by J F Straker
‘He said you’d gone to your brother’s cottage.’
‘My brother told you he lived at Foresters. Remember? Why didn’t you go there?’
‘You kidding?’ Clarence sounded scornful. ‘I watch the telly, don’t I?’
‘All right, then. How did you get this address?’
Some time back, Clarence said, he and a friend had had occasion to visit Collier at Pinewood. Collier was in bed with flu, but his wife had been entertaining guests and Clarence had later recognised Andrew as having been one of them. ‘So I reckoned he must be kind of local, see?’
‘I do. Nice thinking, Clarence.’
‘Only when I looked him up in the telephone directory he wasn’t there.’
‘Well, he had to be on the blower, didn’t he? And if he’s a friend, then Mrs Collier would know the number. She’d have written it down, most like. So Monday night, while Collier was away in the smoke, I got into the house and found it.’
‘Just like that, eh?’
‘It was a doddle, Luke boy. She’d written it in a book. It was in a drawer by the blower.’
‘She’d written the address?’
‘No, no. The number. But I had the exchange, didn’t I? And Loxford’s a small place.’ He held his glass out to Ben for a refill. ‘You got any more of this stuff, Luke boy?’
‘I’m afraid not. We weren’t expecting company.’
‘A pity.’ Clarence sipped whisky and smacked his lips. ‘That’s great poison, that is.’
Luke was puzzled by his attitude. Clarence had made no effort in the past to conceal his animosity, so why the apparent geniality now? Was it an expression of delight at having turned the tables on his enemies so successfully? Or was it the cat playing with the mice? Certainly the geniality would not last. It would be succeeded by some very painful and punitive action. But to Clarence that would be strictly business. It would have nothing to do with animosity, except perhaps in its intensity.
‘The pity is that it isn’t,’ he said. ‘Poison, I mean. I’ll let you into a secret, Clarence. When you came to Foresters to collect your cut we had every intention of knocking you off.’
‘You did?’ Clarence grinned. Now firmly in the driving seat, he could afford to be amused.
‘We did. Unfortunately we bungled it.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know.’ Behind Clarence his companions were drinking the last of the malt whisky. We could have done with some of that when the party’s over, Luke thought. ‘While I was telling you the tale my brother put a small explosive device in the boot of your car. Or what he thought was your car. Unfortunately it wasn’t. It belonged to some other poor bastard.’
‘Hey!’ Clarence exclaimed. ‘Did he have a bird with him?’
‘Apparently.’
‘And they were both killed, wasn’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it was on the telly! I saw it!’ He sounded triumphant, as if the viewing had been exclusive to himself. ‘Talk about a bleeding wreck!’ He grinned. ‘And you reckoned that was me in it, did you? I bet you wasn’t half sore when you knew it weren’t.’
Luke shrugged. ‘We didn’t. At least, not from the early reports. The place was all wrong—you should have been going east, not west—and we couldn’t understand about the woman, but we still thought it was you. Why wouldn’t we? The car was in the woods past the gate, as you said it was, and Andrew is positive there was only the one. It wasn’t until the six o’clock news, when they gave the dead man’s name, that we knew there’d been a cock-up.’ Luke frowned. ‘I still can’t fathom out how.’
‘Neither can I,’ Andrew said. He had cramp in his legs and wanted to stand up to relieve it; but the chair sloped back and without the use of his hands he could not manage it. ‘But I’ll never cease to regret it. I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure than to see your ugly carcass blown to pieces, Clarence. And the smaller the pieces the better.’
‘Cheeky!’ Still grinning, Clarence shook his head in mock reproach. ‘But you’re right there, Whiskers, you’re certainly going to regret it. We’ll see to that. And now I’ll tell you something, shall I? I parked the car where I said: past the gates. Only I was going the other way, wasn’t I? I missed the first time, see, so I had to come back.’
‘Jesus!’ Luke exclaimed. ‘And to think we have all this bother—not to mention some poor innocent devil getting blown sky high—because you’re too flipping dumb to read a bloody map! Well, they say the devil looks after his own. You must be a great favourite with your friend down there, Clarence, damn you!’
