The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1)

by Mac Fletcher

  “Good God!” He gasped in astonishment as he read the contents. “Eighteen pitches reserved for the whole of Easter-week already - and that’s just one works' club….and a cheque! Wow!"

  “It’s a great start,” said Jan, “that crowd alone will keep us on our toes for starters.”

  “We’ll manage them,” replied Greg as he prepared to leave. “I’m going now – but I’ll be back later.”

  “Yes… OK.” Although she tried to disguise it, Jan’s voice was heavy and unsteady. “I’ll do some lunch for when you get back.”

  Sarah was delighted to see Greg, even more so when he explained briefly about the pictures.

  "I'm hoping Bart will be back with them soon: Eddy arranged for him to collect them and the caravan for me," he began explaining, though Sarah could wait no longer. The pair made love - almost in place of saying hello - before Greg could complete his account.

  “I do so hope they’ll be worth enough to put things right,” breathed Sarah at last. "after all, I don't even have a buyer now.”

  “Call in a valuer… now,” urged Greg.

  Sarah contacted an agent immediately, and although he couldn’t call for a day or so, he asked for details of the collection. Greg sorted the relevant receipts for Sarah to relay, upon which the agent all but gasped.

  "This is a genuine enquiry, madam?” he queried after a pause.

  “Why yes, of course,” replied Sarah.

  “Well… I’m prepared to say, even over the phone, that if the pictures are genuine, they're of considerable value. At least six figures I'd estimate, possibly even seven!”

  "Can't you be any more precise? A lot depends on…"

  "I'm sorry madam, but I'll need to see them: I've already said more than is considered professional.”

  "Okay."

  Sarah and Greg were ecstatic.

  "It's brilliant, Sarah, but you’ll need to be careful how you show the money on the books…in view of the er… circumstances.”

  “I’ll leave you in charge of that: you’ll be managing the estate.”

  “Manage? Me?”

  “As my husband, I hope.”

  Greg was taken aback, though he eventually burst into laughter and accepted: at last he had a chance to regain his former esteem, he reasoned.

  “So the little caravan will be redundant now,” he remarked, "and there might be a chance of us actually getting into bed together…"

  Greg then left the house, anxious to see his mates at the pub. As they were expecting him back, he hoped at least some of them would be there. He entered the bar in his usual low-key manner, but was greeted by hails of the friendly abuse he’d come to expect.

  "You idle buggers got no work on?" Greg laughed at his reception... until he spotted two newcomers. Directly opposite the entrance, seated on what Eddy had dubbed the trainer's bench, were two faces he knew only too well. The laughter stopped abruptly as Greg stared at them, his ears ringing in the sterile silence.

  The guy with the eye-patch!

  He gasped and pointed to the other unsavoury-looking young man. “You're the bloke I…" He paused. "…The man from Bromyard Downs.” The silence continued. Not a word as they produced identity cards. Both smiled. Smugly.

  “Drugs squad,” said the man with the patch. "I'm DS Jeff Jeffries, or Jaff to everyone except my parents, and this is DC Graham Oldfield." Suddenly Greg heard the clang of a cell gate reverberating in his head. He turned to run. The doorway was blocked by Simon. Greg stared at the vacant, unyielding faces around him.

  “Have I done all this to be locked up?” he yelled.

  “Looks like it,” said Eddy without emotion.

  Greg was determined not to be trapped. Not after all he’d done. He prepared to hurl himself at Simon.

  “See if you can stop me!” he yelled . . .and suddenly the crowd could punish him no more. A burst of raucous laughter erupted as the men rose and shook Greg’s hand.

  “We’ve been dying to meet you for a long time,” said Graham...“socially, that is. We’re grateful for the help you’ve given, unintentional though much of it was.”

  Greg was still shaking as he seated himself at their table - though he refused anything stronger than beer. There were so many questions he wanted to ask he became tongue-tied, but he looked at Jaff and croaked: “With all due respect, how did you get into the force with that?” Jaff smiled as he removed the patch, and Greg found himself looking at a normal pair of eyes.

