by Joe McNally
‘What’s her name?’ I asked. His finger went to the side of his nose and tried to tap it.
‘Secret,’ he said, ‘big secret.’
I didn’t answer. Silence for ten seconds or so, and then he said, ‘Her husband’s a bastard, a real bastard.’ He turned toward me. ‘She married him for money, see, she never really loved him.’
‘Sure.’
‘Sure… Sure’s right… Sure is absolutely right… She never did.’
I wondered if he looked on marriage for money as a virtue when he was sober.
‘Can you take me to her now? He asked in a pathetic, begging tone. ‘Please?’ he added.
‘Where does she live?’
‘Suffolk. Somewhere in Suffolk.’
‘Where in Suffolk?’
‘Somewhere, okay? Somewhere…None of your business anyway.’
‘I thought you wanted me to take you there?’
‘I do want it but I can’t. Her husband’s home tonight. I am not allowed to go when he’s there.’
‘Back to my place then, you can have another drink and forget all about her.’
‘I’ll never forget her…Never!’
I thought I heard a sob. He dozed off two minutes later and didn’t wake until I leaned in and shook him, having already stopped in the trees and checked the cottage for unwanted visitors.
I helped him inside and sat him down by the dead ashes of yesterday’s fire. Taking off my jacket, I pulled on an old sweater and poured Greene a drink. His hand came up for it automatically. ‘Is it Canadian Club?’
‘Sure it is. On the rocks.’
‘That’s all I drink, you know.’
‘So they tell me.’
‘That’s right.’
I cleared the grate, dropped in a couple of firelighters and some wood and set it burning. I washed my hands, poured a whiskey and sat opposite Greene.
I switched the lights off, and shadows flickered on the walls as flames circled the logs.
He sat in that loose way drunks do in easy chairs, as if his bones were an inch long and they’d folded and settled on one another.
Staring into the fire, he held the glass, although he seemed to be barely touching it.
‘Take a drink, Phil.’
His arm brought the glass to his lips, his head ducked forward to drink, but his eyes never strayed from the flames. He gulped some whiskey and settled into his previous position.
‘Romantic, isn’t it?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I miss her…I miss her badly…She’s the only woman I ever loved…and she’s in trouble.’
I let it ride for half a minute, but he wasn’t adding to it. ‘What kind of trouble?’ I asked.
‘Deep,’ he said. ‘Deep, deep trouble.’
‘With the police?’
‘Could be.’
‘Why don’t you tell me about it? Maybe I can help.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll help her, I’m the only one.’
He went silent again for a while.
‘Drink up,’ I said, and he did, draining the glass. His arm swung down, the empty glass hanging between his thumb and fingers. I reached and refilled.
‘We’re going to buy a cottage by the sea when I’m champion.’
‘You and Charmain?’ I asked.
‘Yes, just the two of us.’ I watched as his memory tried to plough through the forty percent proof haze. His eyes moved from the flames and he looked quizzical, ‘You know Charmain?’
‘Sure met her a few times. Beautiful woman.’
‘Beautiful…Beautiful…’ He seemed happy. I played on. ‘How’s Howard, her husband?’
‘A bastard’s her husband, she married him for money…she didn’t love him… understand?’
‘Sure.’
He smirked. ‘He’s lousy in bed you know… she told me…Charmain told me he’s a lousy lover.’ He tried to raise his voice but it came out in peaks and troughs of sound. He giggled and his head swayed, though his body stayed relaxed.
‘I thought Stoke was a big shot,’ I said.
He stopped laughing and tried to stare at me. ‘Big shot! Big shot!’ He paused considering. ‘Who cares? Who gives a toss about the big shot?’
‘Aren’t you scared of what he’ll do when he finds out you’ve been seeing his wife?’
‘Me? Scared? Of him? You don’t know me mate…You don’t know me!’
