The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1) (25 page)

“No - I’m the daily… Who shall I say it is, m'dear?”

“...Well…” Greg hesitated. “She doesn’t know me, I’m afraid, though in a way she may be expecting me. My name’s Alison, Greg Alison and I’m calling on behalf of...” He hesitated again, knowing he was on dangerous ground. “…On behalf of Nigel and the late Lawson Penmaric.”

“Oh,” said the housekeeper, with simultaneous surprise and relief. “I’ll tell her you’re here. I’m sure she’ll see you.” Before she turned to go down the impressive hallway, she peered past Greg at the Ulster in the driveway. “I see you’ve come in his car m'dear,” she said, evidently happy with Greg’s
credentials.

The daily returned within seconds and ushered Greg into the library where Anne McCaffrey sat, cat in lap as ever. She looked weary and drawn as she spoke.

“So you’ve come to collect the pictures, Mr Alison.” The old lady spoke gently, her voice as frail as her wasted frame. “I’m so glad you’ve come at last - I don’t think I could have waited much longer. Nigel called in some weeks ago to tell me of Lawson's death, and promised arrangements for collection would be made in good time.”

She placed the cat on a rug in front of the log fire, freshly ablaze from re-stoking, and motioned a fragile hand towards one wall of the library.

“There they are Mr Alison. I’ll have to prepare a receipt because Lawson entrusted them to my care.” Greg was amazed at the gullibility of the old lady: almost anyone could have come along with the same story, he reasoned. Even Hud and Ten!

Bloody good job I got here first!

Despite his relief, Greg was reluctant to simply take the pictures: after recent experiences, he didn’t fancy being pulled up with a car full of oils he couldn’t account for.

“Look, Mrs McCaffrey,” he said seriously, “is there someone you can call on - someone who could witness the transaction, perhaps?”

“Oh, they meant everything to Lawson, but they're probably worthless. He used to spend hours admiring them.” She sighed almost despairingly. “He always impressed on me that arrangements would be made to collect them if anything happened to him..."

Her voice trailed off and she frowned as if remembering something of importance. “Where’s Nigel? Is he away again?" she asked.

"He's not available right now." Greg saw no point in muddying the water more than necessary, and convinced himself yet again that he hadn't actually lied.

“You’re not from Vance are you?” she asked suddenly, her sunken eyes widening with horror as, with difficulty she managed to stand. “Your name
is
Alison? You’re not that dreadful Skuce man employed by Vance?”

“No - no!” Greg assured her, “do you think I'd be insisting on a witness if I wasn’t genuine? Any doubts you have only
emphasise
what I’ve said.”

 The old lady was clearly calmed by Greg's words; she sat again, and went on to explain that Penmaric had warned her, in the event of his death, not to have any dealings with Vance or anyone to do with him.

“Lawson lived in mortal fear of that Skuce."

"Who's Skuce?"

"A man who Vance paid to do his dirty work;
typical hit-man
was the expression Lawson used.”

Greg assured her the pictures would be made over to Penmaric’s estate, at which she reached for the phone on a table beside her and rang her solicitor.

“I’m afraid he's on holiday,” she said on replacing the receiver, “but they’ve kindly agreed to send along an able young assistant to witness the transaction. Is Friday morning alright with you, Mr. Alison?”

“Yes,” replied Greg, secretly annoyed he’d been so insistent on calling a witness.

“Someone's due to call anyway,” said the old lady, “to deliver some papers regarding the remainder of my belongings. I’m making everything else over to my son, Mel.”

In light of what Hemmings had told him, Greg was unable to conceal his surprise, which was obviously relayed to the old lady. "I can’t remain so bitter towards him that I'd leave everything to a cats’ home for spite.” She smiled. “That seems the ultimate dirty trick these days, doesn’t it? Mel disowned me when he found out about Lawson – you'll know all that I'm sure - but I can understand how he must have felt. Since he walked out he's roamed the world, so I hope what I'm doing will provide him with an incentive to settle down and keep the farm on.”

She paused to stroke the cat, which had found its way back onto her lap. “The last time I saw my son,” she continued, “he brought a man along to value the pictures. Mel believes he has some entitlement to them - along with the rest of the property... though his valuer said they were almost worthless.” Greg somehow concealed his scepticism and just watched as she leaned and prodded a large poker at the log fire, as if for comfort from the crackling eruption.

The old lady sat back and sighed.  “Can I tell you something in confidence, Mr Alison? I need to tell someone before I die.”

“
Of course; what is it?”

“Worthless they might well be,” she explained, “but if Mel had taken time to talk and listen, the pictures could have been his along with everything else. He'd more legal and moral entitlement than anyone… Mel, you see, is Lawson Penmaric’s son.”

Greg just inhaled deeply.

Having confirmed arrangements for Friday, Greg drove back to the caravan, avoiding Wyndham’s cottage until dark. He then waited until almost dusk - when he estimated Eddy would arrive to prepare for opening – before making his way cross country to a roadside kiosk about a mile away. The phone rang for some time, though he was pleased that Eddy himself answered eventually.

“Eddy,” he said hurriedly. "Listen carefully: if the boat I spoke of
is
coming, it will almost certainly be tomorrow night.”

“We'll be ready,” replied Eddy, though he was forced to pause as the
call end
pips
sounded. “Shall I take your number and ring you?”

"Good idea, I don't have much change, and I intend ringing Sarah."

 “Now,” continued Eddy on getting through again, “whatever you do stay where you are. There were plain-clothes men everywhere in Trevelly this morning - Nigel and his girlfriend have been found dead!”

