A Death to Remember (15 page)

‘
The twelfth.’

‘
Yes. That gives you a fix.’

‘
If I need what you call a fix. Certainly it does.’

‘
Your life would be very full at that time. The second wedding coming up, and all that.’

‘
What are you leading up to?’ she demanded suspiciously.

‘
Michael had an assistant, Colin Rampton. He died at about the same time. An accident at the garage – Pool Street Motors.’ I waited. Enlightenment cleared her features.

‘
I see now. I get what you mean. Yes, of course. Poor Michael had been training him to take over for the honeymoon, and the poor young man...something terrible happened.’

‘
A car fell on him.’

Her
lips moved with distaste. ‘Something unpleasant, yes. It put Michael in a terrible fix. A month before the honeymoon – we flew to Bermuda, you know.’

‘
I didn’t know. Sounds very exciting.’

‘
Not the way you say it.’

‘B
ut you did manage to get away all right?’

‘
Michael did what was necessary. Phoned around, or whatever. It meant his clients just had to wait. He was furious, I remember.’

‘
Yes, of course he’d be. But he’d cope.’

‘
And you wanted to know
that
?
’

I
shrugged. ‘Another piece in a jigsaw puzzle. I just wondered how he found time to sort out the books for Pool Street Motors for Clayton.’ At her expression I added: ‘Somebody sorted out something, and in a hurry. New account books appeared almost overnight. I just wondered why.’

‘
Why not ask him?’ she said, a little sourly because she couldn’t understand what it was all about. ‘He’s here now.’

There
was the crunch of gravel on the drive out front. She touched my arm, perhaps in warning. Laddie led us into the hall, but I noticed it was without enthusiasm. I heard his key in the front door and watched his shadow through the patterned glass. He walked in, eyes down.

‘
Get down, boy,’ he said, though Laddie wasn’t getting up. He saw me, and stood there, swinging his bunch of keys at the end of the chain he kept them on. Then he slid them into his trouser pocket, put down his document case, and moved forward. Say this of him, he’d had no warning, only that there was a car outside, yet he took it in his stride.

‘
Well, Clifford...It’s always good to see you. And how are you now?’

‘
Very well, thank you.’

Neither
of us made any significant move towards shaking hands. He stood there by the door, aware that I’d been about to leave and doing nothing to detain me. The silence was awkward, and Val, always with an ear to social nuances, spoke quickly, lightly.

‘
Clifford was asking about that time, just before the wedding...you’ll remember, Michael...’

She
stopped. I’d cleared my throat. I had no wish to ask Orton about it. He, without any change of features or gesture, had conveyed that the period in question was still very close to the forefront of his mind, and he did not wish to speak about it, either. Val was always keenly perceptive. She gestured quickly.

‘
But you don’t want to talk about that.’

This
had lasted no more than a second, but it was enough for him. He gave an easy laugh and turned to hang up his light tweed topcoat. ‘Why don’t I? You do make mysteries, Val.’ He turned back, jerking down his cuffs, presenting a picture of the ideal, clean, beautifully-tailored, slim and confident executive.

‘
It was nothing,’ I said quietly, making it sound nothing. ‘I was explaining that I’m suffering from a small loss of memory.’

‘
I’m sorry to hear that.’ Head inclined, suggesting that confidences would always be respected. ‘Must be tiresome.’

‘
Mostly that one day. The day of the assault.’

‘
It happens, I hear, with concussion. I wish I could help.’

I
glanced sideways at Val, who’d seemed poised to intervene. ‘Perhaps you can.’

‘
Anything. Just ask.’

‘
I’d rather like to see the books that Pool Street Motors were keeping at that time. They’re all new ones now. I believe you’re holding the old ones.’

His
eyes shut me out at once. Bleak, even resentful. ‘Sorry. Anything but that.’

I
pretended not to notice the opposition, and smiled at Val, partly to prevent her from intervening, partly to give the impression that it wasn’t important. ‘It was just...you understand...that I thought seeing them again might bring something back.’

