Wearing Purple (Oz Blackstone Mystery)

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Funny, he never mentioned that. He’s got himself a job anyway, as road crew foreman with a touring rock band. Sandy’s on the team too, in charge of catering.’

  The big fellow laughed. ‘From what I remember of the kid, I hope the guys like steak. Enthusiastic but limited just about sums her up.’

  I unzipped my flight bag and took out the CWI brochure which Sandy had given me. ‘You never told me Reilly was black, Everett,’ I said.

  He looked at me, taken aback. ‘Fucking honky,’ he said eventually, with an attempt at a grin. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ I conceded. ‘But you never told me about the history between you two either. You told me no way you’d ever let him control you, but you never really told me why. The first time I saw this photograph, something clicked in my head. It came to me on the flight back home.’ I gazed at him hunched behind the wheel of the big vehicle.

  ‘That photograph in your office, Everett, of your mother. Tell me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Reilly bear a striking resemblance to her?’

  All of a sudden, he looked at me, in a way that made me hold my breath and keep on holding it. His eyes were unblinking as they held me. ‘You clever bastard,’ he whispered at last. I was pleased just to be able to breathe again. ‘Not even Jerry knows that; only Diane.’

  He frowned. ‘You got it right. Tony Reilly and me, we’re half-brothers. Tony’s dad was a Philadelphia hoodlum. My dad was a lawyer; he handled their divorce and afterwards he married my Mamma.

  ‘Tony’s dad never forgave him. He poisoned him against my dad, and against me from the day I was born. One day, when I was nine, my dad was crossing the street in Austin, where we lived by then, when he was knocked down and killed by a car. It was a hit and run. They never did find the driver, but my Mamma and I always knew the truth.’

  ‘So that’s why you’re out to break CWI? To get even for your father?’

  Everett shook his head. ‘No. I don’t hold nothing against Tony. But that don’t work the other way. When CWI made me that offer, I knew if I signed, I’d be the highest paid jobber in the business. Tony would have made me look like a chump.

  ‘When I met Diane, I didn’t make a play for her because she was my brother’s girl, it just happened that I fell for her, and she for me. When we set up the GWA, Tony thought we were clearing out, to get away from the heat. But as soon as he figured out this business was for real, it was inevitable that he’d come after us.

  ‘I knew that. I always knew that the GWA would have to take out CWI, to ensure its own survival.

  ‘I’ll be honest; I was pleased when we came up with Leonard as the fall guy. Now it turns out not to be him, I’m more scared than ever.’

  I frowned. ‘I have to tell you, Everett. Sandy doesn’t think that Reilly is behind this thing. She said he still laughs at the GWA around the office; that he doesn’t see it as a threat.’

  ‘Maybe he does. But he’s my brother and his father’s son. I got to assume that he’s out to get me, just like his daddy got mine. So to hell with Sandy. I’m still looking for a mole.’

  ‘In that case, it could be a blessing, Sonny being in the clear, you know,’ I said.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Sort of cuts down the list of suspects. If you’re right about your brother being behind this - and I agree, when you look at the whole picture it can’t be anyone else - you have to look at the sort of person he’d buy to help him.

  ‘Let’s say he went for an American, with an offer of money and a job with him afterwards. Jerry’s obviously in the clear, and I’ll say Diane is, even if you won’t.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’ll say that now.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. So, with Sonny Leonard out of the frame as well, that cuts the field down. It leaves Max, Barbara, your two women specialists, and two guys who are basically jobbers.’

  Everett scratched his chin. ‘Forget Max. He was back in the States on injury vacation when the Newcastle thing happened. Forget Barbara. She wasn’t with us the night Dave Manson got whacked, and she’d have had to be, to switch that chair. The same’s true of the two women. They’re a tag team and I don’t use them that much.

  ‘The other guys? Ronnie Snell and Dick Ostermeyer? I suppose they could be candidates, except . . . no, Ronnie wasn’t there either when Dave got it. That leaves Ostermeyer.’

