by Matthew Ross
In amongst my tools I found a radio, Tommy’s radio, it wasn’t that old but it was so splattered with paint splashes it looked like it had spent twenty years in a pigeon loft. I doubted Jen would have a use for it, so I decided to keep it out of sentimental reasons and gave it a rub down with the golf towel too.
I returned to the kitchen to find Disco gazing dreamily through the wall-to-wall bi-fold doors, hands down the track pants having a good scratch or at least a good rearrangement.
‘Nice garden,’ he said, seeing me in the reflection. ‘Do you reckon Tommy was having a dabble with the lady of the house?’
‘Probably.’
‘Rampant little fiend, wasn’t he?’
‘He was,’ I said, then Disco and I both burst into laughter, a bit of gallows humour. I felt relieved we’d dealt with the elephant that had been in the room since we arrived, and as we laughed, off it went with a trumpety trump, trump trump trump.
Thorpe’s delivered the new kitchen units in dozens of flat cardboard sleeves. Their driver had been with them for years, he probably got his hi-vis waistcoat on his first day as any eye-catching neon had long since faded, rendering it threadbare and the grubbiest shade of smoker’s cough yellow. Its wearer was an old boy with grey curly hair that always looked in need of a cut, a chubby, smiling face above a heavy round belly. Ancient blurred blue and green tattoos peeked through his hairy forearms. I’d never learnt his name, but Disco clearly knew him by the way they gossiped like old mother hens ferrying the deliveries into the kitchen before stacking them in a neat pile.
While Disco and the driver had a smoke on the driveway, I made a couple of calls.
‘Just spoken to Uncle Bern,’ I said. ‘You won’t be surprised to learn he’s running late, so we may as well lock up and go for lunch. You can make a start on putting it all back together tomorrow.’
Twenty minutes or so later I pulled up outside the Golden Lamb. Disco looked confused and asked if I was coming in.
‘No, not today,’ I replied. ‘Something I need to do. Actually, do us a favour, and put the word out about Tommy’s van, see if anyone’s interested in buying it?’
He said he would, I told him what I thought was a fair price and drove off promising to see him tomorrow.
49
I knew full well that by the time I’d got home Disco would be in his element regaling everyone at the Golden Lamb with his morning at the scene of the murder. It wouldn’t surprise me if more than a little embellishment went on, I fully expected it to be described like a snuff movie in the Hammer House of Horror and I laughed at the thought, but my happy mood didn’t last long.
‘You’ve done what? Are you bloody insane?’ Perry said, flapping her arms about for added effect. I was beginning to think it hadn’t been a clever idea telling her.
‘I needed to be sure before I hand him over to Hamlet. Sally was family to him, Hamlet won’t be mucking about, it won’t be tickles and trips to the seaside, the only fresh air he’ll get from Hamlet will be a hundred feet of it when he drops him off the Medway motorway bridge.’
‘You must be some sort of lunatic. Don’t you see how risky this is? You could get hurt,’ she said, but I was already well aware of that thank you very much. ‘Tell me exactly what you’ve agreed.’
‘Oh…kay,’ I said, trying to buy time, aware she’d be looking out for half-truths and lies. ‘I called Charlie Quentin, told him I wanted a deal like Tommy’s, and he should come straight here. Half an hour later he was here, sitting in the same chair as you.’
Perry wriggled as though the chair had scabies.
‘He was keen, wanting to know what I had. I put the Peppa Pig bag on the table, he looked inside and whistled, he actually whistled.’
‘And what then? He agreed? Just like that?’
‘Not quite. There was a lot of chin rubbing and head scratching going on, and then he pipes up with “That’s a lot of dough”, in a ridiculous Rich Boy Mockney accent.’
Perry giggled at my impersonation, spurring me to ramp up the exaggeration in my story, figuring that the more she enjoys it, the less trouble I’m in.
‘So, I say to him, that’s two hundred grand there, can you take it? And he’s pacing up and down scratching his head, and then, finally he says to me, “I suppose so, I don’t know.” “What’s the problem?” I say.’
