Come Clean (1989) (16 page)

‘Once in a while or twice or three times. Look, Col, I’ll try to be reasonable, really try.’ He seemed to be losing the battle with himself and now he began to shout in those
strange, high, metallic tones, sounding like son of Robocop. He still looked firmly ahead. ‘There’s no point in tearing one’s self to pieces over a bloody woman, no point at
all.’

‘We all have problems, sir.’

‘Sorry, am I hogging the picture? Yes, there’s – well, all that stuff: your marriage. I shouldn’t go on.’ Once again he quietened. ‘Erogynous asked in his
stylish, roundabout way whether I wanted Aston done over: something fairly disabling, long-lasting and character-forming. It could be handled by a team, but I refused absolutely. One can’t
let one’s own people carry out something like that, it’s improper, though the offer was so British of him, gentlemanly.’

‘He’s coming up on a promotion board, sir.’

‘All the same. And he’s not even in the Lodge.’

‘Some of them enjoy an occasional outing. They say it tones the muscles.’

‘Well, I expect I’ll work something out privately to cope with Mr Aston.’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh, much better privately. I certainly don’t want anyone dead, Col.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘What’s he like, this Aston?’

‘Fair. Baby-faced.’

‘Can’t compete there, then. If you think about it, I suppose Garland was the same. Could be what she’s after these days. Is she proving to herself she can still pull the kids,
or at least kid look-alikes? Garland, some kid! Additionally, what interests me, has Aston got anyone else at the same time? I mean, who’s transmitting to me altogether, what fraction of the
world’s leg-over and legs-open population?’

‘Something we all have to ask ourselves, these days, sir. Yes. Aids is very democratic.’

‘You could sell that as a slogan.’

‘Here’s Ralphy’s.’ They went into the club. Although it was mid-morning, Ralph still had his dressing-gown on, an old, heavy, fawn and beige job, with a tasselled sash,
like something in an eventide home for the irredeemably naff. Harpur would have expected a much sexier, more colourful item, say shiny yellow or scarlet, with narrow, black trim.

‘Old place looking grand, Ralph,’ Iles said, gazing appreciatively about. ‘Panelling behind the bar. It’s a real touch of venerable quality. Even with the sun shining in,
things seem nice. Some clubs in daylight, well, right tips: frowsy carpets, snot on the wallpaper. Here, though, there’s a feel of, I wouldn’t say opulence, but something decently close
to hygiene and odourlessness. Myself, I don’t mind full ashtrays. Better than on the floor, surely.’

‘What can I get you, gentlemen?’ Ralph asked. He had been talking to them on the customers’ side of the bar, but went behind it now and waved a hand at the shelves, showing the
range of what was on offer. Iles had his favourite ‘old tart’s drink’, a port and lemon, Harpur cider laced with gin. Ralph drew himself a beer and pulled the dressing-gown
tighter around his chest, like a woman worried about showing too much.

‘We think we might have had a bit of an incident in the vicinity, Ralph,’ Iles told him.

‘Yes? Incident? I don’t think I can help you in that respect.’

‘We’re talking to all sorts,’ Harpur said. ‘Nice type of membership still?’

‘Ideal. Decent, homely people, skilled artisan types and their loved ones – looking for a little relaxation, a quiet evening, with perhaps a modest laugh.’

‘That’s it. Very heartening,’ Iles said. ‘It’s in spots like this that one sees the strength of Britain, the enduring saneness and generosity of spirit.’

‘We’re talking about five or six nights ago,’ Harpur told Ralph Ember.

‘Nothing comes to mind,’ he replied.

‘It might be a false tip,’ Harpur said. ‘We have to follow every possibility in a matter as big as this.’

‘It’s that important?’ Ralph asked.

‘You don’t think Harpur would be out of bed so early if it wasn’t important, Ralphy? I mean, look at you, still in that bloody horse blanket, and your false teeth in the glass,
I bet.’

Harpur felt sorry for Ralph. He could see him urgently trying to work out why this inquiry took an Assistant Chief, and especially an Assistant Chief as malevolent as this one. And also trying
to work out how much this Assistant Chief knew about his wife’s night-time habits. For somebody with his nickname Panicking Ralph was putting on a very reasonable show.

‘What’s through there, Ralphy?’ Iles asked.

‘Toilets.’ He prepared more drinks.

Iles walked over and opened the door to the corridor. ‘And the fire exit? Where does that come out?’

‘A yard we use as a car park.’

