Come Clean (1989) (35 page)

‘Not?’ Lane said.

‘Public knowledge, sir,’ Iles replied. ‘If we had those Chinese wall newspapers it would be on them as well.’

The Chief remained silenced for several seconds. Harpur found it painful to watch. There might come a time, and soon, when Lane would be afraid to open his mouth if Iles were present. Now, when
the Chief spoke again he could only fall back on repetition. ‘Why this change, then?’

‘The Metro in the dock, for a start,’ Iles explained. ‘That unsettled Leo, though he didn’t know the full story, obviously. Then he heard about the arrival of this
sniping boy, Bobby Lentle. Routine research; they watch each other’s staffs, naturally, like any competing businesses. Gerald dug out the background on Bobby, and it shook Tacette. This is a
man already on edge, who had apparently been continually advised by both sons that the Roundhouse was insecure. That clinched it. He’s not sure where the party’s to be instead, but it
doesn’t matter, sir, Loxton can’t switch his preparations in time. And, in any case, he probably doesn’t know about the change. As I understand it, Leo’s letting the
reservation at the Roundhouse stand, as cover.’

Lane stood again and took a few paces. Pointing as if in horror to a wet patch on the carpet where Harpur had spilled some tea, Iles shouted, feverishly: ‘Careful, your lovely socks, sir.
God knows what Colin does in here when frustrated. You don’t want that stuff getting through to your skin.’

‘You’ve spoken to Leo?’ Lane asked.

‘At his restaurant,’ Iles replied. ‘The Chaff. He’s bitter about Benny. Well, what else? But especially because there was apparently some seeming move towards what Leo
called “friendship and understanding”. He meant an alliance, of course, a carve-up. Leo even arranged to take Benny to his golf club for a meeting, letting other members see him,
regardless – that rubbish dump for rabble up behind the King Richard Hotel. Leo intended going through with that anyway when we spoke, to keep things looking sweet, but he’s very
angry.’

‘You ate at Leo’s restaurant, Desmond?’ Lane asked.

‘Sort of, sir. Not what you’d be used to. Not the Savoy Grill.’

‘Wise to go into a place run by someone like that?’ Lane asked, scrabbling for a chance to hit back.

‘Ah, the Stalker syndrome. Depends what you hear when you’re in there. It means we won’t be making cunts of ourselves with three battalions at the Cardinal Street office block,
when the party’s somewhere else.’

‘And he actually spoke to you about marksmen, about possible assassination?’ Lane asked.

‘Coded, sir, naturally. He talked about Lentle’s being “talented”, and rightly assumed I knew what the talents were. And he kept off the actual term
“assassination”, but told me he’d decided not to expose the family “
en masse
”.’

Trying to sort out where this new information took them, Harpur said: ‘Leo will be scared it’s still likely to happen, won’t he – either at this new venue, or somewhere
else, later? All right, it might not be possible to get the whole outfit next time, but business is about compromise.’

‘Yes, he’s very scared,’ Iles replied. ‘I picked up that much. He’s afraid that if Benny has committed himself to an attempt he’ll go through with it,
somehow. Navy resolution.’

‘So there must be a chance that Leo could try to get his move in first,’ Harpur said. ‘Self-defence.’

‘Almost certain,’ Iles replied. ‘Self-defence and rage at the degree of betrayal.’

The Chief grew agitated. ‘Something pre-emptive? Where? Christ, I don’t want this patch becoming site for a full-scale gang battle. I won’t have it. Desmond, how’s this
to be staged? How?’ He never shouted, but his voice had grown high and weak-sounding. His fingers twitched and pulled at the old wool of the cardigan.

Iles stretched out, long-legged and thin in the chair, admiring his pricey-looking, black slip-on shoes. ‘I can’t help there, sir. Leo was talkative in Chaff, but not that talkative,
and not that explicit, either. As I said, coded. I suppose one wouldn’t really expect more – not to tell a police officer the way you meant to knock out a rival villain and his
disciples. It was put to me simply as a business grievance. But perhaps Colin has ideas?’

‘Colin?’ the Chief asked, desperately.

‘Not at this stage, I’m afraid. In any case, although this is all pretty likely, it is hypothetical, isn’t it, sir?’ He directed the question to Iles.