Perry looked at me wide-eyed, prompting me to go on. I closed my eyes for a moment, but it was silly posturing to look thoughtful as I could very clearly picture him leaning against the window sill, his eyes darting outside every few seconds as though the chattering schoolgirls dawdling past were secret agents in an elaborate sting operation, his wooden beads hung down between the two open top buttons of his crumpled pink shirt and clicked with each turn of the head.
‘“We’ve never done so much before,” he says, “it was always little bits and pieces, the odd fowzan’ or two,” going all Mockney again on me. He said him and Tommy did twenty grand over four invoices in the same period a couple of times. But I could see that this much scared him.’
Perry shuffled in her seat, unhooking her leg from underneath her and swapping it with the other.
‘So, I suggest, can we slice and dice it? Offering to drip feed it, ten grand a week, over five months. Know what he says?’
‘Yes?’
‘No. What he says is, great idea, but there’s not enough time because the sale of the business goes through at the end of this month and then he’s out.’
‘What? Is he saying he’ll be so loaded he won’t need the cash?’
‘Far from it. His family’s selling the retirement home business, so yes, there’ll be a lot of money coming to them but it’s virtually impossible for any of them to get their grubby little paws on any of it. It all goes into a complicated offshore trust fund, and then they all get their monthly allowance and other than that the rest of it’s untouchable. So, I knew I had to convince him and I told him, then this is your last chance, your final pay-off, get yourself a nice nest egg.
‘So, he’s thinking about it, he’s pacing up and down, he’s got his fingers steepled against his lips, and then suddenly he says, “Okay let’s do it.” And then he suggests that as there’s three weeks before the sale goes through, we could break it down into three payments as he figured it’d be less noticeable that way.’
‘Makes sense, I suppose,’ said Perry, although her tone didn’t support her words.
‘Then he suggests making them irregular amounts, to make them less suspicious, put them through one big one, one medium, and then a small one to finish off.’
‘So how are you going to justify such a big amount without setting off a big red warning flag?’ said Perry, echoing my very own question to Charlie only a couple of hours earlier.
‘He’d already worked it out. He says to me, there’s all those works orders Tommy had that he hadn’t been paid for, so he said he’d just reprint them with my name on instead of Tommy’s. That covers more or less half the amount, then we’ll work out how to pass the remaining balance through two more batches of bogus orders and invoices.’
‘That sounds like an awful lot of money to account for. Especially as it had already been thrown out once before,’ said Perry.
‘But that’s the clever bit, only a director can write a cheque, and only Quentin family members are directors. Last time it was my fault contacting Kate Fuller. But this time, we work around her rather than through her, and there’s nothing she can do about it.’
‘Except have you for fraud.’
‘Ah no. You see, you’re wrong, because, well… I don’t know… the director signed it off, I suppose.’
‘So she has the director done for fraud too.’
‘True,’ I said, pausing whilst my mind spun in panic trying to find a way out of this argument, and then inspiration, the spinning stopped, three bells in a row, jackpot!
‘Look, best case, the cheques go through and Tommy’s family end up with a clean set of books an
d nice bank balance, Jen might even be able to sell the business as a going concern. Worst case, Fuller finds out about it, stops the cheque, I get the cash back. But I’m confident there’s no way the Quentin family would want to involve the police in anything, he’s been a bit of a character in the past has Charlie and they’ve never involved the Law before, I can’t imagine them doing it now.’
That seemed to reassure Perry’s concerns.
‘And hopefully the prospect of a hundred grand, possibly more, is enough to tease Beach out and get him sniffing around, see if he acts like I suspect he did with Tommy: bypassing Charlie entirely and just reverting to a dirty little thief sneaking up on the moneyman to steal the cash, only unlike Tommy, this moneyman will be ready for him.’
That didn’t reassure Perry’s concerns and brought us back full circle to where we started.
‘Are you bloody insane?’
50
Perry followed me back to the Wilkes’ house to meet Uncle Bern, who unsurprisingly still hadn’t turned up by the time we arrived, so as something to do I pointed Perry towards the garage.
