The Woodcutter

by Reginald Hill

  ‘But you and Toby must have got your story all neatly prepared,’ he said.

  Nutbrown nodded emphatically as he replied, ‘Oh yes. Toby was marvellous. Had them eating out of his hands. Don’t know what I’d have done without him beside me.’

  ‘What a pity I didn’t have him beside me as well,’ said Hadda. ‘When they piled all that shit on top of me, I mean.’

  ‘What? Look, Wolf, I can see how it must look to you. But be fair, by then you were as good as dead, no point in trying to protect your good name, impossible to do that anyway without getting Toby sent down for yonks. Pippa too, maybe. Wouldn’t have wanted to see Pippa in jail, would you? No allowances made for women these days!’

  This attempt to appeal to his sense of chivalry almost brought a smile to Hadda’s lips. He noted also that Nutbrown didn’t offer as argument the certainty that he would have been sent down too. Could he really believe he was in some way invulnerable?

  He said, ‘You didn’t say any of this when you came to see me, Johnny. You could see I was alive and breathing then. You had a chance to protect this good name of mine you were so worried about.’

  ‘Not true,’ said Nutbrown eagerly. ‘Not with that other business hanging over you, and all the papers saying they’d got you bang to rights over that. Besides, everything was signed, sealed and delivered by then. Statements on tape, in writing, even video. And the books had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, all done and dusted. Too late to turn back the clock, Wolf. Like Toby said, you were a cooked goose. But I did come to see you, didn’t I? I really got a bollocking from Pippa when she found out. Toby wasn’t best pleased either. But I told them, I owed you a lot, couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t paid a visit.’

  Just when you thought you’d reached the limits of Nutbrown’s moral vacuity, you found you were still floating in space!

  He said, ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful, Johnny. So, do you see much of Imo? How’s she doing?’

  ‘Oh, fine, fine,’ said Johnny, relief at the change of subject manifest on his face. ‘Don’t see a lot of her, to tell the truth. Pippa and her have a girls’ lunch from time to time. She always sends her love.’

  ‘To you, you mean?’

  ‘Well, yes . . . I mean she’d hardly send it to . . . oh, you’re having a joke. Ha ha.’

  ‘If you can’t take a laugh, you shouldn’t have joined, eh, Johnny? As a matter of interest, how much did Imo know about your special financial arrangements at Woodcutter before the tide went out and left all the shit visible on the shore?’

  He spoke as casually as he could but a more perceptive man might have noticed the tension in his voice.

  ‘Nothing, not at all, you’ve nothing to worry about there, Wolf,’ said Nutbrown reassuringly. ‘No, she wasn’t in on any of that. But once we started looking for a way round things, then she had to be told, of course.’

  ‘Why was that?’ asked Hadda.

  ‘Look, there was trouble coming, I could see that a long way off. Like I said, I had a hard time convincing Toby and Pippa; they’re great at managing things, but when it comes to economics . . .’

  He smiled tolerantly. To survive, everyone needs a viewpoint from which they can look down on everyone else, thought Hadda. With some it’s intellect, with some it’s beauty, with some it’s religion.

  What is it with me?

  Vengeance, came the uncomfortable answer.

  ‘I’m not quite sure I understand,’ he said. ‘Why Imo had to be told, I mean.’

  ‘If you’d grown up around her like the rest of us did, you’d know,’ said Johnny. ‘Any plans we made, if Imo was for them, they worked; if she wasn’t interested, they might limp along; but if she was against them, then you were in real shit.’

  ‘So you invited my wife to join in the plot to offload all the blame on to me, right?’

  ‘No, Wolf, it wasn’t as simple as that,’ said Nutbrown, eager to explain. ‘I mean, it wasn’t as if you weren’t going to be right at the front when the shit hit the fan, was it?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Hadda, not believing what he was hearing.

  ‘Well, you were the man in charge, weren’t you? Woodcutter was your baby. No way was anyone going to believe you didn’t know what was going on. I remember thinking to myself, surely Wolf’s got to notice what we’re doing!’