‘
Unlikely.’

‘
But a new set of accounts
was
opened,’ I said blandly.

‘
The originals were appalling.’

‘
And as the old ones are way out of date now, I thought you wouldn’t object.’

‘
You must be quite mad,’ he said lightly. ‘There’s a question of ethics. My client’s accounts are confidential.’

‘
Oh...come on.’

‘
And you’re no longer an official of the...’

‘
Then why be scared of me seeing them?’ I asked, smiling. He made an angry sound, and thrust past me. Val made a movement to follow him, but paused.

‘
How dared you, Clifford!’ she said angrily. ‘You cheated me.
That
was not what you mentioned.’

‘
Not cheated you. Not that. I said what came into my head, just as something to annoy him. Now Val...you know me. I simply love watching him stalk out like that.’

She
pouted at me, but there was amusement in her eyes. She followed me into the drive. The light was going rapidly. She caught my arm, and I was aware that there’d been far too much physical contact. I paused, looking round at her.

‘
That was a lie, wasn’t it?’ she asked softly. ‘Why
did
you come here, Cliff?’

‘
To see you. To thank you for paying the garaging fees on the Volvo.’

She
bit her lip and shook her head. I had a way of annoying her, too, but there was no pleasure in it. She’d always hated being thanked, believing that gratitude was in some way akin to condescension. Abruptly, she turned away and ran back into the house.

Orton,
I saw, had not simply noticed the car, he’d opened the door and looked in. That he’d left it open was a gesture of contempt for what its driver might think. I got in and drove away. There’d been nothing inside to give him a clue.

I
don’t remember the first half of the journey, down past the sumptuous dwellings with their expensive lawns and sculptured hedges. I’d swung on to the main road, three miles from town, when a hot, wet tongue probed my ear.

I
drew into the side. Laddie, panting with delight and self-congratulation, was sitting on the seat behind me.

‘
Oh, damn you,’ I said to him, aware that I’d have to face a return to Woodstock Heights. He adored praise, and the tongue licked out again. I looked over my shoulder to see whether I could make a U-turn, and Orton’s Rover 3500 came tearing past with a whine.

One
thing I knew; he wasn’t going back for his document case. I set off after him, wondering what had provoked his hurried return to town. I took it steadily. He could only be heading to his office.

The
town has a large and imposing main square, all solid dignity imparted by the old honey-stone buildings that surround it. But when they’d knocked down the old Hippodrome they’d put up a twenty-storey glass and concrete monstrosity. In this, Orton now had his business premises.

I
parked in Reed Street, but couldn’t see his car anywhere. It would’ve been the obvious place. Locking Laddie inside, I walked along to his office block. There was still activity in the lobby. I strolled over to the indicator board: Michael Orton Associates, floor twelve. In a corner was a reception desk, manned by a uniformed attendant. I asked him to call through to Orton’s office. It rang out without answer. He shook his head.

‘
They’ve gone home, sir.’

I
nodded, and walked the lobby for a few minutes, and had just decided to drive back to Val’s place when he walked in through the swing doors. Seeing me, he stopped. I walked up to him. We stood looking at each other, me prepared to be polite.

‘
What’s all this about?’ he demanded. His voice was quiet, but there was a snap in it.

‘
I guessed you were heading here. You passed me on the road.’

‘
So I passed you.’

‘
In a hurry.’

‘
Get out of my way, Summers. I
am
in a hurry.’

‘
I hope you’re not thinking of destroying them. There’s a statutory period that records have to be kept.’

‘
Are you trying to be funny?’ He looked across at the desk. I wondered whether he was thinking of having me thrown out. Then he modified his voice. ‘Look...I’m sorry if that assault affected you. You’re not acting rationally, Clifford, and you must realise that yourself. I had business, something I forgot. Val’s waiting...’

