by Robert Edric
‘So what is it?’ Devlin asked him.
Duggan rubbed his palms together. ‘Had a nice little tip-off. Sleaford depot.’ It was at the edge of the territory Duggan usually roamed. ‘Apparently, they’ve been unloading tons – and I mean tons – of stuff over the past week. Stockpiling for the winter work. Ministry, Board, the lot. Gear’s been arriving all hours of the day and night, and the word is that nobody’s done anything like a proper inventory of it yet. I thought we might have a drive over for a shufti before anybody else gets a sniff.’
‘It’s a long way,’ Devlin said.
‘All to our advantage. They’d point a finger at the Newark or Grantham boys for anything that did come to light. Me and you, we’d be long gone by the time anyone came looking in our particular direction. Word is, it’s all good stuff, brand-new. It’ll fetch a good price. You could at least show a bit of enthusiasm.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
Exasperated, Duggan banged his hands on the wheel and then leaned past Devlin and pushed his door open. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘You want to go back to the farm, have a chat with the old man about the state of the economy or the Queen’s Commonwealth visit and then put your feet up and listen to the Light Programme until bedtime.’
Devlin pulled the door shut.
‘Right,’ Duggan said, and started the engine.
They drove beyond Heckington and pulled up close to the reservoir there. The light was half gone by then, and Duggan had already calculated the remaining distance against the onset of night.
It was eight when they arrived at the makeshift, unfenced depot.
Duggan parked up and turned off their lights.
The depot was another disused airfield, and from where they sat on a slight rise they could see the mounded stores and equipment spread along what was left of the runway. Parked vehicles lined both sides, many with tarpaulins roped over them. A few lights shone in the distance, but there was no sign of any activity amid the stores.
‘What do you think?’ Duggan said.
‘There’ll be somebody left to watch it,’ Devlin said.
‘Not according to my tip-off. Not yet, at least. They couldn’t use their original site because the hard-standing had already gone and nobody had thought to tell them. This is all a bit last-minute. Apart from which, apparently, they hadn’t expected so much to come so soon.’ He continued looking around him as he spoke, falling silent as a car passed by. ‘Let’s wait and see,’ he said. ‘No urgency.’
‘We could come back another night when we know for certain,’ Devlin said. Despite having done little all day, he was tired. Duggan would have been in his bed until noon.
Duggan shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you listen to a single word I say. This time tomorrow, the Grantham mob will have got wind and they’ll be out here with every lorry they’ve got. This is our one big chance. And let’s face it, after that little outing to Tattershall, I could do with something to top up the coffers.’
An hour later they drove into the depot itself. There were no barriers, no one stopped them, no lights came on, no one appeared out of the darkness, there were no warning signs, no barking dogs. It was every invitation Duggan ever needed. An open door: they’d be mugs to ignore it.
Duggan climbed down and walked among the stores, lifting tarpaulins and using his lighter to read the stencilled writing on countless cases.
Devlin watched him from the lorry.
Eventually, Duggan came back to him. ‘It’s a fucking goldmine,’ he said, unable to contain his excitement. Devlin had never seen Duggan like this before and it made him wary.
They drove closer to the furthest stack Duggan had examined, and they began to load up the lorry with small cases of machine parts, tools, including several industrial drills and jackhammers, nuts and bolts, and canisters of good-quality lubricating oil Duggan said were worth their weight in gold. They filled what space remained with copper piping and fittings.
After an hour, the lorry was loaded fuller and higher than Devlin had ever seen it and was low on its axles. He pointed this out to Duggan, who told him to stop worrying. During that hour, they’d stopped at every distant noise and had waited for silence to return.
When they’d finished and were both back in the cab, Duggan said that the haul had exceeded his expectations and then started to speculate on where best to sell on its various parts. Devlin knew some of the men he mentioned, but many were new to him.
They drove away from the depot on the back roads. Duggan kept the speed down on account of all the extra weight.
At midnight, Duggan pulled up at a farm on the edge of the Mareham Fen and drove into an open barn.
‘Where are we?’ Devlin asked him, looking round at the cavernous space.
Duggan tapped his nose. ‘Don’t you worry about things like that. Foresight, that’s the name of this game. I was here before I came to the drainage, opened the doors. The only problem with a load as good as this is, first, that I won’t be able to unload it in one place to get the top prices; and second, that I can’t bring it anywhere near the farm. There might not be any proper docketing or inventory yet, but everything in this little lot will be traceable one way or another. I’m not that stupid. This place has been empty for years. I slip the land agent a few quid now and then for the occasional use of the barn, no questions asked. Don’t worry, he knows the score.’
‘So we have to unload everything?’
‘Since when were you bothered about a bit of hard work?’
Nineteen hours Devlin had been out of his bed.
‘Winter’s coming on,’ Duggan said. ‘This lot should see us pretty for a fair few months. Don’t worry – you’ll get your fair share.’
Devlin doubted this. And whatever he did make from the night’s haul, he wouldn’t get it until the money was warm in Duggan’s own pocket.