He was scared all right; even drunk you could tell. He drank, almost emptying the glass, and I reached for the bottle and poured him a double hangover.
‘Do you plan to keep living on the boat, when you start your new job?’
His eyes closed, his head rested on the chair-back, the point of his chin aimed in my direction.
‘Dunno…’ he said, quietly.
‘It’s a nice boat, when did you buy it?’
‘Not mine,’ he mumbled.
‘Whose is it?’
‘Skinner’s.’
‘The vet?’
‘Mmmm.’
His lower jaw sagged and his mouth opened a thumb’s width.
‘How well does Skinner know Stoke?’ I asked.
He showed no sign of hearing me. I raised my voice. ‘Phil, how well does Skinner know Howard Stoke?’
He answered with what was to be the first snore of many on the way to a king-size headache.
I waited five minutes, then moved across and eased him out of his jacket. He didn’t stir. I rolled his sleeves up looking for needle marks, but both arms were clean.
I’d have bet he was up to the same games as Harle with heroin, but it looked like I was wrong. Still, there was the culmination of my little plan to look forward to.
Greene snored on. ‘You enjoy your sleep, pal.’ I said. ‘To go with your hangover in the morning, I’m going to give you the fright of your life.’
I locked up and took the keys with me to bed.
48
By dawn, I was awake and back in my chair facing Greene. Slumped asleep in the seat, chin on chest, a very stiff neck awaited him.
It was cold. The grate held only ashes and I had no intention of lighting a fire. I wanted Greene to feel as uncomfortable as possible when he woke. Heating my fingers round a mug of coffee, I watched him.
He was so pale he looked almost grey in the early light, his lips colourless, beard growth barely noticeable.
He moaned and tried to shift position. ‘You awake?’ I asked.
No response.
‘Phil…time to get up.’
He frowned but didn’t answer. I kicked the sole of his shoe and the frown deepened. Slowly, he pulled his foot away. I started kicking the other one. ‘Rise and shine, Mister Greene, we’ve got visitors.’
He opened his eyes and stared at his lap trying to work out where he was and how he’d got there. I stopped kicking and stood up to look down at him.
‘Some party, huh?’ I said.
‘Any water?’ he croaked.
I got him some, and he pushed himself onto his elbow and drank all but a mouthful. ‘What were you feeding me?’ His voice still sounded hoarse, probably from talking too much about himself.
‘Firewater,’ I said.
‘Shit,’ he said, and tried to get up. ‘My neck’s killing me.’ I helped him into the chair.
‘Want some coffee?’
‘Mmmm.’
I filled two mugs. He sipped his. It didn’t seem to help.
‘Your brain working yet?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘How many people do you know who carry guns and are built like brick shit-houses?’
His eyelids opened fully on bloodshot eyes. He stared at me. ‘What are you asking?’
I repeated the question.
‘Know anyone who fits the description?’ I asked. He looked away.
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
He stared into his coffee. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s funny, they seem to know you.’
His head jerked up.
‘Who? What are you talking about?’
‘The two guys who paid us a visit during the night.’
‘Here? They came here?’
I nodded. He tried to smile but couldn’t manage. ‘You’re kidding…You’re just winding me up.’
‘I’ve got better things to do. They asked for you in person.’
He sat forward. ‘Just knocked the door and asked?’
‘Not exactly. I heard them prowling around outside, trying the doors and windows, trying to get in.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I stuck a shotgun out the window and pointed it at the big one’s head.’
He slurped some coffee but didn’t take his eyes off me.
‘I asked what he wanted and he said he wanted you. No trouble for me, just to send you out.’
Resting the coffee mug on his knee, he rubbed his bowed forehead with his free hand. I shrugged. ‘Never mind, if you don’t know these guys then obviously they’ve made a mistake and you can go right on out there.’
He looked up sharply. ‘Are they still there?’
I nodded. ‘They’re in the woods…Waiting.’