  ‘Which one’s he?’

  ‘He wrestles as Dragon Davies, from Tiger Bay, Cardiff.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I recalled. ‘I’ve announced him; in Newcastle and in Barcelona. He’s an American?’

  ‘Yup. He’s a damn fine wrestler, the best jobber we have. You see him go down, you think he’ll never come up in this life. He has a speech impediment, though, so he can’t go on the mike to develop his persona like the rest of us do. I recruited him from Japan, where that wasn’t a problem.’

  He frowned. ‘I can’t see Dick being bad, but I suppose we have to look at the possibility. He ain’t on the programme this weekend, though, as you’ll see.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Mid thirties.’

  ‘What did he do before he became a wrestler?’

  ‘He was in the US Marines. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because whoever rigged that miniature pistol in the turn-buckle pad must have had pretty good knowledge of handling firearms.’

  ‘Shit yes, that’s true.’

  I looked at him as we passed under a sign for central Manchester. ‘Can you remember anything about Darius Hencke’s background?’ I asked, quietly.

  ‘He’s an ex-soldier too; he was in the German special forces for a couple of years. Did a tour on a UN peacekeeping force in Africa. Why d’you ask about him?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t have to be an American. Apart from you and Jerry - and Liam, because he got squashed - who’d be the biggest prize for Tony Reilly?’

  Chapter 45

  The Nynex Arena isn’t as impressive as the stadium in Barcelona, but it’s big nonetheless. And we filled it, on two consecutive nights - two more trouble-free nights as it turned out.

  I met Al ‘Cyclops’ Hendrix at the Saturday run-through. On that first encounter he was almost as scary as Jerry, but without any of The Behemoth’s redeeming out-of-character features. There was something about his attitude I didn’t like; it was as if he knew that Everett needed him and was prepared to screw every personal advantage out of that situation.

  After seeing him in action I had to admit that he was able to back up his expectations with performance. He wasn’t as muscular as Everett, or as bulky as Jerry, but he had real wrestling skills, and his timing was superb. He made his first appearance from behind the curtain, ambushing the unfortunate Max ‘Axel Rodd’ Schwartz, then, carrying a great rough club, marched over his fallen body and down to the ring to confront Daze.

  The big man’s flame canisters, strapped to the ring-post, shot to their usual impressive height, but even before he entered the ring he was met by a pounding from Cyclops. As I had been told to expect, they fought it out evenly, until Liam jumped up on the ring apron. Daze, distracted, went for him as per the script and was hit from behind by his opponent, with that club, which he had handed to the bell-ringer on his way into the ring, and which was really made of plastic. I knew, because I had checked.

  As I watched the story-line unfold, it struck me that Daze might be more than a little gullible, but that’s the way it is with pro wrestling. Only the bad guys get to be cunning.

  Darius Hencke’s match went smoothly too. Everett had been sceptical about my worries. He had reckoned that Tony Reilly would barely have heard of the German, who was still an up-and-comer in most people’s eyes.

  ‘Never underestimate your enemy, mate,’ I had warned him as we drove into the entranceway to the Holiday Inn Crown Plaza. I spoke from bitter experience; I still felt as if life itself was my enemy.

  Everett gave me a lift back to Glasgow in the Range Rover once we were finished
on the Sunday, leaving the rest of the troops to strike camp. My mind was somewhere else again, worrying away at thoughts of what I was going to do once I got home, so our conversation was fairly sporadic and trivial at the start of the journey.

  We were well north of Gretna before we got back to the subject of the conspiracy which had taken over his life. ‘Oz,’ he asked, out of the blue, ‘If you were my brother Tony, would you give up now? Or would you have something else up your sleeve?’

  We had reached Lockerbie before I had worked out an answer. ‘Everett,’ I said. ‘If I was Tony Reilly I wouldn’t have started in the first place. The whole thing’s got way out of control. He may be a corporate pirate and everything else you say he is, but what happened to Liam and to Jerry is at another level. We’re talking attempted murder here - and I have to tell you that I’m still shitting myself that you’re concealing that from the police.

