Boiling Point

by Frank Lean

  ‘Crap! There’s such a thing as excess . . .’

  ‘Excess be damned, this place is making an impression on you and that’s what it’s for. I’m not one of them mealy-mouthed, whispering dicks who apologises when some arty puff mentions bad taste. Christ Almighty! If a water cascade a mile long was good enough for the First Fucking Duke of Bloody Devonshire when he laid out his spread, why shouldn’t I do as I please without asking some lardy-arsed committee? Unlike these Dukes I came by my wealth by my own efforts.’

  ‘Well done, your grace,’ I said, tugging my forelock mockingly. ‘Now you’ve fried all the chips on your shoulder perhaps you’d like to tell me why I’ve been dragged out here?’

  ‘Cheeky bugger!’

  ‘Not at all. I’d no idea you were so desperate for company. I heard that you like your privacy.’

  ‘Oh, you have, have you? Been hearing a lot of things you shouldn’t. You’re one of those pricks who’s walking round with your tongue hanging out waiting for any lying little bit if gossip you can use against people who’ve made something of themselves. You and all the other tight-arsed little bollocks who won’t let a man enjoy what he’s earned. I’m telling you, this country’s going down the pan until it starts letting people really use the wealth they’ve created.’

  ‘You poor old rich thing,’ I sympathised, ‘what you have to put up with.’

  ‘All right, Mr Bloody Private Detective Cunane, that’s enough of your bullshit for today,’ he snapped.

  We were now standing on a polished marble floor in front of a quadrangle of huge white airport-lounge-style sofas. There was a glass dome above us. I didn’t know whether Carlyle expected me to sit down, do a clog dance or kneel and pray at his shrine. From my point of view this was one of those interviews best conducted while standing. I scanned the area for a quick escape route. The heavies were blocking the doorway through which we’d entered. There were other doors, but no doubt Brandon could control them with his electronic zapper. By now I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d touched a button to reveal a tank full of hungry crocodiles. It would have been in character. As intended, I was impressed but I wasn’t going to let him know that.

  ‘I didn’t start it,’ I said. ‘It was you who told me that I’ve inherited my father’s stupidity.’

  ‘Well, I’m not a stupid father. I want to hear from you exactly what you’ve been playing at with my son Charles.’

  ‘Ask him.’

  ‘I have and he comes up with some cock and bull story of you providing him with an alibi for the time Lou Olley was killed.’

  ‘If that’s what he’s told you, who am I to contradict?’ I asked. I looked at the heavy bronze candlesticks on a nearby table and wondered what would happen if I grabbed one as a weapon.

  ‘Tell Mr Carlyle a straight story, you crooked bastard,’ Hefflin yelped.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Did you help Charlie to kill Lou Olley?’ Brandon demanded.

  ‘I would have thought you knew all about that,’ I muttered.

  ‘Meaning what? That I arranged a murder that could bring discredit on my whole family? Talk sense, Cunane.’

  ‘It certainly had nothing to do with me . . .’

  ‘But it was right outside your office.’

  ‘So? It’s a public street.’

  ‘Are you fucking my son’s wife?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you messing around with her for then?’

  ‘She wants me to prove that her father was wrongly imprisoned.’

  ‘Bloody lying bastard!’ Brandon shrieked and then launched himself at me. It was totally unexpected. He landed a couple of ineffectual punches on my face before I fended him off. Hefflin grabbed him and two of the rugby players had me by the shoulders before I could do more.

  Brandon retreated to a corner of the room wheezing away like a broken down steam engine. His lips were flecked with foam. Hefflin fussed round him like a mother hen and after a moment Brandon took out a tiny pill box and slipped something under his tongue. My earlier guess about his age was wrong. He was on the wrong side of three score and ten. As I beamed my defiance across at him I felt something trickling down my upper lip. I licked it and tasted blood. The savage old trout had burst my nose. I took out a handkerchief and dabbed the offending area. This evidence of his prowess pleased Carlyle. He came over and the flanking heavies gripped my wrists as if expecting me to try to assault the old villain.

