by Bill James
‘Ah.’
‘But you’ll say Turret is not breathing, automatically or otherwise.’
‘No, I don’t say that. It would be cheap and inane.’
‘Sorry. I’d never suggest the cheap and inane are what appeal to you. Or I’d hardly ever suggest it.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We are watching a typical battle for commercial dictatorship, Harpur. Hence this death.’ They began to walk towards their car. The green, windowless, mortuary van arrived, bumping slowly over rough ground. Harpur glanced at its rear to see if it had ‘No tools kept in this vehicle overnight’ printed there. He felt troubled that, if it did, Iles might go to the crew while they were carrying Brown out and start a rowdy argument across the long bag about whether ‘No tools’ should be changed to ‘Plenty of tools’. In the days of Burke and Hare, the bodysnatchers, mortuary vans might have had ‘No corpses kept in this vehicle overnight’, or, if the thinking then was like Iles’s, ‘Plenty of corpses kept in this vehicle overnight’, so Burke and Hare would suspect a ruse, a trap, and leave the van alone, although, in fact there were corpses kept in the vehicle overnight. This vehicle today had nothing printed on the rear, though. Garland reappeared from the tent and went to meet it.
‘Drugs trade monopoly?’ Harpur said. ‘You mean someone’s trying to destroy Ralphy Ember’s firm by killing his people? And ultimately perhaps killing Ralph himself?’
‘Not simply killing his people, Col – killing someone who’s been told to find out how Manse plans to make himself trade Supremo, trade One-and-only.’
‘So this shows Manse does plan to make himself Supremo and One-and-only, and doesn’t want Ember to know how he’s going to do it?’
‘Col, no better example of raw capitalism exists than major traffic in unlawful powders,’ Iles replied. ‘It’s a perfect model, a paradigm. Perhaps they use it to illustrate lectures in business schools. Consider, would you, the core features?
‘(a) An eager, hooked, eternally expanding market, with enough disposable income. Even when there isn’t enough disposable income, people who can’t live without the stuff will burgle, con and/or mug their way to enough disposable income.
‘(b) Price classically tied to competition rates and to levels of supply – abundance or scarcity.
‘(c) Vaunted – though dubious – quality control based on purity and mix levels.
‘(d) Attempts to establish a so-called “territory”, a “niche” and forcefully and perhaps forcibly to annex the territory and niches of rivals – that is, of pusher enemies – and so move towards monopoly and ruthless price fixing, which customers can’t fight because there’s no alternative and – in the special instance of drugs – because of their habit.
‘(e) Compare nineteenth-century “Tommy Shops” run by factory proprietors and pit owners where work people had to buy their necessaries and were shamelessly and irresistibly ripped off.
‘(f) Luxury, prestige, possibly out-of-town living for the directors/barons. Consider Ralphy Ember in his manor house, Low Pastures: I’ve heard of stables, paddocks, park, a studded front door in not wood-type wood but authentic oak, daughters sent to private schools, including one at leg-and-arm places in Poitiers and Bordeaux for a decent spell, club ownership, even if the club is only the Monty – and it is only the Monty.’
‘And Mansel Shale with his priceless collection of Pre-Raphaelite art, and his house a vast ex-rectory.’
‘I knew you’d get to see it, Harpur.’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure I –’
‘Of course, you’ll say, Ralphy Ember and Mansel Shale used to be. . . used to be. . .well, not exactly partners but through-and-through allies. And apparently still are. Yes, apparently. They split the local drugs business between them in a happy, civilized, sensible, enormously profitable pact, earning what – half a mill a year each?’
‘Six hundred grand.’
‘All right. So, you’ll ask how could one of them consider wiping out the other when they’re so friendly and interdependent? And, perhaps, vice versa.’
‘Yes, I would say that. And you blind-eyed them and their businesses, despite the old Chief, as long as they maintained peace on the streets.’
‘There’ve been some changes made, Harpur.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Note: (a) relaxation of the drugs laws, resulting in (b) new firms, several from abroad, decide they can have a go here. (c) A growing trickle of customers transfer to them.
