by Jean Chapman
Babs gave a cry of anguished exasperation. ‘So how will this Leah dare?’
‘Every worm turns sooner or later,’ Lucas said with all the weight of generations of old bitterness in his voice.
‘Her man is a regular at the Sip & Sigh Bar. She will spend the week trying to find out more about the Englishman, then find a way of telling Lucas next Friday. I shall go with him,’ Cannon said.
‘And me,’ Charlie said, and this time Cannon felt that would be no bad thing to have two men built like heavyweight boxers by his side if trouble did break out.
CHAPTER 20
The glimpse of the Ohio River, complete with huge paddle steamer lit overall, then the brilliance of discordant colours – purple, emerald green, gaudy gold, startling white – of the neon signs advertising the bars of downtown Louisville, left Cannon unprepared for the gloom of the Sip & Sigh Bar.
Nor was he prepared for the fact that it was built on several levels, so if Lucas had not taken his arm and warned Charlie, they might well both have fallen as they peered around. So they went down three steps, across a floor, up two steps, and across this slightly raised floor to where a corner bar served that end of the one vast room.
Lucas was hailed by a group of men sitting and standing around it. ‘Brought friends?’ one asked.
Lucas introduced them as friends of Tom Beale.
‘Any friend of old Tom’s …’ A man whose hair and beard were near waist long, raised his glass to them.
Charlie and Cannon confined themselves to ‘Hi!’ Charlie nodded to the bartender and circled his hand around the glasses of the group.
It was a good move.
‘Here for the Derby?’ someone immediately asked. They both nodded enthusiastically, and though it was soon clear where they were from, because tens of thousands came from round the world for the race weeks, they were both accepted and fed much information about which horses were fancied; had they heard about the fireworks on the river bridge, ‘Thunder over Louisville’; what else they should look for, and where they might still get good tickets for things ‘at a price’.
Then they found out what Charlie did for a living and he became the centre of much interest, giving Cannon time to look around.
Now his eyes were used to the subdued lighting, and his nose to the smell of the whiskey – which he felt must give the very air a high alcoholic rating – he began to get the feel of the place. Despite its name, this was obviously a bar for the locals – so many were greeted as soon as they set foot inside. This was, as Lucas had said, a popular bar where friends met regularly, where the clientele all knew each other, if only by sight.
He saw that on the way in he had passed a party of some eight or ten young women seated at a table on the lower level of the bar. Cannon let his gaze go slowly from one to the other, and there facing his way was Leah.
‘Don’t let your eye go that’a way,’ the bearded man leaned over to say confidentially, ‘they’re all spoken for. Heard of Zach Valdes, have you?’
‘Isn’t his spread next along from the Beales’ place?’ Cannon asked innocently.
‘Ah! And you couldn’t get two men more opposite than those two. Lucas’ll fill you in,’ he said but continued anyway. ‘You’ll have heard of Al Capone?’
Cannon nodded. It was the second time he’d heard Valdes’s name linked to America’s most notorious gangster.
‘Capone had a pad on Palm Avenue, Palm Island, Florida,’ his informant went on, ‘so the Valdes who fancy themselves as big men, named their spread Palm Spring Ranch.’
‘Even Capone came to a fall in the end,’ Cannon said.
‘There’ll be some dust raised around here if this man falls. There’ll be a lot of fall-out.’ He nodded to Cannon’s glass. ‘Ready for another?’
It was then Cannon noticed a much older, smaller, grey-haired man sitting by himself at the far end of the bar, reminding Cannon of his best customer at The Trap, as this old boy also raised his empty glass. The gesture was readily responded to as Cannon’s bearded companion lumbered across to oblige.
Then Cannon’s eye was caught by another movement, another glass raised, but at the women’s table on the lower level. It was Leah. For a few intense seconds, she stared in his direction, raising her glass as if toasting him, which seemed a very unwise action. Then she raised the glass even higher, as if looking to see if there was something in it that ought not to be there – an insect, a moth perhaps?
This, he thought, was a performance by someone well practised in the art of conveying covert messages.