Andrew’s thoughts were on the man who had died in the explosion. He knew his name now: Latimer, according to the Press. There had been a woman too and he, Andrew Osman, had killed them both. Not intentionally, as Luke had killed Gail, but it still made him a murderer. Morally that did not trouble him. Ever since he and Luke had embarked on their campaign of crime he had seen himself as being at war with society, and in war people got killed, non-combatants as well as combatants. Unfortunately society did not see it his way, and he knew that if arrested he could be charged with murder and sent down for life. Hitherto he had not given that possibility much thought. Now, unaccountably, he did. Unaccountably, because it seemed a strange time to worry about the future with the present so black.
‘Bother?’ Clarence turned to wink at his companions. ‘You call this bother? It’s not even started yet, Luke boy. Mind you, it don’t have to start. Not if you was to get sensible. Not if you was to tell us where you’ve hid the money.’
‘Why don’t you rinse out your flappers, Clarence?’ Luke said, feigning boredom. ‘I’ve told you, it isn’t here.’
‘That’s a load of flannel, Luke boy. Still, it’s your worry, not ours. How about you, Whiskers? You feel like talking?’
‘Get stuffed,’ Andrew said wearily.
Clarence shrugged. ‘Okay, boys,’ he said. ‘Rub ‘em down.’
They were clumsy but thorough in their search, ripping cloth where it impeded. The Osmans had around three hundred pounds apiece in their wallets, and this the men pocketed. The only other items to arouse more than casual interest were Luke’s car keys. Griff picked up the ring by the leather tab and dangled them in front of Clarence’s face.
‘How about these?’ he said. ‘They were leaving, weren’t they? So maybe the money’s in the car. I’d best take a dekko, eh?’
‘You do that,’ Clarence said. ‘And do it thorough.’
The brothers were more or less ignored while Griff was absent. Ben spent the time searching for a further supply of alcohol, Clarence sorted through the travel documents that had been in the wallets. Rather surprisingly, Wally seemed fascinated by Andrew’s fishing tackle, getting the feel of the rods, examining the flies. Andrew frowned as he watched him. The rods and the tackle were dear to his heart, and expensive. But Wally handled them as if he knew what he was about.
‘Who’s Griff?’ Luke asked. The waiting was getting on his nerves. Though he dreaded the violence that was to come he knew it was inevitable, and since it was inevitable he wanted it over. There was nothing to be gained by delay. ‘One of your pals on the bank job?’
Clarence snorted contemptuously. ‘You think I’d bring that lot along? You must be joking!’
‘So who is he then?’
‘He’s my brother-in-law, isn’t he?’
‘Well, he’s wasting his time out there,’ Luke said. ‘All he’ll get is wet.’
A line snaked through the air to land gently across the table in front of Clarence, the fly at its end dangling over the edge. They all looked at Wally. He was holding one of Andrew’s rods, a pleased smile on his face.
‘My old man taught me,’ Wally said. ‘When I was a kid. I’ve not done much since, though. Too bleeding expensive.’ He started to reel in the line. The fly caught on the table edge, and he waited while Clarence released it.
‘You be careful with that thing,’ Clarence said, feeling the hook. �
�It’s sharp, that is.’
‘Like I said, I’m out of practice,’ Wally said. ‘And it’s a bit cramped in here.’
Griff returned with the information that he could find no money in the car. Clarence looked at Luke. ‘That’s that, then, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘You going to talk now, Luke boy, or do we wallop it out of you?’
‘Oh, for crying out loud!’ Luke said. ‘Change the record, Clarence. I’m tired of that one.’
‘How about you, Whiskers?’
‘Get stuffed,’ Andrew said.
Clarence looked at Ben and nodded towards Andrew. ‘Dig him in the guts, Ben,’ he said. ‘That’s quite a bulge he’s got. He’ll feel it there.’
Ben moved forward, but was forestalled by another cast from Wally. Either by accident or design the line fell across Andrew’s face. Angrily Andrew tried to shake it off by moving his head. Then he felt the line tighten under his nose, and the hook dug into the curve of his cheek.
‘It’s caught,’ Wally said. He flicked the rod back, and Andrew winced as he felt the hook go deeper. ‘Take it out, Ben.’
‘No, wait!’ Clarence said sharply. ‘What do you usually do when the hook gets caught, Wally?’
Wally shrugged. ‘I dunno. Try to jerk it free, I suppose.’
‘Okay. Go ahead and jerk it.’
Wally stared at him. Then he grinned. ‘Kind of open him up a little, eh?’