  “This is a prop, though it is a handicap while I’m using it…”

  "God it fooled me. I would never have taken you for a law enforcer in any capacity." Greg smiled at the simplicity of the disguise.

  “We use unconventional methods on drug squad, and I reckoned no one would suspect me of being filth with only one eye,” explained Jaff, “along with the charity shop gear and all.”

  Greg smiled again, broadly this time: he was quickly regaining composure, and had a string of questions to ask.

  "One question at a time please, Greg." Suddenly Jaff sounded patronizing, thought Greg.

  Or is it me again?

  "There are still things we need to learn from you, Greg," put in the more affable Graham. "We'll need a full statement, but an off-the-record chat will do for now."

  Piece by piece, the three put the story together, and although there seemed to be bits missing, they built up a reasonably accurate picture of events. Greg identified elements the detectives appeared to know nothing of, though chose to let sleeping dogs lie in certain areas.

  “Our team's been trying to get to the hub of this setup since long before came on the scene,” explained Jaff. “They worked backwards from clubs in the cities, but always came up against a brick wall when it came to how and where the drugs entered the country.” They went on to explain how there'd been many stages when arrests could have been made, but the squad had chosen to wait until they could make a sizeable ‘killing’.

  “We knew from international connections the stuff was coming from Morocco,” continued Graham, “but just how's been a mystery until recently. We’ve now established that Vance’s gang were collecting their share in one of three pleasure launches he has on the Med, moving up the Atlantic - possibly in relays - to a remote point off the coast of Brittany. From there it was collected by the boat that was seized last night…The former crew are talking to investigators…very willingly I'm told. Not much honour among thieves there!”

  “It was the local boat owner's reluctance to transport the cargo last month,” explained Jaff, “that necessitated collection from Barcelona, minus the cannabis, of course. That consignment came to our notice via a tip-off: we had it on good authority that one of Vance's boats was crossing the Med to deliver the Barcelona shipment."

  "Very complex," said Greg. "I'm told Vance is dead. How was that?"

  "No official details I'm afraid!" replied Jaff. "For now it's enough to say he's out of the way but, off the record, it looks like natural causes."

  Greg decided to let the matter rest: the loss seemed of little consequence. "Do you know how – or why - Penmaric became involved?”

  “Money,” was Jaff's simple reply. “Everything I tell you is off the record, don't forget. Vance never said over-much yesterday, but he swore that Penmaric approached him years ago - for advice on using his property to capitalise on holiday trade. Vance never said in so many words, but he would have ripped Penmaric's arm off to get in there. The bay and its access provided the perfect spot for his purpose. After that I reckon Penmaric was unable to withdraw: from what we gather, Vance implicated him still further by blackmailing him into transporting cocaine to the midlands on his fun runs. He threatened to blow the whistle and distanced himself from dealings by forcing the old chap to intercept the gear when it landed. Penmaric paid a big price for playing away.”

  “No wonder he had heart problems,” observed Greg.

  "True," agreed Graham, “and it seems that after he’d put the estate to rights a few years a
go, he found the extra cash handy for his gambling forays. We reckon that’s where his money went; that and the failing estate.”

  “Suppose you’re right.” Greg almost gulped with relief. If that's what they think. “…Er… another drink.”

  “We’re in the chair today,” insisted Graham as he finished his beer. “Give me a lift, Jaff.”

  While they were at the bar, using the knowledge he'd just gleaned, Greg mentally filled in as much as he could about Penmaric’s dilemma. While he'd never be sure of all the details, bits he was to learn from Sarah and others later substantiated his conclusions:

  When Penmaric began buying pictures with drug proceeds, he embarked on a triple life: as a country squire, a drug smuggler and philanderer. He'd doubtless tired of waiting for Anne McCaffrey’s husband to die, but found her a valuable banker. Then, twelve months earlier, he'd genuinely fallen for, and married, Sarah - possibly in hope of leaving an heir. Although his new situation had only deepened the mire he was already floundering in, Penmaric's weaknesses hadn't diminished his loyalty to his employees - though his responsibility in that direction only increased the pressure on him.

