The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1) (34 page)

"Me too," gloated Jaff. "So you're saying you had no…"

At that the library door opened and Eddy entered.

"I tried to stop him," protested the maid, her colour rising. "Honestly I did…."

"What's
he
doing here?" yelled Oldfield. "This is supposed to be a
private
interview."

"Yes," added Tooth with the air of one who's already guessed the answer. "Tell us why you're here, please Eddy."

"Just to put my pennor'th in," said Eddy calmly as he held up a mini-tablet phone for all to see, "and to show you this picture of DI Graham Oldfield here. You're Goldie aren't you? Not a terribly cryptic pseudonym is it?"

Oldfield grinned smugly. "That is, I'm sure, a picture of me. But as you know, we use unconventional methods on drugs."

"So you do," retorted Eddy, "but not to get vulnerable addicts to do your dirty work. More importantly, why would someone want Vance and Nigel dead other than to stop them talking? You thought you were high and dry didn't you, knowing there'd be several avenues to explore before anyone came looking for you? Unless it emerged what your motive was…"

"I
know
Graham would never get involved," cut in Jaff. "He's too dedicated…."

"If I can interrupt," said Tooth as he addressed Jaff and Graham. "Before certain matters were brought to my attention, I was already building something of a case against Vance's killers. Like fibres present in the hospital ward which matched your clothing…both of you."

"Of
course
they did," cut in Jaffa, "we apprehended Vance at the bay and questioned him on the ward that same night."

"And for that reason your traces were originally eliminated from our enquiries even
after
we'd ascertained that Vance had been murdered. But your prints on the drip bag were something we couldn't ignore, especially when it became apparent you had every reason to want Vance dead."

"I moved the drip-support a fraction when we interviewed him," said Oldfield, "and how do you explain Nigel and Jacky's deaths? There was no evidence to put us at
that
scene was there?"

"
Us
?" Tooth nodded to Greg and Eddy. "So it was
both
of you?"

"Don't say any more!" urged Jaff, suddenly calm. "Our chief will annihilate you, Tooth, for compromising an operation and then accusing
us
of murder."

"Not when he sees this, I doubt," said Eddy without emotion. He held out the mini-tablet phone again and played a short video.

"Whatever turns you on," sneered Jaff as he watched brief but sickening voyeuristic clips of women in various stages of undress, all with times and dates recorded. The final clips showed several monochrome frames of Jacky in her bedroom, followed by one, clearly taken through her flat window, changing her blouse.

"Where did you get that lot from? YouTube?" sneered Oldfield.

"No. Could have finished up on there, though," said Eddy as the video showed Jacky's bedroom door open and Jaff bursting in and leveling a gun at her. He froze it at that point. "I must say it has much more impact when viewed on a decent screen, but I as I said, I'm a bit of a Luddite: don't have a laptop."

"Where
is
that from?" demanded Tooth. "We've scoured every CCTV in the area."

"Smout, the ex-con in the opposite block, captured it on a video-cam, along with miles more sickening scenes of women in other flats. It's what he does. What pervs do, and he'd never have coughed to witnessing a murder. No doubt got off on that clip." Eddy handed a key and a data stick to Tooth. "He's tied up inside the flat, together with
all his gear. Night video cams - the works"

Greg stared at the guilty men. "You two knew I'd nothing to do with the setup from the start. You'd have framed me had it not been for the calls I made, and you only kept tabs in case I tumbled
you
.
And
you knew about the drugs in the Ulster. With the means and expertise at your disposal, finding that lot would have been child's play. In fact, running drugs must be child's play when you're playing both ends from the middle, but your big mistake was to believe that a helpless addict like Cass would never recover."

"As it is," summed up Tooth, "You'll go down for life if we only nail you for one of three charges I’ll be bringing."

Seeing no option but to flee, Jaff and Oldfield made for the door. Which was a terrible mistake, in that that gave Eddy and Greg the perfect opportunity to do just what they'd wanted for a while. Their punishment was brief but appropriate, and according to Tooth's report… "no more than necessary to restrain them."

EPILOGUE

It was Sunday afternoon, two weeks before Easter as Greg sat in the office formerly occupied by Penmaric. The sale of the pictures hadn’t yet gone through, though it was certain they'd raise more than enough to set things right.

It was a glorious afternoon, forecasts anticipating that it could remain thus for several weeks. The band was playing out on the quay, and Greg listened as the music drifted into the office on a mild sea breeze. He should have felt very happy, he considered, but for some reason he didn't: he felt a strange uncertainty; a nagging doubt. He was beginning to wonder if he was doing the right thing when his train of thought was broken by Sarah’s entrance. She kissed him on the cheek and handed him a thick jiffy-pack.

“What’s this?” he asked vacantly; she'd given him so many presents of late her generosity was cheapening whatever thought was behind them.

“Take a look!” she said with a giggle.

Greg stood and opened the package, and withdrew a wad of twenty-pound notes.

“For
you,”
she smiled sweetly, “a little reward. Of course there'll be lots more once the pictures are sold.”

Greg gasped with astonishment. “There must be over two grand here.”

“Two thousand, two hundred exactly,” confirmed Sarah, “all the money I can lay my hands on right now.”

"Thank you." Greg pocketed the money: he felt he’d earned it.

“Now.” Sarah purred seductively as she put her arm round Greg and pressed hard against him.

“No - not just at the moment.” Greg frowned.

“Headache?” she teased.

“No, it’s not that...But…

“But what?”

