Ten Year Stretch

by Martin Edwards

  ‘Who is it?’

  A woman’s voice came from the speaker, pleasant rather than guarded.

  ‘My name’s Hope. I’d like a word with you, if I may.’

  ‘If you’re wondering if I’ve had a car accident that isn’t my fault, the answer is that it’s always my fault. According to my ex-husband. Bye now, thanks for calling.’

  At least she administered a brush-off in style.

  ‘I only want to help you look after yourself.’

  ‘If it’s about a stair lift, I’m still fully mobile. And my home security is working just fine, as you’ll find out for yourself if you try to open the gate.’

  He mastered his exasperation. Put yourself in her shoes, Jefferson. Probably he’d not expressed himself too well.

  ‘Please don’t cut me off. I’m not here to sell you owt.’

  ‘They all say that.’

  ‘Sorry, but this is a matter of life and death.’ He started to gabble, fearing that she’d decide he was deranged, and cut him off. ‘You’ve made a bad enemy. Short, fat bloke with money to burn. He’s taken a serious dislike to you, and you need to protect yourself.’

  A pause.

  ‘You’re not talking about Vinny Padgett?’

  The name rang a bell, but only in the distance.

  ‘I don’t actually know what he’s called. But he gave me a picture of you.’ Jefferson waved the photograph so that she could see it through the video camera.

  A very long pause.

  ‘Oh, my God.’

  ‘So can you spare me ten minutes, please?’

  ‘Who are you? Really?’

  ‘I used to be a police officer. Now I’m...’ Jefferson hesitated. Caretaker didn’t sound good. Security consultant was misleading and borderline intimidatory. Maybe go for something with a touch of romance. ‘A private investigator.’

  Her tone acquired a flinty edge. ‘And he’s hired you to investigate me?’

  ‘Not exactly. Not at all, in fact. I don’t work for him; I didn’t know his name until you mentioned it. It’s simply that our paths crossed…and I thought you should know what he’s up to.’

  ‘All right.’ The iron gates began to open up in front of his eyes. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Herbal? Camomile?’

  ‘English Breakfast, if it’s all the same to you.’

  The bay window of Heather Chase’s sitting room looked out over a rosebed and circular, leaf-strewn front lawn. Her taste in interior design was a bit much for Jefferson, all throws and rugs and cushions in lurid colours. There was a faint musky scent in the air, and he was reminded of the souks of the Emirates. Not that he’d enjoyed his three months out in the Middle East; he always felt too hot and too thirsty, the ultimate fish out of water.

  A scattering of books lay on occasional tables. One was about yoga, another celebrated eminent eco-warriors. At least she made a decent pot of English Breakfast. In person, she didn’t seem like a harridan. Medium height, slim and elegant in a pink t-shirt and white trousers. Her feet were bare, and so were her fingers. A touch of puzzlement clouded her brown eyes, but for a few moments she set about putting him—and herself?—at ease, commenting on the unpredictability of the weather, and asking if he’d come far.

  ‘Yorkshire.’

  He wasn’t much of a one for small talk, never had been. Maddy used to complain that he was an absolute pain in the bum at parties. Not that he minded; party-going ranked just ahead of trips to the dentist in his league table of unpleasant experiences.

  She leaned forward in her chair, as if she’d decided the time had come to get down to business. ‘All right, then. What’s all this about Vinny Padgett?’

  He’d Googled the name on his smartphone while walking down her gravelled drive. Much as he detested new technology, and the way it had created a generation of earphone-wearing zombies, it had its uses.