‘Kind of,’ Clarence agreed. ‘Hold his head, Ben, so’s he don’t struggle.’
Ben obeyed with alacrity, clamping his large hands over Andrew’s ears. Unable to move, Andrew watched the line tighten as Wally reeled it in. Then it was taut, and he gritted his teeth and tensed his body against the jerk. He felt the hook dig deeper, like a needle being pressed firmly into his cheek. Out of the corner of an eye he could see a tiny trickle of blood; but the pain was not unbearable and he made no sound. Wally altered the angle of the rod, jerking it sideways, and the hook was no longer going deeper but moving upward, ploughing its way through the flesh. Now the agony was excruciating, and as jerk succeeded jerk tears started in Andrew’s eyes and a faint hiss of pain escaped his tightly clamped jaws. Then the hook broke free, only to sweep across his teeth and catch on the corner of his mouth. Wally gave the rod a final jerk, and Andrew cried out in anguish as the hook tore through his lower lip and dropped to the floor.
Watching his brother’s torment, powerless to intervene, Luke felt his gorge rise. He had expected a violent and thorough going-over, but this slow, sadistic mutilation sickened him. As the blood streamed down Andrew’s face he lost his cool completely.
‘You damned butcher!’ he bellowed, straining at his bonds. ‘I’ll get you for this, Clarence! I’ll bloody get you!’
Clarence ignored him. ‘That one got away, Wally,’ he said. ‘Have a go at Luke boy, eh? Hold his head, Ben.’
Luke tried to fight him off. Ben boxed him soundly on the ears with both fists, making his head sing, and then spread his hands to hold him. Wally reeled in the line to examine the blood-stained fly, decided it was still serviceable, and moved closer to his quarry. The first cast went wide, the second caught in the lapel of Luke’s jacket. Clarence moved to free it.
‘Listen!’ Griff said.
They listened. They all heard it: the sound of a car driven hard in low gear.
Moments later the beam from the headlights hit the thinly curtained windows, lifting and falling as the car came down the rutted track.
There was a confused babble of sound from Clarence’s companions. ‘Shut up!’ Clarence snapped, and turned to Luke. ‘You expecting anyone?’
‘Only the police,’ Luke said. ‘They were here earlier. They said they might be back.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re hoping to identify a photograph.’
He said it, but he didn’t believe it. They had come because the photograph had already been identified. They had a name; and although they might not necessarily expect to find him there they would know that Andrew was his brother and that Andrew had lied when he denied knowledge of him. Clarence and his gang could escape by the back door; although if the police had come in force, which they would if they were there to make an arrest, they would not get far. For himself and Andrew, however, it was certainly the end. Even if he were wrong, even if this was just another routine enquiry, it was still the end. They would know as soon as they saw him that the search was over.
The car stopped, the lights were switched off. Clarence snapped his fingers.
‘Quick!’ he said. ‘The back door!’
‘How about them two?’ Ben asked, releasing Luke’s head.
‘Sod ‘em!’ Clarence glared at the Osmans. ‘And you bastards keep your mouths shut, see? You talk to the Fuzz and you won’t be around much longer.’
It was an idle threat, and Luke knew it. But not Andrew. ‘Cut us loose, you idiot!’ he said furiously. The lower part of his face was a bloody mess and it hurt him to speak, but his rage was greater than the pain. ‘How the hell else do we explain?’
‘You’ll think of something,’ Clarence said. ‘You’d better.’ Someone knocked loud and long on the door, and he pushed Griff in the back. ‘Come on, move!’
They moved, making for the kitchen. As Clarence came round the table Andrew shot out his legs, tripping him up, and Clarence stumbled and fell. Andrew tried to kick him while he was down. But Clarence was out of reach, and he got up quickly and gave Andrew a stinging blow across his torn cheek.
From outside the door a voice called urgently, ‘Osman! Are you there, Osman? I have to talk to you. Please! It’s important.’
Clarence stared at the door in amazement. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed. ‘The Guv’nor!’
Wally and Ben were already in the kitchen and had unbolted the back door. Griff was on his way. Now he paused and turned, puzzled as much by the hint of excitement in Clarence’s voice as by the unexpected plea from their unseen visitor.
‘Bring ‘em back, Griff,’ Clarence said. ‘We’re not leaving.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s not the Law, that’s why.’