  His load would have been strangely eased when his nephew learnt - as he surely had - of his trafficking. Although Nigel would have played no part, he would have allowed it to continue, and ultimately shared in the wealth created. For some reason, it seemed, Penmaric held onto hope that he could resolve the dilemma at some stage. Then, on reception of his last cargo, Penmaric had suffered what he assumed to be a mild heart attack. He called in his doctor later that morning, conceding it an impossibility to drive to Herefordshire with the monthly consignment.

  The doctor warned him to ease up, though had hardly left the premises before Penmaric was off to see Vance. The 'holiday king', predictably unsympathetic, threatened to expose Penmaric’s secrets to Sarah if he didn’t pull himself together. On top of that, Vance insisted that Penmaric must make the journey to Barcelona to collect the cocaine the following month. He'd also insisted that the consignment already concealed in the Ulster, and the Barcelona one, should be delivered to the midlands at the same time.

  “There’s a rally at Barcelona the week the stuff arrives,” Vance had explained. “I’ve 'sponsored' other veterans for authenticity, but only you will turn up."

  The pressure was intolerable: Penmaric knew Vance would go to any lengths for his pound of flesh, and that there was no escape other than suicide. He would undoubtedly have left for home feeling much worse than when he’d arrived, so the re-occurrence of chest pains would have come as no surprise. His first consideration would have been to call Nigel: despite his diminishing faith in him, Penmaric would have been left with Hobson's choice. Nigel would be the only person he could trust to retrieve the pictures and pass on the drugs...

  But Nigel wasn’t available, and Penmaric couldn't arrange for legitimate collection of the paintings because of the implications. Seized by panic that he might die without passing on the information, the old man had rung his own office so he could leave his cryptic message. He recorded the cipher, long since devised as a contingency no doubt, and drove carefully back to Penmaric House. He somehow managed to reach home safely, checked the message, and having gone thus far decided to take a massive dose of cocaine. His biggest mistake then (though it was to prove fortunate in the long run) had been to send for Tennant. With his last breath Penmaric had told Ten of the importance of the message for Nigel. Predictably, the message wasn't passed on. Nigel though, on learning of it from Isaac, had obviously chosen to wait his time before collecting the pictures, thereby keeping the proceeds for himself. As for the location of the pick-up point, Nigel would have ignored the information, having no intention of soiling his hands more than necessary.

  Vance, who desperately wanted to retain the landing spot by purchasing Penmaric Estate, then learnt of the 'legacy' from Ten, and offered him payment to locate and destroy it so nothing could stand in his way. Vance had clearly believed that Penmaric's legacy would be chickenfeed compared to the revenue from his dealings. For a similar reason, he bribed Jan’s ex-boyfriend, Mick, to find a way of preventing Jan and Greg from purchasing the cabin...

  “Come on, wake up,” called Jaff as he placed Greg’s drink on the table, “I thought you were asleep for a moment.”

  “Oh - thanks,” replied Greg on return to earth, “just daydreaming. I was wondering how Nigel came to get involved in the Spain run,” he half-lied.

  “None of this is cast in bronze, but as far as we can make out,” said Graham as he sat back down. “Nigel was approached by Skuce immediately after the old man’s death - and told it was necessary to make the journey to Spain. Needless to say, he was left with little choice, though he would have undoubtedly found the cash a temptation.”

  “He must have thought he'd dropped on his feet when I offered to accompany him." Greg sighed. "Little wonder he was so keen to... er… arrange things for me.”

  Jaff’s ears picked up. “What things?”

  “Oh well,” said Greg resignedly, “I went to Spain on a passport Nigel obtained. I have a valid one but God knows where. That was why I disappeared.”

  “Never knew that,” replied Jaff, his brow furrowed. “More of that later.”

  “We did know of you from that time, though,” explained Graham. “It was around then we made a breakthrough – or thought we had. Our department was contacted by the young druggy who’d been stranded in Spain. In return for assistance, he offered us info on the methods employed by the drug ring. It emerged that he actually knew very little, but he told us he was travelling back to England with one of the smugglers!”