Leah’s head swivelled and peered, and just before she finally put the glass down, she stared not at the glass but at the old boy in the corner just receiving his replenished glass.
Cannon lowered his head in a slow single nod as her eyes went to him and away.
So now he watched, kept up a conversation about horses, English eventing, and waited until he saw the old man in the corner rise – a sturdy, stiff little figure – and make his way towards the gents.
Cannon followed and found the man leaning on the wash basins.
‘Don’t you let her down,’ he muttered through his teeth, pushed a palm-size folded paper into Cannon’s hand and was gone, leaving Cannon with no doubt about the old boy’s genuine concern for the woman he was daring to help.
It was a map, he saw that much before he pushed it into his pocket as the door swung open again.
The three of them left the bar at Lucas’s usual time. Charlie had been of much interest to them all and they pressed him to ‘come again’.
‘We’ll see,’ he said, too honest to make any promise he might not be able to keep, but as soon as they left the bar he asked bluntly, ‘so have we got what we came for?’
‘Yes,’ Cannon said briefly as a group of youths came swaggering along the sidewalk, looking for confrontation, making other pedestrians step aside. ‘Get out of town first, shall we.’ He didn’t want the precious piece of paper being snatched in a stupid scuffle.
Once back on the highway, Cannon opened the paper and by the light from the dashboard, immediately decided that it was tiny scale and detailed.
‘This,’ he said, ‘needs someone who knows the area.’
It was Tom Beale who, after turning the paper several ways, put flesh on the bones of the tiny cramped mass of lines and boxes.
‘Ah! I see,’ he said, turning the page once more. ‘This short thick line is the main highway, here,’ he pointed to where a gap had been left in the line, ‘this is the main entrance to the Valdes spread, and these,’ he indicated a rash of tiny squares, ‘are the different ranch houses and outbuildings. This longer one the bunkhouse.’ He peered closer. ‘And these must be the bungalows you saw.’ He looked up to add, ‘They’re new to me.’
‘And me,’ Lucas said.
‘She’s had to draw all the places close to each other, no scale,’ Tom went on, ‘but this square as big as the main ranch house, that will be where Valdes houses his brother, the other, nearly as big, where he has his financial advisor, and behind that, if “x” marks the spot …’
‘Where they’re keeping my son,’ Babs stated, whatever had been withheld she now guessed the truth. She had sat quiet and tense all this time, Jane holding hard onto her hand, but now she stood, appealing with her free hand, looking expectantly from Cannon to Charlie and Lucas. ‘So what do we do?’
‘And when?’ Charlie added. ‘And how?’
‘Carefully,’ Cannon stated, ‘a failed attempt could …’ but before he could find tactful words, Jane once more took over.
‘Could mean death for the hostage,’ she said bluntly.
‘And for quite a few more. Some time ago Valdes put up no trespassers signs, then got away with shooting someone on his land,’ Tom Beale said grimly, ‘and …’ he tapped the “x” on the paper, ‘at this point, you’re going to be much further on his property than you were before.’
‘They call him the Harvester,’ Jane said.
&nb
sp; ‘We know,’ Charlie stated, ‘he’s still just a man.’
‘A man organized in all the arts of ruling by fear and money,’ Tom Beale said heavily, ‘quite a few round here have learned that.’
Lucas rose abruptly, turned from the table where they sat, took two strides away then turned back. ‘We mustn’t let this information grow cold,’ he said, ‘we must act quickly, or …’
‘They’ll move him,’ Babs said as if to herself.
‘I don’t propose we waste any time,’ Cannon said.
‘And I propose we all listen to John,’ Tom Beale said, ‘he has the contacts and the experience. I say what he tells us to do, goes. Yeah?’
There were no dissents.
‘I agree with Lucas, but first I want to contact a detective I’ve met, tell him what we intend. We don’t want any …’
‘Double whammies,’ he thought Charlie muttered.
Cannon already had the black phone in his hand. He pressed the one central button, the screen lit up with the facility to send a text message – nothing else, no choice. He hid his surprise and composed his text. The reply came immediately: Received. PLEASE wait hear me. Geoff.