I showed her the units that I’d put aside for her and she ran her hands across the smooth gloss surfaces and muttered appreciatively.
‘And I spoke to your letting agent this afternoon.’
‘Did you?’ she sounded more defensive than surprised.
‘Of course, I’ve known him for years, used to do all his landlord testing. Anyway, we agreed a new kitchen is worth three month’s rent free. And he knows me, knows I won’t rip him off, so he went back to the owner, even got the owner to agree to pay for new worktops and new flooring. Result.’
‘Yeah, result,’ she said, but I thought she’d be happier than that, certainly a little more grateful.
‘Everything alright?’
‘Yes. Thank you, thank you for doing all of this. But it seems a bit too much, too full on.’
‘What? I’m fitting you a kitchen, not giving you a diamond ring? If you don’t want it, fine, I’m sure I can sell it on.’
‘No. Sorry. I’m grateful, I really am. I just—’ she trailed off, she didn’t know what she wanted to say and being neither clairvoyant nor patient, I left her to it and went to watch Uncle Bern arrive.
‘Hola amigo,’ his voice boomed across the street, shouting over what sounded like the first diesel engine to give itself asthma. The noise of it struggling to stay alive was pitiful. Somehow, he’d managed to borrow the crappiest, most beat-up box van in the Medway Towns: greying gaffer tape Xs patched over holes in the bodywork, one panel was red whereas the rest of it was the unpleasant shade of white milk turns when it goes sour, and in the dirt you could read the name of the previous owner where the labels had been peeled off but never cleaned. Good old Bern hadn’t come up trumps yet again.
‘How are you mate?’ he said, pumping my hand up and down in a firm handshake, his eyes squinting at me through his thick glasses that only seemed to stay on by virtue of his scrunched-up nose, giving him the look of a constipated vole. ‘Sorry I’m late, had a bitch of a day on a house clearance in Gravesend for Harpo, still, here now, shall we get cracking?’
He reversed the van up to the garage door with a crunch of gears and a farting exhaust. Keen to get it done, we hardly spoke, meaning it didn’t take long to get the van loaded, and we were soon finished. I asked him to follow Perry back home, and then load the units in her house. I watched them drive away, then locked up the Wilkes house, got into Tommy’s van and left.
Before I knew it, I was drawing up at Queen Mary’s. I slowed to a trundle and parked next to Old John’s container.
‘What are you doing back here?’ he said, age hadn’t mellowed him, the cranky old sod.
‘Hello John,’ I said, partly to be civil and partly for the sport of deliberately avoiding his questions knowing it would antagonise him. I began walking towards the building entrance.
‘I said, what are you doing back here? I thought you were done.’
I ignored him and carried on walking towards the entrance doors, from behind I could hear him following me, he was certainly a lot heavier on his toes than the night he jumped me.
‘And what are you doing in his van? Wheedled your way into that too have you?’
I stopped, I didn’t like his tone or his insinuation but I knew the game he was playing, I’d needled him so he was trying to needle me. I turned to face him with the biggest smile I could muster.
‘I’m trying to sell it. Interested? Very nice, full history, low mileage, still a bit of warranty left. Better than that old shitter you’re still driving around in. Fancy trading up? I’ll give you a fair price.’
‘How much?’ it always amazes me, no matter how antagonistic people are to you, the moment there’s the chance of a deal they’re your new best friend. I knew how much Jen wanted for it, so I added five hundred. Old John wrinkled his round face in disgust, resembling a balloon a week after the birthday.
‘Talking of trading up, that’s very pretty,’ I said gesturing to the parking spot immediately outside the entrance where a highly polished red convertible Merc sparkled in the sunlight.
‘Certainly is. It’s Kate Fuller’s, it’s been getting repaired for the past week. Got it back today, just in time for the sunshine, meant to be nice at the weekend.’
‘So, did they give her a courtesy car while it was off the road?’ I said to Old John. Something didn’t feel right, I was sure there was a different car in this spot both times I came before.