  Vinny Padgett owned a business called Padgett Prime Properties. He was a speculative developer who had bought a slice of North Cheshire’s countryside five miles away from here. But there were rumours that he’d done some sort of deal with a fracking company which wanted to test-drill in the area. He’d told the local press that this was a conspiracy theory, dreamed up by a tiny group of diehards determined to block progress. These people called themselves Green and Pleasant, and their spokesperson was Heather Chase. Padgett argued that he was performing a social service by building much-needed houses, and that the not-in-my-backyard brigade should focus on the common good. The report quoted Heather as saying that a gated community of six-bedroomed executive mansions wouldn’t help first-time buyers, and that the site should only be used for social housing. But what she feared most was the coming of the frackers. The argument had become increasingly vitriolic. There was talk about High Court injunctions and people lying down in front of JCBs.

  ‘Am I right in thinking you and your pals stand between him and a small fortune?’

  ‘Probably not that small,’ she said. ‘No wonder he’s getting desperate. I hear his business is up to its neck in debt. To keep it afloat, he’s had to do some very murky deals.’

  ‘What would happen if you fell under one of his lorries?’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘It’s not about me. The fight would continue.’

  ‘But you’re the driving force behind Green and Pleasant?’

  ‘We’re certainly not a one-woman band. I can assure you, we’re not in the least hierarchical.’

  ‘This isn’t the time for modesty,’ he snapped. ‘Or diplomacy. Be honest, Mrs Chase. If you were out of the way, would Padgett be likely to get his way?’

  ‘It’s Ms Chase,’ she retorted. ‘My ex-husband was called Stott. Rotten name, I ditched it the moment he told me he’d got his secretary pregnant. As for Padgett, well, perhaps. But...’

  ‘There’s no gentle way to put this,’ Jefferson said. ‘Padgett wants you dead.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘He doesn’t like me, certainly, and the feeling’s mutual, I can...’

  ‘It’s not about dislike,’ Jefferson said. ‘Earlier today, he tried to hire me to kill you.’

  ‘What?’ She put a hand to her mouth.

  ‘It was a misunderstanding. If he runs his business the way he recruits his hitmen, no wonder he’s in trouble. I didn’t understand what he was talking about. I turned up in this pub to meet a new client, but I was early, and bumped into Padgett instead.’

  ‘My God!’

  ‘Before I knew what was happening, he’d handed me your photo, address, and a load of dosh. It wasn’t until after he’d left that I put two and two together. Especially when the bloke I was supposed to meet turned up, swiftly followed by a guy who looked like someone out of American Sniper.’

  The room wasn’t cold, but Heather Chase shivered as Jefferson told the rest of his story.

  ‘So Padgett went off thinking he’d hired a contract killer to murder me?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘If there’s anything in what you say…’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of making things up,’ he snapped.

  ‘Then we must go to the police.’

  ‘And tell them what?’

  ‘Well, that he’s willing to pay to…’

  ‘I wasn’t wired, you know. It’d be his word against mine.’

  ‘But the photograph, the money…’

  ‘Who’s to say I haven’t been blackmailing him? I might even be the cause of his business misfortunes. Or maybe you’ve paid me, to discredit him. On the Internet, you’re quoted as saying that you’ll go to any lengths to stop Padgett Prime Properties. Any lengths. You repeated that.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

  ‘No? Well, perhaps he didn’t mean to have me kill you. What you said is down in black and white. It’s evidence, and police love evidence. Tr
ust me, I used to love it myself back in the day, when I was on the job.’

  She gave a heavy sigh. ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I go by gut feel.’

  Heather Chase’s eyes strayed to his stomach, and he felt uncomfortably aware that there was more of it than was healthy.

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Instinct, I mean.’ He glared at the book about eco-warriors. ‘You’d probably call it prejudice. But I’ll tell you this for nowt. I’ve got a prejudice against people being killed for no good reason.’

  She closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. ‘So what do you suggest?’

  At first, none of his suggestions found favour, and the idea of sheltering in a hotel under an assumed name she rejected out of hand.

  ‘How long would that go on for?’ She threw out her arms in a theatrical gesture. ‘I don’t mean to offend you, but how can I be sure you’re not in cahoots with Padgett, or somebody else who simply wants me out of the way?’