  There was a note of reproach in his voice. Don’t let yourself be provoked! thought Wolf.

  Perhaps he even had a point!

  ‘Maybe because I trusted my friends just a little too much,’ he said.

  ‘Well, yes, there was that,’ said Nutbrown, sounding a little uncomfortable but not too much. ‘So look at it from our point of view, Wolf. You were going to get it in the neck anyway, you were the boss man, you were responsible. There didn’t seem to be any point in the rest of us catching it too.’

  ‘And Imo agreed with this?’

  ‘Oh yes. After Toby and Pippa explained it to her.’

  ‘You weren’t there?’

  ‘No. Didn’t seem any point in crowding her.’

  ‘Very considerate,’ said Hadda. ‘Did you get the impression she took a lot of persuading?’

  ‘Not really. Not once she understood about the money.’

  ‘Which money?’

  ‘The money we’d put aside,’ said Johnny patiently, as if explaining to a child. ‘The point was, once the dropping markets left us exposed, Woodcutter was dead in the water. You were going to be the Fraud Squad’s main man. All your assets would be seized and ultimately disposed of. The only money from the business that would survive were the funds that Toby and me had diverted.’

  He said it as if expecting congratulation.

  ‘And if the investigation had you and Toby in their sights, they wouldn’t rest till they got a line on that,’ said Hadda slowly. ‘And even if they couldn’t, they’d make sure it was a hell of a long time before you could hope to enjoy it.’

  ‘That’s right. So you see, it was a no-brainer for Imo. Whatever happened, you were going down. At least if we stayed out of the frame, she wouldn’t be destitute.’

  ‘How much did she ask for?’

  ‘Half. I think Pippa wanted to haggle, but Toby said there was no point.’

  He was right, thought Hadda bitterly. They were lucky she left them anything.

  And anyway, Toby was probably already mapping out the future. Mastermind the divorce first, then marry her. But if he thought that was going to regain him full access to his ill-gotten gains, he clearly didn’t know her as well as he thought!

  Unlike himself, who clearly didn’t know her at all.

  Or perhaps he knew her all too well but had never systematized his knowledge.

  She had set him three goals as the price of her hand. A fortune, an education, a social polish. He’d gone away a poor ignorant clod and he’d come back, if not yet a wealthy civilized gent, certainly a piece of malleable clay she could mould into shape.

  She’d kept her side of the bargain, more or less. And now she was told that he was reneging on his. Didn’t matter that losing his wealth wasn’t his fault, obtaining it had been part of the contract.

  Was that all their marriage had ever amounted to? It hadn’t felt like that. But what had it felt like?

  It certainly hadn’t felt like she was shagging away behind his back. Yet from the sound of it . . .

  He said, ‘So things fell out all right for her all round, didn’t they? I mean, her and Toby getting together like they did. Things going well there, are they?’

  ‘Seem to be,’ said Nutbrown. ‘They have their ups and downs, I expect. Don’t we all? And you know Toby, he likes his office comforts. Pippa says she’d cut his balls off, but it doesn’t seem to bother Imo. Of course, they’ve known each other a long time.’

  ‘That’s true. You were all chums together long before I came on the scene. So how long had they been at it, would you say?’

  This time enough of his feelings came through
to pierce even the Nutbrown carapace of insensibility.

  ‘Come on, Wolf, no point dwelling on the past, all water under the bridge, eh?’

  ‘Of course it is. Still, just as a point of interest, how long would you say?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose, off and on for as long as I’ve known them. Never meant anything, they’d been chums for ever, it was the same for all of us . . .’

  All of us! Had they all been at it? Trying each other out, exchanging notes . . .

  Don’t go down that road.

  Not now. ‘Of course it was. So whenever any two of you met, if you had time on your hands you’d jump over the hedge for a quick one, right? Perfectly understandable behaviour. Among pack rats!’

  The snarl in which he uttered the last phrase got Nutbrown to his feet. At the sudden movement, the dog rose too, its teeth bared.