‘The hanged man’s death was hypothetical until the trap door opened,’ the ACC replied.

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Lane muttered. ‘Is it one of your fucking stupid quotes, Desmond? Is it Wittgenstein again? What are you saying?’

Iles smiled in very kindly fashion. ‘Forgive me. I’m a phrasemonger. My mother used to reproach me for it, too, sir. She thought it arrogant. Arrogant! I? What I am saying, sir, put
simply, is that we’re liable to get guns on the streets and a fair quantity of degenerate blood shed fairly soon. Now, you’ll naturally ask, which streets, sir, and to this I
regrettably have to say that I don’t know. But I suppose a confrontation like that might remove a lot of our problems. In boxes. The buggers could wipe one another out. End of rackets, at
least until the arrival of new gangs scenting the pickings here.’

‘Desmond, I won’t have shoot-outs between villains,’ Lane declared.

‘I’m not so sure, sir.’

In the evening, Harpur went up again to Rougemont Place, waiting to see whether Sarah Iles came out once more. This time he moved very gingerly, conscious that Tommy Vit might
be prowling there. Harpur still could not fathom what had gone on last night. Had Sarah led Vit to Ian Aston? If so, what had happened? Apparently Sarah came back all right, or he would have heard
something from Iles. Perhaps Harpur had been mistaken and the Golf in the shadows had contained no watcher. Had it moved away while Harpur was absent, not because Vit had followed Sarah, but
because its owner, living in one of these houses, or visiting, had simply come back to the car and driven off somewhere? That coincidence Harpur could not quite swallow, but it was possible.

This job would be very tricky. If Tommy had been around last night, he might have spotted Harpur in the Viva and be especially alert now. Harpur was using an Astra station wagon this time, but
he still could not risk driving into Rougement Place; supposing he was there, Tommy would be marking every vehicle. Yet if Harpur parked a distance away he might have little chance to get back to
the Astra in time to follow Sarah.

As a start, anyway, he decided he had no real option. He left the car as near as he could to the end of Rougement Place and then began to work his way on foot very slowly and carefully up
towards Iles’s drive again. He did not expect to see the Golf this time, and was right about that; Tommy would probably change his car daily, whether or not he believed he had been spotted.
That was basic in his trade.

Thank God for the upper middle classes’s love of hedges and large front gardens. Harpur found he could keep off the street itself for most of the time. Perhaps someone in one of these
robbable properties would see him and let the dogs loose or, worse still, call the police, but he would have to risk it. He had a pause in one garden and, from behind a couple of hefty shrubs, took
a long look at everything parked near Iles’s place. There were half a dozen cars, none present when he drove through last night. He could make out nobody in any of them, but it was very dark
again and he would not have taken bets. In a minute, he started moving once more, even more slowly and warily now, as he drew near to Iles’s house.

He had become very anxious about Sarah, and wondered whether she knew the danger she was in. She was bright, so she presumably had some idea of the hazards, but, if she kept up her contact with
Aston, it could mean she did not properly understand where she was treading. Either that, or she had decided she must see him, and to hell with the risks. Almost certainly Sarah would be capable of
thinking like that. He had often seen a kind of desperation in her, and maybe this could bring on behaviour that was not always rational: Francis Garland, Sarah’s lover for a long while,
always said she had something wild about her. Of course, Harpur did not know for certain whether she really was still in touch with Aston. Perhaps she had not seen him during the trip out last
night. On that, though, Harpur
would
have taken bets, and he was here only in case she had arranged then to visit him again tonight.

He felt determined to protect her. She was a friend and someone he admired and sympathized with, stuck in that wrong, bleak marriage. Yes, a friend: Harpur felt almost certain he had never
really considered her sexually, except in that general, uncommitted way he might want any woman as good-looking as she was. But he worried about Sarah and wished to help her. He liked her toughness
and bounce, and feared they could bring her to terrible harm. It seemed to him part of his job to stop that happening, if he could. And there was another part. Sarah might lead him to Aston, and he
needed Aston because he might know all sorts. Every sign said he did. Why else would Benny want to find him? Aston might be able to talk about Paynter’s death, for instance. So might Sarah,
of course, but if it was possible he would like to keep her out of all that. Increasingly he felt it would not be possible, though.

