while, people clapped and cheered as the formalities came to an end. A very troubled man looked back at him when Zak shook Bill Wragg’s hand to seal the deal and, unaccountably, he felt sympathy for the poor fellow. He could only assume that Bill Wragg’s mood was low because he was finally parting with the business he had grown and developed into the thriving concern it now was. Retirement was bound to leave a huge hole in the man’s life so perhaps he finally realized what he had done. If his heart was not truly in the sale, Zak could only wonder why he had been so anxious to sell, almost at any cost it seemed. He also wondered what the photographs Wragg had mentioned to Phil a couple of weeks earlier had to do with the sale.
Before he could say anything to Wragg, Jenny arrived to give her own congratulations. She had made a considerable effort and looked absolutely stunning; even Bill Wragg was dragged from his pit of despair in her presence. For his part, Zak was surprised to see how animated and excited she appeared to be by the acquisition. He had not realized before just how much it meant to her. To add further to Bill Wragg’s consternation, she suddenly grabbed up his hand and clasped it firmly to her heaving bosom.
‘I know this must be an awful wrench for you, Bill, may I call you Bill?’ With his hand still pressed to her flesh he could only nod dumbly as she gushed on, ‘but I know Zachary will look after your baby for you. Won’t you, darling?’ she said turning to Zak. Then, without waiting for a reply she firmly tucked Bill Wragg’s arm under her own and steered him towards the celebratory spread. Before Zak had time to think further about the purchase or the excitement it had caused in his wife, various of his staff, headed by George, his workshop foreman, arrived to congratulate him.
Following the official signing ceremony in the Galviston Ford showrooms, Zak and Jenny had arranged to take Phil and Bill out for a meal. Before that, Jenny insisted that all four should return to her home in Barnton where they could freshen up and she could change. Jenny and Zak led the way in Zak’s car while Bill and Phil followe
d behind in Bill’s car. While Jenny chattered on excitedly about the acquisition, in his rear-view mirror Zak was surprised to observe what appeared to be an argument going on between Bill and Phil. No longer trusting Jenny, he kept the information to himself. When they finally pulled into the driveway in South Barnton Avenue, while no longer arguing, there was a definite coolness between Bill and Phil that, if it was there before, had been kept well hidden.
Oblivious to the growing tension, Jenny kept up her incessant chatter as she led the three men into her home but the moment the front door closed, Bill Wragg surprised Zak when he turned on him and positively snarled.
‘All right, let’s cut the crap. I’ve done what you asked me to do but I can see no reason why I should go on pretending to be grateful for what you’ve done to me. Just give me my photographs and negatives and I’ll be on my way.’
Zak was both surprised and confused by this sudden outburst. ‘I’m sorry, Bill. I don’t know what you’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, you ma…’
But that was as far as he got because Jenny suddenly laughed and taking hold of Bill’s hand she dragged him into the sitting room, saying as she did so, ‘Don’t be silly, Bill. Sit down for a minute. Just relax and have a drink. Then, if you’d prefer to go straight back to Carlisle once you’ve got your photographs, that’ll be fine by us.’
‘What’s all this about photographs?’ Zak said looking from face to face.
This time Jenny turned to him with a smile and pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Not now, dear; later. Everything will become clear, later; I promise.’
Then, turning back to Bill, she said, ‘Now, what would you like to drink, Bill?’
‘I’ll take a whisky with some water, he said somewhat sourly. ‘But I still want to get away as soon as I’ve got what I came for.’
SWITCHED: The man who lost his body but kept his mind. Page 28