The Price of Failure (14 page)

‘It's three bedrooms, isn't it?' asked the husband.

‘Four, although one has to admit that the fourth one is not very large. Shall we go through and look at the dining room?'

They returned to the hall. The wife sniffed. ‘It's like a dead rat.'

‘There are no rats in this house, dead or alive,' the estate agent hastily assured her.

The husband liked the dining room, the wife criticized the position of the window and the single radiator.

Now quite certain that there would be no sale, the estate agent said brusquely: ‘We'll have a quick look at the kitchen before going upstairs.' He led the way. ‘There is a very nice cooker in place and all electrical connections for the usual washing machine, washing-up machine and…' He came to a stop four paces into the kitchen. There was a disgusting smell.

‘Strewth!' exclaimed the husband.

‘Perhaps some food has been left behind,' he said uncertainly.

‘I'm not stopping in here,' the wife said. She hurried out of the kitchen, followed by her husband. The estate agent decided that in consideration of future visits with prospective clients he had to find out what was causing the stink and either remove it or, preferably, have it removed at a later date. He went round the table in the centre of the kitchen and saw a foot. He broke into a cold sweat. Even the sight of a little blood made him feel faint and the thought of a corpse … ‘Can you come here a minute, Mr Jackson?' he called out.

The husband appeared in the doorway. ‘You sound like something's up?'

‘There … Over there…'

He came forward, looked to his left. ‘Christ!' He ran into the hall and began to retch.

*   *   *

As required by law, the police doctor had declared the man dead – hardly a difficult diagnosis – photographs had been taken, a search of the house had been made, the Scene-of-Crime officer had collected up a few things which might or might not be of consequence, and now everyone was waiting for the arrival of the pathologist and the detective chief superintendent.

The detective inspector looked at his watch. ‘Have you been on to the electrical company?'

‘They can't do anything until tomorrow morning,' the detective sergeant replied.

‘Par for the course. So what about portable lights?'

‘They're on their way.'

‘If the DCS ever arrives, you know what his first question's going to be, don't you? Who's the victim?'

‘Show him what's left and ask him if he can recognize him.'

‘I'll give you ten to one his dabs are on record.'

‘A drug-related case?'

‘The doc said there's no sign of drug usage.'

‘Whatever, someone didn't like him.'

They heard the slam of a car door and crossed to the window of the sitting room. They saw the tall, slightly stooping figure of the detective chief superintendent approach the gate. A PC barred his way.

‘Doesn't know who he is,' said the detective sergeant with pleasure.

‘He'll very soon learn.'

20

If ever he'd been asked what more he wanted out of life, Wyatt would have had difficulty in answering because he was one of those few, fortunate persons who were contented with their lot. However, if pressed, he probably would have suggested that it would be nice if Evelyn's Bill was a little more considerate and if Jane could meet a respectable man who didn't wear his hair long and have earrings; what ambition he had was not for himself.

He shuffled through the papers of the opened file on the desk. The accused's arrest and his refusal to admit his obvious guilt meant there had to be two sets of witness statements, written report, fourteen forms dealing with particulars of prisoner, legal aid forms, property forms …

The telephone rang and a civilian telephonist said: ‘There's a call from Sergeant Grant, Shropshire, for DC Carr. He's not in the general room and I wondered if you know where he is?'

‘Put the call through and I'll see if I can help.' There was a sharp click. ‘Wyatt here. Carr's away and not likely to be back for a while. Anything I can do?'

‘It's like this. Back at the beginning of December, a small-time villain, Peter Morrell, gave us information that seemed to identify a small group of people, one of whom would be the next target of the mob who kidnapped the Arkwright girl, but he wouldn't name anyone in the mob. We narrowed the potential victims down to three and MacClearey was one of them. There's been no kidnap attempt and so we've been left uncertain whether the grass was solid or dud; uncertain until now, that is. Morrell's murder gives the answer. But since he was tortured before he was murdered, there's now another question. Why the torture? The obvious answer is that either they got wind there'd been a grass, via Morrell or the extra security precautions MacClearey took suggested this, and they had to make certain whether this was so and how serious and how detailed the grass had been. The fact that no further kidnapping attempt has been made suggests the mob has been warned off. Accept the scenario and it seems they can't have had any more information than we had. A possibility that has given our detective chief superintendent the idea that there's been a leak from our side.'

‘Bloody impossible,' said Wyatt angrily. ‘There's not a copper would breathe the same air as them.'

‘I'll go all the way with that, but the DCS seems to be swinging more and more to the idea.'

‘Then I'm glad he's your DCS and not ours … How can Carr possibly fit into all this?'

‘He was on the blower in the middle of the month, wondering what I could tell him about MacClearey because one of his snouts had heard the name mentioned. I said to get back on to me if he learned anything definite, but there's been no buzz so I supposed he didn't. But just in case, I'd like another word with him.'

‘I'll get him to ring you the moment he's back.'

*   *   *

Carr entered Wyatt's room. ‘I've tracked down the witness and his evidence is looking good.'

‘Good enough?' Wyatt asked.

‘Yes, if he sticks by what he told me.'

‘Let me have the report as soon as you can.'

He started to leave.

‘Here, hang on a sec. Sergeant Grant from Shropshire has been on the blower and wants a word with you. Here's the number.' Wyatt pushed across a slip of paper.

Carr picked up the paper. ‘Did he say what it's about?'

‘He wants to know if you've heard anything more concerning MacClearey; a small-timer who may be connected with a possible kidnapping of the MacClearey daughters has been found tortured and murdered.'

Carr felt as if he had suffered a violent, numbing blow.

Wyatt studied him. ‘Are you all right? You look as if you've been reading your gravestone.'