  “Good God!” exclaimed Greg, “and to think I chucked him out because he had cannabis on him.”

  “He thought you were bullshitting him,” explained Jaff, “but we decided to let you go to see where you might lead us.”

  "But what happened to the bulk of the drugs?" asked Greg. "I heard only traces were found, and even that story was scotched."

  "The report was withdrawn because we didn't want the gang to know we were on to them. Can't say any more for now, except it's all been safely disposed of."

  "Do you know if the package I dropped off to you was in the tank when I drove back through customs?" pressed Greg.

  "As I just said, Greg, I can say no more for now," insisted Jaff. "We had you down as a mule, though your behaviour mystified us on many occasions."

  “Was it Skuce who finished Nigel and Jackie off?” pressed Greg, anxious to fill gaps.

  “Not our department, and forensics aren't yet complete, but we're sure it was. Something else we had to hush up for fear of the drug ring going to ground. Skuce got what he deserved in the end, though.” Jaff then went on to stress that although they were never sure of Greg, they'd left him alone in hopes he might lead them to bigger things.

  “But did you know about that lot in the tank?” insisted Greg, alarmed that neither man seemed fully aware of all the details.

  “Mmm: a woman’s hiding place." Graham nodded…vaguely Greg noticed, and moved quickly on. "Anyway, whilst watching the Ulster, our chap was amazed to see Messrs Hudson and Tennant breaking into the garage. We guessed it must have been for a different reason when we established that they’d turned the car over and hadn’t touched a dummy package we'd planted in the toolbox! Then, as I've already said, things got really out of hand. When Sarah spotted Jaff here and alerted that dimwit Stubbs, he called in DCI Tooth who nearly blew the lot. That sort of thing's happened several times throughout the operation and, as in the other instances, we had to bury it."

  “We removed the package,” added Jaff, “and hushed it up. We thought the damage had been done, but Vance’s greed overcame him in the end.”

  “Did you break into my caravan in the hope of finding drugs?” asked Greg.

  “We'd no idea what to think,” replied Jaff, “We were baffled by your activities throughout, and even more so when you informed police after the brea
k-in that we were the villains.”

  “You led us a dance,” added Graham, “We’d pulled a contact from a club in Brum who told us where and when the Bromyard rendezvous occurred, so I was gob-smacked when you showed again. Then you followed through with your party trick and contacted police… yet again!”

  “By which time,” interrupted Jaff, "We'd got Vance and Co locked up here at Trevelly, thanks to Eddy and his mates. Most of the gang were semi-conscious when we rounded 'em up, but keen to talk once they'd recovered.”

  Greg suddenly remembered something. “Why did you wreck my old van?”

  “Unintentional,” assured Jaff, “I was taking a look inside and must have knocked it out of gear as I climbed over the seat. The handbrake wasn’t brilliant, was it?”

  “Don’t suppose it was,” agreed Greg, “but you made a tidy mess of it.”

  “It didn’t exactly start out as a Roller though, Greg, and it could have been worse; It could have been me if I hadn’t got out in time.”

  Greg managed a smile, then remarked that had his van not been wrecked, forcing him to take the Ulster, the events that led up to the gang’s capture might never have fallen into sequence.

  "So you deliberately let me get away in the Ulster as well?"

  “No, we were in deep shit for taking our eyes off the ball – one eye in my case," joked Jaff. "We'd no idea where you were intil you showed up at the rendezvous point on the Downs, but things worked out in the end. If they hadn't, Skuce would have been walking about again in a few years time no doubt." Jaff winked slyly. "If he hadn’t ‘slipped’ on that cable, I mean. That reminds me, any more news on Fergal Haye?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you lot to wind up so I can ring the hospital.” Eddy signaled Simon. “Go on through and ring ‘em for me would you, Si?”

  “I hope he’s alright.” Greg stared at the table, nervously flicking a beer-mat with his thumbnail.