We? She spoke as if they had a partnership task to transform Rupe. âOh, I don't see it like that.'
âAre you . . . are you, well,
scared
of something?' she asked.
âScared?'
Wouldn't most people be scared to hear Pellotte and Dean had been data delving in the BMW around Bell Close, and specifically 19a there?
âDoes Rupert have special pressures?'
âJust the usual. We want a good show. A lot of good shows.'
âAnd I'm sure you will get one, get a lot.'
So fucking well behave yourself.
âI know you'll contribute effectively and memorably to the programme's reputation.'
âHonoured,' she said. No hiccup.
It had been time for the studio. All taking part went downstairs then. Edgehill left Sachev to tidy up the Suite and prepare for their return, post gig.
Five
Thurs
Bumped into that group of slumming drinkers again, this time in the Dragon on Temperate Acres. They're friendly, treat me as if I'm one of them, but I don't like it, and if I ever write them up must do it cool. They talk too loud, draw attention, possibly antagonize. They're middle-class, professional/artistic/media, I think. I try to avoid. But they do occasionally come up with good information â good enough to dig further into. NB â non-attributable information, of course. Very. And NB further â some of what they relay as fact is rumour, buzz, gossip that they've picked up on their jaunts. Starting points only for real investigation.
This opened another set of the journalist, Tasker's, laptop notes. Esther reread them. Later, she'd get on to the summarizing transcripts of the interviews with Pellotte's Dean Feston and Gabrielle Barter Cornish, when they were pulled in on suspicion of the murder.
(1) League-tabling: I hear Harold Perth Amesbury, present head of the Temperate Acres firm, and Adrian Pellotte are among the 2,500 â3,000 major drugs wholesalers in Britain. (Would have guessed something like this, though without actual numbers. To have figures is confirmation of a sort.) Minor pushers on salary or percentage â compare
affiliati
in Naples Camorra drugs firm.
Esther knew her husband would watch
A Week in Review
tonight. She'd have to watch
with
him. The programme was almost sure to put Gerald into a loud, farcical, possibly violent rage. Most likely this would begin before the show actually came on. She decided to stay for a while, peaceful in her office, dawdling through the notes.
(2) Cover firm for the Temperate Acres operation is Abracadabra Leisure Facilities based in Uxbridge, Middlesex.
Of course, Gerald's rages could be fun, but when defending herself and/or retaliating she had to be careful she didn't hurt his hands or mouth in case this messed up his bassoon playing.
(3) Harold Perth Amesbury: caretaker chief only. Succeeded to leadership six months ago on retirement to his estate in County Wexford of Percival Acton Verity (aka Incremental) through illness (kidneys) and recurrent trouble with old gunshot wound (thigh). Two deputy-chairmen, perhaps angling for Supremo job. See below. Amesbury seeking chance to secure his position (i.e., via successful campaign(s) against Whitsun).
There might be a big concert due with Gerald soloing. Betty Grable insured her legs, and Esther often told him to do the same for his lips because her left lacked the absolute accuracy to avoid them always. Her right, better. Her right usually chinned. From somewhere in his genes, Gerald had an ironish chin, and rarely went down, although he might stagger about dazed and bleating for a while. She'd get him into a chair and fan him with a music score while humming some Bach, to make sure he stayed evil, so they could continue it. A fat lip, or lips, caused by knuckles slackened grip on the bassoon mouthpiece and Gerald wind that should have produced accurate music got wastefully blown into the open air. Some notes would sound dodgy â frail.
(4) Pellotte's daughter, Dione, involved, so far non-cohabit, with TV personality, Rupert Bale, a Temperate resident.
(5) Possible skimming off the top by operative(s) and/or over-mixing on Whitsun. Pellotte aware and displeased.
Gerald was certain to regard
A Week in Review
as intellectually decrepit, pretentious: lightweight but deadweight. His notion that getting invited to take part constituted an insult would be strengthened. Of course, he meant to accept the invitation if it came and knew he did. His fury arose from the tumult inside him: contempt for the show, and frenzied determination to get on to it. Esther would never accuse Gerald of being uncomplex or rational. He could hold one position and its opposite at the same time. Gerald gloried in the contrariness of this, thought it proved freedom of spirit, but also knew it was mad; and the two-way tug caused his twitchy, idiotic anger. Above all, Esther hated to see froth-spit on one of his already loathsome bow ties. She thought she'd go home just in time for the programme, so she wouldn't have to witness Gerald working himself up into a pathetic, all-round passion ready for it. He'd expect her to be with him for the actual show, and she did occasionally feel obligations to Gerald. If you'd often nearly felled someone with old one-two punches, and been eye-gouged and nearly felled yourself, it set up quite a little helpmeet bond, a sort of mutuality.