(d) Turnover and profits for Ralphy and Manse slip accordingly, and might slip more. (e) Frantic alarm. We’ve already witnessed stray symptoms of trouble – regrettable, small-scale outbursts of turf violence.’
‘That was only Ember and Shale as virtual partners, mates, allies, trying to see off invasive minor firms, small-scale, would-be rivals,’ Harpur said.
‘There’ve been some changes made. They’ll tear at each other instead now. Have to. A new era, Col. As I see it, Mansel Shale is very aware of present business trends, and scared. Manse might sound thick, but isn’t. He caters for the future. He observes his firm start to dwindle. The decline might accelerate, exponentially. You’ll find that in the dictionary, Col, under “e”. Meaning rapidly, and then more rapidly. Manse is due to remarry, isn’t he, after his first swine wife, Sybil, ditched him and the son and daughter? He wants stability. He demands continuing status not only for himself but to satisfy this new, rather smartarse fiancée, I’m told. Naomi Gage.’
‘Told by whom?’ Harpur said
‘And so, suddenly, those standard, crucial, animal-like aggressive survival impulses described in Marx take charge. They’ve been unnaturally suppressed for the last few years during the spell of comfy co-operation. Now, they re-emerge, refreshed and grown powerful in their idleness, irrepressible. But this is Darwin as much as Marx, Col. Survival of the richest and only the richest. Shale craves that autocrat position. He realizes it’s beside the point to fight the small, novice, Johnny-come-lately companies. He has to squash mighty Ralph Ember and his utterly established firm. We see big-hitter against big-hitter. Once he’s disposed of Ralph, he’ll be super-strong, and to smash the upstarts a doddle. He’ll have what Marx would tell him he’s programmed to seek and strive for. In fact, doomed to seek and strive for. That is, total trade control.’
They changed back into their ordinary clothes in the Volvo. Iles said: ‘Is that one of those £19, fit-anyone suits from Asda?’
‘A Shale–Ember war?’ Harpur said. ‘Those long-term confederates? Turret dead indicates all that? We don’t know – know – provably know – Manse or his people killed him. For instance, it might have been somebody from one of those small-time firms, niggled or terrorized by Turret. He did niggle and terrorize.’
‘Well, yes, it might. But my instincts are otherwise. No tattoos, perhaps, but I see Das Kapital, or some comparable treatise, written all over Turret in there. At my rank, Harpur, one learns to value one’s instincts, submit to them, as it were. You’ll find the same, should you ever get promotion to this level, which, of course, you never fucking will, and not just on account of your clothes.’
Chapter Seven
When it came to Joachim Bale Frederick Brown’s funeral, Harpur’s daughter, Hazel, told him she and her sister thought they’d get along to see the procession. It was half term and they had the time. The three of them – Hazel, Jill, Harpur – often pow-wowed here at home in the big Arthur Street sitting room. Now, Jill seemed sorry things had been put so head-on and curt by her sister. Jill said: ‘You see, dad, there’ll be a terrific crowd. Real grotty atmos! Great! What’s known as “a cross-section” of people, meaning heavies, junkies, jailbirds and their ladies on sky-high heels. The hearse to be drawn by four black horses with tall, bobbing bunches of black plumes on their heads for mourning, like in earlier times. It will be . . . well . . . well, like . . . like terrific.
Such a sight!’
‘I don’t know,’ Harpur said.
‘It will, dad, honestly,’ Jill said. ‘There was a piece about it in the press. And many terrific floral tributes coming – maybe spelling out his names in lilies or roses, “Joachim” and the rest. “Joachim Whatsit Brown – never to be forgotten.”’
‘No, I meant I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go and stand around there,’ Harpur said.
‘Why not?’ Hazel said. ‘There will be lots of very interesting lowlife on show.’
‘Yes, so it would be wise to stay away,’ Harpur said.
‘I think it’s positive for us,’ Hazel said. ‘Like an eye-opener. Of social importance. A glimpse of a parallel culture. “Terrific,” as Jill says, and says again. Narrow, even snobbish, to ignore it.’
‘Best stay away,’ Harpur said.