‘B
ut you took time out to call somewhere else.’

‘
Damn you and your inquisitions,’ he snapped. ‘Let me pass.’

I
stepped aside. ‘Where are you parked?’

‘
Now look...’

‘
I’ve got something for you to take back. I’ll wait by your car.’

‘
What? What could
you
have...’

‘
Your dog. You forgot to close my car door, and he jumped inside.’

‘
To hell with the bloody thing!’ he snapped. Then he thrust past me and headed with long angry strides to the lift.

I
found his Rover three cars from mine. I was waiting beside it when he arrived, Laddie sitting on the pavement beside me.

He
unlocked his car without a word, tossing a brown paper parcel on to the passenger’s seat. He opened up the rear door, but Laddie didn’t move. I said: ‘Up, boy.’ Laddie jumped inside. Orton slammed doors, and was away with a grand, tyre-whining swing into the flow of traffic.

I
guessed that the place he’d called at on the way would have been Pool Street Motors. I drove round there, but it was dark and silent and deserted. Shrugging, I used their forecourt to swing round, and headed back towards the park.

Twice
I’d seen Orton swinging his set of keys on its chain. It had reminded me of something. I still had the three keys I’d taken from the Volvo’s ignition lock. One of them fitted the side door to the Social Security office.

10

The office car park was always left open, the building being too far from the shopping centre to attract the general public. In the old days I’d have driven inside, parked openly, walked into the building, flooding it with light, and given it not a second thought. Now I left the car on the park perimeter road and walked across in the shadows. Slipping the key in the lock, I felt like a crook. I did not dare to touch a light switch, but this was March, after the winter period when blinds would be lowered against draughts, and before the sun was too strong. All the blinds were raised. The streetlights would be sufficient.

I
had a yearning to do two things, discover the address of Charlie Graham, if it was on record, and get another look at the file on George Peters. I knew there wasn’t much chance, unless the normal security arrangements had been slack.

Downstairs
in the main Benefits sections most of the records were in small drawers, themselves in cabinets. Each block of drawers should have been secured by a lockable bar that came down the front. All the bars were in place. I found the drawer containing Ga to Gr. The bar was secure. The chance had been slim. His General Benefit Unit would have been in there only if Charlie Graham had made a claim at some time. My weakest screwdriver in the car would have broken that bar away, but I shrank from actual damage.

I
walked upstairs, and along to Contributions Section. Here, in the large drawer cabinets, would be kept the file for George Peters. Each cabinet had its own lock, set simply by thumb-pressing the cylinder home. Sometimes they’re left open. What burglar would search here? This one did. The cabinet was locked.

Experience
told me that a set of keys would be lying in the supervisor’s drawer, this probably unlocked. I’d have made a lousy lawbreaker; my thought was that to open that desk drawer would be an intrusion.

Disappointed,
I turned away, and the lights snapped on. My nerves jerked.

‘
I might have guessed,’ she said, on an indrawn breath.

‘
You didn’t know?’

‘
I saw movement through the windows. The odds were it was you.’

‘F
or God’s sake!’ I shouted. ‘You walked in here not knowing? It could’ve been somebody violent.’

‘
It
is
somebody violent,’ Nicola said.

Then
we looked at each other, and laughed. I lifted my shoulders. ‘I still had my key.’

‘
You
are
a fool, Cliff,’ she said, striding past me. ‘I could have done what you wanted. And gladly.’

‘
That was the reason,’ I said quietly.

She
slammed the desk drawer, the bunch of keys in her hand. ‘You knew darned well the keys were here.’

‘
I’ve got no right...’

‘
Well...I have.’ She stopped in front of me. ‘D’you think you can afford these paltry principles?’

‘
The snag is...’ I grinned ‘...I don’t know whether I’ve got any, paltry or not, so I’m playing safe.’

‘
Yes,’ she said. ‘I see.’ But she obviously didn’t. ‘I suppose you want the George Peters file again?’

