Pix (Volume Book 24) (Harpur & Iles Mysteries) (2 page)

‘It's not just possessions missing. There's this . . . well . . . another aspect altogether.'

‘What's that, Manse?'

‘Another aspect altogether.'

‘Right. I think I'm getting the outline, Manse. I'm learning more from you than I've got so far from these two fuckers, but that's going to change, believe me. They have their own damn rivalries and venom. Who can tell what they'll get up to?'

‘Which two fuckers? Was there three of them? More?'

‘They assume they can read my wishes, Manse, and they go ahead crudely, grossly, and
very, very
wrongly. Yes, amok, you've got it. You –'

‘Why was they in my place at all? I mean, why?'

‘No sense of what's appropriate.'

‘In a Paul Mixtor-Hythe suit, not reach-me-down.'

‘Well, yes,' Chandor said. ‘That would probably be right.'

‘Black slip-ons, Charles Laity by the look.'

‘You know how it can be with staff. They imagine they're being helpful but fall into excess.'

‘This is the kind of thing that could upset children not just now but lifelong. They see something bad and also a sudden lack on walls where they're used to beauty, vividness, warmth. And so they'll come to regard disappointment as normal.'

‘You can relax, Manse. The rectory will be just as you
like it and a credit to you. Kids of their age ask damned embarrassing questions, I know. Sharp-eyed. They notice things.'

‘Well, of course they fucking notice things. If there's something like that dumped here they're going to notice, aren't they? It's unusual.'

‘Point taken, Manse.'

‘I don't understand how you got people like that working for you.'

‘I'm going to think about them after this, believe me, Manse. Staff reappraisal annually under seven main headings, including Balance and Tact. Well, have we been getting any of that? Hardly. They mean well, but –'

‘Mean well to who?'

‘Your place will be perfect,' Chandor replied. ‘Or something in lieu.'

‘In fucking
what
?'

‘In lieu – instead, Manse.'

‘There's no instead for them items off of the walls.'

‘I meant if they've already gone, or something like that.'

‘What's that mean?'

‘What?'

‘ “Something like that.” '

‘Suppose they've been moved on.'

‘Moved on how?' Shale replied.

‘Like sold. If they've been sold to some middleman already, perhaps for freighting abroad, collectables. In that case, the absolutely total money will come to you, Manse. I'll get it out of the two fuckers, I promise.'

‘I don't want the money. I want the items.' That business colleague, Panicking Ralphy Ember, had taught Manse never to be clear on the telephone because of intercepts, and to use general words like ‘items' or ‘aspect' when things was sensitive. And Manse did not have no doubt – these things now
was
sensitive. Chandor seemed careful, too. Even landlines could be tapped, especially if you thought of someone like that fucker, Assistant Chief, Iles. He did what he wanted.

‘Or, if they've taken a knock-down price for them on
account of haste, I'll make it up to you from my individual funds, Manse,' Chandor said. ‘You quote me the average cost from any auction catalogue within the last six months and that's the price you'll get from myself, no haggling, plus five per cent for disturbance. I wish to avoid the least grievance on your part at this juncture.'

‘Which?'

‘What which, Manse?'

‘Juncture.'

‘This moment in time.'

‘But why is this moment in time a juncture?' Shale replied. ‘That's what I'm getting at. What is it makes this moment in time a juncture? Why are you in my place at all? You're someone who's hardly been set up in this region for any duration, but you're into my property. This is a fucking
rectory
for Christ's sake. Do you know rectories? I say this operation got your mark on it, but I don't really know your mark because you're so new, but I'd just guess it's your mark not to leave a mark because that's the sort you are and coming here from London.'

‘I wouldn't want to upset you at this juncture or moment in time, or any other, Manse – I wish to avoid causing you grievance ever. That goes without saying.'

The sod
did
say it, though. He wanted friendliness. His people had done everything wrong, or that was his tale. Chandor would try to put patches on. Shale said: ‘How can I get the price from catalogues? They never been sold. They been here all the time since I bought them. They're not going to be in no catalogue.'

