I thought back, and amended that statement. ‘I hadn’t seen any except the petty cash book, which you gave me yourself. And that, I imagine, was your own private accurate record, and not the one re-written and padded for the sake of the audit. It was left in my car with all my other belongings, and I took it to the office when I went back last Friday. It was still there on Saturday. It was Saturday morning that I got out the Axwood books and studied them, and made the photocopies.’
‘But why, Ro?’ Trevor asked frustratedly. ‘What made you think... Why did you think of William?’
‘The urgency,’ I said. ‘The ruthless haste, and the time factors. I believed, you see, when I was on the boat, that I’d been kidnapped for revenge. Any auditor who’d been the downfall of embezzlers would think that, if he’d found himself in such a position. Especially if he’s been directly threatened, face to face, as I had, by Connaught Powys, and earlier by Ownslow and Glitberg, and later also by others. But when I escaped and came home, there was hardly any interval before I was in danger again. Hunted, really. And caught. So the second time, last week, in the van, I began to think... that perhaps it wasn’t revenge, but prevention, and after that, it was a matter of deduction, elimination, boring things, on the whole. But I had hours...’ I swallowed involuntarily, remembering. ‘I had hours in which to think of all the possible people, and work it out. So then, on Saturday morning, I went to the office, when I had the place to myself, and checked.’
Finch turned on Trevor, looking for a whipping boy. ‘Why the hell did you keep those books where he could see them? Why didn’t you lock them in the bloody safe?’
‘I’ve a key to the safe,’ I said dryly.
‘Christ!’ He raised his hands in a violent, exploding, useless gesture. ‘Why didn’t you take them home?’
‘I never take books home,’ Trevor said. ‘And you told me that Ro was going to the races Saturday, and out with Jossie Sunday, so we’d nothing to worry about. And anyway, neither of us dreamt that he knew... or guessed.’
Finch swung his desperate face in my direction.
‘What’s your price?’ he said. ‘How much?’
I didn’t answer. Trevor said protestingly, ‘William...’
‘He must want something,’ Finch said. ‘Why is he telling us all this instead of going straight to the police? Because he wants a deal, that’s why.’
‘Not money,’ I said.
Finch continued to look like a bolt of lightning trapped in bones and flesh, but he didn’t pursue the subject. He knew, as he’d always known, that it wasn’t a question of money.
‘Where did you get the men who abducted me?’ I said.
‘You know so much. You can bloody well find out.’
Rent-a-thug, I thought cynically. Someone, somewhere, knew how to hire some bully boys. The police could find out, I thought, if they wanted to. I wouldn’t bother.
‘The second time,’ I said. ‘Did you tell them not to leave a mark on me?’
‘So what?’
‘Did you?’ I said.
‘I didn’t want the police taking any serious interest,’ he said. ‘No marks. No stealing. Made you a minor case.’
So the fists and boots, I thought, had been a spot of private enterprise. Payment for the general run-around I’d given the troops. Not orders from above. I supposed I was glad, in a sour sort of way.
He’d chosen the warehouse, I guessed, because it couldn’t have been easy to find a safer place in a hurry: and because he thought it would divert my attention even more strongly towards Ownslow and Glitberg, and away from any thought of himself.
Trevor said, ‘Well... What... what are we going to do now?’ but no one answered, because there were wheels outside on the gravel. Car doors slammed.
‘Did you leave the front door open?’ Trevor said.
Finch didn’t need to answer. He had. Several feet tramped straight in, crossed the hall, and made unerringly for the snug.
‘Here we are then,’ said a powerful voice. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
The light of triumph shone in Finch’s face, and he smiled with grateful welcome at the newcomers crowding into the room.
Glitberg. Ownslow. Connaught Powys.
‘Got the rat cornered, then?’ Powys said.
18
I had an everlasting picture of the five of them, in that freezing moment. I straightened to my feet, and my heart thumped, and I looked at them one by one.
Connaught Powys in his city suit, as Establishment as a pillar of the government. Coffee-coloured tan on his fleshy face. Smooth hair; pale hands. A large man aiming to throw his weight about, and enjoying it.
Glitberg with his mean eyes and the repulsive four-inch frill of white whiskers, which stood out sideways from his cheeks like a ruff. Little pink lips, and a smirk.
Ownslow the bull, with his bald crown and long straggling blond hair. He’d shut the door of the snug and leaned against it, and folded his arms with massive satisfaction.
William Finch, tall and distinguished, vibrating in the centre of the room in a tangle of fear, and anger, and unpleasant pleasure.
Trevor, silver-haired, worldly, come to dust. Sitting apprehensively in his armchair, facing his future with more sorrow than horror. The only one of them who showed the slightest sign of realising that it was they who had got themselves into trouble, not I.
Embezzlers were not normally men of violence. They robbed on paper, not with their fists. They might hate and threaten, but actual physical assault wasn’t natural to them. I looked bleakly at the five faces and thought again of the nuclear effect of critical mass. Small separate amounts of radio-active matter could release harnes sable energy. If enough small amounts got together into a larger mass, they exploded.
‘Why did you come?’ Trevor said.
‘Finchy rang and told us he’d be here,’ Powys said, jerking his head in my direction. ‘Never get another opportunity like it, will we? Seeing as you and Finchy will be out of circulation, for a bit.’
Finch shook his head fiercely: but I reckoned there were different sorts of circulation, and it would be a very long time before he was back on a racetrack. I wouldn’t have wanted to face the ruin before him: the crash from such a height.
Glitberg said, ‘Four years locked in a cell. Four sodding years, because of him.’
‘Don’t bellyache,’ I said. ‘Four years in jail for a million pounds is a damned good bargain. You offer it around, you’d get a lot of takers.’
‘Prison is dehumanising,’ Powys said. ‘They treat you worse than animals.’
‘Don’t make me cry,’ I said. ‘You chose the way that led there. And all of you have got what you wanted. Money, money, money. So run away and play with it.’ Maybe I spoke with too much heat, but nothing was going to defuse the developing bomb.
Anger that I’d let myself in for such a mess was a stab in the mind. I simply hadn’t thought of Finch summoning reinforcements. He’d had no need to: it had been merely spite. I’d believed I could manage Finch and Trevor with reasonable safety, and here all of a sudden was a whole new battle.
‘Trevor,’ I said, flatly, ‘don’t forget the photostats I left with a friend.’
‘What friend?’ Finch said, gaining belligerence from his supporters.
‘Barclays Bank,’ I said.