For Your Sins: previously published as Joseph's Mansions

by Richard Pitman

  ‘No I will not piss off!’ She said very loudly and Pusey reddened. ‘Take your hands off his shirt. You’ve no right to be assaulting him! I’ll call the police!’

  Pusey tried again, voice still low but more menace in it now. ‘If you don’t bugger off and mind your own little Miss English business, you’ll be next.’

  ‘What was that, you’re going to assault me next?’ She was shouting. ‘You’re planning to assault a young girl when you’ve finished with this boy! ‘

  Pusey began to look panicky now as two men moved toward him from the terminal entrance. Jane saw them too and began screaming, ‘Help! Help!’ still holding on to the arm of Pusey’s jacket but trying to make it look like he was holding her. The two men started running toward Pusey, who immediately let go of Sean and wrestled himself free of Jane’s grip. He turned and ran, leaving Sean looking after him, dazed and confused at the speed of things. The two men stopped beside them and the taller asked, ‘Are yous alright, now?’

  ‘We’re OK,’ Jane said confidently. ‘Thanks for coming to help.’

  ‘Who was the fella that was botherin’ ye?’

  ‘He was tryin' to rob me,’ Sean said. ‘I think he was drunk.’

  The tall man said, ‘Give us a shout if you need us. We’ll be in the bar over there.’

  ‘Thanks, mister,’ said Sean.

  Sean and Jane stood looking at each other, he in his crumpled charity shop clothes, and she in her sky- blue Gore Tex jacket that had cost almost one hundred and fifty pounds. ‘Are you alright?’ Jane asked, and Sean could see that there was a bit of an actress in her, as there was in most girls. The question was asked with wide eyes and a sort of ‘Uh, I don’t believe what I just saw’ expression.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks.’

  Jane stared, still frowning. ‘Was he really trying to rob you?’

  Sean straightened, adjusted his jacket and adopted an offended look. ‘What are ye tryin’ to say? Don’t I look as though I’m worth robbin’ then?’

  She looked apologetic. ‘No, of course not. I’m not saying that at all, it’s just -’

  ‘Just what? My clothes are needin’ a bit of a wash from bein’ dragged through puddles by that madman…’ Sean paused and quickly looked behind him to make sure Pusey really had gone. ‘And there’s a few horsehairs stuck to me here and there and,’ he looked down, ‘I’ve got wellies over me Nike trainers to keep them dry and…’ His expression changed from one of mock hurt to one of wide- eyed realization. ‘Shit! Pegasus!’ He hurried toward the exit.

  Jane followed him looking worried. ‘Pegasus?’

  ‘My pony. Champion pony. Fastest in Dublin. That bastard Pusey scared him off.’

  They went through the open door together into the rain. Jane said, ‘Scared him off? When? You know that man? Who is he? Why was he trying to beat you up?’

  Sean was looking in both directions. ‘Ahh, yer a one for the questions, right enough, miss.’

  ‘My name’s Jane. And I think you should be a bit more grateful for my help, to be honest.’

  Sean turned to her. ‘Is that a fact, now? And what would you like me to do, kiss your feet? Be your butler for a year?’

  They looked at each other in silence for a few seconds. ‘It would be a start. Being my butler, I mean. I wouldn’t let you near my feet.’

  ‘Yer just scared I’d convert ye to wearin’ wellies like mine, aren’t ye?’ They smiled, at ease with each other now. ‘There’s Pegasus,’ said Sean. ‘See ya.’ He started along the road. The pony was grazing on a grass strip near the railway line.

  Jane walked after him. ‘Where do you keep him?’

  Sean picked up the rein and zipped his clenched fingers along it, scooting off the water it had picked up dangling in the grass. ‘Where do I keep him? In the paddock, of course, by the orchard.’

  ‘Where do you live?’ she asked, stroking Pegasus.

  ‘In a mansion.’

  She looked at him, a mixture of wariness and laughter in her eyes. He said, ‘You’re judging the book by its cover again, Jane. Just because of the way I’m dressed, you think I can’t live in a mansion?’