  ‘Easy, Wolf. Don’t lose your rag. I remember what you can be like. Don’t want another bloody nose, eh?’

  Hadda took a deep breath and even managed a smile as he stood up also.

  ‘Don’t worry, Johnny,’ he said. ‘I’m a changed man. We all are, aren’t we? Tempus fugit. The past’s dead, it’s the future that matters.’

  ‘You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that, Wolf,’ said Nutbrown, looking genuinely relieved. ‘Not that I had any doubt. I tried to tell the other two, there’s nothing to worry about, let’s just be glad Wolf’s out of that dreadful place. Look, why don’t you come back with me now, see Pippa, let her know that all this business about selling up and leaving the country’s just a load of nonsense?’

  ‘Very tempting,’ said Hadda. ‘But not today. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that things are put right between me and Pippa some time very soon, OK? But maybe for the time being it’s best not to mention you’ve met me. Let’s pick our moment carefully.’

  ‘If that’s what you think best, Wolf,’ said Johnny. ‘Only, I was hoping it might put the kybosh on this sale thing. It’s pretty near being all signed and sealed, you know.’

  Wolf smiled and said, ‘I shouldn’t be too concerned about that, Johnny. I’ve got a feeling that your sale’s going to fall through, and you’ll be able to relax and enjoy Poynters and everything that’s in it for a little time yet.’

  ‘You think so? That would be great.’

  His face lit up with a child’s joy at the promise of a treat. The sight of it filled Hadda with a great sadness. He had come to see Nutbrown because the man had come to see him, and he felt he owed him a hearing. McLucky and the Trapps all told him it was pointless, but he’d insisted, even though he knew what he would find: a child in a man’s body, a child whose responses were all based on his own immediate needs and appetites.

  A child’s punishments should be different from a man’s. Or maybe a child’s punishments always felt different.

  ‘For you, Johnny, it will be like being sent to bed without any supper,’ he murmured, half to himself.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Hadda. ‘Here, don’t forget your gun.’

  He stooped to retrieve the weapon.

  ‘Nice piece of kit. Nothing but the best, eh?’

  He raised it to his shoulder, pointed it at Nutbrown, who stepped back in alarm.

  Then he saw that Hadda was sighting down the barrel at him with his patched eye.

  ‘Can’t see a damn thing!’ Wolf laughed. ‘Catch!’

  He threw the gun to Nutbrown, picked up his axe easily with one hand, slung it across his shoulder, then turned and limped slowly away, not looking back. But the dog who followed at his heels gave many a backward glance.

  9

  On his way home on Wednesday night, George Proctor knew he was being followed, and he knew who by, and he had a strong suspicion why.

  Ahead was a long lay-by, usually packed with lorries there to enjoy the gourmet cuisine offered by The Even Fatter Duck, a mobile catering van that reputedly served the best bacon butties in Essex. But the Duck was long flown on this gloomy winter’s evening and the lay-by was empty.

  Proctor signalled and pulled in, not stopping till he was almost at the far end. In his mirror he saw the grey Fiesta come to a halt just inside the entrance. He got out of his car and waved imperiously.

  After a moment, the Fiesta began to move slowly forward. He made a violent denying motion with his hand, and when the Fiesta stopped again, he jabbed his forefinger towards it two or three times then used the same finger to beckon.

  Alva Ozigbo got the message.

  She slid out of her car and advanced to meet the Chief Officer.

  ‘What do you want, miss?’ asked Proctor.

  His breath hung visible in the freezing air. A cartoonist could have written his words upon it.

  ‘I want to talk, George. Privately.’

  Her breath balloon rose and merged with his.

  ‘You could have come to my office, miss.’

  ‘Oh, I did, George, remember? Three times I looked in on you this week.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You wouldn’t switch the radio on. In fact, once you switched it off.’

  He looked at her frowningly for a moment then his face relaxed into a smile.

  ‘Could tell from the start you was a sharp one, miss. And I tell you, you need to be sharp to survive at Parkleigh.’