(6) I hear that about half of British wholesalers live on their main trading ground, rather than in bigger, more lavish, and therefore more conspicuous, properties elsewhere. Pellotte, Verity and now Amesbury fall into this category. (Dubious? Can't see how any of these slumming tipplers could know this.)
(7) Management structure of Temperate firm:
(a) Chairman: Amesbury
(b) Joint deputies: Jake Ilton Underhill Camby Piers Watmough (known as Tame)
(c) Head of buying: Wilma Renee Charteris
(d) Personnel director: Joel Jeremy North
(e) Collector: Vernon Rice-Laidlaw (known as E.R. â Equity Release)
(f) Legal liaison: Maud Lucy Field
(g) Security: Philip Gain
(Argument among group about North and Gain. Several say Gain is Personnel, North Security, not vice versa. NB again, CHECK INDEPENDENTLY. Unwise to persist with queries to group. Liquored, these people semi-shout their views, regardless of bar staff and other customers â possible jungle drums to Amesbury etc.)
Definitions as given to me:
(a) Chairman: Overall control, biggest earner.
(b) Joint deputies: Split duties: Camby, street and rave trade, Watmough high quality clientele. Amicable arrangement???
(c) Head of buying: bulk deals with importers. Much travel.
(d) Personnel director: recruitment, discipline.
(e) Collector: responsible for company income from pushers.
(f) Legal liaison: organizes defence lawyers and general support when staff charged with supplying and/or violence.
(g) Security: armourer and press relations. Protection of firm's leadership and maintenance of battle readiness in case of Whitsun or other attack. Suppression of inconvenient publicity.
(8) Management structure of Happy Gardening Solutions, Whitsun firm:
(a) Chairman: Adrian Pellotte
(b) Multi-role assistant: Dean Feston
(c) Live on Whitsun in adjoining houses 21, 22 and 23 Hawthorn close. Pellotte has had 21 and 22 knocked into one.
(d) Tone of firm unflamboyant and super-muted. No further information available.
Sat
Tribe â a Temperate club. Disco. Queue at eleven p.m., about twenty minutes. Bouncers: dark suits, white shirts, silver ties, earpieces. No bother getting in. Converted furniture depository? Burgundy walls, false ceiling, stainless-steel bar, biggish dance space, low lighting. Music by Say Again, Stones, Aptitude, Causeway's Cause and others I can't pick. Took a while to spot dealers. Jacketed. Pockets. Undrinking. Invitational. They hang back to be approached. Obviously, many people are regulars and know them. I make it four. And an overseer? Gets to the four in turn, dumpy, jeans, dark hair rubber banded behind, training shoes, maroon shirt, crimson jacket overlong, pockets. Restocks pushers? Done discreetly. A slob but dexterous and a lovely mover. I see no packets. Harvests their deal money? Done discreetly. I see no notes. Might be Vernon Rice Laidlaw â E.R., the firm Collector, or possibly Jake Ilton Underhill Camby, deputy chairman who does discos.
I ask a girl, three-quarters cut and/or high: âIs that Camby?' Then conversation (undisclosed recorder) â NB might be useful to (a) lighten article and (b) indicate condition of typical clientele:
âIs it what?' she says.
âCamby?'
âIs what Camby?'
âHim.'
âWhich?'
âRoll-top maroon shirt.'
âWho's Camby?'
âYou know â
Camby
.'
âWhat's he look like?'
âRoll-top maroon shirt. Ponytail.'
âI don't mind ponytails. Some hate them. My friend Delia says ponytails make her sick, just the sight, except on ponies.'
âOr he could be Laidlaw. Also called E.R.'
âYou'll do my head in, all the names. E.R.? Like on TV as used to be? I'm with someone. He's in the toilet.'
âMight he know?'
âWhat?'
âCamby. Or E.R.'
âHe won't like it.'
âWhat?'