  She smiled slowly. He said, ‘Look, I’ll prove it. Hold this.’ He handed the rein over and dug in the inside of his pocket of his jacket until he pulled out a library card. He held it close to her face, obscuring his name on the top line, showing the address. ‘See, Joseph’s Mansions.’

  ‘And you’re Joseph?’

  ‘I’m Sean.’

  ‘Who’s Joseph?’

  ‘Me da.’

  Your father owns a mansion with a paddock and an orchard?’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘And you’ve got raggedy clothes, a pony with no saddle and you get your books from the library?’

  ‘I like plain living. I’m easy pleased.’

  ‘And you know something, something that that man in there wanted to get from you.’

  That brought Sean back to reality, and the smile that had been dancing in his eyes faded at the thought that Pusey would return - could easily be watching him now. As soon as Jane had gone, he’d be after him.

  She read his thoughts, his hunted glance over her shoulder toward the terminal entrance. She said, ‘I’ll wait with you, if you like. My uncle should be here any time. Should have been here by now.’ She turned around to look at the pick-up point outside the terminal. There he is, look, just getting out of the Mercedes. Come on, we’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘Err, aren’t ye forgettin’ somethin’? Where’s Pegasus gonna travel, on the roof rack?’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Uncle Fergus will go back for the trailer.’

  ‘The trailer?’

  ‘Wait here!’

  She ran toward the big white-haired man who was looking anxiously around. Sean watched as she threw her arms around him, her rucksack bobbing on her back as her uncle swung her gently. Then they were coming toward him. The big man looked familiar. Could that be…? Jeez, it was, Fergus Gollogly, the racehorse trainer!

  27

  At the Cassidy place that evening, Frankie sat at the table with Graham and Maggie, trying to use logic and what little evidence they had to fashion some sort of plan. They’d decided they simply couldn’t sit back and tick off the hours and days until the kidnapper called back. After half an hour with pad and pen, working through possibilities, they decided they were probably looking for someone who was or had been involved in racing, who, from his accent, came from south west England and who might well hold an HGV licence as a well as a grudge. They agreed that Lambourn, the racing centre of the southwest was probably the best place to start. Frankie said he’d ask the police to provide a list of HGV licence-holders living in the Lambourn postcode.

  ‘And supposing you get the list, what will you do then?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘I’ll call Stonebanks - Geoff Stonebanks, a colleague of mine. He lives in Lambourn and knows who’s doing what down there. We’ll take whatever time it needs to run through the list and see what we come up with.’

  Graham nodded, looking suddenly less haggard, more positive. Maggie said, ‘So you’ll be leaving us for Lambourn?’

  Frankie shrugged and laid his pen on the pad. ‘Depends on what comes out of this. Let me call my contact now at the police station and see if he’s still around. Can I use your phone?’

  ‘Of course you can!’ said Maggie and Frankie got up and went to the windowsill where the phone lay. Graham sipped coffee. Maggie watched Frankie’s reflection in the big mirror on the opposite wall. She blew a plume of smoke toward the light as she listened to him ask for his CID contact. She watched every small move of his hands and head and shoulders as he turned slightly, seldom still. She’d noticed that about him; he was never at rest.

  It took the police until late afternoon on 28 December to produce a list of HGV licence-holders living in the RG17 postcode; there were one hundred and thirty-four. Frankie worked through them, highlighting the seventy-three L
ambourn addresses, then he rang Stonebanks and asked him to call back to save the Cassidy phone bill. Maggie and Graham were out with the horses.

  Frankie heard Stonebanks grunt a bit as he settled for a long session on the phone. ‘Sorry about this, Geoff, but it was the only thing I could think of. Otherwise I’d be sitting here waiting with the Cassidys, and I feel bad enough already that I can’t do something for them, that the department can’t do something.’

  ‘OK, Frankie, no worries. I know what you mean. I just think it’s a dodgy premise to be going on but in your place, I’d be doing exactly the same. Trouble is that a big part of your assumption is that this guy is someone with a grudge in racing. If you lined him up along with all the others with grudges, the ID parade would take a year. Don’t hold your breath as far as drawing up a shortlist is concerned.’