“It’s not that I'm ungrateful, but is this how it’s going to be? When I’ve spent this, will I need to ask for more? Will I be sponging off you for the rest of my life?”

“Don’t be
silly
!” replied Sarah, “as soon as everything's settled - and we’re married - you’ll get a proper wage; a
regular
wage for running the estate.” She smiled voluptuously. “…Plus bonuses, of course. Now, if you’ve no use for my services.” She walked to the door. “I’ll be off. Laters, darling?”

"Perhaps."

Greg was nonplussed. “A
proper,
regular
wage!” he echoed, having never earned a
regular
wage in his life. Even as a youngster when he’d worked on building sites, he’d paid his own stamp; been his own boss. He’d never been at anyone’s beck and call, and while there'd been ups and downs - sometimes he'd been fat, sometimes thin - he’d preferred it that way.

Another thing that bothered Greg was - however he juggled the situation - he and Sarah would have been set up by the proceeds of drug trafficking. Whilst he was happy for the money to be put to good use in saving the livelihoods of his friends, he felt strangely guilty that he should benefit personally. Greg's intention was to look forward from that point, not continually over his shoulder.

He stared out of the window and listened to the band. It reminded him of the bitter evening he’d stood on the quay: the night before he’d left for Spain. Even the local folk-singer had joined them, though he was drowned out by a tractor in an adjacent field. Greg fondly recalled the curried sauce and chips; the cans of beer; the laughter of his companions… and Jan, and how he’d felt it the happiest night of his life. Jan had been more to him than anyone, though he hadn’t realized - less still, appreciated it. She'd been his first friend when he felt he'd none; the first person to offer him a meal; to think about him when he’d been desperate for work and money.

Greg left the office and walked out into the late-April air, across the gardens; down the winding path between the trees. He broke into a jog, almost a skip, as the music grew clearer. He bounded along like a five-fear-old, unconcerned whether anyone was watching; after all, he grinned, he was free to do as he pleased.

Greg wasn’t yet sure he loved Jan, but he was sure he didn’t love the vacuous Sarah - and didn’t want to spend the rest of his life at her beck and call. Sarah was fine, but she didn’t want him: she wanted Penmaric House, and a manager. … and a stud.

On reaching the clearing he stopped and stared in wonder at the bay, just as he’d done on the bitter evening he'd first seen it.

My bay. . . Well almost...

The daffodils and crocuses were past their best, though still abundant and colourful. Blood-red tulips and custard primroses smiled up at him through the lush, springy grass where they’d naturalized. The spaghetti-western sky seemed filled with wheeling gulls, cormorants, terns, and Greg felt suddenly as free as them again… at one with them again.

He took in the scene for a few moments, picturing the simplicity of a lifetime selling sandwiches, chilli and barbequed food amid such beauty. As he stood, he glimpsed a figure in the distance; three hundred yards away at least, but there was no mistaking
the man with a bag
.

“Isaac” he called, as he ran towards the diminutive figure. Isaac saw him and promptly took to his heels, though Greg eventually caught him and explained that he just wanted to thank him. Breathlessly he took the thick package from his pocket and split the contents roughly in two.

“There you are,” he said, “there’s well over a grand there, give or take a few quid. Get yourself some gear and on a plane to Canada. Don’t leave it – do it
now!

The old man stared in disbelief at the money; he’d never seen so much, but beggar as he was, he didn’t feel justified in accepting it. He’d always sung for his supper if nothing else.

“It’s a
reward
I've been given,” urged Greg, having sensed the reason for the tramp’s reticence, “to split between us.”

Greg saw the old man’s pale blue eyes twinkling through his hairy countenance as he reached uncertainly for the wedge, marveling at the thickness of it. His eyes were misty as he looked at Greg and smiled. “Thankee… thankee kindly,” he said with a gulp. “I’ll be off to town d’rec’ly: barbers, tailors, an' post office. D'rec'ly I got passport I'll be on first boat out. No planes, mind. Thankee wi' all my 'eart, 'tis all I ever had to thank anyone with 'til this moment.”  

Greg was aware of a lump in his throat as he watched Isaac make off in the direction of Plymouth.

Probably the last time he’ll be seen in Cornwall again.

 Greg could hardly believe his eyes as he walked towards the lane running down to the bay. A sleek forties saloon had just pulled up, and the driver, wearing sunglasses, was staring at him through the open window.

"Is that you?" Greg shaded his eyes as he approached. "Where'd you get that old beast from?"

"This old beast," replied Eddy as Greg neared, "happens to be a forty-nine Riley Pathfinder - my pride and joy."

"Whatever turns you on. Mind if I ask what you're doing out in the sunshine on such a lovely day?"

"Just called to say thanks…and good-bye."

"Why the thanks?" joked Greg.

"I've just got back from Shropshire. I got that job,
and
I start retraining in a couple of weeks. You put me on the right track, mate, and I'm grateful."

"My pleasure," said Greg, "I take it that's the reason for the good-bye as well?"

"Correct. There's another snippet as well, mind."

"Go on."

"Right, well I never said anything at the time, but among the consignment we landed that night were some groceries: big pack of tea and a bag of icing sugar. Odd thing to carry, but then it was all a bit odd. The teabags were all done up in polythene pouches for a start."

"Am I hearing correctly?" Greg's eyes widened with horror. His pulse-rate soared.

"Yeah, but it's not half the problem you might imagine. While I was up your way I looked up your old mates… the Slime
brothers, remember? Just wanted to pay your ex-wife's debts and get 'em off your back for good."

"Pay them
off
…?" Greg could hardly contain his anger.