‘Oh, Jesus!’ He bowed his head again and rubbed his eyes as though he was going to cry.
I got up and went to the window. Standing off to the side, I pushed open an inch of curtain. Greene was holding his breath. I sensed him watching my back intently. After a minute, I turned toward him.
‘They still there?’
‘It might not be as bad as you thought.’ I said.
Relief crept across his face.
‘I can only see one of them… having said that, it is the one with the gun…I suppose his sidekick could be anywhere.’
He slumped back in the chair, and some coffee slopped over and wet his trousers. I went back and sat opposite him. ‘Want to tell me who they are?’
‘I don’t know who they are, not their names anyway. But they are bad news.’
‘How bad?’
‘Ask Alan Harle.’
‘Did they kill Alan?’
‘I don’t know!’ His voice was growing panicky again. ‘Shit! What am I into here? I’m not saying any more.’ He sat forward again. ‘Do you hear me? Forget what I said about those blokes, I’m not saying any more.’
‘Suit yourself.’
We sat in silence for a minute while he grimaced and fidgeted and sipped at his coffee. He would stare without blinking for a while then his eyes would be moving everywhere like a trapped animal looking for an escape route.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘No way! I’m not leaving here. Not till they’ve gone.’
‘You can’t stay.’
‘I’m staying!’ he almost shouted.
‘Okay, but you’re staying on your own. I’ve got business to attend to and I’m not sitting nursemaid to you.’
His head snapped up and he looked at me again. ‘You can’t leave me by myself! They’ll be through that door as soon as you go.’
‘Too bad, Phil. Until I’m clear what I’m up against, I’m out of it.’ I stood and reached for my jacket, pulled it on, and pulled out the car keys.
Greene got out of the chair, and made to stand up before realizing it put him in direct line with the window. He dropped onto all fours and crawled to where I stood. Safely out of the window-line, he got up.
His face was close to mine but not close enough for him to start whispering, which is what he did.
‘Look, go out and tell them I’ve gone. Tell them I left by the back door while it was still dark.’
‘They don’t seem the type to believe it. In fact, the reason I can’t see the other one out there is probably because he’s covering the back of the house.’
He stood staring at me, expressionless. ‘How the hell am I going to get out of here?’
‘I can get you out but I want to know who those two guys are. You tell me that and I’ll get you out.’
‘Listen, I’ll pay you. I’ll waive the fee for the article, you can keep it.’
‘There wasn’t going to be any fee. You were doing it for the glory, kid.’
‘Don’t call me kid!’
‘I’d have thought you’ve got more things to worry about just now than your ego.’ I moved toward the window.
Trying to hurry, he stumbled round me and stood with his back almost to the wall. I squinted out of the corner of the curtain.
‘Is he still there?’ Greene asked.
‘Yep, come and see so you can be sure it is who you think it is.’
‘No way! God knows what kind of sights he’s got on that gun.’
‘It was only a pistol I saw in his hand. There was no rifle. None that I could see anyway.’ He was quiet again, perplexed. ‘How much do you want?’ he asked.
‘I’m not bargaining. I don’t want paid. Just tell me who the hell Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are?’
‘Why are you interested in who they are? What’s it to you?’
‘What it is to me is that Alan Harle was a friend of mine and I want to know why he was killed and who killed him. If I don’t know in two minutes, I’m going out that door, you’re staying here and you can take what’s coming from your visitors.’ Greene’s legs buckled slowly and his back slid down the wall until he squatted on the floor then, finally, sat. He stared at the ash-filled grate. ‘Harle was killed dealing in drugs.’
‘What kind?’
‘Heroin.’
‘What kind of deals?’
‘Not the kind he wanted. He thought he was the big shot, moving among the internationals, the heavyweights. Some big shot.’
‘You still didn’t tell me what kind of deals.’
‘He was trying to set something up with those two guys, but he tried to screw them and they found out…Goodbye, Alan.’
‘What was he trying to set-up?’
