[Inspector Peach 13] - Wild Justice

by J M Gregson

  Hayes was a powerful man, with more resources at his command than any enemy Leroy had tackled before. His immediate reaction was to rush to him immediately and beat him senseless. A little thought told him that this was not the right strategy. He would have to make sure that he had the right occasion. And he might need to do something more serious than beat him up, if he was not to suffer retribution from the seriously violent men Hayes could summon so easily to the task.

  Leroy realized that he must make his retribution anonymous, must arrange it so that no one could be sure that it was he who had brought it about. That meant he would have to engineer the right sort of opportunity. He would need to get to know the man’s movements - then perhaps he would be able to trap him without protection in some alley, where he could mete out his justice swiftly and decisively. He had no idea yet when this opportunity would occur.

  That was the state of his thinking when his mobile phone rang and an impersonal voice he did not know said that Mr Hayes wished to see him at ten o’clock on Wednesday morning.

  * * *

  Matthew Ballack got the name of the lawyer from the Citizens’ Advice Bureau. It wasn’t that he didn’t know any legal men. It was rather that he wanted anonymity: he didn’t want someone recalling this meeting inconveniently at a later date. He asked for and was given a source of advice not in Brunton but in the neighbouring town of Bolton, where he thought there was little chance of his name being known.

  The man was old. Not the silver-haired, distinguished-looking old which gave confidence, but a little down-at-heel, with hair which drooped over the back of his collar and hands which shook a little as they talked. He looked to Ballack like a man with a drink problem, but perhaps he had dried out now. Matthew regarded him suspiciously, but knew he must be properly qualified, to be used by an organization like the CAB. And this was surely a simple enough legal quandary to put to even a struggling lawyer.

  He produced the two now rather dog-eared pages which he had kept through all his vicissitudes of recent years. They made a simple enough document. His fear was that it was possibly too simple to have any legal standing. It was twenty-four years old now, and it was the only written agreement which he and Timothy Hayes had ever made.

  They had had so little money when they started their modest electrical components enterprise that they had not employed a lawyer. Instead, they had painstakingly copied out a legal agreement from a manual borrowed from the library. Matthew remembered the laborious process of tapping it into his early and very rudimentary Amstrad computer, then printing out copies for himself and Tim. In that very different world, they had felt immensely sophisticated and at the forefront of technology.

  The document simply outlined a partnership, an agreement to bear joint responsibility for the repayment of the loan they had wrung from the bank to get their enterprise under way and to share any future profits which might accrue from this enterprise.

  Each of the men had signed their assent to these conditions at the foot of the very simple document. Matthew looked for a moment at those bold, young men’s flourishes and recalled the excitement and happiness of those days almost a quarter of a century ago, when two friends had thought they needed nothing but the most basic of legalities.

  The old man read unhurriedly through the two short pages of the document. He seemed to the anxious Matthew Ballack to take an inordinately long time over it, but he told himself that careful attention to detail could only be a good thing in a lawyer.

  The old eyes were watery but keenly observant as the man finally laid the sheets down and looked at his visitor. ‘Which clause is it that you wish me to advise you on, Mr Ballack?’

  ‘I simply need to know whether this agreement would still have legal standing.’

  ‘In the absence of any subsequent agreement which overrides it, I think it would, yes.’

  ‘What about subsequent verbal agreements?’

  The old head shook quickly and the thin mouth allowed itself a small, sad smile. ‘Courts do not like oral agreements. People tend to remember what they and other people have said very differently.’ He shook his head again at the frailties and venalities of the human condition. ‘Unless both parties were in absolute agreement that these conditions had been changed with the assent of both parties, the original written document would almost certainly prevail.’

  ‘And if the firm has changed its name and extended its activities, would that invalidate the terms of this agreement?’

  ‘Not unless a new partnership or other form of agreement was made at that time, which would of course override this document.’

  Matthew tried not to show his elation. There had been no new written agreement, and there was nil chance of any verbal assent between him and Timothy Hayes: he would deny anything the man said, if necessary - except that Tim wouldn’t be around to say anything, of course.

  The heavily lined face opposite him was looking down with some distaste at the shabby pages in front of him. ‘My advice would be to have a new and more modem agreement drawn up immediately, if this enterprise has prospered.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall pass on this view to the parties concerned.’

  Matthew Ballack got out as quickly as he could, then drove swiftly back over the moors towards Brunton. A sudden impulse made him pull into a lay-by as he reached the highest part of his route. He looked not at the stark winter countryside but at the high metal wall of the rear of the pantechnicon in front of him, unable now to stop smiling in his private world, which an hour or two had seemed as bleak as the landscape around him.

  He took out the precious, grubby document again and looked for the hundredth time at the final clause, which stated that simply that, in the event of the death of either party, all assets of the firm would pass to the survivor.

  * * *

  Jane Martin was very nervous when she next went into the casino. Leroy had persuaded her that it was what she must do, that to resign would merely be playing into the hands of Hayes, who would happily accept her departure and hope never to see her again. If they bided their time, he said, the opportunity of revenge upon him for what he had done to her would surely arise.