He read it aloud.
‘Then I suggest hot spiked drinks all round, and bed for everyone,’ Jane said.
Cannon promised he would wake them if the reply was something that had to be acted upon immediately. Lucas had then volunteered to push Jane back to her bedroom, and Charlie had escorted Babs to hers. Once in his own room, Cannon found himself wondering if Charlie would leave Babs that night, he had not heard him come back to his own bedroom. The thought left him lying awake thinking of Liz.
Unable to switch off and sleep, in the end he rose, found writing paper and envelopes in the small drawer under the mirror, and wrote to her. Not a thing he did often, letter writing. The thought came that the exercise felt like “letter home” – a letter written at a front line, in a world war, just before action. Communications had moved on but even with all the latest technology, a letter was different, seemed right, was more personal, more intimate, more thought over, as the pen moved over the paper.
Dear Liz,
Feel I want to start “wish you were here” like the old postcards written by our grandparents from seaside holidays, but that would not be quite true. I do not wish you here – what I wish is that this was all over and I was back there with you but we’ve yet to accomplish our mission. We are one step further on, but the next move may be more a stride than a step.
I have seen AA – he is as brilliant as ever, but looks tired. I am wondering if Charlie Brown has found a new soulmate in Babs, he seems increasingly concerned for her welfare. Perhaps this is why in the middle of the night I am writing to you. I do miss you, and love you. Perhaps I should say that more often. I do love you.
He left the end while he addressed the envelope, then he went back and underlined the “do” and added his name but wondered if he was really going to post this. What good would it do? Wouldn’t it just increase her anxiety?
The other difference between technology and the old art, was there was a pause, a necessary time lapse before the letter was put in the postal system, a proper thinking time.
Then he started violently as the small black phone burbled for attention. He fumbled and dropped the device before controlling the slippery little object and pressing the button. There was a two word answer: STAY PUT!
CHAPTER 21
Cannon slept a little with the black messenger on his pillow, but there was no further alert, and they were all up and about when a car was reported at the gates of White Picket Ranch.
Lucas and Cannon drove down and found a very weary looking Geoff waiting in the old black Buick. As soon as he saw the two of them, he got out of his car and walked a little way along the road, out of earshot of the men Tom Beale had stationed there.
‘I didn’t want to get involved at the house,’ he said, quickly going on, ‘I’ve seen Austin, and he says move immediately. Valdes has little patience, and this near the Derby he’ll snap if the least thing goes wrong. He also says look out for this man …’ He pulled a paper from his pocket.
Cannon’s lips parted a little as what he saw was a reproduction of one of Paul’s sketches of the men at Morbury Park, the distinctive portraits of men which had so concerned Austin. This figure had been enlarged, so it took up a whole A4 sheet, and was the man who had one shoulder lower than the other. He had also appeared, in the drawing Paul had done, to have a vast amount of black hair standing straight up on his head. In this enlargement, Cannon now realized that his hair was pulled up and tied in a great topknot.
‘This,’ Geoff went on, ‘is Spracks man inside the Valdes organization. His job is to make sure Valdes’s horse does not win the Derby.’
‘More drugs,’ Lucas said.
Cannon recalled horses on drips and a bucket full of syringes Paul had seen at Morbury.
‘Not always,’ Geoff said grimly, ‘Austin says he’s un cochon, a pig of a man, and that’s insulting the pig. He enjoys violence, enjoys seeing animals, and people come to that, fall – suffer!’
A vivid memory of the wire stretched across the gallop flashed into Cannon’s mind. Had this same man been responsible for that?
‘We must get Mr Beale’s grandson out!’ Lucas exclaimed forcibly.
There was a pause as each man faced the tasks that lay ahead of them.
‘Did Austin say anything else?’ Cannon asked.
‘Go in as well prepared as you can, and,’ Geoff looked meaningfully at him, ‘the planned police operation is going ahead.’
‘Yes, I realize,’ Cannon said thoughtfully, ‘so we’re on our own.’
