The Price of Failure (11 page)

He'd promised himself he'd talk to the DI the moment he had anything definite to report. It had been a decision that had allowed him to regain a measure of self-respect – however weak he might have been, in the future he would have the strength to do his duty despite the accompanying humiliation.

There was no fool like an optimistic fool. The second photograph might have been sent to Gloria, but the message was for him. Either he cooperated fully – which meant secretly – or she would receive another photograph and this would be a companion to the one they'd sent him.

*   *   *

He was in bed, trying to read but unable to concentrate, when the phone rang. His immediate thought was that Gloria had been taken suddenly and dangerously ill. He flung back the bedclothes and raced downstairs. ‘Yes?' he said hoarsely, when the receiver was still some way from his mouth.

‘Did your wife like the photo of you?'

For a second, he knew both relief and fear; relief that this did not concern Gloria directly, fear because he was about to be drawn further into the nightmare. ‘Leave her out of this.'

‘But she's an interested party, isn't she? Still, maybe there'll never be any need to find that out.'

‘What do you want?'

‘Cooperation.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Finding out if anyone's been fingered for the raid in West Street, Parkinham Bay.' The line went dead.

He gripped the receiver so tightly he might have had his hands around the blackmailer's throat.

15

After hours of mentally struggling to escape the inescapable, he finally accepted that he had either to betray himself or accept that Gloria would learn he had betrayed her. Since he dare not face the consequences of the latter, he had to accept those of the former. Logically, therefore, he could do nothing but await events. Yet he was a fighter and even if the outcome of the fight were predetermined, he'd go on fighting …

He waited until he was the only person present in the general room, dialled F division and asked to speak to the duty DC. By lucky chance, this proved to be a man with whom he'd been at training college and for a while their conversation was personal. Then he said: ‘Can you say if anyone's been kitted out for the raid in West Street, Parkinham Bay?'

‘We've no names as yet. All we can be certain of is that they were a bunch of rank amateurs.'

‘What?' This was totally unexpected.

‘Tried to break into the store through the stoutest door; when that failed, they smashed through a window which set the alarms off and made 'em run; crashed the getaway car. The Keystone Crooks … Have you turned up something that'll give us a lead?'

‘Nothing definite, just a faint whisper. But that said that they were a smart mob.'

‘Then you can tell your faint whisperer he's full of bull.'

‘I'll do that.'

‘Now we've made contact, let's have a few jars together one evening?'

‘Great idea. But it'll have to wait. Gloria, my wife, is in hospital, so I can't really get away.'

‘That's tough. Nothing serious, I hope?'

‘Pregnancy problems.'

‘Aren't there always? Jane had a hell of a rough time…'

After ringing off, Carr tried to answer the question that that phone call had posed. Why was a man cunning enough to set up the blackmail interested in a bunch of incompetents? Because they weren't the amateurs F division judged them to be and it had been a run of bad luck which they'd suffered? Because one of them was a close relative who stupidly imagined himself to be equally smart?… Surely the latter explanation was much more likely to be the correct one? The jealous sibling was as common in the criminal world as in the honest one. Accept this and then his betrayal of his job and his honour could be of relatively little consequence. Some of the weight was lifted off his mind.

He phoned BT's Malicious Calls bureau. ‘There's another problem turned up.'

‘It's problems make the world turn.'

‘I've been receiving calls at home from someone we need to track down. My detective inspector says to ask you to put a trace on the line.'

‘No problem.'

‘Is there any chance of having it installed by this evening?'

‘If I make it priority. What's the best time to do the job?'

‘With work the way it is here, I can't be certain when I'll be at home. The best thing is to get the key from the next-door neighbour and she's always in. My address is fifteen, Watts Road, and the spare key is with number thirteen. I'll let her know by phone to expect someone.'

‘It's as good as done. One thing, though, be a pal and don't forget the requisition note, signed by the boss.'

‘It'll be in the post.'

Carr replaced the receiver. He carefully did not ask himself what possible action he could take – in the unlikely event that the blackmailer were identified through any future telephone call – that would not precipitate what he was so desperate to avoid.

*   *   *

He parked, walked along the pavement to number 36, climbed the steps, and rang the bell of flat 2. When a woman answered him, he said: ‘Detective Constable Carr, county police, Mrs Gladwin. Could I have a word with you?'

Even through the distortions of the loudspeaker she sounded worried. ‘What about?'

‘I'm hoping you'll be able to help me.'

The front door buzzed. He went in and climbed the stairs to the second floor. An elderly, faded woman – not the person whom he'd met on a previous visit – stood in the doorway of the flat. She asked him into the hall.

‘Sorry to bother you like this.' He smiled. Gloria had once told him that he had the kind of smile which made old ladies think of their sons when young.

‘That's all right. I'm not doing anything special because my husband's out and I don't have to cook his lunch. But I really don't understand how I can possibly help you.'

‘I'm trying to contact Miss Varney, but she never seems to be in. I thought perhaps you'd know if she's away on holiday?'

‘I'm afraid I've no idea.'

The tone as much as the words had suggested disapproval. ‘You're not very friendly?'

‘It's just that in the circumstances … I know I'm possibly being ridiculous, but…'

‘I don't quite follow you, I'm afraid.'

‘I'm not certain I should say any more.'

‘I need to know,' he assured her authoritatively.

She took a deep breath. ‘I never pry, but I can't help having seen some of her visitors.'

‘And they are in some way unusual?'

‘They are all men and except for the last time, considerably older than she. And there was the man who called at this flat, thinking it was hers. When I opened the door he looked surprised and when I told him it was the next flat up he wanted, he was terribly embarrassed as if he'd been caught doing something wrong.'

‘You think she was entertaining these men?'

She showed that she did not lack a sense of humour. ‘Even if she looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, I doubt all of them were uncles.'

