by Oliver Tidy
‘Who’s that?’ I said.
She turned away from it. ‘Flashman’s boy.’
‘Maybe I should ask him.’
She snorted. ‘I doubt he was here. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in weeks.’
‘Doesn’t he work for his father?’
‘Work? Dennis Flashman? Do me a favour. He has no idea what it is to want for anything. That boy has two purposes in this life: turning good food into shit and pissing people off. I can’t comment on how well he does at the first but he’s top of the class for the second.’
The engine died and the driver’s door opened. A tall well-built young man stepped out of the vehicle. He stared over in my direction for a long pause and then made up his mind for a closer look. As he approached, I could see he exuded the confidence money and a spoilt upbringing often bring. He was casually dressed in narrow jeans and a jean jacket. I thought there were cowboy boots on his feet and had to look harder. There were.
‘What are you doing in here?’ He was talking to me.
Up close he was quite a size. His eyes were shielded behind wrap-around designer sunglasses. His sense of superiority was one day going to be his undoing. I briefly considered whether he’d ever been tested.
There was something else about him that struck me – I wondered whether he was on something. I couldn’t say why exactly, but there was something in his manner, his bearing, his speech, his mannerisms, his confidence, that prompted the thought.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ I said.
‘If you don’t have business in here, you’re trespassing.’
‘He’s talking to me,’ said the plumber. ‘You got a problem with that?’
He regarded her violently. No one spoke for too long.
‘You’re Flashman the builder’s son, right?’
He switched his attention back to me. ‘What about it?’
‘I’m the nephew of the Bookers.’
He surprised me then. ‘I know who you are. So what?’
It struck me he also knew my relatives’ fate. And he didn’t give a care.
His open hostility disturbed me enough to say, ‘Have we met?’
He shook his head slowly.
I tried him for some information: ‘A little while ago your father approached my relatives regarding whether they would be selling their property.’
That interested him enough to lower his levels of obvious animosity. ‘And?’
‘Did they give him an answer?’
He took a step towards me. ‘Is that supposed to be funny, arsehole?’
I was confused. ‘Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m just asking you a simple question. If you can’t give me a civil answer, forget it. I’ll speak to the organ grinder.’
His mouth twisted into something unpleasant then. He would have called it a smile. Whatever it was, I felt something clammy crawl down my spine.
‘When you’ve finished your business with her, fuck off and don’t let me see you in here again.’
‘I’ll mention your manners to your father when I speak to him. I’ll also let him know that if he still wants to buy the property – something that now belongs to me – your mouth and bad manners just put the asking price up.’
I think he would have liked to hit me then, but perhaps felt that with his father’s designs on my property he’d better not.
Instead, he made a gun of his finger and thumb and said, ‘I won’t forget you.’ And fired.
He wandered off back towards his pick-up whistling tunelessly.
The plumber moved behind me. ‘I’d be careful with him if I were you. He’s not stupid and what he lacks in ambition to do a day’s work he more than makes up for in nastiness. I’d say you just put yourself firmly on his bad side.’
‘I’ve got something he wants, or his father does. Is he stupid enough to jeopardise his chances of getting it?’
‘That wouldn’t be a case of stupidity. He just wouldn’t give a shit. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
I thanked her again and headed for the exit. As I passed his vehicle the bastard hit his air-horns, shattering the peace and making me jump a good six inches. I could hear him laughing in the cab as I walked away.
***
21
Back up to the flat for coffee. Back staring out of the window waiting for the kettle. Flashman’s pick-up was still outside the yellow container. One of the container doors was open. I found that odd. I was sure the labourer who’d I’d spoken to in The Ocean had said that particular unit was rented by a Londoner for storage of his seaside toys. I had no chance of seeing inside from where I was standing.
My mobile beeped, indicating a missed call. It was Detective Cash’s number. That gave me a ripple of gratification that disconcerted me and was nothing to do with the law. I called her back.
‘Hello, Mr Booker.’
‘I’m not sure I should be talking to you without my legal counsel present.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She didn’t sound annoyed.
I recounted my visit to the solicitors.
‘Well, perhaps I might have some good news for you in that regard. I was calling to let you know, strictly off the record, that my governor might be moving away from the idea that you have any involvement in your relatives’ deaths.’
She didn’t have to do that. I’d bet she didn’t do it for all her suspects.
‘Really? And what has brought that change on?’
‘We call it evidence. We’re not blinkered to new interpretations of old information.’
‘So, does that mean he is focussing his investigative skills in another direction?’
‘That, I can’t discuss with you. Sorry.’ She didn’t particularly sound it.
‘How about a drink then?’ I surprised myself with my forwardness. It wasn’t something I’d planned.
Her reply, when it came, gave me the first opportunity to detect the hint of a fissure in her confident exterior. ‘Pardon?’