Carr struggled to act and speak normally. ‘A sudden pain in the guts, that's all. I get it from time to time.'

‘You want to watch that sort of thing. Have you seen a quack?'

‘He says it's only wind.'

‘Then I'll thank you to get out of here before you release the pressure.'

Carr somehow managed to smile.

‘How did you become interested in MacClearey?'

‘One of my snouts heard a couple of newcomers mention his name.'

‘In what connection?'

‘My chap couldn't stay within earshot long enough to hear anything more. The name didn't say anything to me, so I phoned Shropshire to find out if it could be worth trying to learn more.'

‘How d'you know to get on to them if the name didn't mean anything?'

O what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!
He struggled to give a reasonable answer. ‘When I said it didn't mean anything, I meant in our job. But the name immediately made me think of Little Boy Blue, so I checked where he lived and then phoned county HQ.'

‘The only thing Little Boy Blue says to me is that he blows his horn.'

‘This one blows his own trumpet.'

‘Don't they all … Shropshire told you he was connected with the Arkwright case, maybe, and to learn all you could?'

‘I told my grass to keep looking and listening, but according to him the two newcomers just vanished and no one can tell him anything about 'em.'

‘Get back on to him and tell him to burrow a bloody sight harder … The present line of thinking up there seems to be that Morrell was tortured to find out if he'd alerted our side to the fact that MacClearey was a likely target. But that thinking raises questions, like how did the mob come to suspect he might have grassed? The DCS is a right bastard because he's come up with the theory that there's been a leak from within.'

Carr experienced panic.

‘Say what you like about our DCS, he'd never suggest that line. You've got to hand him that much … OK, get on to Sergeant Grant and tell him you can't help immediately, but you'll be putting red-hot pokers up your snout's fundament to make him try harder.'

Carr left. Wyatt scratched a tickle on his forehead, which was becoming elongated as his hair receded. He hoped that Carr's wind was not a symptom of something more serious than too much oily food – it wasn't long since that he'd read an article dealing with the social embarrassment of flatulence which had pointed out that it could be the symptom of a serious underlying complaint. He hated medical articles because they almost invariably left him suffering from whatever the article had been about. But he still read them.

*   *   *

It had not been the most entertaining of evenings for Wyatt. It was a rule of the house – promulgated by Freda, not him – that when visitors were present, the television was not switched on. Hearing that Jane was bringing her latest to supper, he'd started to set the video to record his favourite programme, only to discover it was no longer working. After that, it seemed only fitting that their visitor lectured them on the evils of the overconsumption of the earth's resources while eating twice as much as everyone else.

‘You weren't very good company,' Freda observed, as they heard the Suzuki roar into life.

‘D'you expect me to dance a jig when she brings the likes of him back?'

She smiled.

‘What's so amusing?'

‘You've been the same over every boy either of them has ever had in the house.'

‘Because they've all been the same.'

‘Some of them have been quite nice. Surely you're not saying that Bill's so awful?'

‘He ought to give Evelyn more of a hand around the house now that she's preggers.'

‘She's happy with the way things are.'

‘That's more than I am.'

‘Since it's none of your business, that doesn't matter.'

‘Thanks very much.'

‘Do you know what Judy said to me the other day?'

‘No, but it'll have been bitchy.'

‘It was easy to imagine you on the North West Frontier, loyally fighting for Queen and country without knowing why.'

‘What an extraordinary thing to say.'

‘She makes a point of saying odd things. But some of them have some truth in 'em.'

‘You're saying you can see me chasing the fuzzy-wuzzies?'

‘Only so long as they don't catch you. I read not so long ago that the women had a horrible way of killing their captives.'

He picked up the
Radio Times
and skimmed through the programmes. ‘I knew it! Nothing worth watching now.'

‘Then we can have a reasonably early night … By the way, Claude and Hetty have asked us for supper next weekend. I gave them a provisional yes. You're not on duty on the Sunday, are you?'

‘I'm not down for it.'

‘Then make certain you stay off. Hetty says they've given up the idea of moving.'

‘I thought she reckoned that with the boys growing up so fast, they had to find somewhere with at least one more bedroom?'

‘She now thinks they can manage for a couple more years and is hoping that by then the housing market will have recovered and they'll be able to get what they want for their place.'

‘I thought prices had recovered.'

‘The best offer they've had is seven thousand less than they want. The agents told 'em that one of the troubles is the rail fares have gone up so much that commuters are hesitating to come this far from London, which means less demand.'

‘If their place is worth less than they thought, a bigger house will cost less to buy.'

‘Like everyone else, I suppose they were hoping to sell dearly and buy cheaply.'

‘This place isn't worth what we've been thinking, then.'

‘Since we're not selling, it doesn't matter.'

He stretched out in the chair. ‘Tell you one thing, buying this house is the best decision I ever made.'

She would have liked to have reminded him of the days and weeks during which she had done everything in her power to persuade him to buy a home on a mortgage. But being a loving wife, she remained silent.

21

Carr went downstairs, switched on the radio for the news, boiled an egg, made toast and coffee, and noted on the shopping list that he needed marmalade. He'd just put the egg in the egg cup when the phone rang.

‘I want some more information.'

The sound of the voice shocked him, but this time did not evoke an immediate sense of self-loathing. He had betrayed himself and the force, but his betrayal had perhaps saved the unborn child and Gloria's reason. It was not an exchange he would have wished to be forced to make, but having made it, he could live with the fact. He pressed the alert button. ‘What information?'

‘Find out if the police have a lead on Morrell.'

‘They've found his body.' He was glad the victim had not been an honest citizen; he was able to avoid making another decision he could not make.