  ‘Obviously I’ve never met Reilly, so I don’t know what his limits might be. But you know him; Christ, you’re his blood. You’ve got to ask yourself: would he go that far?’

  For the first time a grain of doubt flickered behind the designer spectacles; but not for long. ‘His old man killed my old man; my Mamma was certain of that till the day she died, and she sure convinced me. His old man was a hood, and Tony still has some of his connections. He’d go that far.

  ‘Look at the pattern. The thing with the tapes didn’t cost us. The Manson incident didn’t put us off air, nor did the Matthews business. So the stakes were raised. If Jerry had died in that ring, the networks would have dropped me like a hot potato.’

  ‘Okay, if you’re convinced,’ I went on, ‘let’s say that he hasn’t chucked it, he’s just told his man to lay off for a bit. Ask yourself this. How did you manage to get away with it in each of the four incidents so far?’

  ‘Luck, I guess.’

  ‘Sure but as well as that, you were able to stay on air because the Saturday show is recorded shortly before transmission . . . shot as live, but not actually shown live.

  ‘Next Wednesday will be different though, won’t it. The whole deal will go live as it happens. Yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘In that case, if I was Tony Reilly it’s bloody obvious what I’d do next. I’d hit the pay-per-view event.’

  Chapter 46

  The flat was silent when I opened the door and stepped inside, but to me it wasn’t empty. ‘Hello,’ I whispered. ‘I’m back.’

  I dumped my duty-free Jack Daniels in the booze cupboard, chucked five days’ washing into my new Phillips machine, then checked through my post and my voicemail. When I had finished there were several cheques in my in-tray, and a number of new interview bookings in my diary. Apart from the business stuff, my phone messages included a call from Prim, from Auchterarder, letting me know that she had arrived safely at her folks’ place; one from Dylan, asking if I fancied a drink after work on Monday; and two from my dad, the second sounding more tetchy than the first: ‘Wondering where the bloody hell you are now, son!’ I had forgotten completely to tell him that I was going to the States.

  I called him straight away to make up. When I told him where I’d been, he was impressed. ‘One of my favourite movies,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Judy Garland - Meet me in St Louis. They don’t make them like that any more.’ He sounded more like the old Mac the Dentist. ‘What did you think of the city?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s got a nice airport, and that’s it; but Chicago’s impressive, though. How’s Auntie Mary?’

  ‘She’s getting there, but she worries about you a lot. So do I of course,’ he added, casually. ‘How’re you doing, son, really?’

  ‘I’m okay, Dad. I’ll never get over it, but I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve found something . . . not faith, stronger; a sort of certainty.’

  ‘I understand, Oz. You and I belong to the same club now, although it guts me to think about it.Tell me something; have you had the dream yet?’

  I paused. The grey dream was my greatest secret. ‘Yes,’ I admitted at last. ‘A few nights ago. It was distressing, but since then everything seems, I don’t know, not to hurt quite so much.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he said softly. ‘That’s how it was for me too.’ I felt a huge surge of warmth, standing there, beside our desk. My dad and I had never been closer.

  ‘Come up and see us soon, Oz. So long for now.’

  I hung up the phone, and turned to the thing that had been bothering me since the flight: those papers which Jan had been going over, and the excited, quietly triumphant look in her eyes.

  ‘What was it?’ I asked myself out loud. And right then, in my head, Jan answered me; something she had said over the dinner table with Susie and Mike came back to me, word for word.

  ‘I’m looking into the health care division, the last on my list, and I’ve found something very interesting. I’ll need to go over it again, and then I’ll need to consult a few people.’

  Exactly that. She had still been working on those papers on the afternoon I left; yet when I had arranged her business affairs after the funeral, I couldn’t remember seeing them at all.