  ‘So why didn’t you want to have another little confidential chat with me, George?’

  ‘Because I didn’t see no point. Anyway, we’re talking now, so say what you want to say before we catch pneumonia.’

  ‘We could talk in my car. Or yours.’

  ‘Might be OK. Probably is. But better safe than sorry, eh? So?’

  This really shocked her. But even hard-headed men could get bees in their bonnet.

  ‘OK I’ll be quick. I get the impression that whatever is said in Parkleigh is overheard.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And I think you’ve got that impression too.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And I think that maybe that was why my predecessor and the Director were having that row you told me about.’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘For God’s sake, George,’ Alva said in exasperation. ‘Are you going to keep this up till we freeze to death? I’m talking to you because the alternative is to go along and confront Mr Homewood.’

  ‘I shouldn’t do that, miss,’ said Proctor, alarmed.

  ‘Why not?’

  He regarded her dubiously, then shrugged like a man who has counted the alternatives and found none.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t know nothing except that over a long period I started getting this feeling when I was talking with the Director that occasionally he knew stuff before I told him, or sometimes he knew stuff I hadn’t told him! I did a couple of little tests and I wasn’t happy to find out I was right. It’s my guess that when they refurbished Parkleigh, they fitted it up with a wall-to-wall bugging system. Total non-privacy. Everything anyone says anywhere gets heard. So I keep my radio turned up in my office. Or I step outside the main gate when I fancy a bit of privacy.’

  This is what Alva had asked for, this is what she’d expected. But this blunt confirmation that her suspicions were shared still came as a shock.

  ‘But why?’ she demanded, though she could guess the answer.

  ‘Look at who they’ve got banged up there. Politicals, terrorists, mega fraudsters, serial killers. Hearing what any of that lot have got to say to their lawyers, their visitors, on the phone, in the yard, anywhere, everywhere – just think how useful that could be. Stick people in Parkleigh, everyone thinks it’s like throwing them into an old-fashioned dungeon. But it’s really like putting them into the most advanced listening post in the country!’

  ‘You’ve obviously thought a lot about this, George. But you’ve never said anything, I take it?’

  ‘Me? No way! I’m not so green as cabbage looking as my old gran used to say.’

  ‘But you talked to me. A bit o
bliquely, I admit. But you talked. Why was that?’

  Proctor slapped his arms around his body to drive out the cold and said, ‘Getting soft in my old age, maybe. I just got the impression watching you dealing with Mr Homewood that you’d gone off him a bit. Compared with how you started. Can’t put my finger on it, just sometimes talking to him you were coming over a bit hesitant, like you didn’t altogether trust him. And him with you too. And the only reason I could think why was you’d got a hint he knew things he didn’t ought to, personal confidential stuff you hear in your tits-a-tits.’

  Which she had. But not till very recently.

  Alva thought she could see what had happened. Her concern at picking up signals that Homewood was developing the hots for her had caused her to introduce a measure of circumspection into her dealings with him. But eagle-eyed Chief Officer Proctor, his sensors honed by a lifetime of dealing with violent men whose mood swings could be a matter of life or death, had detected something. Detected and misinterpreted.

  What was especially worrying was that this hard-headed, down-to-earth, long-serving prison officer preferred to stand out here in the freezing air rather than take the risk of talking in his own car. Or hers, for that matter. A bad case of paranoia? She looked at the man standing before her and wished she could think it so.

  She said, ‘When you say you think the Director’s attitude to me changed too, what do you mean?’

  ‘Little things again. Thought he started being a bit more abrupt with you.’

  Meaning he’d spotted as she had that Homewood, fighting against the attraction he felt to her, started over-emphasizing that she was just another member of staff.

  But Proctor hadn’t finished.

  ‘And he was always asking how you were getting on, saying he hoped I was making sure that no obstacles got in your way, like he was concerned to give you a chance to do well. But I sometimes felt like I was being asked to spy on you. Then on Monday . . .’