They came reluctantly, but the gleeful smile on Clarence’s face reassured them.
‘Who is it, then?’ Griff asked.
‘Sort of a business partner,’ Clarence said. ‘Leastways, he was. Let him in, Griff. And if he tries to scarper, grab him.’ He rubbed his hands together and grinned at Luke. ‘This is going to be good, Luke boy. I’m going to enjoy this.’
Andrew thought otherwise. He too had recognised the voice. ‘Collier,’ he mouthed painfully, when Luke looked at him for enlightenment.
He was opposite the door, with Luke a few paces to his left, and it was his bound figure that caught Collier’s immediate attention as he stepped into the room. The two men stared at each other; Collier in astonishment, Andrew scowling in uncertainty. Collier seemed to have aged since Andrew had last seen him; his figure was less upright, his complexion greyer, his eyes sunk even deeper into their sockets. But Andrew felt no compassion at the sight of him; his grief at Gail’s death had been largely self-centred, with no sympathy for her husband. Now he could only wonder how Collier’s arrival would affect Luke and himself. It was unlikely to be to their advantage. Not if Clarence betrayed them, as his gleeful, almost gloating expression suggested he would.
‘Good God!’ Collier exclaimed. ‘What’s happened? What—’ He started as Griff slammed the door shut behind him. Then he saw Clarence and his bewilderment grew. ‘Jock Bristowe! What the devil are you doing here? What’s going on?’
‘Well, I reckon it’s what you might call a business meeting,’ Jock said cheerfully. ‘Me and my friends here, we got matters to discuss with these two bastards. Financial matters.’ With a dramatic sweep of the hand he indicated the Osman brothers. ‘You know Whiskers there, eh? You’ve seen him around? Well, the other’s his brother Luke.’
Collier glanced briefly at Luke before concentrating on Andrew. This was the man he had come t
o see. Finding him bound and bloody and in such dubious company provided a hint to the possible truth, and he said sharply, ‘What have you done to his face? Why are they tied up?’
‘We haven’t done nothing to his face,’ Jock said. Previously he had been in some awe of Collier. Collier had been the firm’s draughtsman, he had set up the jobs. But that was over. Now he and not Collier was in the driving seat, and Collier’s unexpected arrival caused him no concern. After his initial astonishment he even welcomed it as likely to provide a touch of spice to the proceedings. What he was determined it would not provide, however, was a share in the kitty for Collier or Terry or Bunny. They might not know it yet, but they were out. ‘The stupid bastard caught it on a fish-hook, didn’t he? We tied ‘em up because they was thinking of leaving, see, and we wasn’t ready for that. We hadn’t finished our bit of business.’
‘And just what is this bit of business?’
‘We’ve come to collect, haven’t we?’
‘Collect what?’
‘What do you think? The money we got from the blagging, of course.’
Collier nodded. It was what he had begun to suspect.
‘So it was you, damn you, who sold us out!’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘You and Terry. Not Bunny. You lied when you said he didn’t answer the telephone the next morning. He didn’t answer because you didn’t ring him, did you? You even beat the poor devil up to make him confess to something you knew he hadn’t done.’ He exhaled loudly, as if the taste of the words was sour. ‘Scum!’
Jock shrugged, unconcerned at the other’s angry contempt.
‘I had to, didn’t I? Beat him up, I mean. You’d have sussed me else. Anyways, I don’t cotton to Bunny. Never did. Too bleeding dodgy. And you’re wrong about Terry, Guv’nor. He weren’t in it.’
‘No? Then why did he back you up when you claimed to have been behind him on the way back to Town?’
‘He believed Bunny done it, that’s why. All right, I said, so you didn’t see me. But I was there, wasn’t I? So why not say you did? That way there won’t be no argy-bargy with the Guv’nor.’ In the beginning Jock had been reluctant to sell out to the Osmans and had done so only under threats. Now he was happy that he had. His share of the blagging would have been some fifteen grand; now he expected to be richer by at least six times that amount. He saw that as quite an achievement, and he wasn’t sharing the kudos with Terry Horne. ‘But if you reckon I’m scum, Guv’nor, how about the Osmans, eh? It was them what snatched your missus. They killed her too, didn’t they?’ There was an air of eager expectancy as he added, ‘You aiming to do anything about it?’