I
nodded. She unlocked the cabinet marked: Pa – Pz. Somebody’s idea of a joke, that was.

‘
Here,’ she said. ‘Let’s go into my office.’ She thrust the file at me.

I
followed her along the corridor. No worry now about the lights being on. She sat me at the desk, the file in front of me.

‘
And I suppose you want Charlie Graham’s address?’ she asked.

‘
If you would,’ I said weakly.

For
a moment she stared down at me, then she marched out. When she returned I still hadn’t opened the file. I hadn’t dared to, in case everything had changed inside there too.

‘
There it is,’ she said, putting under my nose a piece of paper with an address on it. ‘Charles Vincent Graham, aged twenty-three. Sure to be him. Last incapacity two years back. Nasal sores and mucus excess.’

‘
What?’ I said, lifting my head in surprise. ‘Is that a doctor’s version of a common cold?’

She
drew up a chair. Our knees touched. ‘You’re a great innocent, Cliff. Those are the classic symptoms of cocaine sniffing.’

‘
Oh Lord!’

I
stared at the slip of paper. Would he still be at that address, I wondered.

‘
Come on,’ said Nicola, wriggling in the chair. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

‘
I’d rather not.’

‘
You con me into helping you, and you think you’re going to tell me nothing! Let me tell you...’

‘
That’s the trouble, you see.’

‘
What’s the trouble, for heaven’s sake?’

‘
I’ve been to see my ex-wife. Ex, Nicola. Our marriage broke down. I don’t know what she’s like now – she’s changed a lot – but when we were married she was overbearing and wanted to run my life. That’s why it broke down. Opposites are supposed to attract. We didn’t. She accused me of being weak and stubborn. Damn it, Nicola, you don’t have to nod. Maybe I am. Weak...and stubborn because it’s the only defence I’ve got. I don’t know.’

‘
Is this getting somewhere?’

She
was frowning fiercely, and on Nicola a frown was powerful, bringing into play a whole range of creases and wrinkles that made her look like a fretful gnome.

‘
It’s just that – seeing Val – it’s made me realise I’ve got to do this myself. On my own.’

‘
You’re not making sense. Why did seeing your ex-wife make you realise that?’

‘
You two, Val and you, you’re so much alike.’

‘
In what way?’ Her voice was deep, dangerous.

‘
You’re taking me over, Nicola. You’re bossing me. I’m sorry, but it might be that I shan’t like it. And then where’ll we be?’

Her
mouth was all screwed up in such a way that I couldn’t tell what it meant. Then it unfolded itself, and she was laughing at me.

‘
Oh, you poor dear. That depends where you want us to be.’

‘
I don’t know,’ I said miserably.

‘
Well...’ she said, ‘I do. So just let me do the deciding. Then, when you’re all sorted out, you can take over. All right? Say yes, damn you.’

‘
Yes,’ I said. ‘Damn you.’

‘
Right. Now start by telling me what’s happened.’

I
told her what had happened, including my attempt to get a sight of the Pool Street Motors books.

‘
And now you’ve told me,’ she said, ‘you can hardly refuse to let me help you.’

‘
I can, you know.’

‘
Why?’ she demanded forcefully. ‘You’re too damned awkward for words.’

‘
Because George Peters finished up in a black plastic bag, that’s why. And if you ask me, you’re more bloody awkward than I am.’

She
nodded. ‘We’ll see about that. Now tell me – why did you want to see the George Peters file again?’

I
opened it. The withdrawal he’d signed was still there. Nothing had changed. I had become so dependent on my memory of George writing his statement, that the withdrawal had begun to seem unreal, a nightmare not yet dissolved. But it was real enough. I touched it. Yes...real.

I
sighed.

‘
What?’ she asked.

‘
I was hoping I’d imagined this.’

‘
It’s definite enough.’

‘
If it’d only been in ball-point, I might have accepted it more easily.’