  ‘Not so tough as you make out, are you?’ he sneered triumphantly.

  ‘Is this the point where your flat-footed rugby team hold me while you hit me in the face?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, hell! Come over here, you young fool,’ he said with a complete change of tone. ‘You can go,’ he said to the muscle squad. ‘And you as well, Tony. I expect I can talk to Cunane without having to be guarded like the Crown Jewels.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mr Carlyle?’ Hefflin ventured.

  ‘Go!’ Brandon ordered with a flick of his hand.

  Hefflin went. I followed Brandon and sat on one of the oversized sofas opposite him.

  ‘I know this place is all a bit over the top,’ he said quietly. ‘It was one of my late wife’s projects but since she died I can’t quite seem to get it completely right. I’ve nothing against the National Trust. We were in it when she were alive.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Listen, lad,’ he said conversationally. ‘Sometimes I think I was never happier than when I were a boy living in two rooms above a poky little pub in Ancoats. All cotton mills in those days, it was. ‘Course it’s gone now, that; and if you think this is an architectural nightmare you should see what they replaced those streets with.’

  ‘I do see it, every day.’

  ‘Of course you do, lad. I forget. Trouble with having money is it takes you away from your roots. That’s why I’m fond of my team . . . fonder of it than I am of this place, any road. I keep having it redecorated and they always rip me off. Perhaps if you’re so bloody strong on good taste you can take it on next time.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer but interior decorating isn’t really my scene,’ I said with a laugh.

  ‘Tell me the truth. Do you think my Charlie was involved in killing Olley?’

  ‘I honestly don’t think he’s got it in him,’ I said.

  ‘No. I can’t make my mind up whether to be happy or sad about that, but I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘You’re not trying to blackmail him or anything, are you? No, I shouldn’t ask. You’re a chip off the old block. Right bastard your old man was, but not a bent one.’

  ‘Gee, thanks for the testimonial,’ I said, getting up.

  ‘I’m not done yet,’ the patriarch snapped, ‘sit down!’

  I sat.

  ‘My Charlie might be a bit of a fool to himself, but what about his wife? She’s a designing little piece with brains enough for both of them. Did she have anything to do with Olley’s death?’

  ‘No more than your son did,’ I said.

  He looked at me for a long time.

  ‘I wish I could be so sure,’ he said. ‘Now she was bred in the right stable for that sort of thing. You want to stay well clear of Vince King. He’s poison, that man, absolute poison.’

  ‘What’s all this about, Mr Carlyle?’ I asked, trying to switch on the charm. My smile probably came out like a sneer but Carlyle responded.

  ‘Do you know much history?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘The Roman Emperors, people like that . . . it was when they got older that their problems began. Who’s going to succeed? Who’s going to get the money? There can only be one bum on the top chair at the Carlyle Corporation.’

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be snide. It’s true. I’ve no idea what Charlie was up to, or if he had Olley topped, but it makes me nervous. They’re frightened I might take my money offshore and put it in a perpetual trust so that they can’t get their hands on it.’


  ‘Who’s scared?’

  ‘My sons and their wives – especially the wives. Charlie is the most loyal, but that wife of his! I regret ever taking her into my home. This is how kindness is repaid. She’s trying to get that father of hers out so he can pay back some imagined score. He’s insane. You must realise that.’

  ‘Vince King didn’t strike me as insane.’

  ‘So you know him?’

  I looked at Carlyle intently. He stared back, silently challenging me to go on. His eyes were very dark and very mobile, ageless, full of cunning. There was a lot he could tell me but this wasn’t the time. I was tempted nevertheless . . .

  ‘King swears he’s innocent, yet he let the police and the law railroad him. I wonder why that was?’ I said.

  Brandon continued to give me the hard eye.

  ‘Maybe you haven’t inherited so much stupidity as I thought. If you’ve a scrap of intelligence you’ll stay out of that business and let it sort itself out,’ he said quietly.

  I tried to stand up again but he laid a hand on my sleeve to restrain me.