  He gave her a withering look. ‘I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end if you did try to offend me. Why would I lie to you? I didn’t have to come here, y’know. I could have left you to take your chances. Maybe...’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ She raised her hands in mock surrender. ‘It’s not fair to question your good faith. But I can’t just hide away like a scaredy-cat.’

  He blinked. Maddy hadn’t been the sort who ever said sorry. Fair enough, neither was he. He sucked in a breath.

  ‘You need to understand, Mrs...Ms Chase. You’re at risk. Would you rather talk to the police instead of me? If so, fine. It’s a free country, and that is what they’re there for.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t have much faith in the police, at least not when it comes to taking on a pillar of the establishment like Padgett. The things I’ve seen on protest marches and demos…’

  ‘I need to talk to Padgett,’ he interrupted. Much more guff about protest marches and demos, and he’d wash his hands of her. ‘Give him his money back, but make it clear that I’ve spoken to you, and that you won’t press charges as long as he calls off his hired thug.’

  ‘You’ll be wired up?’ she asked. ‘I suppose you need to record him. Make sure you get a few incriminating statements.’

  ‘No time for that,’ he said.

  ‘Why on earth not?’ She had this irritating habit of questioning everything she was told.

  With exaggerated patience, as if lecturing a particularly recalcitrant apprentice, he said, ‘This man, the one whose money I was given, he didn’t strike me as the patient type. He’s made a nuisance of himself already with Binks. My bet is that he won’t rest until he’s picked up the money he was expecting. And maybe done something to earn it.’

  ‘He doesn’t have my name. Padgett gave the information to you.’

  ‘So he’ll want to see Padgett. Who lives where?’

  ‘In a rather grotesque house in the next village. We’ve picketed it more than once.’

  ‘Have you, indeed? And what’s grotesque about it?’

  ‘It’s a converted water tower. Ironic for a man who famously overdoes the gin-drinking, don’t you think?’

  In the end, she insisted on accompanying Jefferson to Tower House. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t have time to sit around arguing if he was to reach Padgett before the would-be assassin did. Reluctantly, she promised to stay in the car, and out of sight, while Jefferson went to talk to the property developer. Her presence, he was sure, could only complicate a conversation that promised to be tricky enough.

  ‘Are you sure about giving him back the money?’ she asked. ‘He’ll only misuse it.’

  ‘Not mine to keep, though, is it?’ He felt a slight pang as he spoke. Even in this inflationary age, you could do a fair bit with fifteen grand.

  Soon they arrived in the small village where Padgett lived, an affluent place, all thatched roofs and driveways cluttered with luxury cars. The brick water tower had a telephone mast on its roof, and was visible long before they passed a sign telling them that the village welcomed careful drivers. Padgett’s house, Heather explained, was reached via a bumpy, twisting lane.

  ‘You can’t see until you round the last bend,’ Heather said, ‘but there’s a huge modern extension built onto the original tower. All concrete and glass. An excrescence, as far as I’m concerned, though it’s won awards for imaginative design.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘Awards, huh? Enough said.’

  She scanned the road ahead. ‘Here it is. Next left.’

  They turned down a narrow lane, and Jefferson braked as they reached a passing place. Trees masked the tower, but he supposed it was about a hundred yards away. ‘You keep your head down. I’ll go and have a natter with his lordship.’

  Signs of strain were showing on Heather Chase’s face, but she sounded calm. ‘If I could reason with him…’

  He clicked his tongue in reproach. ‘Fellers who are willing to pay huge amounts of cash to kill women who irritate them aren’t usually receptive to reason. Don’t you move a muscle.’

  ‘Good luck,’ she whispered as he opened the car door.

  Jefferson heard the voices before he could see their owners. Two men were shouting at each other. He couldn’t catch the drift, but it didn’t sound as if they were enjoying each other’s company. Reaching a bend in the lane, he poked his head forward cautiously, and took in the scene.