  After the first hour, she found that she adjusted surprisingly quickly. Once the public came in and she was busy at the tables, the patterns of work took over and she was too active to be perpetually glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the man who owned all this. He did not appear, and everyone else around her behaved exactly as they had done before the events of the previous Thursday night. Even the staff who had seen her leave with Hayes seemed now as if they had not registered that departure.

  It seemed that what Leroy had told her was right. People kept their noses clean and got on with their work. In this place, they didn’t speculate openly about the actions of the boss, didn't even gossip happily, as girls had done when she had worked in other places. It paid here not to comment on things you had noticed. Perhaps it was expected that the boss would demand sexual favours of attractive female employees, and even that they should willingly accept his attentions for the privileges it might bring to them.

  Jane wanted to tell anyone who would listen that it hadn’t been like that, that she wasn’t some cheap tart who sold her body for the advancement of her career, that drugs had been involved and she hadn’t known what was happening. But she was intelligent enough to realize within an hour that her declarations would not be welcome and she kept her mouth shut. Revenge if it came would not come from the law or from the support of her fellow-workers.

  Jane Martin was growing up fast. Her education in the ways of a dangerous world was proceeding apace.

  It was on Tuesday evening, four days after her night with Tim Hayes, that she was given the stiff white envelope. She turned it over several times in her hand, wondering if this was her notice and what she should do if it was. She did not open it until she was in a cubicle in the ladies’ cloakroom an hour later. There she read its simple, one-sentence message a dozen times over,
searching for some subtext or some hidden code, which it did not contain. She even considered the possibility that this was not meant for her but for someone else entirely, but that was plainly silly. Her name was there in bold black letters.

  Ms Jane Martin was invited to the annual dinner of the senior employees of Hayes Electronics and its allied businesses.

  * * *

  Clare Thompson knew about the list of guests for the annual dinner. She had compiled the basic list as usual, submitting it to her employer for deletions and omissions. She had seen him hesitate for a moment over the name of Jane Martin, then sanction that the young woman was to be invited to the function, along with the other three permanent croupiers from the casino.

  It was a longer list than usual this time, almost twice the length it had been last year. Clare supposed that represented the successful expansion of the business in other spheres than the original electronics factory, but she did not know that. She had added the names he told her to add without any query. She had ceased all communication with the man whose personal assistant she was, apart from the most formal exchanges. She did not even look at him now, lest he saw in her eyes the cold, abiding hatred she felt for him.

  She was glad that her husband was coming to the dinner this year. She had been used to making her apologies for Jason, explaining that this was not really his kind of thing, whilst exchanging knowing winks with Tim in private about his welcome absence. Now she was glad that she would be able to show Hayes that her life was not shattered after all, that it was continuing with Jason and without him. She was aware that Hayes might welcome the sight as evidence that he had successfully shrugged her off and set her back where she had been before their affair, but that would leave him off his guard.

  Because the real situation would in fact be quite different. She was merely demonstrating that she was perfectly able to get on with her own concerns whilst she planned her revenge.

  Clare Thompson said nothing to Tim Hayes about her husband’s attendance; that would have showed weakness. She merely added Jason’s name to hers in the lists for the table seating plans.

  * * *

  Leroy Moore was waiting in Clare Thompson’s office at ten minutes before the appointed time of ten o’clock on Wednesday morning. He had not been here before. Clare eyed him with surreptitious curiosity as she pretended to get on with the work at her computer.

  He was very black and rather good-looking, she thought, with smooth features and a ready smile. He wore a good suit in which he looked a little uncomfortable; that was probably because he was not used to wearing suits, she decided. He was a squat and powerful young man, but he looked decidedly nervous; that was no doubt because he was meeting the boss.

  She could not know that Leroy Moore was nervous for entirely different reasons. This would be the first time he had seen Hayes since the man had raped the girl he loved. He was telling himself to keep his hands in his pockets, to restrain the tide of violence he felt welling within him as he was forced to remain sitting quietly on the upright chair, knowing that the man he now hated was on the other side of the wall behind him. He wanted to know what Hayes would have to say for himself, how he would explain away his treachery.

  When Hayes came through the door of his office to call him in, he was his urbane, commanding self, and somehow his control annoyed Moore far more than some more defensive attitude. Hayes said airily, ‘See that we’re not disturbed for twenty minutes or so, please, Mrs Thompson,’ then ushered Leroy through the doorway in front of him, and shut it firmly upon the world outside.

  ‘You seem to have had the desired effect upon Mr Simpson. He’s paid his rent in full since your visit.’

  Jason mumbled something non-committal about bringing people to their senses. He had almost forgotten the name of the wretched betting-shop manager they had beaten up in the doorway of his premises. Then he found himself saying what he had never intended to say. ‘I don't like beating people up.’