  ‘There’s another thing too. I’ve got enemies. I accept that. That fat slap-head Clyde Harrow is one. Don’t think I haven’t heard that he’s going round town looking for dirt about me and my family. Just wait until his contract is up for renewal. He’ll sing a different tune then. It’ll be tears and “Yes, Mr Carlyle. No, Mr Carlyle. Three bags full, Mr Carlyle,” then. We’ll have to see how far it’ll get him and I don’t mind if you tell him that.’

  ‘Fine,’ I muttered, ‘that’s no skin off my nose.’

  ‘What I say next might cause an abrasion. You’ve been pestering Sam Levy for information about me.’

  ‘I’ve done no such thing,’ I said angrily.

  ‘Leave Sam alone,’ Brandon thundered. ‘He’s mad with jealousy and rage. He’s insane.’

  ‘What, another old friend of yours?’

  ‘Stop pestering him.’

  ‘I haven’t pestered anyone.’

  ‘Oh, haven’t you? You’ve been going round flapping your ear hoping to pick up dirt which you can relay to Harrow.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ I said hotly.

  ‘The trouble with Sam is that, unlike that toad Harrow, he really does know one or two things which are to my disadvantage. Sam’s not been normal since his sister passed away. Unhinged, he is. Broods on his troubles, like. I’ve tried to help but there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Was it your idea of helping to provide him with a mail order bride?’

  ‘Christ! Do you think that was me?’ he cackled. ‘Sam’s older than me. Why, I’d have had half a dozen myself if they were any good. No, I stick to vitamin pills and gingko biloba.’

  ‘I’ve not tried to pump any information out of him, nor have I spoken to Harrow about him.’

  ‘Right, well keep it that way and here’s an honest threat for you . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If Sam Levy knows where the bodies are buried, so do I.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘I’m on about this, you young smart-arse. I know approximately where and when two well-known Manchester criminals disappeared and I know why two children were born to a certain infertile couple in Tarn. I wonder how keen you are to see that story in the papers or on the Clyde Harrow show? Have I to say more?’

  It’s strange. Working among the morally challenged elements of Manchester’s citizenry has given me a certain familiarity with being threatened. At least, I thought it had, but then until I met Brandon Carlyle I’d never been threatened by an expert before.

  I’m not really sure how I got away from his hideous mansion in South Cheshire. I’ve a vague memory of the head creep Hefflin holding a car door open for me and then the next time I can remember anything I was back at home in my flat staring at a blank wall.

  25

  ‘DAVE! DAVE!’ JANINE shouted through the letter box. ‘What’s the matter with you? Open up.’

  Her cries became more and more anguished until eventually they penetrated the deep mood of gloom I’d wrapped myself in since leaving Brandon Carlyle. I couldn’t shake off the certainty that there was only one person other than Dee Elsworth that I’d ever trusted with the story of what had happened to those two would-be killers and that person was Janine White.

  ‘Have you been taking something? You look dreadful,’ she said when I opened the door. ‘Why did you put the bars on the door?’

  ‘Perhaps I wanted privacy.’

  ‘What?’ she asked uncomprehendingly. ‘Dave, are you ill? Shall I get a doctor?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that a change of company won’t cure,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘You’re not yourself. Listen, I was thinking of us going away for a few days at half-term. I mean, all of us together as if we were a family. I know you’d like that.’

  I was going to reply but Jenny and Lloyd came in.

  ‘Ooh, are we all going away?’ Jenny chanted. ‘Can we go to the seaside?’

  ‘Dave’s not well, love. Take Lloyd back to the flat and put the telly on.’

  ‘Where shall we go? There’s a girl in my class called Michelle O’Dell who says Blackpool’s common but Miss Seagrave told her she was stuck up.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be going to Blackpool, darling. Perhaps we could find somewhere quiet and peaceful in Wales,’ Janine said. ‘What do you think, Dave?’

  ‘Would Miss Seagrave approve of somewhere quiet in Wales?’ I asked Jenny.

