Game Over

‘Funny you should say that,’ Slider said. ‘About the foot. It’s the one thing in your favour.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Borthwick cried in desperate bewilderment.

‘You’ve been set up, Dave, is what I’m talking about.’ He watched this sink in. ‘They want you to take the rap for them. And it’s not just any old rap, it’s murder in the course of a robbery, which is life, automatic. Am I getting through to you, Dave old pal? Even with remission you’ll be an old, old man by the time you get out. If you get out at all. You might die in there. Not nice places, gaols, you know.’

Borthwick was trying to think now, which was painful to watch, like a dog walking on its hind legs. ‘But – you can’t,’ he stumbled, ‘prove – I mean, I never done it so you can’t—’

Slider counted on his fingers. ‘Eye witness, oil matching your bike, money, victim’s watch. Plus you’re the man in charge of the security door, which was so conveniently not working that day.’

‘But that’s the ’ole point, that’s the thing. He—’ Borthwick stopped himself, but the protest had begun eagerly, even passionately.

Slider felt the thrill of knowing he had been right. He nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, it didn’t look like much, did it? But, come on, Dave, did you never think it was a lot of money for what they wanted you to do?’

‘It was business,’ he protested. ‘He said it was worth a lot to his business.’

‘It’s worth a lot for them to get you to do life for their murder. But is it enough for you?’ Borthwick stared, calculating. ‘Come on, Dave. Use your loaf. Tell me all about it. Why should you go down for them? They’ve set you up, and you’re not going to let them get away with it, are you?’

‘If I tell you,’ Borthwick said slowly, ‘and they find out . . . He looked like a right tasty bloke. I dunno . . .’

‘Twenty years inside,’ Slider said. ‘Minimum. And for what?’

‘All right,’ he said, and seemed to deflate, as if his sigh was letting more than air out of him. He didn’t seem to know where to begin, so Slider helped him along.

‘Where did you meet the man?’

‘In the pub,’ he answered easily. ‘I go down there most nights.’

‘Which one’s that?’

‘The Sally.’ This was what locals called the Salutation, an old-fashioned Fullers’ pub on King Street, practically opposite the end of Riverene Road.

‘That’s a bit posh for you, isn’t it?’

Borthwick shrugged. ‘It’s nearest. Anyway, I like a proper pint, not that pissy lager,’ he added, and went up a tiny notch in Slider’s estimation.

‘So how did you know this bloke?’

‘I never. He come up to me when I was sitting at the bar, and he says wasn’t I the caretaker at Valancy House.’

‘How did he know that?’ Atherton put in.

‘I asked him that,’ Borthwick said as if answering an accusation of stupidity. ‘He said he’d seen me go in and out. Anyway, he bought me a pint, and asked if I was interested in a business proposition.’

‘And you said yes, because you’re in a bit of financial trouble, aren’t you?’ Atherton put in. ‘All the paperwork in your flat seems to consist of betting slips and unpaid bills.’

Borthwick shrugged resentfully.

‘So what was this business, then?’ Slider asked.

‘This bloke said he worked for a security firm – Ring 4 – and he wanted to get the maintenance contracts for places like mine. He said it was worth a lot of money to his firm if he could get in, because there’s ’undreds of security doors around the area. And then there’s other stuff – CCTV an’ that – what people are putting in all the time. He said he just needed a foot ’old to get started.’

‘And that’s where you came in?’

‘I told him it was Wellings what put our doors in, and they still do the maintenance. So he said all I had to do was put the doors out of order, wait for someone to complain, and then call him to come in and fix ’em. Tell the tenants Wellings said they couldn’t come out for two days, but his firm guaranteed a one-hour call-out. Well,’ he added, ‘the residents couldn’t give a monkey’s who does the maintenance, it’s the company, JK Holdings, and they won’t care as long as it costs the same. So the bloke says he’d start off doing it cheaper than Wellings just to get ’em hooked, and there’d be something for me if he got the contract.’

‘And what exactly did he tell you to do?’

‘I was to pull the fuse so the doors didn’t work. When there’s a power cut or anything the locking system shuts off and they just open and close like ordinary doors – so people could still get in and out in an emergency.’

‘I understand. Then what?’

‘Well, I was to ring him on this number he give me, and he’d come round and fix it, sweet as you like. He’d give me a thou before, and the same after.’

Atherton intervened. ‘Two thousand? But there was only five hundred under the mattress.’

Borthwick looked sulky. ‘I put a bit on a horse. Bloke I know give me a tip. Pretty Polly, two thirty at Newmarket.’

Evidently it hadn’t won. ‘Did he say when all this was to happen, or leave it up to you?’ Slider asked.

‘Nah, he said it had to be when he was in the area so he could get there quick. So he said I should do it Tuesday. Said he’d be waiting somewhere near for me call. Anyway, I done my bit, and he comes all right Tuesday and his bloke fixes the door—’

‘His bloke?’

‘Well, he was like the manager or sales rep or summink, wasn’t he? He don’t do the work himself. He had his technical bloke in the van, waiting. Anyway, he fixes it, but Tuesday night when I get back from the pub it’s out again, and when I ring ’is number – nothing.’

‘There was no answer?’

‘It was turned off. It was a mobile. I keep ringing it, but nothing. And the bloody door’s still not fixed.’

‘What about the lift?’ Atherton asked.

‘It’s on the same system. One goes out the other goes out. The wiring’s shit in these old places, anyway.’ Borthwick looked bitter. ‘I’ll have them old bitches nagging me blue about it. I dunno what the bloke did to it, but it was definitely working all right after he left. Could have been just an accident, I s’pose?’ he said hopefully, looking from one to the other.

‘I don’t think so, Dave,’ Slider said kindly. ‘I don’t think the nice man gave you two thousand quid to get the maintenance contract. I think he fixed the door on a timer so it would go out when he wanted it to go out, so he could slip in and murder Mr Stonax when he wanted. And, of course,’ he added, as Borthwick paled at the reminder of the shit he was in, ‘so as to make it look even more as if you did it.’

‘Overkill, really,’ Atherton said, ‘seeing you had the victim’s watch. When did you take that?’

‘I never!’ Borthwick protested fiercely. ‘It was the bloke, in the pub, just when he was going, he said was I interested in nice watches, he had a mate brought ’em in from Switzerland, proper Rolexes real cheap. I said I might be. I mean, stuff like that, you can usually knock ’em out to your mates if they’re cheap enough. Well, I didn’t reckon they’d be genuine ones, but if they was good fakes . . . Anyway, he said he’d let me have one as a sample, and if I didn’t want any more, I could still keep it for meself, part of the fee for the job. So when he gives me the other grand, I says what about the watch, and he says he’s forgotten it, he’ll bring it me another time, next time he calls. Well, I thought that was that, y’know? And I wasn’t that bothered, tell you the trufe, but this morning I found he’d pushed it under the door, in an omberlope. Well, it looked a bit nice, like it was genuine, so I stuck it in the drawer. I was going to take it to my mate Timmy, see what he thought about it. I mean, the bloke said he could do ’em for thirty quid each, and I bet I could knock a lot of ’em out at fifty, maybe more,’ he concluded excitedly.

‘Dave, it wasn’t a genuine offer,’ Slider reminded him. ‘This man doesn’t really have a friend who imports Rolexes. It was the victim’s watch and it was taken off his dead wrist to help incriminate you.’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ Borthwick slumped, looking sullen.

‘When did you find it?’ Atherton asked.

‘I dunno,’ Borthwick said sulkily. ‘This morning, when I went out to see what all the fuss was about. When you lot arrived.’