He went back to his desk and sat down. My legs were giving, but there was no option except to stay upright and tell everything — though without mentioning hitch-hikers. When my kitty was empty he opened his desk and held up a slip of paper. I wondered how I should react to such a signal. ‘Are you frozen to the spot?’ he said. ‘Come and get the bloody thing.’
I turned cold. If I moved, would they put the knife in?
‘You’ve done the best job anyone could have done,’ he said when I went forward. ‘Everything’s safe under lock and key, exactly where it should be. I knew you had the steadiness not to panic and do something stupid. Now take this, and go and get some sleep. You look as if you need it. We’ve had the garage flat tarted up a bit since you left.’
I was staring at a cheque for five hundred pounds.
‘Don’t spend it all on lollipops and french letters,’ he said, ‘there’s a good lad! You’re one of us now, Michael.’
I was going to say I thought I’d kacked up the whole operation, but stopped myself in time. ‘I didn’t expect a bonus.’
‘The best men don’t, I’ve often noticed. But next time don’t be so free on the rides to bums who want lifts, especially to that fool pushing a panda-pram up and down the Al. I’ve passed him many a time. He nearly caused an accident once when I threw a ham sandwich at him.’
Cottapilly and Pindarry sniggered. I wondered if they were holding hands.
‘And where’s Dismal?’ Moggerhanger asked.
I gulped. ‘Dismal?’
‘That useless dog.’
‘I left him at a friend’s place.’
‘Bring him back. He belongs to my daughter. He was a present from Chief Inspector Lanthorn. He was sweet on Polly at one time, poor old Jack!’
‘Can I leave it till tomorrow?’
‘You can keep him as far as I’m concerned. But clear out now. You’re wasting my time. Wait a minute, though.’ I turned from the door to see a smile on his clean-shaven chops. I could smell his aftershave. ‘Did the rats bother you?’
‘What rats?’
‘At Peppercorn Cottage.’ His joke wasn’t taking effect.
‘Not really. But they came a bit tough when I ate one raw. When I boiled a couple for breakfast they tasted a treat, though.’
He laughed, his whole face rosy. ‘Not everybody’s frightened to death of a few rats,’ he said to Cottapilly and Pindarry. ‘Those two wouldn’t go near the place. Nor would that big soft turd Kenny Dukes. That’s another reason I had to send you.’
It was my turn to laugh. ‘I’ll go any time you like.’
I went out to looks of dislike from those by the door, and unable to believe that the sky hadn’t fallen in. My impulse was to run to the bank and get the cheque in before the ricochet hit me between the eyes, though in my heart I knew that Moggerhanger’s cheques were as safe as the Bank of England.
I collected my briefcase from the car and climbed the outside stairway to the flat. There was a carpet on the floor, and the bed had been made, a flowered counterpane laid on top. An ashtray had been put down in place of the tin lid on the bedside table, and somebody had left a copy of the Gideon Bible as well as six tins of Baxter’s Lager still in their cardboard handpack. On another table, under the window with chintz curtains drawn across, was a pot of plastic flowers. A sailing ship, framed on the wall, ploughed into snowy waves. In the corner was one of those big wireless sets from the fifties. I recognised the home-from-home style of Polly Moggerhanger. Or was it Mrs Whipplegate? Maybe Jericho Jim had been trying his hand at interior decorating, because there was something of a prison cell about the layout.
I wasn’t in a state to appreciate it, not having slept properly for days — or weeks if I counted the argy-bargy with Bridgitte before she left for Holland. I opened a tin of beer (it was cold, as if it had recently come out of the freezer. Nice touch, that. Good to feel wanted) and smoked a fag. After being in the car for so long that it had become my skin, I hardly knew where I was. Blaskin would have said I was bemused, such was his talent with words, and I suppose he would have been right. Though it was only seven thirty I took off my clothes and got between clean sheets, sorry that Mrs Whipplegate hadn’t been here to welcome me.
One afternoon at the end of April I was called to the house by Kenny Dukes. I’d had so much sleep in the week before that I thought it would take me a year to get back into one piece, yet as soon as I entered Moggerhanger’s presence my wits slotted into place. It was a matter of them having to. ‘He’s sitting in there with Parkhurst,’ Kenny said as we crossed the yard. ‘So I expect he’s organising another operation.’
‘Didn’t know he was a surgeon,’ I said. ‘Reminds me of that scene in Sidney Blood when he gets his worst enemy on the operating table.’
‘Oh,’ Kenny drooled, ‘don’t it, eh?’
‘The Running Gutter I think it was called.’
‘One of his best.’
‘Who’s this Parkhurst bloke?’
‘His son,’ Kenny said, ‘by his first marriage. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and sent to the best private schools — but you wouldn’t know.’
Parkhurst sat on the floor with his back to the wall, looking so straight ahead that I thought he was blind. You could tell he was a man of few words because all the time the boss was talking he scraped match after match along the emery until flame crackled into life, and then he would lay each charred stick in the ashtray when the heat got close to his fingers. Maybe he spent more on matches than on clothes, because he wore a shabby grey suit and cheap suede shoes, and a tie that looked as if it hadn’t been to the cleaners in months. He might have been good looking if he dressed better, in spite of his lank hair and thinnish face.
‘You’ve been called in,’ Moggerhanger told me, ‘because we’re going up to Spleen Manor, in Yorkshire.’ He laughed. ‘No rats, this time. There are servants’ quarters, what’s more, and a caretaker to keep the place warm, so we’ll be well looked after. It’s near Bluddenden. Work out a route. You’ll be towing the horse box, but the Roller will handle it all right.’ He looked at Parkhurst: ‘This is my son, by the way, unless you thought he couldn’t be. Parkhurst, wake up, for God’s sake, and meet one of my best men. I wish you’d take a few leaves out of Mr Cullen’s book, even if only chapter one — you bone idle bloody skiver.’
I expected a scowl from Parkhurst to indicate that he would like to kill me, but he wouldn’t even rouse himself to that extent. Or maybe he’d heard such a spiel too often.
‘All you do,’ his father went on, ‘is idle your time away around the clubs. You don’t even dress properly, though your wardrobe’s full of good suits. Or get a haircut. Polly’s worth fifty of you. When I was your age I’d been on my own feet for twenty years. I stopped you going to prison for as long as I could, and when they finally dragged you off all it did was give you a nickname.’
Parkhurst spoke in a low voice, as if he didn’t want to exert himself. ‘Bollocks!’
Moggerhanger winced, and smiled to cover his anger. ‘One of these days you’re going to get into such trouble that you’ll shoot into real life and wonder what you were doing ever to be like this. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m going to stop paying your gambling debts.’