‘With this little lot, it’s worth our while to leave it sitting for a bit until things cool off. Chop-chop, let’s get moving. Hardly going to unload itself, is it? Sooner we start, sooner we’re done. And the sooner we’re done, the sooner and further away we are from this place. We’ll be home in an hour, all tucked up and sleeping the sleep of the righteous, dreaming of all that lovely money coming our way.’ He left the cab and started unsheeting the load.
Duggan threw, Devlin caught. And then they both stacked everything they’d stolen at the far side of the barn and concealed it beneath a pile of disintegrating hay bales, long since desiccated and turned grey.
When they’d done, there was no sign of the cases or piping, or even of anyone having been there.
They left the place, waiting where the overgrown farm lane met the public road. A sign pointed back to the buildings, already invisible in the darkness. Dovecote Farm. It seemed a mockery of the place.
They continued driving, faster now they were without their load and following wider roads.
‘Place has been empty since the war,’ Duggan told Devlin. ‘The old man who farmed there lost two sons. It went back to some estate holding. A lot of places did. Landlords sit on the land. To be honest, the buildings become a bit of a nuisance. That’s where the money is, in the land – if you learn nothing else in this sorry life, at least learn that much. The tenants lose their homes and livelihoods and the landlords just sit on their fat arses getting richer by the day. Always somebody ready and waiting and willing to take advantage of somebody else’s misfortune in this world.’
And all this from Duggan.
‘And you’re sure nobody will come here?’
‘Stop worrying. Nobody’s been within a mile of that barn for the past year. Yours truly excepted, of course. Besides, suppose somebody did come. In the first place they’re not necessarily going to jump to the conclusion that the stuff’s been nicked, and in the second, it’ll never be laid at my door.’
Devlin doubted both of these supposed reassurances.
It was almost two in the morning and it took them a further forty minu
tes to reach home.
The place was in complete darkness, and Duggan’s father and wife were long in their beds. Duggan took a bottle of whisky from a cupboard and poured them each a large drink. ‘We had a good night,’ he said. ‘Perhaps now you can stop worrying and leave things to me.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘It’s all up here – what we got, where it will be best appreciated, and where it’ll fetch the best price. All you need to do now is sit back and start thinking about how you’re going to spend your share.’ He drained his glass in a single swallow.
Devlin couldn’t deny that he felt some excitement at the prospect of having some decent money in his pocket for a change.
The clock on the mantel struck the half-hour. It was a cooler night than usual – autumn moving towards winter – and after draining his own glass, Devlin followed Duggan up the stairs to his own hard bed.
14
FOUR DAYS LATER, Devlin returned to the farm to see Duggan standing in the doorway and watching him come. It was rare for Duggan to be home at that time and, looking more closely at the man as he came to him, Devlin knew something was wrong. His first thought was that the hidden crates had been found and taken.
‘What is it?’ Only then did Devlin see the hessian sack on the floor behind Duggan.
‘We’ve had visitors,’ Duggan said.
‘Oh?’
‘Go on – ask me what kind of visitors.’
Devlin stopped walking.
‘I said, ask me what kind of visitors,’ Duggan shouted.
‘What kind?’ Devlin said, and continued to where Duggan waited.
Without warning, Duggan punched him hard in the stomach, causing Devlin to fold over and then stumble backwards and fall to the ground. He remained where he sat for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Duggan came to him and pulled him upright. He held on to Devlin’s arm and steered him into the house.
The old man sat at the table. One of his eyes was swollen and bruised and closed. Another mark spread across his mouth and cheek, and dried blood ran in a line from his lips to his chin. Duggan’s wife sat beside him, a bowl of pink water and a cloth on the table. The torn pages of the old man’s Bible lay scattered across the table and the floor.
Duggan held the back of Devlin’s head and turned it from side to side to take in everything the room contained. ‘That kind of visitor,’ he said. ‘Now ask me why you only got the one punch and not the proper going-over you deserve.’
‘I don’t—’
Duggan punched him again, this time in his side.
‘Why?’ Devlin said, unable to breathe.
‘Because most of this, I put down to me. I should have read things better and left you at the Tattershall fucking airfield after your little run-in with that bastard Harrap. I listened to your lies and I let it go. I should have kicked you out of the cab there and then and left you to get all that was coming to you. You swore to me that nothing would follow you back here.’ He was panting now, spraying Devlin with spittle. ‘You don’t seem all that surprised,’ he said. ‘Expecting a little visit all along, were you?’
‘No,’ Devlin said, still struggling to free himself. ‘Who was it?’
Duggan turned him until their two faces were inches apart. ‘You know exactly who it was. Someone saying you owed another man money, and now that they knew where you were they were coming to get it. You can’t run from owed money, and a bad debt is always on your back. You never even listened to a single word of what I told you about settling at least something on Harrap.’
Duggan finally released his grip on Devlin and pushed him towards the table.
‘I can get you a new Bible,’ Devlin said to the old man.
‘What?’ Alison Duggan said. ‘One that’s a hundred years old and with every birth, christening, marriage and death in the family marked up in it?’
There was nothing Devlin could say.
‘’Course he can’t,’ Duggan said, still close behind Devlin. ‘He’s fucking useless. I should have left him to take his chances with Harrap, but instead I gave him the benefit of the doubt and this is what happens.’