Iles entered the corridor. In a few moments, they heard him push the fire doors open. Harpur said: ‘Ralph, I gather that in the old days, when Valencia Esplanade was really something,
businessmen and so on used to come through the short-cut from down there and do half their deals in the Monty.’

Ralph welcomed the chit-chat. ‘I’ve got some interesting pictures of it then, one with the mayor of the day standing just about where you are now, Mr Harpur.’

Iles came back. ‘How long’s the builder’s rubbish container been there, Ralph?’

‘Few weeks.’

‘When was it last emptied?’

‘Emptied?’

‘Let’s put it another way,’ Iles said amiably. ‘Emptied.’

‘Well, I don’t know. What sort of important incident?’

Iles sat down with his drink and spoke in very confidential fashion, as to a revered partner. ‘We’re rather interested in three people, Ralph. First, a lad called Justin
Paynter?’

Ralph thought about this. ‘No, not a name that means anything. A member?’

‘Possibly dis-membered.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘About twenty-four, five, dark hair, well-dressed.’

‘Well, we get a lot like that. I insist on certain standards of turn-out here.’

‘Good,’ Iles said.

‘We wondered whether he’d been involved in any bother here lately – a fight, argument, anything like that,’ Harpur said.

‘I won’t permit fracases or squaring up of any sort, Mr Harpur. That’s another factor I’m very strict on. Have to be. A club like this, reputation is so vital.’

‘This is very true,’ Iles said. ‘We heard he could have stepped out of line and found trouble, as a result.’

‘Perhaps he did,’ Ember said, ‘but not here. Not to my knowledge at all.’

Iles took a decorous sip of his port. ‘What sort of women do you get in here these days, Ralph?’

Harpur watched Ember trying urgently to sort out the implications of this. Then he replied: ‘Oh, an extremely nice class of woman, Mr Iles, I’m pleased to say. What they all know
very well is that I won’t have slags. Pleasant wholesome women, a full credit to any gathering, quiet dressers, no spitting or blasphemy or scrapping over men, no clawing. Out they go,
anything like that, even a hint, and out they stay. Reputation. A place like this, as you said, Mr Harpur – Mr Harpur and I were discussing history while you were outside, Mr Iles –
this place has a fine past to be considered, dignitaries of this whole region, makers of it, indeed, meeting in the Monty, sitting here in the old days, talking business and municipal advance, and
thank God for them. I see myself as something of a guardian of that history, if that’s not vainglorious.’

‘Hardly,’ Iles said. ‘No, I certainly would not term it vainglorious. Would you call it vainglorious, Col?’

‘Never.’

Ralph went on, ‘Am I going to let easy pieces soil this tradition, pressing their random fannies on the same redolent upholstery? Well.’ He took some beer. ‘Look, I know this
is not White’s or the Cavalry Club, but I do insist on sterling standards, on members being spruce and
comme il faut
top to toe, and if possible good with conversation and interesting
hobbies, that sort of person. We have people discussing all sorts here, not just playing pool or feeding the fruit machines. You’ll hear conversations about great music, such as Elgar and
others, or politics, Dr David Owen, summitry. Many’s the extremely lively –’

‘Does my wife come here?’ Iles said.

Ralph was leaning forward, with his elbows on the bar as he talked. He straightened now and pulled the dressing-gown tight again, frowning, half-smiling, while he considered this. ‘Would I
know Mrs Iles?’

‘What I’m asking you, cunt,’ Iles replied.

‘Your wife?’

Iles sat staring at him.

‘But what I mean, I don’t think I would recognize your wife, Mr Iles. I take it you’re asking if she comes here other than in your company. Obviously, I’d recognize her
if you were together, but you mean solo?’ Harpur considered Ember was still handling this with flair.

Iles said: ‘She’s blonde, slim, pretty, thirty-six, looks a bit pent-up, but, then, maybe when she’s here she doesn’t.’

‘And you’ve reason to think she comes to the Monty? With friends, perhaps?’

‘Who exactly was in here the night of this incident with Justin Paynter took place, Ralph?’ Iles replied.

‘Which incident was that? Who’s the boy?’

‘Was she here?’

Ralph sighed: ‘I’m really out of my depth on this one.’

‘Yes?’ Iles said. ‘Ralphy, please do try not to piss me about, would you?’

‘Who are your regulars these days, Ralph? Who might have been in the club that evening?’ Harpur asked.

‘But which evening, Mr Harper?’

‘Five nights ago, maybe six. Say, Tuesday, Wednesday.’

‘That’s not easy. Well, crowds here most nights, people in and out.’