She’d heard me. She didn’t give me an outright no. She was buying some time. That amused me.
‘If I’m no longer on your list of suspects would you consider having a drink with me? I don’t have any friends around here these days and I’m fed up of hanging around this flat on my own of an evening feeling morose.’
‘When you put it like that, Mr Booker, no thanks.’
‘Just being honest.’
‘I must say I’m a little shocked by your honesty then.’
‘It is discouraging, Detective Cash, how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.’
‘Have you been drinking, again?’
‘I’ve not touched a drop all day,’ I lied.
‘Maybe you should start then. You sound like you need one. Goodbye, Mr Booker.’
‘See you around, Detective.’
That could have gone better. I was left feeling a hollow smugness and that I was going to be spending another evening alone. But maybe that was just as well.
Flashman’s pick-up had gone.
I looked at the time then ignored the re-boiled kettle and followed Detective Cash’s advice. The sun was approaching the yardarm. I took a cold bottle of ale out of the fridge and saw it was the last one. I put it back and used its solitary state as an excuse to leave the house in search of reinforcements. It could be a long night and a trip to the supermarket would kill fifteen minutes. I wouldn’t feel like going out for supplies after I’d started.
*
Twenty minutes later I came back around the building with my carrier bag of provisions tinkling gently against each other like a cheap wind-chime. I had a visitor. He was wasting his time and energy banging on the back door. I recognised him with a sinking feeling: Flashman senior.
He was as tall as his offspring but carried the extra bulk of an indulgent lifestyle without exercise. I noticed his hands. They were enormous, like a pair of shovels. What there was of his face that hadn’t been overgrown by beard w
as ruddy and weathered. He had the nose of a man who liked the hard stuff – often. The windows to his soul were hidden behind tinted spectacles, but I didn’t need to see into those to understand he felt visiting me was costing him valuable time – that he had no room for fools, time-wasters or flippancy in his busy life.
He said, ‘You’re the Bookers’ nephew.’
To my recollection, we’d never spoken before but we’d shared the same village for several years. I’d seen him around; he must have seen me coming and going.
I tried him at his own game. It was my home ground after all. ‘And you’re Flashman the builder.’
He gave me a smile that appeared to hurt him. He took in my carrier bag.
‘Drinking alone?’
‘If I have to.’
‘Come over the road and let me buy you one.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a business proposition for you and I’d rather discuss it sitting down being civilised than standing around in back yards.’
I could have declined but having nothing better to do I agreed. It would have been rude not to. I dumped the bag inside the rear door, locked up and followed him over.
*
Pam raised her eyebrows at me when she saw the company I was keeping. I raised mine back in what I hoped was an I-have-no-idea-either way.
Flashman asked me what I’d have, indicated a table and that I should sit at it. He went to the bar, ordered and returned with two of the same. After setting one down in front of me he raised his glass and, out of courtesy, I felt obliged to mirror him.
When we’d both taken a good draught, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, showing something of the roots he’d never leave behind, no matter how many Range Rovers he went through.
‘A terrible thing with your aunt and uncle. My condolences.’
‘Did you know them well?’ I was still playing dumb.
‘Your aunt better than your uncle.’ That surprised me. ‘Have the police formed a theory for what happened to them?’
His lenses had cleared and I could feel his hard eyes searching my face.
‘Nothing yet, as far as I know. They seem to be as mystified by what has happened as everyone else.’
‘Do they suspect foul play?’
I decided to keep what Sprake had revealed of my uncle’s death to myself. ‘Let’s just say they’re keeping an open mind.’
He took another sip of his drink. It felt like a cue for a change of topic, so I gave him a nudge. ‘What is it you want to talk to me about?’
He knew I knew why we were there. He had to have done. His son had probably mentioned our encounter and he’d jumped straight in his car and come round. The fact we were sitting together over a drink so quickly also told me two other things: he was very keen to explore the opportunity to purchase the property and, by dint of the fact that I had agreed to speak with him, he must be confident I was not averse to the idea of talking to him about it. But the charade had to be played out.
‘I’ll be straight with you and I hope you’ll be straight with me.’ I nodded. ‘I told you I wanted to speak to you about business and that’s all it is. While your relatives’ deaths are regrettable and sad, life goes on for the rest of us. I understand you will be their sole heir. Is that right?’
The directness and intensity of his pitch and demeanour intimidated me enough to be straight with him – to a point. ‘It looks like it. I don’t know of any other relatives. Until the will is read I can’t say for sure.’
He accepted this, or gave that impression. ‘If you do inherit the building what would be your plans for it?’
And with that he crossed a line. ‘Mr Flashman, I don’t know if it will become mine and until that is made clear I won’t be considering anything further than giving both of them a decent burial and fulfilling their business obligations.’