‘But, look, dad, you and Desmond Iles go to the funerals of people who’ve been murdered,’ Hazel said. ‘When appropriate,’ Harpur said. ‘Why isn’t this one appropriate?’ Hazel said. She was fifteen, dogged, tireless, frequently right, or almost, and pestilential.
‘Well, we do know why, really, don’t we, Haze?’ Jill said.
‘No, we don’t,’ Hazel said. ‘Or, I don’t.’
‘Joachim Whatsit was a crook, wasn’t he?’ Jill said.
‘And?’ Hazel said.
‘We can go to the funeral, or look at it near the church, but dad can’t go,’ Jill said. ‘The funerals he and Mr Iles turn up at are of blameless people, victims. It’s to show the family official police sympathy. What’s known as “public relations”, like a Health Minister with patients, asking about their cough.’
‘But now it would be inappropriate, would it?’ Hazel said.
‘Dad thinks it would be lining up as a villain’s buddies,’ Jill said.
‘How do you know what he thinks?’ Hazel snarled. ‘He hasn’t said that. You, a thirteen-year-old nobody, can see into his head? Anyway, someone’s dead – killed and cut about. I should think sympathy would be all right.’
‘But maybe not from dad. Not from police,’ Jill said. ‘It’s gang war. This is what I hear. That’s the word.’
‘What word?’ Hazel said.
‘The word on the street,’ Jill said. ‘It’s an absolutely new kind of war because it’s between the main men, Ralphy and Shale.’
‘And who speaks this word on the street?’ Hazel said.
‘It’s around,’ Jill said. ‘Maybe you’re not in the loop, Haze.’
‘Oh, thanks, thanks so much, Madam Big,’ Hazel said. She was curled up on one of the long settees. Harpur had an armchair. Jill sat very straight on the other settee. They all held mugs of tea, prepared by Jill. Hazel looked as though she might not drink hers because it had been prepared by Jill. Hazel unfolded herself a little, bent forward and made a big thing of putting the mug on the floor.
Although he liked the room now, it used to unnerve Harpur and give him colic. His wife, Megan, had kept her books on shelves around the walls, most of the many volumes lumpy, with off-putting titles. He struggled to disremember all of these because of the depression and nausea factors, but a few dogged him just the same – one called Edwin Drood, another, Old Fortunatus, another, The Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician’s Rod. Quite a tactful time after Megan’s death he’d felt able to pull down the shelves and ditch most of the books. Jill decided to keep two she was fond of: the playwright, Joe Orton’s Diaries and The Sweet Science, about boxing.
Harpur saw Jill’s tactics for today. She’d obviously sensed from the outset that he might not want them to join a mob-gawp at the funeral, and so tried to make him see how exciting and unique it would be. She’d attempt to win him, convince him. He suspected Jill almost always understood him better than Hazel did. Often, Jill would defend him from her sister. Or perhaps Hazel didn’t want to understand him all that well: she was the elder and meant to go her own way, think and act in her own style. He believed that, up to a point, Hazel didn’t mind listening to him. If she liked what she heard, fine. If not, she’d ignore him.
‘Monopoly,’ Jill replied. ‘We were talking about it the other day. Remember, Haze?’ ‘I remember,’ Harpur said. It helped send him to the
Agincourt.
‘What about it?’ Hazel said.
‘They’re after monopoly,’ Jill said.
‘Who?’ Hazel said.
‘All of them. The firms,’ Jill said. ‘They can’t help themselves. It’s like built in. That’s exactly what we were saying. Karl Marx worked out a theory on it. I know a bit more about it now. One of the boys has studied all this, in Politics. Or it could be Economics.’
‘Which boy?’ Hazel said.
‘A boy I know,’ Jill said. ‘A bit older.’
‘Which boy? How old?’ Harpur said.
‘Yes, a boy I know,’ Jill replied. ‘Firms are like sort of almost helpless. They are just caught up in the, like, theory.’
‘No need for the “likes”,’ Harpur said.
‘Firms are programmed, so they have to behave a certain way,’ Jill said. ‘All of them, not just druggy firms. All businesses everywhere. They try to wipe out the opposition. Then they can shaft the customers because the customers got no choice.’
‘Have no choice,’ Harpur said. ‘Not a theory I’ve ever heard.’