  ‘I’m not - but if anyone can help on this, it’s you.’

  ‘As the bankrupt Chinese stamp collector said, philately will get you nowhere.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Learned it from an old friend of mine.’

  ‘Can we start?’

  ‘Shoot.’

  Almost two hours later Frankie had crossed through fifty-three of the Lambourn names. Of the twenty left on the list, Stonebanks reckoned that each was at least capable of kidnapping a horse and just under half of them willing to slaughter it. That gave Frankie eight people to concentrate on. He asked Stonebanks then to listen to the copy of the tape of the kidnapper’s voice that he’d sent by courier. Stonebanks listened and said, ‘I don’t recognize it, Frankie. But I can’t say I’ve heard all your suspects speak, certainly not recently, and I don’t know any well enough to remember their voices. It takes a while for a voice to register in your brain, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does. Don’t worry. It was worth a chance. How would you feel about rigging the equipment up to your phone and calling each of these guys? We could get some sort of voiceprint comparison then.’

  ‘We could. You get also get yourself a dead horse if one of them is the kidnapper. What’s he going to do if he suddenly gets a call out the blue from the Jockey Club Security Department?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Never mind. Why don’t you get yourself down to London tomorrow, and we’ll work on this shortlist and see what we can come up with?’

  ‘I will, Geoff. I appreciate your help.’

  ‘No problem. You can buy me a drink and a fillet steak.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  Frankie sat by the log fire sipping whiskey with the Cassidys.’ I’m going to miss this little ritual before bed,’ he said.

  ‘We will too,’ said Maggie. She was sitting on the thick rug. Graham sat in the long-backed chair. They’d given Frankie the soft easy chair and he loved the way it enveloped him, made him feel secure, especially with the logs burning in the big fireplace.

  ‘And I’m mad because I’ll miss morning stables,’ said Frankie. ‘I’ve loved helping out with the feeding and grooming and stuff.’

  Graham smiled. ‘It’s been good to have you. You’d make an excellent stable lad!’

  Frankie grinned and raised his glass toward Graham. ‘There are worse occupations,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ Maggie said, ‘the pay’s not brilliant but we could probably afford a bit extra for you.’

  ‘I’d do it for nothing. The company alone is worth it. I’ve really enjoyed my time here. It’s been great being back in a family atmosphere again.’ And he realized with that little statement that he’d opened up part of his past that he didn’t mean to. He hoped neither Maggie nor Graham would follow it up.

  Maggie said, ‘We’ve enjoyed your company too and we can’t say how grateful we are that you gave up Christmas to try and help us.’

  ‘No sacrifice, honestly. I just hope I can do something in the next forty-eight hours.’

  Graham said, ‘Even if you hit brick walls with your investigations over the next couple of days, will you come back and be with us for the call on New Year’s Eve?’

  ‘Of course I will. Of course.’

  Frankie and Geoff Stonebanks spent the whole of the next day in the office. They were still there at ten that night. Frankie had learned that it was one thing having a short list of suspects and something else completely trying to get anything useful from it. He guessed that Stonebanks could have told him that before they started, and his respect and liking for the big man had grown because he’d said nothing, just beavered away all day at this lost cause. Frankie knew Stonebanks just wouldn’t have wanted to discourage him at the outset on this, his first real case.

  It had been a long slog of ringing people, reading files, seeking further possible contacts, trying to discover the whereabouts of everyone on the list on the nights in question and having to do it without being able to speak to the people themselves. Tough and tiring as it had been, there had been some comic moments, especially the frequent times when Stonebanks was ready to swear with frustration and had glanced at Frankie, unsure how offensive it would be for an ex-priest to hear such language. Frankie had played on it by frowning seriously when Stonebanks glanced at him, and the big man had taken it at face value and stayed silent or substituted softer curses.

  At ten-past-ten Frankie said, ‘Let’s call it quits, Geoff, and I’ll buy you that steak.’

  Stonebanks, tie hanging loosely below his stubbled double chin, wearily closed the folder in front of him. ‘And a large gin?’

  ‘Two large gins, if you like, and I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘Ooh, a chauffeur too!’