‘No, she just used her husband’s car for a few days, either that or he dropped her off and picked her up.’
‘And what’s that car?’
‘A Volkswagen, I think.’
‘An old one? Golf? Blue? Baby on board stickers?’
‘That’s the one, yes, why?’ Old John wanted to know more but he didn’t know why, he simply wanted to know. I wasn’t in any mood to satisfy his nosiness.
‘Her husband, what’s his name?’
‘Robert, why?’
‘Rob? Rob Beach?’
‘Don’t know his surname, but yeah, they all call him Rob. What’s all this about?’
‘I don’t know, John,’ I said, speaking the truth, I couldn’t see any relevance in it all other than it squared off another corner: I knew who Rob’s ‘nightmare’ wife was.
To my surprise I began to feel a little sympathy for him. I could see why he’d fall for a bright, charismatic girl like Sally when faced with an obnoxious ball buster like Kate Fuller at home. I could imagine him, the Player, the Ladies’ Man from the club scene, being made to feel grateful for every slice of bread, every teabag that she deigned to throw his way. I was starting to side with him, and then I remembered the suspicions that had led me there.
51
Disco’s lady friend was manning the reception counter again, no need to be hostile, I’m a friend of a friend now. But what’s her name? I dredged the grimiest recesses of my memory in the last few footsteps to the counter.
‘Helen,’ I said with a tinge of pride as I surprised myself by remembering it. She smiled, I think she took the sound of my self-congratulation as a cheery greeting. ‘Remember me, I’m a friend of Disco’s ... Dave ... David?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ she said, graciously putting me out of my discomfort.
‘I’m looking for Charlie Quentin, is he about?’
‘He was. Last I saw him he said he was popping outside to inspect the grounds, which is his code for going for a cigarette, he can’t be far away.’
I thanked her, and retreated outside to see if I could find him. There was a smoker’s bench just to the right of the entrance, close enough that it wasn’t too far away, but far enough away to avoid the smell of smoke drifting back into the building. It was occupied by a tired faced, elderly lady staring into the middle distance. A smartly dressed woman sat beside her, her right hand kept massaging her left wrist as though she was desperate to look at her watch and call time on this obligatory vis
it. No sign of Charlie though.
I followed the footpath around the side of the building to an enclosed terrace garden that I bet is lovely in the summer, but peering through the wrought iron gate I saw that on this cold damp Spring day it was empty. Empty, except for Charlie Quentin perched on the edge of a garden table, enough to rest against but not enough to get his bum wet. Circling him was Rob Beach, hands behind his head rubbing his closely clipped hair as he paced. I pushed myself up against the brick pier, sucked in my belly and held my breath as I peered around through the gate to find out what was happening.
‘I don’t know, fifty grand, that’s a lot,’ said Beach. Fifty? Clearly Charlie has finally understood financial prudence and is setting aside some of his cash windfall for a rainy day. ‘You can definitely afford it?’
‘Yes, for the what, fifteenth time. I’m good for it. And I want decent stuff, none of that cheap and nasty shite you sell the schoolkids.’ Clang, the penny dropped: Charlie’s not suddenly become the rainy-day saver, he’s worried that any more than fifty thousand’s worth of whatever he’s into would be difficult to source – the more he asks for, the more it will be cut and watered down to meet the volume.
‘Okay,’ said Beach; from the way he’d stopped pacing and was now standing, arms crossed, feet apart, I could tell he’d reached a decision. My phone buzzed in my pocket, bollocks, luckily I’d had the foresight to switch to silent mode, but I was still concerned the vibration could be heard, carried through the quiet afternoon still air. Muscle memory knew exactly how to kill the call without needing to look at it. I drew in a slow long breath, grateful that the sound hadn’t carried.
‘I can get you fifty grand’s worth, I need to make a few calls, but I think I can have it here day after tomorrow,’ said Beach. Charlie thanked him and looked relaxed, until Beach added, ‘Cash up front.’
‘Oh shut up Rob, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not giving you cash up front, what sort of mug do you think I am?’