Play to the End

by Robert Goddard

  She put the telephone back on the hook and stared at me, her frown fading only slowly. She raised a hand to her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” I prompted.

  “The strangest thing,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “John met somebody at the golf club this morning who lives at Fulking. Just down the road from Wickhurst Manor. He mentioned…well, it seems…” She moved slowly back across the room, but didn’t sit down. She stood beside her chair, gazing out into the garden, collecting her thoughts, composing her words. “It seems the police were at Wickhurst Manor last night. In force. It was described…as a raid.”

  I remembered the dark-blue saloon car following Sobotka’s van into Brighton after he dropped me near the bypass and felt a surge of relief. Maybe the police had picked up Sobotka before he could do his worst. Maybe I was in the clear after all. And maybe Roger wasn’t. “Did they make any arrests?”

  “Apparently not. But they were there for some hours. John wondered if I’d heard from Roger. Or from our solicitor. He’s Roger’s solicitor too.”

  “They’re trying to link him with Sobotka, Delia. They were looking for drugs and any other evidence they could unearth.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I think you’ll have to.”

  “No. There has to be—”

  The peremptory buzz of the doorbell cut her off. She glanced round, then down at me. The frown was back, in earnest.

  “That could be them now,” I said softly. And it was a distinct possibility, one I faintly welcomed, whereas, before the phone call—The bell rang again. “Are you going to answer it?”

  “Wait here,” came the tight-lipped instruction. Then she was off down the hall, out of my sight, heels clacking on the woodblock floor. She reached the door just as the bell rang for a third time. It stopped in the instant that she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

  It wasn’t the police. I knew that before Delia said a word. I knew it by the nature of the brief silence that followed. “Roger,” she said in quiet surprise. “What brings you here?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course. Please.”

  I heard the door close and Roger clear his throat. There was another silence, as telling as it was fleeting. I didn’t move a muscle. I may even have held my breath.

  “Goodness,” said Delia. “What happened to your eye?”

  “I was attacked,” Roger replied, lisping slightly. “By Toby Flood.”

  “That’s dreadful. Why would—”

  “Jealousy. Pure and simple. The man’s out of control. Which is why I have to contact Jenny. Urgently.”

  “Don’t you know where she is?”

  “She went away for the weekend. To think, she said. She didn’t want to be disturbed. After all the lies and innuendo Flood’s filled her head with, I didn’t blame her. But things have changed. Her mobile’s switched off, so I have to find out where she’s gone. I’ve tried her parents and her sister. No luck.”

  “I don’t see how I can help.”

  “I thought she might have told you where she was going. In case of emergencies.”

  “Well, I…”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? You do know where she is.”

  “It’s difficult. I…promised not to put you or Toby Flood in touch with her unless…well, unless…”

  “Where is she?”

  “I’m not sure I can—”

  “Where is she?”

  “Roger, let go. You’re hurting me.”

  “Colborn,” I shouted, jumping from my chair and striding to the door into the hall.

  They were at the far end, near the foot of the stairs. Colborn had grabbed Delia by the wrist. He held on as he turned and looked towards me. He was gaunt and unshaven, dressed in black, his left eye haloed by a purple bruise.

  “Let your aunt go,” I said, emphasizing each word. Slowly, with a half-smile, he released her. “Of course,” I went on, suddenly eager to goad him, “I use the word aunt advisedly. You’re no blood relation to each other. Are you?”

  “There’s no need for this,” said Delia, flashing a look of irritation at me.

  “What have you told him?” Roger demanded.

  “Nothing,” I answered in her place. “I’d already worked it out.”

  “The hell you had.”

  “Toby brought me a tape he wanted me to hear,” said Delia. “Maybe you should hear it too.”

  “What tape?” Colborn strode towards me along the hall and Delia followed him. I moved back to the table and, as they entered the room, pressed the PLAY button on the dictaphone.

  The voices of Sir Walter and the medium Sir Walter clearly believed had contacted the spirit of his dead wife stopped Roger Colborn in his tracks. But only for a minute or so. Halfway through Ann’s recollection of the expression on her husband’s face at the maternity hospital, Roger moved to the table and stabbed the STOP button. He looked at me, then round at Delia. His thoughts were unreadable, his intentions unguessable. Did he have the gun on him, I wondered. It was hard to say if there was anything that heavy weighing down a pocket of his long, loose overcoat.

  “I don’t need to hear it again,” he said quietly.

  “Did Derek send you a copy?” I asked, backing a sudden hunch.

  “Somebody did,” Colborn answered levelly.

  “You sent Sobotka to find the original at Viaduct Road, didn’t you? But he didn’t search thoroughly enough.”

  “I don’t know anyone called Sobotka.”

  “I’m sure that’s what you told the police, but the line’s wasted on us. Probably on them too. They must have arrested Sobotka last night, before he could fit me up. Lucky for me. Unlucky for you. They’d already followed him to and from Wickhurst, I’m afraid, tying you in with his cache of drugs out at Fishersgate. Did they find anything incriminating when they turned the house over? We know about that as well, you see. Gossip on the nineteenth hole.”