Iles produced his wallet. ‘Here’s a picture of my wife.’ Harpur could see it cost him plenty to do this, as if delivering up the photograph to someone of Ember’s quality
soiled her more and put the ACC irrecoverably into Panicking Ralph’s hands. Iles did not get up but gave the picture to Harpur, who was standing at the bar, so he could pass it over. Maybe
Iles could not bring himself to make the transfer direct.

Harpur glanced at the snapshot. It showed Sarah grinning at the camera in that open, breezy way of hers, wearing what seemed to be a fairly ancient green track suit and trainers. Her fair hair
was done in a pony tail and she looked young, relaxed, very beautiful and happy. Anyone could see why a husband would choose this picture of his wife to carry, and why he might be driven to
frantic, dangerous rage at the thought of losing her. Harpur handed it to Ralph.

He studied it. ‘Very lovely lady, Mr Iles, if I may say.’

‘Easy to remember.’

‘Not all are as beautiful as Mrs Iles, by no means, but we do see a lot of ladies here, mingling, milling about, dancing, that sort of thing. I find it difficult, even with somebody so
grand-looking.’

Harpur thought he could detect sweat shining on Ralph’s cheekbones and across his forehead in a thin, unostentatious line. Ember gazed at the picture. He had been holding it up in front of
him, but a slight tremor started in his arm and he put the photograph down on the bar near his beer glass and bent forward intently over it. Then he raised his head and faced the ACC squarely.
‘On balance, I’d say no, Mr Iles. I don’t seem to recognize her, though I admit she could have been in the club sometime, and it’s gone from my memory. As you say, one
shouldn’t forget looks like that, but faces, when you think back, they sort of merge, you know what I mean? When you’re seeing them in a changing crowd, and myself busy with running the
place and so on.’

‘Up here night after night, is she?’ Iles asked. ‘That the bloody truth of it?’

Ralph handed the picture back to Harpur, who passed it to Iles. ‘I’ve given my considered opinion, Mr Iles, subject to error, I readily concede.’

‘Aston,’ Iles replied. ‘That’s the third one we’re concerned about. He a member?’

Ralph paused. ‘Ian Aston? Yes, I think we do have an Ian Aston.’

‘Yes. Regular?’

‘Like most of them, Mr Iles, they look in when they feel like it.’ He smiled bravely. ‘That’s the club trade. No one place can expect to keep anybody’s custom to
itself, unfortunately.’

‘Bring women here?’

‘Ian? Oh, now and then. Yes, he has lots of friends, women and men. Popular sort.’

‘Have you seen my wife with him?’

‘With Ian?’

‘That’s it.’ Iles spoke slowly. ‘Have you seen the woman in that picture here with Aston?’

‘As I said, Mr Iles, I don’t –’

‘She come up here to find him, meet him?’

‘We haven’t seen Ian for some little while, as a matter of fact.’

‘Why would that be?’ Harpur asked, eager to turn the questions to some other topic than Sarah, before Iles went ape again.

‘Ian has his business interests, I believe,’ Ralph replied. ‘Quite a private person – I don’t mean stand-offish, anything like that, but discreet? He has to travel
now and then. Yes, there are periods when we miss him.’

‘When did he disappear?’ Harpur asked.

Ralph chuckled. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say disappear. Sounds like a fairy tale, a puff of smoke and he was gone, and so on.’

‘How long since you’ve seen him?’

‘Now, that’s difficult. He didn’t say he was going, anything like that. Why should he? Am I my members’ keeper, as it were? It’s just that you notice after a while
that you haven’t seen someone. Do you know what I mean? Somebody will say, “Haven’t seen Ian Aston lately” and then, when you think, you realize you haven’t seen him
yourself. Like that.’

‘Is it about five or six days?’ Harpur asked.

‘Gone for that period?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you suggest that?’ Then Ralph rapped the bar with his fingers and chuckled again. ‘Oh, I see, you’re still on about that, are you, Mr Harpur – the
mysterious incident?’

‘That’s it. I thought that perhaps Ian Aston was involved, or saw something, and that would explain why he’s not about.’

‘Involved in what, though, Mr Harpur? Saw what?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Wouldn’t I love to, if I knew what we were talking about? I’m sorry, though, I don’t.’

‘So it is something like five or six days?’

‘I think I’ve said, I don’t know,’ Ralph replied, with dignity.

Iles stood suddenly, stepped to the bar and grabbed Ralph by the lapels of his dressing-gown, pulling him forward and holding his face close to Iles’s own. ‘I asked you a fucking
question, Ralphy,’ he shouted.