She
was smiling at me, nodding. ‘Why?’

‘
I might well have been carrying a spare ball-point.’

‘B
ut it’s definitely in ink.’ She had her head tilted, considering me carefully. ‘What’s the matter?’

A
stress pain had shot into my head, behind my eyes, almost blinding me. I sat still, waiting. Gradually, it subsided.

‘
Are you all right?’ She was looking at me anxiously.

‘
Yes, it’s gone now.’ I smiled. She shook her head. But a thought had sprung forward, waiting to be claimed, and I’d lost it.

She
put a forefinger on the withdrawal. ‘You can’t argue against fact, Cliff.’

The
residue of the pain reminded me I’d nearly trapped an important thought. I felt irritated. The anger streamed from me.

‘B
ut I remember Peters writing a
statement
. I saw that. It’s how I remember things, in pictures. I can’t remember names. Sometimes I can’t remember people, until I can get a mental image of when I saw them before, and put ‘em in a setting. It’s how I am. And I remember
that
. He was left-handed, and he was cursing the oblique nib, because it’s right-handed, but in fact...’ I slapped the withdrawal note angrily. ‘...
this
fact, he used another pen to write this with, and I don’t remember any of that.’

‘
Easy,’ she said. ‘Easy now, Cliff.’

‘
And I promised Tessa Clayton something, but I can’t remember that, either. And if there’s something I
am
sure about, it’s that I don’t make promises unless I can keep them. So why would I forget that?’

‘
Perhaps you didn’t get time to keep your promise, so you don’t have to get yourself all worked up.’

‘
And I can’t locate my driving licence and the car’s registration.’

‘
They’ll turn up.’

‘
And why had you got my wallet? Why wasn’t it in my pocket? What was it doing in the briefcase?’

‘
Now stop it!’ she said. She stood over me, forcing me to look up at her. ‘That’s enough. There are reasons. Don’t get yourself in a tizz.’

‘
What reasons?’

‘
We’ll find them. Don’t worry, Cliff, we’ll find them.’

‘
But I always carry my wallet in my inside jacket pocket.’

‘
Of course you do.’

‘
But it was in the briefcase.’

‘
All right. So it was.’

‘
I was wearing my green Harris tweed jacket.’

I
stopped. There had been a sudden picture of me, here in this office, shrugging into that jacket, reaching for my anorak and the briefcase with the George Peters file in it. But where was that jacket? I hadn’t seen it since.

‘
I was,’ I said. ‘I
was
.’

‘
If you say so, Cliff. So that’s where your driving licence and the car registration papers are, in your green jacket.’

I
looked at her in desperation. ‘But I haven’t got a green Harris tweed jacket.’ Then I had to put my head down and grab it with both hands in case it burst wide open.

Nicola
was shaking my shoulder. ‘Cliff, Cliff!’

I
raised my head. Her face swam, contorted. ‘And Nicola,’ I said, ‘I
did
take that money.’

‘
But not as a bribe. You didn’t know.’

‘
I
did
know. I’ve remembered. I can see it now, Tessa Clayton with the envelope in her hand, showing it to me, and I knew what it was, and what was in it.’

She
couldn’t say anything, only grip my shoulders and stare at me with her eyes dark with worry. The only comfort would be for her to tell me that what I remembered was false. But she knew I couldn’t face that.

‘
You’d better go home,’ she whispered.

‘
Yes.’

‘
I’ll drive you.’

‘
No. Give me a minute and I can manage.’

‘
All the same...’

‘
I can manage.’

‘
Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I feel like giving you a right thump on the nose. And don’t think I couldn’t.’

I
tried to grin at her. Certainly I managed to get to my feet and stand steadily. ‘I really am all right. It passes. Maybe I’m a bit crazy, but that seems to be a qualification of car drivers these days. Come on, I’ll show you.’

‘
Do you think I dropped in here just to catch you snooping. I wanted to use the phone. Hold on.’