‘The equivalent, Manse. Things that match them more or less for age, type and distinction. The internet will tell us. It's the same as if you wanted to price a certain 2004 Bentley, you would not need to have the actual car itself there, you could look up what models of that year and type were going at.'

‘What fucking Bentley?'

‘As an illustration, Manse.'

‘It's not like Bentleys. Every one of them items is different from every other one. This isn't carburettors and
handbrakes. There isn't no
equivalent
, not for me. That's what I'm telling you. These items are items. They got a particular value, especially one of them, and this value is not re money. Spiritual. Historic.'

‘In its way, this is really touching,' Chandor replied.

‘What's that mean?'

‘What?'

‘ “In its way”.'

‘Yes, in its way. When I say “touching”, I have in mind the warmth of your evident commitment to these articles. And a further snag, you say? Well, you can really relax, Manse. I've got this rectory situation very much in hand.'

‘Shall I leave a key somewhere?'

‘To what, Manse?'

‘The house.'

‘To the rectory? That's a kindness in you. But I don't think they'll need it, will they? As you said.'

‘And keep them away from the safes.'

‘Two, aren't there?' Chandor replied. ‘Study-den, drawing room – which is the armoury. I don't want you to fret about these at all, Manse. Out of bounds. I'll tell them – “Study-den safe, drawing-room safe right out of fucking bounds.” Both Chubbs? Combination, not keys? Study-den safe for cash and private accounts?'

‘When you say “in hand” does that mean you'll be there to control your maniacs – you as you, not just fucking Rufus?'

‘Rest assured, I want to look at this constructively,' Chandor replied at once.

‘There's considerable stains,' Shale replied.

‘Often a way to deal with that kind of thing as a stopgap remedy is actually to
over
stain with, say, coffee or Horlicks, as through an accident, and then redecorate at leisure. Disguise. The chief, short-term objective now is to account to the children for the discoloration, you'll agree. Or sauce. Might you have been carrying a sauce bottle with a loose top, or no top at all, in that area and stumbled? This kind of treatment makes the original stains a nuisance still, but unsinister. We'll see to it.'

‘Which area?' Of course, Shale knew which area, but asked in case the gabby sod gave himself away by saying the snag with his throat snagged was on the staircase.

‘The area of the staining,' Chandor said.

‘Another thing I don't get.'

‘What's that, Manse?'

‘How come you know about the safes and Severalponds, and the names – Laurent, Matilda? You building a dossier? What the fuck for? You been here no time, but you got a file on me?'

‘These are great child names,' Chandor replied. ‘A royal dimension to “Matilda”. She nearly had the English throne. A warrior lady. Twelfth century? But why am I telling you, Manse? This would obviously be in your mind when you and your wife picked that name. I always think names are significant. You've got a bird called Lowri, haven't you? That's Welsh. And your wife, Sybil, is over in Wales on an alternative lifestyle, right? One can come across all kinds of odd links and connections through names. But Lowri's second name, Billsborough, not Welsh at all. Weird. You eat late on these Sundays, don't you? Look, the least I can do in view of all this – if you give me your order on the mobile when you're, say, an hour from the rectory with the children, I'll get meals sent over from the takeaway, Chinese or Indian, simply decide and let me know – chutneys, garlic bread, anything.'

Shale often drove the Jaguar himself these days following the extremely problematical death of his chauffeur, Denzil.
*
He'd have to speed a bit to make the Severalponds meeting at six o'clock. That search of the rectory and then the conversation with Hilaire Chandor had been necessary but they messed up Manse's timetable. He always liked to be at Severalponds ahead of Sybil and the children, as a courtesy factor, and because he did not want them wandering unaccompanied in the service station building.

He went back to the naked drawing-room wall safe
before starting out and fully loaded one of the Heckler and Koch automatics, then waist-holstered it. Lately, he'd begun to prefer this to shoulder harness. Unless you had some shapeless bloody anorak on, a shoulder holster would generally produce a bulge and scream ‘Gun aboard!' But a jacket covered the waist weapon without no evidence of it.