“Jacky as well?” gasped Greg with horror, “I saw Nigel - he was dead when I called last night. I’m afraid I fled the scene, terrified I’d get the blame for that as well.”

“Probably not the wisest thing to do,” replied Eddy, “but it seems you’re safe on that count, anyway. A police statement suggested that they’re not looking for anyone else. Word on the street is that Jacky topped herself after shooting Nigel. All the same, Trevelly’s not a good place for a suspected cocaine smuggler right now. Stick it out up there until we know more.”

“I've every intention of doing that,” answered Greg. “I’ve a few things to attend anyway, but I’ll tell you more when I see you.”

 “Understood - and don’t worry about this end - we’ll do what we can. I'm sure greed has overcome Vance - cheeky bastard’s got blokes and dogs in the grounds, and it's not even officially his, yet.”

“He's good reason for that if I'm right. Tell me Eddy, have you ever heard of Skuce?”

“Skull - to all the thugs in the Plymouth area,” replied Eddy. “Evil monster with a shaven head: that's how he got the nickname. He literally got away with murder some years back, but I’ve a personal score to settle with him
and
Vance.”

“Be careful in case they’re armed,” warned Greg, “It wouldn’t surprise me if Skuce put paid to Nigel and Jacky from what I hear."

“I don’t doubt that - I know what I’d like to do to the evil bastards!” Eddy paused. "I'll have to go shortly mate, I'll need to ask Elaine to stand in for me tomorrow night."

"Okay, glad you mentioned Elaine: would you mind passing on a message for me? The matter concerned isn't exactly foremost on my mind at the moment, but if you're speaking to her anyway..." Greg went on to relay the registration number he'd taken in Bridgnorth before adding a final reminder. "Remember, if you spot a boat send for the police. Don’t get involved!”

"Granny's eggs again, eh?"

The instant he put the phone down, Greg rang Sarah. She was a bundle of nerves, having already been interviewed by police about the deaths, and she too warned Greg to lie low.

“Vance has really taken advantage,” she sobbed, “he’s practically moved in already - I’ve seen his car on the estate several times today. I need the sale but I'm inclined to call in someone to get him off the grounds. The police don't want to know.”

“I'm not surprised to hear that, but give Vance all the rope he needs. He's good reason for hanging about, and it isn’t for curtain measurements. With luck things might be sorted tomorrow night, but
please
don’t discourage Vance: let him hang himself!”

Greg pushed his last coin into the slot and continued, “I'm hoping to have good news regarding Lawson’s estate, Sarah. All being well I should be on my way back soon – but I'll say no more. Just remember to give Vance
all
the rope he needs!”

Greg put the phone down and made his way back to the caravan, his first plan being to conceal the Ulster again. Then the following day, while he awaited developments, he planned taking a bus to Hereford along with Wyndham, to spend some time in a few charity shops. 

Chapter Sixteen

After attending some urgent business, Eddy hurried back to the pub to sort the cellar and enjoy a roll-up with a beer before opening. That night he'd see most of the locals, and tomorrow, his day off, he'd be left with plenty of time to do what was needed.

Since he'd left the marines, Eddy had yearned for some action like that promised. He firmly believed that, with preparation, he could resolve the situation and settle some scores into the bargain. Whilst Eddy had every respect for Greg’s advice, he felt that
if
he could sort the problem without involving the law prematurely, he could ensure certain people got exactly what was coming to them.

A few years previously, whilst still in the marines, Eddy had been in a card game with Vance at a club owned by the so-called
holiday king
. With a face designed for poker and a guile cultivated on the streets of Toxteth, he'd cleaned Vance out and left the club elated. His euphoria was short-lived, however: Vance had arranged for a shaven-headed thug and two accomplices to
retrieve
the money - with more than a little force. In a one to one tussle - even three to one, had he been aware - Eddy would have had a fighting chance - by legging it as a final resort even. The surprise element, however, coupled with street-gang tactics, had ensured Eddy had come off worst - though not before giving a good account of himself.

He'd waited a long time - biting his tongue on occasions - for the right opportunity to take revenge. He recalled his disbelief when his older brother had bided his time following a similar incident. "He'll be alive for a long time yet, Eddy lad," his sibling had said. Eddy was convinced there'd never be a better opportunity than that which presented itself now.

Bart was Eddy’s first customer of the evening, having called in for “a quick livener” before going home for a long soak.

“Greg’s been in touch,” said Eddy as he served him, “the boat we spoke of should be in tomorrow night. Can you let the lads know?"

By nine that evening the bar was packed. All the estate workers were present, along with Fergal Haye, the Mendez twins, and a few selected worthies from the country club. A few beers were all it needed to provide the desired atmosphere, though Eddy took care to maintain control by monitoring intake.

By ten the formidable band had pulled together a plan. A plan which even Eddy, with all his enthusiasm and experience, found daunting. He realised the group would need to be carefully controlled if the operation wasn’t to turn into a free for all and wreck everything.

Between them, the crowd agreed that Stubbs would have to be immobilised first if he wasn't to blow the whistle and “spoil things.” Bart and Simon were pleased to agree a simple strategy to keep Stubbs out of action
and
repay him for the way he’d treated Greg. Next on the agenda were Gorby and Wheeler, Vance’s watchmen, though their elimination was deemed to be little more than a pleasurable exercise.

"Can't think why Vance would want a pair of shitheads like that working for him," said Bart.

“Simple really," volunteered Eddy. "They're tokens - decoys if you like. They make him look interested enough in local folk to employ a couple, while they're dumb enough never to twig anything. Vance is an ignoramus at best, so he isn't going to surround himself with smart Alecs, is he?"