Working his way through the front gardens, he eventually found himself looking through the hedge into Iles’s drive from the garden next door. Her Panda was there, but not Iles’s car.
The ACC must be at a function somewhere. Not knowing what to do next, he felt his judgement begin to come unstuck and suddenly he found he wanted to abandon secrecy, ring the front door bell and
ask Sarah to take him with her to Aston. He would explain the perils she and her lover were in, and it might convince her. Only might, though; most likely, Sarah would be full of suspicion,
convinced he wanted to break her love affair, and return her to his colleague, her husband, and to proper behaviour. He couldn’t care less about proper behaviour, hers or his own, but would
he be able to make her believe that? He doubted it. She had her view of police, and the Monty and Aston were escapes. Perhaps Aston was more, but he was that as well.

No, she would not take him voluntarily. But suppose she did not know. Perhaps the only way he could stay with her and remain unobserved by Sarah and Tommy Vit might be by hiding in the Panda. If
he could smuggle himself into the back she might take him to Aston, unaware. He reckoned she probably was not the kind of fussy woman who would lock up in the drive, so there must be a good chance.
For a while he thought about it, and almost abandoned the idea; could somebody of his bulk stay unseen in the rear of that little box? But then he decided he had no choice, a situation he was
growing used to tonight. He pushed through the hedge and, treading as lightly as he could on the gravel, stepped to the car. He found both doors and the hatchback locked. So, that was how well he
understood Sarah. Had any of his assumptions about her tonight been right?

Quickly, he retreated out of the drive the way he had come, and began to make his way back towards the Astra. He felt defeated. The whole expedition had been stupidly conducted, he now realized.
He was not even sure why he had needed to approach the house at all, except to check that she had not already gone out. If he had wanted to spot Tommy Vit, it was a wasted trip, and he should have
known it would be. Tommy was not in advertising.

For a few minutes Harpur’s morale stayed sunk, and his brain refused to operate. Then he slowly recovered. Couldn’t this thing be handled much more simply? Why did he ignore
knowledge he already had? It was obvious that last night Sarah had driven out of the other end of the road, or he would almost certainly have met her as he came back from circling the block. If she
went to see Aston again she must take the same route.

He drove the estate car in the opposite direction around the block to near the junction where he had turned last night after seeing the Golf. There, he pulled in, switched off his lights, and
waited, about fifteen yards from the entrance to Rougement Place. He sank down as low as he could in the car, though he knew that if Vit came up here and had a look it would be all up. But, with
any luck, Tommy’s interest would be totally taken up with Idylls and Rougement Place.

After only twenty minutes the Panda appeared, with Sarah driving, and turned away from him at the junction. Harpur started the engine, but did not light up yet and stayed where he was. After
another couple of minutes a yellow Opel that had been one of the half-dozen cars near Iles’s house came out of Rougement Place and followed the Panda. At the wheel was a man who could be
Tommy. Harpur gave him a fair distance, then put on his lights and went after both of them. So, if Vit was watching, it indicated that Benny still wanted Aston, and that must mean he did not know
about the switch from the Roundhouse and regarded the attack as still on. It meant Sarah Iles was driving to a very sombre situation. Harpur knew he should have had help, and that he should have
been armed. But how could he have asked for help to tail the Assistant Chief’s wife to a love meeting with a villains’ messenger boy and odd-job man? And how would he have explained to
the armoury that he might need a handgun to protect her?

They seemed to be driving down towards the Valencia Esplanade area. That would make sense; anyone who wanted to go to ground might choose rooms in one of those big, old, multi-flatted houses,
where few tenants remained for very long, and where people did not talk much about who they were or where they had come from, or where they would be moving to next. Harpur still kept far back from
Tommy’s Opel. It meant a danger of losing them, especially if other vehicles came between, but to go closer would be like lighting up neon to tell Vit he was there. Of course, for all Harpur
knew, Tommy had him spotted already. People like Vit were not just good at tailing, they could feel when they were being followed themselves. Well, what else, when they lived by all the gambits?
The Panda was far ahead, and could be any one of several sets of rear lights. He had to rely on Tommy to know which and to stay with her. Perhaps he would be so busy keeping track that he would not
have time to watch his mirror. Yes, perhaps.