He liked to dress in decent style when going to Severalponds. It gave a ceremonial flavour. As a matter of fact, he had a couple of made-to-measure Paul Mixtor-Hythe suits himself. Sybil and the children must not see he came armed on a family occasion such as this. That would brand him so damn thuggish and jumpy, like someone who had a job with Hilaire Wilfrid Chandor. Manse always did go armed on these Severalponds runs. This was no exceptional precaution tonight – not brought on only through that trouble at the rectory and the call to Chandor. Shale never felt at ease in service stations. The crowds and the wide-openness of the car park and the restaurants worried him. That had been so even before Chandor showed off all his dirty research earlier. And so, tool up as standard. They had put a jolly sort of country-scene name on this place, Severalponds, because in old times there must of been several ponds here and maybe tadpoles and ducks and other Nature elements, but that did not make it harmless now. They wanted to seem relaxed – not Threeponds or Eightponds, but Several, like ‘Who's counting?'

The regularity of these rendezvous – a mistake. Manse had known that. But he would hate to scare Sybil or the children by suggesting they should constantly switch venues, which would have been wiser. Severalponds it must be. Otherwise, he could imagine Sybil going back to that potter or vet she lived with and saying in bed, when winding down and canoodling in a domestic style after intimacy, yes, telling him how right she had been to quit someone in the illegal substances trade whose profession made him frightened all the time that he or she or the children might get wiped out, or all of them. Tears seriously blurred Manse's eyes as he visualized that bed scene
and imagined the conversation, and he brought the Jaguar down to 40 mph for a few miles on the motorway.

Of course, he had to think what might be behind as well as ahead. Chandor's information on the Severalponds meetings must of come by someone tailing the Jaguar previous. Manse realized he had been so dreamy and slack about watching the rear-view mirror on these trips. That was something Denzil would never of done. He really knew the tricks of driving, although sometimes he refused to wear the chauffeuring cap Shale bought. Manse did a lot of mirror now, but what point? There'd be no need to tail him today. Chandor knew everything, didn't he, even though he'd had such a short time to discover it. Shale thought he could understand part of Chandor's game, but not all. Why put on display in that phone talk so much of what he'd dug out re Manse and his family? And then that disgusting raid at the rectory. Had some of Chandor's animals really gone wild, beyond his instructions and wishes,
against
his instructions and wishes, thieving and, as an extra, attacking each other, resulting in a death? What
were
his damn instructions and wishes? How far beyond them? ‘Get into the house and –' And then? Hilaire Wilfrid Chandor seemed to say people on his staff had mistaken what he wanted. True? Or just a ploy, a tease? What
had
he wanted? How could they mistake it? Did he employ idiots, drunks, addicts? Or had he talked so vague to them that he knew they'd go miles out of order once they started?

Always there were firms like Chandor's longing to get right in on the dealing scene locally – Brits, Albanians, Turks, all sorts.
*
Did Chandor think he could act sweet now, but actually frighten and cow Manse into making a place for him?
I know where you live, and where your kids go at some weekends and school breaks, and where you do the handover, and where your safes are, and what your women are called – first and second names – and where your beloved pix hang, hung. So, how about some pleasant cooperation?
Manse
felt nearly certain Chandor had Lowri's surname right – Billsborough, or it could be Nettlethwaite or Margerison, but definitely something not at all Welsh. Was the offer to clean up the rectory as to the body, and restore what could be restored, then bring a choice of takeaways with additionals for Manse and the children, meant to settle Shale and make him forgiving and helpful to Chandor's outfit in the commercial sector? So many of them new firms eyed up this city and envied the trade cooperation between Manse and Ralphy Ember. They struggled to be part of it. They would try all sorts of dodges and pressures. They'd heard of the happy, sensible arrangement with Assistant Chief Constable (Operations) Desmond Iles, and wanted to be part of this, too. That slob Hilaire might be saying,
Here's what we're able to do to you and yours, Manse, whenever we like, so get intelligent and matey, mate. We turn kindly now, and, oh! big apologies for the deado, but you'll understand from this that we can also get really bad if you force us to it, can't we, Manse?
Even if Chandor put them Pre-Raphaelites etcetera back undamaged, that would still be the message. And no need of a key. The rectory didn't have no alarms. He would not want police all through his home in response and doing an ogle, would he?