‘Such as supermarkets crushing small shops. Juggernauts. That’s what he called them, the supermarkets,’ Jill said.
‘Who?’ Hazel said.
‘This boy I met,’ Jill said. ‘A bit older.’
‘How old?’ Harpur said. Now and then, since Megan’s murder, Harpur found single-parenting two teen daughters a worry.
‘I don’t know if you ever came across this word, “juggernauts”, at all,’ Jill said. ‘It means really huge. Tramplers.’
‘Educate us, do,’ Hazel said.
‘His idea is, the two big drugs kings that everybody knows of – Ralphy Ember and Manse Shale – want to destroy each other, because trade is very tough,’ Jill said. ‘Suddenly, not enough to go round. They’re afraid. Too much competition. So, they lash out. Or one of them does. Then, the other will have to defend himself and fight back.
The word says this Joachim is called Turret, owing to gunfire, and worked for Ralph Ember. Also, the word says Ember might have sent him into Shale’s lot as a spy, because Ralph knows about monopoly and thinks Manse might try for it. This is the beginning. It’s like shooting the Archduke Francis Ferdinand at Sarajevo started the Great 1914–18 War in History. Ember and Shale used to be total comrades, yes, but not now. And then the word also says Desmond Iles looked after Ralph and Mansel as long as they stayed peaceful, but he can’t do it no more, because there’s too many at it and a new Chief. The word says Brown has a brother who’s an actor – not just TV – theatres. Maybe it’s the sort of brother you’d expect someone called Joachim to have. A play called The Duchess and Alfie, or something like that.’
‘Any more,’ Harpur said.
‘Any more what?’ Jill said. ‘Tea?’
‘Any more, not “no more”,’ Harpur said.
‘This is all tripe, isn’t it, dad?’ Hazel said.
‘One of our best detectives is handling the Joachim Bale Frederick Brown murder,’ Harpur replied.
‘But, dad, I’d still like to go to see the funeral – the horses with black feathers and that,’ Jill said. ‘Terrific! Please!’
‘Well, I suppose it might be a sight,’ Harpur said.
‘This boy I know says to check who’s there. It could be a sign. Ralphy will be, yes, because Turret worked for him and that’s the way things are – the chief goes to the funeral of one of his people and sends top notch flowers. And the knees-up after will be at Ralph Ember’s club, the Monty, I bet. But will Manse Shale go to the funeral, too? Maybe he caused it, or even did it himself, and
would he have the cheek to come and do public sorrow? The boy I met says this will be the thing to watch.’
‘How did you get to know this boy?’ Harpur said.
‘So far, Manse Shale and Ember still behave like true friends, you see,’ Jill said. ‘They got to for now. Sorry, have to for now. The buzz says Manse is going to marry again and Ralph Ember will even be best man. But all that’s just show. This is definitely the word, isn’t it, dad – that it was Manse or one of his people who did Turret? The boy I know heard it from three different people, which is what’s called confirmation.’
‘It’s the first time you’ve spoken about this boy, isn’t it?’ Harpur said.
‘He’s older. He’s in touch with many.’
‘Many what?’ Harpur said.
‘Many,’ Jill said.
‘How much older?’ Harpur said.
‘It’ll be on telly news because of the horses and plumes and flowers,’ Jill replied. ‘What’s known as visual.’
‘We can’t be restricted because of your job, dad,’ Hazel said. ‘This would be unfair, like the sins of the father visited on his children in the Bible.’
‘“Expotential”,’ Jill said. ‘That’s another word. This boy says it’s expotential.’
‘Isn’t it “exponential”?’ Harpur said.
‘Of course it is,’ Hazel said. ‘But she wouldn’t get it right, would she?’
‘Dad, how do you know a word like that?’ Jill said.
‘It’s around,’ Harpur said.
‘Meaning, swift and getting swifter, like feeding on its own swiftness to get swifter,’ Jill said. ‘This boy thinks Ralphy and Manse Shale could lose customers in an exponential way because the trade has become so tricky. “Exponential” is from Economics. His lecturer mentions it a lot. That’s her nickname, “Exponential”.’