‘You made a remark that suggested the last of her visitors you saw was different?'

‘There were two of them and the photographer couldn't have been more than three or four years older than she.'

‘Why do you say he was a photographer?'

A quick smile. ‘He had quite a lot of photographic equipment over his shoulder.'

‘What day was this?'

She thought back. ‘I was on my way to Maude's to go shopping and have a coffee at Leon's, so it was a Monday.'

‘Last Monday?'

‘That's right.'

The detective's prayer – Oh, Lord, never mind the brains, just grant me luck. ‘Can you describe the two men?'

‘Not really.'

‘Come on, I'll bet you can. You're obviously a very observant person,' he said, shamelessly flattering her.

‘But they'd already started to climb the stairs up to the top floor when I left here so all I saw of them was their backs.'

‘But you know one of them was young.'

She thought about that. ‘I suppose it was an impression; you know how one gains impressions without being certain why.'

‘Of course, but that you are so sure means you must have noticed more about them than you think you did. So describe them as clearly as you can.'

The younger man had been slightly built, wearing jeans under a somewhat scruffy mackintosh; his sandals had flip-flopped as he'd moved; his mouse-coloured hair had been down almost to his shoulders and needed a good wash. His companion, perhaps in his late forties, early fifties, had presented a contrasting picture. Tall, well built, with broad shoulders; the fawn camel's-hair overcoat had fitted him with the certainty of expensive tailoring; his black, curly hair – rather like her husband's hair when he'd been young – had been carefully cut and trimmed. There was one more thing. As she'd started to go downstairs, she'd noticed a faint, attractive scent; probably an expensive aftershave lotion. ‘I'm terribly sorry, but I can't help any more than that.'

‘You've done twice as well as you thought you were going to,' he assured her. ‘There's only one more thing and then I can leave you in peace. Would you know if Miss Varney owns or rents the flat?'

‘She rents it from someone with whom we're quite friendly. Dennis Barker works in the Gulf area and when he comes back on holiday, he stays with his sister; he said it seemed ridiculous to have the flat empty for the three or four years he'd be away.'

‘Does he let it direct or through an agency?'

‘An agency; Imray and Philips. He reckons that they are the best in the area. We offered to help, of course, but he preferred to do everything through a professional third party in case there was any sort of trouble. To tell the truth, after that man called here by mistake, I was certain we ought to tell the agents what might be going on, but my husband wouldn't hear of it. He was afraid that to do so might end up with our being sued for slander. In this sort of situation, it's terribly difficult to know what to do.'

‘Sometimes it's impossible,' he said, with more force than intended. He thanked her for her help, said goodbye, and left. As he made his way down the stairs, he thought how luck seldom ran in one direction only. Good luck had brought Mrs Gladwin out of her flat in time to see the two men, but bad luck had ensured she stepped out too late to see their faces … Yet she had seen the fawn overcoat and that had reminded him of the man he'd seen leaving number 36 and walking to the silver Porsche. Yet bad luck had made certain that he also had only seen the man briefly in profile and then, when near enough to make out detail, from behind. If only good luck had prompted him into noting the registration number of that Porsche. One more if only …

He drove around two sides of the common to join the inner ring road, turned off in time to make the one-way Bank Street, more familiarly known as the Street of Forty Thieves.

The receptionist in Imray and Philips, whose proud boast was that they'd been in business since 1876 (making them one of the original forty), phoned three partners before she found one who was free.

Evans was pleasant and helpful. After tapping out instructions on the computer keyboard, details of the letting came up on the screen; no notice of termination had been given by Miss Varney.

‘When's the rent due?' Carr asked.

‘At the beginning of the month.' Evans fiddled with one of his coat buttons. ‘Is there some sort of trouble? Do we have to worry about the use to which the flat is being put?'

‘What makes you think you have to?'

‘She is a single lady and you are asking questions.'

‘You think it may have been used for immoral purposes?'

‘There always has to be that possibility. So difficult to prove, of course.'

If only that were always true.

*   *   *

The phone rang twice. The first time the caller was a friend, asking about Gloria; the second time, the blackmailer.

The Caller Display unit was recording blocked identification. Carr pressed down the yellow button on the alert unit.

‘Well?'

‘I had a word with someone in the division.'

‘And?'

‘It was difficult because I couldn't let him start wondering why I was so interested…'

‘Is anyone in the bracket for the job?'

‘Not at the moment.'

‘Not even a whisper?'

‘Not so far. But because the job was so bungled…'

The line was cut.

He dialled the bureau.

‘Hullo, mate, I was just about to get on to you. That was from a call box in Charing Cross main-line station.'

A couple of minutes later, he went through to the larder and poured himself a gin and tonic. In the past, he'd been astonished at the way in which criminals were often so blindly optimistic. Yet he had been hoping that the man who'd planned so cleverly would make the mistake of telephoning from a private address …

16

Despite the invasion of the chain stores and the supermarkets, Everden still boasted several small shops which specialized in quality rather than quantity. Carr walked along the pedestrianized upper High Street to the greengrocer. There were more of the large white grapes and by their side were nectarines. Asked to choose between grapes and nectarines, Gloria would have hesitated. He was about to enter the shop and buy both when he remembered that after paying for lunch at the canteen, he'd had very little money left.

He walked down the High Street to his bank and inserted his card in the cashpoint, requested a statement. He was in credit for less than he'd hoped – only just over eighty-one pounds. There were a couple of bills which would have to be paid before the end of the month and they would swallow up a large part of that, and then there would be the continuing and unavoidable extra costs that followed from Gloria being in hospital, such as the extra petrol used in driving to and from the hospital. But he was damned if he was going to cut back on buying fruit, because it provided the only pleasure left to her. He withdrew twenty pounds.