‘It won’t be easy for anyone to be there for you very quickly,’ Geoff warned, ‘and now I must go. I wish I could do more…’
They stood and watched him go back to his car, turn it in the gateway, and head back to Louisville.
It was Tom Beale pulling out an old hand-drawn map, showing Kentucky before much in the way of enclosed ranching had come about, that began to give shape and form to the attempt. Then to Cannon and Charlie’s admiration, he produced a traced replica of an up-to-date map he had done. Placing this over the old historic map gave a sense of scale unrealized when viewing the countryside as it was now, broken by woodlands, areas set aside for hunting, pastures, homesteads. Cannon guessed the whole area of England could fit into the state of Kentucky.
Tracing the highway past White Picket Ranch towards Valdes’s place with his finger, Cannon said, ‘I think we should use a hire car rather than one of your vehicles, which could be recognized.’
‘And it might be an idea to get something speedier,’ Charlie commented.
‘Will you see to that?’ Cannon asked. ‘The same firm might bring a new hire out, if they’re keen enough.’
‘Failing that, I’ll fetch it,’ Charlie said, fumbling in his pocket for the leather-fobbed keyring giving the hire company’s number.
‘Austin wants us to be on our way as soon as possible so the sooner the better,’ Cannon said, and as Lola got up, she stretched and put her head on her master’s knee, felt this was another detail that needed settling. ‘Do we take the dog?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t go without her,’ Lucas said.
‘Not wise this time,’ Tom Beale said with conviction. ‘Look,’ he went back to the map again, ‘a dog’s good in woods but at this point you’re going to move into a complex of roads. This part of the Valdes place is like a village settlement.’ His finger traced a path from the main entrance to Palm Spring Ranch, beyond the main buildings, to a second complex, and behind this, he tapped his forefinger three times. ‘That’s where the girl Leah says my grandson should be.’
Keeping his finger on the map, he described a sharp right tangent. ‘From here,’ he said, ‘is the way back to the car park you used last time. That’s a long trek, but as well to be aware of where you could head out if you have trouble. Thinking of that, I’ll
take the dog with me and wait at that car park – just in case. You pitch the opening ball and I’ll be there as catcher.’
‘One of the men could—’ Lucas began.
‘My men’ll be guarding the women in this ranch house. I’m not too old to drive and sit and wait with a dog, for Gawd’s sake – and you haven’t time to have a goddamn debate.’
‘No,’ Cannon agreed.
Charlie strode back from the hall, phone in hand, and reported, ‘They’ve got a Dodge Challenger we could hire, think he said a four litre engine, but I’d have to fetch it, all the drivers are busy.’
‘Well, that’s a good muscle car,’ Tom said.
‘I’ll get off then,’ Charlie said.
Cannon watched him go. ‘So now,’ he said, ‘perhaps we need a good cover story, why we would be in that area, three men parking a Dodge muscle car.’
‘We know that, don’t we, boss?’ Lucas said.
Tom forced his pursed lips into the echo of a smile and nodded at him. ‘Yeah, fishing. There’s one particular lake nearby, renowned for pike fishing and I know the guy who owns the lake, that would be a good reason for Lucas to be taking friends out on a trip.’
‘That sounds just the thing,’ Cannon said.
‘We have all the gear,’ Tom said, ‘Lucas and I have been there more than once, and no one would go out there without packing a rifle or two, and if you are going to attempt this for my family, I’m going’a make sure you go properly equipped.’
It was more than just a rifle that was stowed in the Dodge that evening. There was a handgun and holster for each of them.
‘Four-ish in the morning is a good time to start,’ Tom said, ‘be full daylight by half six.’
Cannon was up and out near the car first. He breathed in deeply, appreciating the May morning. It was already pleasantly warm, would be in the seventies later, but now it was tranquil, pleasant, peaceful. The faintest of breezes stirred the leaves of the ash and red maple trees around the ranch house, and there was the faintest glimmer of the sunrise coming up behind the hills like a halo. Nine days to another D-Day, Kentucky Derby Day, police clamp-down day. He recalled the pessimistic comment Geoff had made: ‘There are no guarantees in this game, just victims.’