âTalking â you with the names and things, such as “maroon shirt”.'
âIt's only names.'
âI don't believe in bunking off with someone else while a boyfriend's in the toilet for whatever reason. I've only been out with him once before, though. He's crude as snot.'
âNo, I'm not asking you to do a flit.'
âSo why fucking not? What's wrong with me?'
âI'm interested in these names.'
âFuck the names. All men. You gay? You want to lift his roll-top maroon shirt?'
Enough.
Sun
Went to the ten a.m. morning service at St John's on Temperate for background/atmos. Pretty, quite big, Norman church, probably from the days when Temperate Acres was temperate acres and a country village. Roofing lead looks intact. Crowded. People in their best gear. Lots of families. Youngish sidesman sees me looking for a seat and comes forward helpfully. Dark, good suit, darkish tie, black lace-ups, head slightly bowed in general reverence but face visible and radiant with Sunday Christian joy, neat, multi-spike, fair hair, unobtrusive ears.
âCome,' he invites warmly. As we walk up the long aisle to where he knows of spaces, he says gently, inaudible except to him and me (no recorder) something along the lines of: âWe guessed you'd turn up for a gawp here, you fucking fuck.' (âGawp' definitely the term and âfucking fuck' also verbatim.)
âWho did?'
âWe did. We think you ought to fuck off out of it now, love.'
âWho do?'
âUs.'
âBut which?
âThere's only one us.'
âYou Philip Gain of the Temperate firm? Or Joel Jeremy North?'
âI don't want my name put about, especially not in church.' He steepled his hands before his chest for a moment to emphasize the undoubted church qualities of churches, evident inside a church.
âSorry.'
âA board decision.'
I ask along the lines of: âFuck off out of what?'
âThe whole fucking shebang. Nosing at the Tribe. Trawling with the pub crawl mob at the Dragon. And so on. They're harmless, but are you? What is it the Psalm says?'
I reply: â“Behold, these are the ungodly, who prosper in the world; they increase in riches. Their eyes stand out with fatness. They have more than heart could wish.”' (Think that's right â sticks from school Relig. Educ. BUT CHECK.)
He replies: â“Let the lying lips be put to silence.” That means you, arsehole, and what you're going to write in the paper.
Were
going to write in the paper. “Let the lying lips be put to silence; which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously.” Here, sir.' With a big, gracious wave of the arm he indicates a free seat.
âThank you.'
âYou're very welcome, if you can believe that.'
â
I
think fat eyes suit you.'
Lady vicar. Good sermonette. Title: God's graffiti. Summary: generally graffiti a pain, but God used it to warn Belshazzar with those words on the palace wall during a feast. âMene. Mene. Tekel. Upharsin' â meaning âYou have been weighed in the balance and found wanting.' Daniel interpreted it for the king and was promoted to Number Three. But, that night, Belshazzar, king of the Chaldeans, got killed, his kingdom taken by the enemy. God will always look after those on his side, like Daniel, who came out fine from the den of lions later. But the writing is on the wall for those who defy God. We should all âdare to be a Daniel'. These were the words of the last hymn of the service: âDare to be a Daniel, dare to stand alone.'
Vicar goes to door during this to be ready to shake hands with those leaving and say a word or two. As we heartily clasp, and I mutter thanks for her pulpitting, she sculpts a true smile and I get from her in a wonderfully considerate, pastorly tone: âThey don't like outsiders poking about, you know â a kind of impiety. Ever thought of golf reporting instead?'
âDangerous.' I'm walking to the car. The sidesman catches up, passes me. He says: âMene. Mene. Tekel. Upharsin. Ufucker.'
I say: âBy golly, you've got the gift of tongues. Pity about the rest of you, though.'
Sun â later
Possible tail? Old, small, navy, nearly unnoticeable Volvo behind me often, and perhaps oftener than I realize. Never too close, but always close enough. Also in the street near the flat. Not the probable Dean Feston figure from Happy Gardening Solutions. A woman, late twenties maybe, fair/blonde, looks tall behind the wheel. Sits very straight, as if on a horse. Wrap-around sunglasses. But perhaps she did follow from Happy Gardening Solutions. I've an impression now that such a Volvo appeared in the mirror on my way home then. Hindsight imagination? Reg. E117WP. Have to talk to her. She's another point of contact. This could be important stuff.