‘I don’t know, some deal or other.’
‘You keep talking about deals, do you have any details? Was he supplying heroin or smuggling it into the country or out of the country or what?’
‘How the hell should I know?’
‘You must have some evidence?’
‘Look, give me a break, Malloy! I’m telling you what I think was happening, my opinion, right?’
‘But without any evidence to back it up…Your opinion isn't worth shit, Greene. I think you’re lying to try to get yourself out of trouble.’
‘I don’t have to sit here and listen to this garbage from you,’ he said.
‘Sure you don’t.’
I moved to the curtain and looked out again. The sky was darkening. I walked through to the bedroom and heard Greene scramble to his feet and call after me, ‘Where are you going?’
I came back in, zipping up my jacket. ‘I told you, I’ve got business,’ I said, turning toward the door.
‘Good luck, Phil.’
He grabbed my arm. ‘Wait!’ I turned to face him. He loosened his grip. His eyes were tired, desperate.
There was some white matter in the corners of his mouth. We were close. His breath smelled bad. ‘I’ll tell you all I know. It may not be any good to you but I promise I’ll tell you what I know.’
49
I made coffee. We sat down and Greene talked. ‘It was a kind of accident how I found out Alan was into drugs. I was still doing my two at Roscoe’s. I was stacking bales in the hayloft one afternoon when I saw Alan come out of the house and cross the yard to his car. He always parked it behind the top block, out of sight of anyone in the yard. I could see him from the hayloft. He couldn’t see me.’
Greene rambled on at great length filling in every detail down to how easily the veins showed in Harle’s arms as he pumped up before an injection, but all it amounted to was that he knew Harle was a junkie. He tried to embellish the dealing side.
‘One day I had a ride at Uttoxeter. Alan had three so we travelled up together. Alan, as usual, hardly spoke a word on the journey. He had a fall on his las
t ride and came back in the ambulance.
‘I rushed down to meet it to check if he was okay. Not that I was worried about him, I just wanted to make sure he could drive so I could get home. Anyway, he was all right. My ride was in the last so he said to meet him at the car afterwards.
‘Mine ran like a dog. When I’d showered and changed, I was one of the last out of the weighing room. It was getting dark but the rain had stopped. I walked to the car park. Alan had a green Saab and he was standing beside it talking to two blokes, big guys. I mean, most jockeys look small even next to your Mister Average, and Alan was short anyway, but these guys made him look like a toddler. Alan nodded toward me as I approached and they turned and looked at me. Then they said something to Alan, walked over to a black Merc and drove off.
‘Alan was in the Saab by the time I reached it. I got in but he didn’t speak. He looked pale but his eyes were bright. He set off, driving fast. I didn’t ask who the guys were. I knew he wouldn’t tell me.
‘On the motorway he pulled in at the first services and told me to get myself a coffee as he was just going to the toilet. I got out and headed to the cafeteria, but when I looked, I saw Alan rummaging in the boot. He took something out and slipped it under his jacket then he headed for the toilet.
‘As we drove back he started talking. He said he’d be retiring from the saddle soon. He was going places, going into business with his “Associates”.’
‘So you assumed he was dealing in drugs with these two guys?’
‘Of course he was. What else could it be?
‘It could have been a million things. Did you hear the conversation with the two blokes?’
‘I didn’t but-’
‘Did Harle ever say anything about dealing?’
‘Well, no but-’
‘Supposing he was dealing in heroin, that might not have been why he was killed.’
‘Look, Mister, you asked me what I thought and I told you, so gimme a break!’
He hadn’t told me everything, I was sure of that, and I considered questioning him to try to catch him out. I could have asked him about Roscoe, Kruger, and Skinner, but it was unlikely he’d tell me anything and it would only alert them further once Greene blabbed. If they believed I was just interested in Harle’s murder, it might make things a bit easier. ‘So you think the two guys in the car park killed him? I asked.