  Tim Hayes concealed his surprise. ‘No one likes it, Leroy. I should think the people who get beaten like it considerably less than you who give the beating - that is surely the object of the exercise.’

  ‘Violence can get out of hand.’ Then, thinking that made him sound like a wimp, Leroy added gruffly, ‘It’s all right for the people who give the orders. It’s the people like me who take the rap. If something goes wrong, we can end up with a murder rap.’

  ‘Up to you to make sure that it doesn’t go wrong, isn’t it, Leroy? That’s what you’re paid so handsomely to do. It should be swift, anonymous and just severe enough to achieve our objectives. As I say, I am so far very satisfied with your efforts. Even pleased with them, in fact.’

  ‘I’ve done what you asked.’ Leroy was sullen, watchful, unsmiling, waiting for the exchange about Jane Martin he had been anticipating when he came here. He was a man not at home with words; almost all of his differences over the last ten years had been settled with fists or knives.

  ‘And you’ve done it efficiently and discreetly, as I’ve already indicated. That’s why I’m thinking of promoting you. That’s why I asked you to come here today. To meet me at the respectable centre of our activities.’

  Leroy Moore wondered whether he was being bought off, whether the price of his acquiescence in what had happened to Jane was to be the thirty pieces of silver of advancement in this man’s empire. ‘What sort of promotion?’

  ‘Come, Leroy, there is no need to be wary. The sort of promotion which brings you a little more prestige and a lot more money. I want what you say you want for yourself. I want you to become respectable. Or at least to appear respectable to the outside viewer. I want you to become Head of Security Services at Hayes Electronics.’

  ‘Head of Security Services?’

  Hayes laughed aloud at the bewilderment on those too- revealing dark features. ‘That will be the title. Of course, you will not spend much time here: there is little need for your sort of work in this eminently respectable original section of the business. You will oversee the need for security in the other and less predictable areas in which we pursue our profits.’

  ‘Rough up people who don’t cooperate, you mean.’

  ‘I suppose I do, yes. But we wouldn’t use such terms to the nosy parkers who occasionally question our operations, would we?’

  ‘Would that include responsibility for the casino?’

  ‘It would indeed, very much so. Is that a particular area of interest for you, Leroy? You’re not a gambling man, I hope. Employees are strictly forbidden to engage in any of our own gaming activities.’

  ‘My girlfriend works there. Jane Martin.’

  A look of astonishment, perhaps even of fear, passed fleetingly across the confident, controlling face. Leroy knew in that instant that Hayes had not known that before, that when he had picked out this ravishing girl he had not known that she was the girlfriend of one of the men he employed. Had not known, in fact, until this moment. It should have put the older man at a disadvantage, but Leroy could not see how he was going to use it. There was a pause when each man stared at the other, as if wondering what came next. Then Hayes said smoothly, ‘I didn’t know that. I met her briefly last Thursday night, I think. She seemed charming. And she’s certainly a looker. I congratulate you on your taste, Mr Moore.’

  He hadn’t known. Hayes hadn’t known until now that Jane was his girl. And now he was trying to carry it off as if nothing had happened. Leroy’s brain reeled as a mass of violent emotions fought for control of it. He felt his fingernails, fierce as needles in his palms, as his fists clenched even tighter. He mustn’t attack the man physically, not here and now. That would land him in trouble and Jane would be left alone, without his protection. He eventually heard himself saying, ‘Jane wouldn’t have gone with you. Not of her own accord.’

  Hayes had watched Moore’s too-revealing features mirror his fight for self-control. He now smiled the knowing, experienced smile of the man in command. ‘You still have a lot still
to learn about life, Leroy, though you know your own corner of it well enough. A lot to learn about women. Power and wealth are still very attractive to them. I think that’s why in the old days they had what they used to call droit de seigneur.’

  He threw in the French phrase he was confident this man would never have heard and smiled patronizingly into the frustrated, uncomprehending face. ‘Now that I know that the girl has a relationship with you, I shall not assert my rights again. How does that sound?’

  He’s asking me to thank him, thought Leroy. The bastard wants me to join his rich man’s club and say no hard feelings. Beyond leaping across the desk and plunging his fist into that grinning, complacent face, he had no idea what to do. He repeated doggedly, ‘She wouldn’t have gone with you. You gave her something to make her go with you to your flat.’

  Hayes’s smile disappeared as his face hardened. ‘I wouldn’t go round saying things like that, Leroy. You’d need evidence you don’t have. Less amenable men than me would take it up now. But because I’m an understanding sort of chap and because I like you, I’m going to ignore it. But I advise you to turn your attention back to business immediately. Do you want to be Head of Security Services at Hayes Electronics or not?’

  He rolled out the title and stressed the capitals invitingly. To Moore, it felt more than ever like a bribe, a sop to keep his mouth shut and make no ripples. He told himself that it had been offered before Hayes knew that Jane Martin had any connection with him, but that didn’t alter his feeling of being a Judas. He said through lips which felt stiff and unmoving, ‘What does this involve?’