  Jenny looked at me with eyes as big as saucers. ‘She’s always telling us to be quiet but I’ll ask her,’ she said after pondering the idea. Then she thought for another moment. ‘Miss Seagrave says there’s lots of things you can do in Blackpool if the weather’s bad,’ she said, and then she took her brother by the hand and left us to ourselves.

  ‘Are you all right, Dave? You look as if you’ve had a funny turn,’ Janine commented with unusual solicitude.

  ‘You could say that but I’ll get over it,’ I told her.

  ‘Who’s upset you? It’s not me, is it?’

  ‘No, sometimes things happen that can get on top of you. I’ll be all right in a while,’ I assured her.

  ‘It’s just that something’s come up and I need your help.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said vaguely.

  ‘Henry’s calling round tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, is he?’

  ‘You might show some response,’ she said angrily.

  ‘OK, I’m responding. What did you want . . . a car bomb? A fall off a high building? You name it . . .’

  ‘If that’s how fucking seriously you take this . . .’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Forget it! I’ll try for a baby-sitter despite the short notice.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Janine put her hands on her hips and looked at me as if the situation was all my fault. I could see she was on the point of tears.

  ‘What’s got into you, Dave? I was . . .’ She bit her lip.

  ‘We all have our off-days and this is mine,’ I muttered, awkwardly putting my arms round her.

  ‘I don’t want the children to be here when he arrives. Jenny still talks about Henry a lot but Lloyd’s forgotten all about him. He’s no right to barge back into our lives demanding to see them.’

  ‘No right,’ I agreed, ‘except that he is their father.’

  ‘You’ve been more of a father to them in the last year than he ever was.’

  ‘Maybe, but you’ve made it very clear that I shouldn’t get too close.’

  ‘Oh shit, Dave! Is that what this is all about? Are you throwing a moody because I won’t let you get proprietorial and stick the banns up?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that . . . well, not directly.’

  Janine pushed herself free from me. Tears had been replaced by anger and frustration.

  ‘Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ She stamped over to the drinks cupboard and p
oured herself a stiff whisky.

  ‘Hmmph! I suppose you’re going to say this is all down to me,’ she shouted, having knocked back her drink.

  ‘I’m going to say that if you don’t stop swearing Jenny will be bringing a note home from Miss Seagrave.’

  She laughed and then swung a mock punch at me. I ducked and pushed her back.

  ‘Cunane, you’re a sly bastard, aren’t you? How am I ever going to get free of you?’ She started laughing helplessly and collapsed on the sofa.

  I poured myself a drink. I decided that now was not the time to tell her about Brandon Carlyle’s threat.

  ‘Seriously, Janine, what do you want me to do? Short of assassination, that is?’ I said, when I’d seated myself next to her.

  ‘I thought you might take the children out tomorrow. It would be better if they aren’t around. I’ll try to work something out with Henry. The solicitor says he has the right to see them but I want to make it clear to him that he can’t just drop in at any old time.’

  ‘That’s fine, it’ll be my pleasure,’ I said.

  ‘Do you want to come round tonight?’ she asked. ‘I missed you last night.’

  ‘Sorry, something’s come up. I won’t be able to make it.’

  ‘Not sulking, are you, big boy?’

  ‘There’s something I need to get right in my head first, Janine. I’d be no use to you anyway.’

  ‘Ooh, such modesty. I know where I can get Viagra. There’s a man in the office . . .’

  ‘That’s not the problem,’ I snapped.

  ‘Tell me then.’

  ‘Something’s surfaced from the past. I need time on my own.’

  ‘I don’t know . . . you men with your pasts. I didn’t tell you yesterday but I had a phone call from Clyde Harrow. He wants me to go out with him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s some TV awards thing. He wants me to go with him. He is pretty high up in TV,’ she said coquettishly.

  ‘He’s so high, he’s started stinking.’

  ‘Don’t be jealous now. A girl has to make the most of her chances.’

  ‘You’d better be careful. Clyde’s like you. He has strong views about marriage.’