He breathed out heavily. ‘I understand. I apologise for my directness and my timing. What I want to say is, if, when the legal side of things is completed, the property is to be sold, I would appreciate first refusal. And I am prepared to pay handsomely for that privilege – in excess of its value on the open market.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to develop the yard at the rear of the property and in order to do that I need better access. The right of way across the car park that goes with the building would do it.’
At least he hadn’t lied to me. He hadn’t told me to mind my own business. If nothing else, Mr Flashman appeared to be refreshingly direct, even if he was, at times, an insensitive and unscrupulous bastard. I wouldn’t say I found him a man to warm to, but I appreciated his honesty. It deserved the same.
‘I appreciate your frankness. All I can say is that if the property should come to me and if I decide I don’t want the burden of it I will contact you. How’s that?’
He allowed himself a small satisfied smile. ‘That’ll have to do then. Thank you.’ He took another sip of his drink. ‘Your uncle and I were not on speaking terms. Did you know that?’
I indicated I did.
‘Do you know why?’
‘He said you gazumped him over the purchase of the land we’re talking about.’
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘He never indicated there was a why.’
‘Your uncle gazumped me first.’
‘Over what?’
‘Not what, who?’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Your uncle took your aunt away from me. What do you think of that?’
I was stunned by the news. And although Flashman looked to enjoy my surprise, I sensed something resembling regret in him for the way things had turned out.
‘I had no idea.’
‘So I see.’
He drained his beer, set the glass down and stood up. ‘Please, don’t take too much notice of my son. I’m afraid that even though it pains me to say it, he can be an arsehole sometimes. I wouldn’t like to think anything that boy might be tempted to do or say might affect any potential business we might have.’
I nodded understanding and thanked him for the drink.
He left.
Now I was comfortable I decided to have another. Pam served me. She asked whether there was any news from the police regarding my relatives because she had to. She was a little cool with it. Maybe she didn’t like where her logic of seeing Flashman senior and me together took her. Maybe she was still annoyed with me for fighting in her bar. That was her problem. I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone.
*
It was quite a bit later when I finally, and a little unsteadily, navigated my way around the back of the shop in the darkness. I was belching beer and pie and mash fumes. I didn’t hear them. I didn’t see them. But it certainly wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
I woke up lying in the gravel and my own blood and vomit in a shower of thin rain with the injuries to prove I’d been given a message.
They hadn’t uttered a sound I could have heard and identified them from. The element of surprise had been used well. I hadn’t even managed to get an arm up to fend off a blow, let alone throw a punch in return. There had been at least two of them. About all I remember of it was that one hit me across the shoulders with something dense and hard and another followed this up quickly with a blow to my face. Then it was stars and gravel and from the feel of my ribs undoubtedly a good kicking. Not very sporting. Not particularly brave, but quite effective.
***
22
I was cold and wet. I had blood and stones in my mouth. A deep breath made me flinch with a shooting pain. I felt there was a good chance I might be sick again. I couldn’t move. I lay a little while longer marshalling my reserves and some fortitude, breathing in the dirt, and sparing a thought for who could have attacked me.
Naturally, my mind came quickly to Pike. I’d embarrassed him and I should have expected he would not leave it at that. But I also would have expected him to have let me know it was him. That would have been h
alf of his pleasure, half of his satisfaction. ‘This is for the other night, Booker.’
I braced myself for more pain and bad news. Gingerly I eased myself up on to all fours. Nothing seemed to be broken. My ribcage refused to expand beyond what was necessary for a short breath without causing me discomfort and I wondered if there might be something more serious there to worry about. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. Nothing missing, but I was cut. I collapsed into a sitting position, my back against the wall. It was still raining.
My phone rang. With difficulty and discomfort, I fished it out of my pocket and answered without looking at the screen. I didn’t care who it was. They might be able to help me. I thought I needed help. There were a lot of stairs to climb.
‘Mr Booker? You don’t sound very good.’ It was Detective Cash.
‘To be honest, Detective, I’ve been better.’
‘Are you drunk?’ She had a tone.
‘I feel quite sober, actually. But I might need a hand to climb the stairs.’
‘Explain.’
I did.
‘I can be there in twenty minutes. Will you be all right, or should I call an ambulance?’ She was calm and professional.
‘Please, don’t call an ambulance.’
She hung up.
I suddenly cursed myself for letting her become involved in my evening. I didn’t want her pity and I didn’t want her to see me like I was. I tried to stand. That didn’t work as well as I’d hoped and after a couple of feeble attempts I slid back down the brickwork, resigned to the wait.
It was a quick twenty minutes. I must have sounded bad on the phone. I heard her vehicle bouncing and splashing across the car park at a speed that would have tested her shock absorbers to their limits. She braked hard – skidding a couple of feet in the loose stuff – got out quickly and hurried across to where her torch beam had picked me out. I put up an arm to shield my eyes and the action hurt me. It made me groan.