  “It’s true,” said Delia, catching Roger’s glance. “John phoned from the clubhouse a few minutes ago. Alan Richards mentioned to him that the police…had been to see you.”

  “Sorry I didn’t tell you they had Sobotka’s number, Roger,” I said. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  He pressed the EJECT button on the machine and took out the cassette.

  “My guess would be that Derek made several copies. He’s a belt-and-braces sort of guy. Whatever he may have told you, that’s almost certainly not the original.”

  “He’s told me nothing.”

  “You have spoken to him, then?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Where are you holding him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe you’ve released him now the police have started breathing down your neck. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But being sensible isn’t always easy, is it?”

  “Did you prevent Toby appearing at the theatre last night, Roger?”

  Roger looked round at her. “Is that what he’s told you?”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you do know this man…Sobotka?”

  Roger sighed synthetically. “All right. Yes. I know Sobotka. I used him for some…building work at Wickhurst. He’s a bit of a rough diamond. I suppose it shouldn’t come as a total surprise to learn he peddles drugs on the side. He was at the house yesterday. The police were obviously tailing him. They seemed to think—wrongly—that I’m the Mr. Big in his operation. It may take me a little time to convince them I have nothing to do with it. In some ways, I’m sorry they didn’t show up at the house earlier. They might have stopped Flood giving me a black eye.”

  Looking at Delia, it was possible to conclude she actually believed Roger’s version of events. I spread my hands. “For God’s sake.”

  “Do you have anything to do with Derek Oswin’s disappearance?” Delia persisted.

  �
�I don’t know where he is and I don’t care,” Roger replied with studied weariness. “He’s nothing to me.”

  “He’s your half-brother,” I corrected him.

  Roger glared at me. “Congratulations on digging up that nugget of dirt on my family, Flood. Yes. Kenneth Oswin was my natural father. Delia’s known that a lot longer than I have, so bringing it to her hasn’t got you very far. As for the tape, if my father—the man I always regarded and still do regard as my father—was credulous enough to pay some tea-leaf reader to fake a conversazione with the spirit world, well, you know what they say, don’t you? There’s no fool like an old fool.” He tossed the cassette onto the table. “It gets you nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.”

  He was right. The thought hit me like a blow to the face. My ignorance of the finer points of intestacy had left me where I was now: swaying in the wind.

  “I need to speak to Jenny, Delia,” said Roger. “I think this has to count as an emergency, don’t you?”

  “I…suppose so.”

  “I take it you don’t believe any of Flood’s allegations?”

  “Well, I—”

  “She visited Ken Oswin in hospital shortly before he died,” I interrupted, grabbing the only chance I seemed to have left of coming between them. “I bet she’s never told you that.”

  Roger frowned. “Is that true?”

  “Yes.” Delia sat down in her chair between us. I read the move as an attempt to win some allowance for her age and sex. But she certainly had good reason to feel unsteady on her feet. “I couldn’t ask you if you knew he was your real father in case you didn’t. I thought it likely, however, that if you did know you’d have spoken to him about it at some point. So, I…went to him and asked.”

  “I knew. Thanks to Mother,” said Roger. “But I never spoke to Ken Oswin about it.”

  Delia nodded. “That’s what he said.”

  “But you didn’t believe him,” I put in.

  “I had…some doubts, it’s true.”

  “Why?” asked Roger.

  “I’m not sure. Clearly, I misjudged him. His…evasiveness…may have had more to do with his responsibility for Walter’s death than anything else. Meeting the sister of the man he’d killed…may have unnerved him.”

  “I suppose that accounts for it,” said Roger.

  “I believe it must.”

  “He never breathed a word to me about his relationship with Mother.” Roger picked up the snapshot of the Oswins, father and son, and stared at it for a moment. “In all the years. Not a single word.”

  “It must have been difficult for you,” said Delia softly. “I’m sorry I—”

  “Forget it.” Roger dropped the photograph. “Toby here isn’t interested in hearing about my problems.”

  “You’re still hiding something,” I said, determined to show him mere lack of proof couldn’t shut me up. “And I mean to find out what it is.”

  “Of course you do.” He cast me a weary glance. “I’d expect nothing less.” With a swirl of his coat, he moved past me and sat down in my chair, facing Delia. “I have to speak to Jenny. Will you tell me where she is?”

  “The Spa Hotel, in Tunbridge Wells.”

  “Not so very far away, then.”

  “She just needed…a chance to think.”

  “Thanks to Toby and me messing her about.” Incredibly, Roger sounded genuinely remorseful. “Poor Jenny.”

  “If I leave a message on her mobile, she’ll phone me back.”

  “No need. I have a better idea.” He looked up at me. “It’s not much more than thirty miles to Tunbridge Wells. We could be there in less than an hour. That’s we as in ‘you and me,’ Toby. What about it? You can say your piece to Jenny and I can say mine. You can tell her all about my shady parentage and apparently criminal associations. You can pull out all the stops. Subject to my right of reply. And when we’re done, you and I, we’ll see which of us she trusts the more. Which of us she really loves.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Delia began. “If—”

  “Leave this to us.” Roger’s voice was raised now, his tone dismissive. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “What do you say, Toby? It’s a fair offer.”