  ‘Least I can do. This has been an awful tiring day. We’ve got nowhere and you probably knew from the start how it would turn out. It makes me much more grateful that you stuck with it anyway.’

  ‘You’re not giving up, Frankie boy?’

  ‘I ain’t. If you’ll put me up for the night I’ll prowl around Lambourn for the next two days in the hope of finding something.’

  Stonebanks looked at him for a few moments, and Frankie knew that he was deciding whether it was best to say what was on his mind. He said it; ‘You know you’re a million to one against here, don’t you?’

  Frankie smiled wearily and stretched and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I know, but I’m as well trying to do something as sitting around up in Shropshire waiting for this… this fella to call.’

  A smile spread slowly on Stonebanks’s face and he raised a finger to point at Frankie. ‘You almost said a bad word then, didn’t you?’

  Frankie laughed. ‘I did. You’re right. I almost did. And earlier I almost said “a bitch of a day”. My soul will surely be lost after another year or two in the company of people like yourself! Come on, let’s go and get a drink.’

  ‘Tell me what you were going to say first! ‘

  Frankie got up, still laughing. ‘Don’t be daft! Come on.’

  Stonebanks folded his arms. ‘Nope. I’m not moving until you tell me.’

  Frankie put his hands on the table and leant forward. ‘It started with “b” and ended with “d”.’ Stonebanks got up and came toward him, put his arm around Frankie’s shoulder and said, ‘That’s my boy! I knew you had it in you.’

  Frankie straightened, laughing again. ‘Come on, Crazy Horse, let’s eat.’ They walked to the door still linked by Stonebanks’s arm. Frankie felt that the day had been more than worthwhile, for they’d got to know each other better in these twelve hours than they’d done in all the odd days they’d spent together back when Frankie had just started. He was pleased too that for the second time in the past few days he felt some real warmth toward a human being. Maybe his emotions were thawing. Perhaps life wasn’t going to be so terrible after all.

  Maggie and Graham Cassidy sat in their kitchen opposite Frankie and the man from the local CID who was called John Burnham. A pad and two pens were beside the phone, although the pens had seldom been out of the anxious fingers of one or the other of the party. Frankie had got ba
ck about noon and had told them over lunch his frustrations during the past couple of days. He and Stonebanks had done what they could using the list of HGV licences but had turned up nothing.

  They’d only managed to eliminate three people on their shortlist of eight, and had simply been unable to gather enough information about the others to make judgement. Maggie had told him not to worry, and both had thanked him for trying. And since then, all they had done was wait by this phone, sitting and staring. Twice Maggie had picked it up and checked that there actually was a dial tone; that had made Graham smile nervously. They’d discussed what they were going to do; the money wouldn’t be paid and there would be no bargaining.

  The police had decided against setting up call-tracing equipment as they were convinced the kidnapper would be long gone by the time they got a car there. The Cassidys accepted this, and they conceded too that they weren’t going to see their horse again unless the kidnapper had a change of heart.

  They’d been waiting for eight hours, the last of them in almost complete silence. CID man Burnham had fallen asleep in the chair. Maggie thought Graham had looked increasingly sad as time went on; the stress of it all seemed to be ageing him as she watched. She said quietly, ‘I can’t wait for this to be over.’

  Graham slowly stood. ‘I’m going to check the horses,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Are you alright, darling?’ Maggie called after him. There was no answer. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Frankie and followed her husband.

  She stood at the open door and watched him cross the yard in the glare of the security lights, his feet dragging, shoulders slumped, head down. He slid the big barn door aside and went in, seeing her as he turned to close it and waiting, watching her. She went to him. He looked completely dejected and very close to tears. Maggie had never known him like this. All she had ever seen in him was determination, hard work, obsession with his horses, a dedication to raising his children properly. Now here he was, a man almost broken.

  And here she was, so protective of this money, of their ‘security’, she’d blinded herself to what was really important. She thought of everything they’d been through together, all the tough times when he’d always picked himself up, picked all of them up too and soldiered on. She loved him. She needed to show it, needed to practise it. Needed, somehow, to survive all this.