‘How many were there?’ Devlin said.
‘Two of them,’ Alison Duggan said. ‘Man my age, another yours. The older man said he had an outstanding court order on you.’
Skelton.
And after all Duggan had said about greedy landlords the other night.
‘It isn’t even—’ Devlin began to say.
Duggan cuffed the back of his head. ‘I don’t care what it is or isn’t. You could have nicked the Crown Jewels for all I care. What I do care about is that you brought your mess to my door.’ He motioned to his wife. ‘Tell him.’
‘They came a few hours ago,’ she said. ‘Just me and him were in. They were convinced you were hiding somewhere. When I told them you were off working they just laughed in my face.’ She held out her arm to show him her own livid bruises. ‘I told them where you were, but they said they weren’t leaving until they’d got what they’d come for.’
‘Harrap must have asked round about the lorry,’ Duggan said.
‘I swear—’
‘What, that he’d cut his losses and let you go on your merry way? You know as well as I do that it doesn’t work like that. Swear whatever you like, but as far as I’m concerned, it isn’t worth the breath it comes out on. Look at him. He’s an old man. You and me – we’re finished. That sack in the doorway? That’s everything you brought with you.’
‘They went round all the outbuildings,’ Alison Duggan said. ‘And when they couldn’t find you, they came back here and did that to him. Then they pulled the Bible out of his hands and tore it to pieces. He tried to stop them. Then he told them where we had some money.’
‘It just gets worse,’ Duggan said. ‘Thirty quid I keep on hand for unexpected business. They took the lot.’
Devlin saw where the cupboards had been emptied, tins and jars scattered and smashed, where crockery lay in pieces against the wall.
‘And so now, in addition to what you still owe Harrap, you owe me for everything here.’
‘I’ll pay you back,’ Devlin said. ‘Every penny.’
‘You sound as though you’re doing me a favour,’ Duggan said. ‘I know you’re going to pay me back every penny. So what do you think that swollen eye’s worth, eh? Those bruises? Hers? That cut lip? He might even lose the sight of that eye. What then? How much do you reckon that would be worth?’
Devlin considered all his useless answers and stayed silent.
‘The older of the two …’ Alison Duggan said, and then hesitated and looked at her husband.
‘Tell him,’ Duggan said.
Devlin felt himself tense at what she might be about to say, this new turn in all this debt-reckoning.
‘He said you shot him.’
‘Not really,’ Devlin said, wishing he’d remained silent again.
‘Don’t get smart,’ Duggan said. ‘He showed her where. Though personally I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.’
Devlin considered what to say. ‘He had it coming,’ he said eventually, sounding braver than he felt.
Duggan laughed at this. ‘Now he’s starting to sound like Alan Ladd. Punch a man, kick him, that’s one thing. But to point a gun at him, let alone to actually pull the trigger, that’s a different thing completely. You’re the only man I know who ever did it, straight up. I don’t know what that makes you, exactly, but I know how I feel about having a man like that under my own roof.’
‘I’ll go,’ Devlin said.
Duggan laughed again. ‘Nothing so certain, sunshine. But you and I both know that that’s hardly likely to be an end to this particular problem for any of us.’
‘I’ll find Harrap and give him what I can,’ Devlin said.
The previous day they had all been given warning of further lay-offs at the drainage work. Devlin’s luck wouldn’t last for ever.
‘No you won’t,’ Duggan said, h
is hand close to Devlin’s face. ‘You’ll get out of sight of this place and never look back. You’ll do what men like you always do – you’ll look after Number One, as per, and leave all your mess and stink behind you for others to clear up. Well, not this time. This time, it’s me you’re dealing with.’
Men like you?
‘You know where I work,’ Devlin said. ‘You could always find me.’
‘Now you’re laughing at me,’ Duggan said.
Alison Duggan took the bowl to the sink and emptied it. She refilled it from the kettle on the range and then cooled this with water from the tap. She wrung out the cloth beneath the tap.
Devlin looked at Duggan’s father. Fresh blood was starting to flow from his lip. Not much. The old man clutched several of the torn-out pages and the thin paper flicked back and forth in his dark, bony hands.
‘I’m sorry about the Bible,’ Devlin said to him. It was the truth. His mother possessed something similar. His own birth and christening were recorded in the thing, unknown ancestors pushing him forward into a new world they would never inhabit, and in which he himself had always struggled to exist. Or so it seemed to him now.
Alison Duggan came back to the table and dabbed at her father-in-law’s face. It was beyond Devlin to ask her if she had considered taking him to a doctor, the hospital even.
As if reading these thoughts, Duggan said, ‘She wanted him to go to the quack’s, but he has a morbid fear of that lot. They told him ten years ago that my mother was just exhausted and needed a few days in bed. She was dead a week later. Burst ulcer. Besides, he’s survived the worst of it. He just heals up slower these days, that’s all.’
The bruises on the old man’s eye and cheek seemed darker than when Devlin had first seen them.
Duggan finally left Devlin and went to the table to sit beside his father. ‘Skelton,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming it’s him. How come he never reported you to the law for it in the first place?’