  So it was, in a way. The very fact that he was making it smacked of desperation, or of deviousness. He had some trick up his sleeve, I felt certain. But he was daring me to believe I could trump it.

  “Let’s get it all out in the open. Give Jenny the choice. You or me. Or neither, I suppose. I’ll stand by her decision. Will you?”

  I could hardly reject the challenge, as Roger had surely calculated. In a sense, I’d been pressing for something of the kind all week. I had to accept. He knew that.

  Which meant he was confident of the outcome. It wasn’t a fair offer. It couldn’t be. In fact, it was bound to be anything but. Nevertheless…” All right,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Good.” Roger stood up. “Let’s get going.” He moved past me to the door, then stopped and looked back. “Don’t forget to bring the cassette and the player, Toby. I’m sure you’ll want Jenny to hear what’s on the tape.”

  His sarcasm made it certain that whatever happened in Tunbridge Wells he’d devised some way of coming out on top. All I could do now was cling to the hope that Jenny would see through him at the last. I loaded the cassette back into the machine and put it in my pocket, along with the Beachy Head photograph. Delia glanced at me anxiously, but said nothing. I held her gaze for a moment, then murmured, “We’ll speak later,” and headed after Roger.

  “Don’t worry, Delia,” he called, as he led the way down the hall. “This is for the best, believe me.”

  She made no reply and Roger didn’t seem to expect one. We reached the front door. He held it open for me and I stepped out. His Porsche was parked on the drive. The house door slammed behind me and Roger fired his remote at the car, which unlocked and flashed a welcome. He walked past me and round to the driver’s side, opened the door and slid into the car. He made no comment as I climbed into the passenger seat, merely started the engine and reversed out into the street.

  And there, unexpectedly, he stopped. The Porsche idled throatily at the kerbside for several seconds. Then he said, “Hold on,” threw the door open and jumped out.

  “Where are you—” The slam of the door cut me short. And the answer to my question was soon apparent. He marched back up the drive of number 15 and rang the bell. He didn’t glance once in my direction as he waited for Delia to respond. Then I saw the door open. He stepped inside.

  I sat where I was, staring ahead at the wedge of sea visible between the houses. What was he up to? What could I do to outmanoeuvre him? I bludgeoned my mind for answers.

  Several minutes passed. It suddenly occurred to me that Roger must have wanted to say something to Delia in my absence, something that would swing her sympathies away from me and towards him. Foolishly, I’d left the field open for him. There was no time to lose. I had to intervene.

  Too late. He was already hurrying back down the drive. “What’s going on?” I snapped as he flung himself in.

  “I just wanted to make sure Delia will keep this morning’s events to herself.”

  “Worried about the trouble Gavin might give you if he found out you’re not his brother’s son, are you?”

  “Not worried. Keen to avoid it. There’s a difference.”

  “And did Delia promise to help you out?”

  “Her lips are sealed.” He slipped the car into gear and started away in a burst of acceleration that carried us round the corner and along Clifton Terrace to the junction with Dyke Road, where he turned left and headed north.

  By the time we’d reached Seven Dials and turned east towards Preston Circus, the silence between us had become heavy with tension. I broke it as defiantly as I could. “However you spin it, Jenny isn’t going to believe you, Roger. Do you realize that?”

  “You reckon not?”

  “I’ve known her a lot longer than you h
ave.”

  “True. But have you known her better?”

  “I love her. I’ve always loved her.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me why you love her.” The traffic was moving slowly ahead of us, through the lights under the railway bridges behind Brighton station. “I’d really like to know.”

  “I…er…”

  “Not a fluent start, is it, Toby? ‘I, er.’ I suppose you actors need lines to be written for you before you sound convincing. You see, I don’t think you do love her. Not in the way I do. I think you only want her back to prove you haven’t ruined the most important relationship in your life.”

  “A man like you is incapable of understanding love,” I fired back at him. “That’s why I can’t explain it to you.”

  “I preferred the umming and erring. At least they were honest. I told you when we first met that I love Jenny because she makes me a better person than I can ever be without her. I told you that because it’s true.”

  “This ‘better person’ is the man who held me captive last night and tried to frame me for assault.”

  “You forced me into that.”

  “Did I really? No doubt I forced you into hounding Denis Maple to his death as well.”

  “I wasn’t to know he had a heart condition. His death was unfortunate.”

  “Unfortunate? Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “It was Sobotka’s doing, not mine.”

  “But Sobotka was working for you.”

  “He’s been useful to me, certainly.”

  “Like when he kidnapped Derek Oswin, you mean?” The traffic had eased and we were speeding along Viaduct Road now, past the very door of number 77.

  “You’re wrong about that, Toby. I called Sobotka off after Maple died. He didn’t go near Oswin. Nor did I.”

  “You’ll be telling me next he didn’t break into the Sea Air and steal my tapes.”

  “I would, if I thought it’d do any good. I’ve no idea what tapes you’re talking about.”

  “You met Sobotka at Devil’s Dyke car park Thursday morning. You were seen there by Ian Maple. So much for calling Sobotka off the day before.”