  Two cars were parked next to each other at the foot of the tower. One was a sleek white Mercedes, the other a rusty Vauxhall. Jefferson had been beaten to it. He looked up, and saw that the top of the tower had been transformed into a roof garden, ringed by a glass balustrade. Padgett and the muscular man Jefferson had spotted in The Case is Altered were facing each other. Their words were indistinguishable, but the fat man had his arms outstretched, as if in supplication. The other man was waving a gun, and his body language suggested that he was in the mood to use it.

  As Jefferson watched, Padgett made a grab for the gun. A shot was fired, but to Jefferson’s astonishment, it was the ex-military type who sank to the ground. The fat man had found the strength from somewhere to knock his adversary off balance. In the rough-and-tumble, the contract killer had shot himself.

  Padgett disappeared from sight. Jefferson reached for his mobile, meaning to dial 999, but instantly thought better of it. Padgett was losing the plot. He’d shot and possibly killed one man, and Jefferson had fifteen thousand pounds that belonged to him. In a state of shock, the fat man might do anything.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Heather Chase’s voice came from behind him. ‘I heard a shot.’

  ‘I told you to stay in the car!’ Jefferson hissed. ‘Get away from here!’

  A muffled cry of anguish froze the reply on Heather’s lips. Something had happened inside the tower house.

  For a moment, nothing stirred. Jefferson thought he’d never known such silence. Then he felt the woman clutch his sleeve, heard her soft, urgent voice.

  ‘Please! This isn’t your concern. Don’t risk your life.’

  He turned to face her. ‘Of course it’s my concern. If I hadn’t blundered in...’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Don’t argue!’ He caught her hand, and squeezed it. ‘Wait here. I’m going inside.’

  He edged forward. The garden, small for such an extravagant property, was bordered by a low wall. The gate was open, and as he drew nearer, he saw that the main door to the house was also ajar. The killer, he supposed, had arrived here in a frenzy of rage. Probably out of his mind on some drug or other; that was surely the only way Padgett could have got the better of him.

  Through the front door he glimpsed a large entrance hall, by the look of it a gleaming showpiece. Would the fact that the owner had killed someone here depress or add to its value? It would take an estate agent like poor old Binks to an
swer that.

  ‘Mr Padgett?’

  His voice was scratchy with tension, causing him a pang of dismay. Like any other serving police officer, he’d confronted his fair share of desperate people, some of them armed with knives or blunt instruments. Had he grown soft during his years out of the force?

  There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Nothing for it, then, but to take a look-see. He squared his shoulders. It was almost as if he needed to prove something to himself. But what could that be? He had nothing to prove; it didn’t make sense.

  He crossed the threshold. No sign of Padgett. The hall was roomy and open, and he could see a spiral staircase at the far end. That must go up the tower itself.

  A couple more paces, and he could see the staircase more clearly. As well as the huddled form lying below the bottom step.

  Vinny Padgett had fallen down the staircase. An attempt at suicide, or deliberate? Was he dead, had he fractured his neck or his spine or both? Jefferson couldn’t guess. The man’s body was motionless, that was all he knew.

  He must call Heather Chase; they must summon an ambulance and the police. He turned round, and almost collided with her. Determined not to do as he’d asked, she’d come up right behind him. And so she’d seen Padgett’s broken body. Her pretty face was stricken with horror, and tears were trickling down her cheeks.

  ‘So, what about the money?’ she asked that evening.

  They were having a bite to eat in the conservatory of a pub restaurant five minutes’ drive from the old water tower. The Drum and Monkey was barely thirty miles from The Case is Altered, but it belonged to a different world. Its clientele mostly comprised well-heeled couples in designer leisurewear, and the walls were lined with shelves of old books. Jefferson was tucking into a beef and ale pie, while Heather had chosen the ricotta gnocchi. When they were looking at the menu, she’d announced that she was a vegetarian, had been since her teens. Somehow, Jefferson wasn’t surprised.