  I opened the desk drawer in which she had kept her most recent files. I had been on autopilot when I had cleared her desk, but I knew I hadn’t sent anything back to Susie Gantry. The only papers which I had retained in each client file were rough working notes which Jan had made over her years in practice, and retained because they held some significance for her. I had kept them only because I could not bear to throw away anything that had been of her, created by her hand.

  I checked The Gantry Group folder again. All it contained were those plain white pages, covered in her strong, clear script; nothing else. Yet I had left her working on those papers on the morning before she died.

  I couldn’t stop myself. It was late in the evening, but I phoned Susie’s number. Ostensibly it was to arrange to meet Mike in the Horseshoe Bar next day after work, but as soon as that date was fixed, I asked him to put Susie on line again.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Jan?’ I asked her.

  ‘When we were at yours for dinner,’ she said. ‘I never saw her after that. Remember, she said she’d come and see me the following Monday.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ I paused as I thought back to that evening. ‘Listen, can you do something for me first thing tomorrow? Could you check and see whether those papers she was working on, the ones relating to the health care division, are back in your office?’

  ‘Sure I will. But I had assumed that you still had them.’

  ‘Not as far as I can see.’

  ‘Okay. Leave it with me. I’ll call you first thing.’

  Chapter 47

  Susie was as good as her word: the phone on my desk rang at ten minutes before nine. I was sat in my captain’s chair, chewing my way steadily through my muesli and reading the Herald at the same time. It was another slow news day, which meant another photo of Lord Provost Jack Gantry on the front page.

  ‘I’ve checked those files,’ the First Citizen’s daughter told me. ‘Twice, just to be sure. As far as I can see, everything’s there.’

  ‘Is that right,’ I said. ‘I suppose she must have gone to your place in the afternoon and put them back.’

  ‘If she did,’ said Susie, ‘someone’s getting the sack. I have a standing rule here that everyone on the premises, staff and visitors, must sign in and out. It’s a fire safety thing. Maybe she took photocopies,’ she suggested.

  ‘No way. Jan never took copies of her clients’ confidential papers. She worked on the originals, then returned them as soon as she was finished. Can you remember which papers she’d have been working on then?’

  ‘Only that they had to do with our health care set-up; that’s all I can tell you. Now, unless there’s anything else, I’m off to read the Riot Act out in my front office. If Jan put those papers back on that Friday afternoon, a
s she must have, I’m going to want to know why her name isn’t in the book.’

  I nodded absent-mindedly as she hung up. I had noticed changes taking place in the face in the mirror over the previous three weeks, and I could feel my new frown lines as I stared at the desk-top. Jan had still been working on the papers on the Friday morning, and she hadn’t even begun to consult the people she had talked about when we had Susie and Mike to dinner. Why would she take them back to the Gantry office that day? I was confused, a bit dazed; something was tapping at the back of my brain, trying to work its way to the front.

  I went round to Jan’s drawer once more and took out her working notes on the Gantry project. There were several pages, quite a thick bundle of manuscript; I went through them one by one.They began with a summary of the financial position of the development division, then moved on to look over the construction business. The bulk of the pile of notes reflected Jan’s detailed analysis of the profitability of the public houses, with a summary page listing them all together and stating her opinion that all of the licensed premises were being operated properly.

  And that was all there was. There were no notes on the health care division. None at all. Yet when I had left on that damnable Friday morning to catch the flight to Barcelona with GWA, they had been all over the place. Christ, I even remembered chiding her, in fun: ‘That’s supposed to be a partners’ desk,’ I said to her, less than five minutes before I kissed her goodbye . . . without knowing that’s what it was. ‘How much of it do you need?’

  The thing looked huge now, as I put the pages back into their original order and replaced them in the filing drawer. I sat down once more in my captain’s chair, staring blankly at the remains of my muesli, my heart pounding as I fought in vain against facing up to a frightening truth.

  If Jan hadn’t put those papers back into The Gantry Group filing system - and I was sure she hadn’t - then, sure as God made wee sour apples, someone else had.