door, a big smile illuminating his tanned face.
'Won the pools, boss?'
I thumped the palm of my hand. 'We've got the bastard, Nigel, we've got the bastard.'
'Who, Cakebread?'
I calmed down, stared at him and shook my head. 'Sorry, Nigel, I can't tell you; not just yet. But I will do, soon. Do you know if Mr.
Wood's in?'
Gilbert was in an SDO's meeting at city HQ. I asked the secretary to get a message to him to ring me, pronto. He came out of the meeting straight away.
'I can't tell you anything on the phone,' I said, 'but there's been a development. I need to see you, soon as poss. What time will your meeting finish?'
'Are you talking about your friend in Lancashire?'
'Yes.'
'We try to finish about three thirty. Do you want me to come back to the office? I usually sneak off home.'
'No. Do you mind coming to my house? I'll get off a bit early.'
'Okay, Charlie, I'll be there four thirtyish 'Thanks, boss.'
I made a pot of tea and struck out the biscuits. 'I'll be looking like tea and biscuits soon,' grumbled Gilbert, going straight for the chocolate. 'What's it all about?'
I told him about my trip to Port Mulgrave, and what I'd found in the tunnel. He listened with pained resignation. When I'd finished I slid the Fingerprints report over to him. After he'd had a chance to study it I told him: 'I know it's not conclusive a good defence lawyer would tear it to shreds; but statistically, that glove was worn either by Chief Constable Hilditch or a Mongolian witch doctor in the tenth century. A court would give him the benefit of the doubt, but I know who my money's on.' I could feel my voice and my temper rising as I said the words.
We sat in silence for a while, then Gilbert said: 'So what are you going to do?'
'I don't know; it's out of my league. I suppose I should go to either the Home Secretary or HMI. I'd hoped you might have some ideas.'
'That prat in the striped shirt would sell the story to the tabloids.'
'Probably,' I sighed. 'So it's the inspectorate?'
'What if he just clammed up and denied everything?' asked Gilbert.
Suddenly I didn't feel so confident. 'He'd be retired on ill health, and I'd work out my time helping school-kids across the street,' I answered.
'Correct. They'd say you were tired and emotional. What about seeing him?'
'It'd crossed my mind. He's not likely to break down and confess, though, is he? Or are you talking about a deal?' ' Possibly. How would you feel if he saved his own skin by gras sing on the others?'
'Unhappy.'
'So would I; we could end up as incriminated as him.'
It was the first time Gilbert had used the plural; I'd been thinking I was in this on my own. I went into the kitchen to replenish the teapot.
After a few moments Gilbert shouted after me: 'How well do you know him?'
'Hilditch? Hardly at all,' I yelled back.
I poured us both another cup.
'I know him a bit better than that,' he said. After a while he went on: 'What if I went to see him?'
I felt relieved. Gilbert's responses so far were a disappointment to me. 'I'd feel better, but what's changed?'
'Nothing, but he knows you're conducting a vendetta against Cakebread.
He'd be on the defensive. I'll just wave the file under his nose and say we've found his dabs in a cave used by drug smugglers. See what his reaction is.'
'It's a tunnel; they're not the Pirates of Penzance. Sounds good to me, though. What if he suggests a deal?'
'It's your case, Charlie. Who are you really after?'
'I don't know, but if he wants to talk turkey, the price is a shedful.
I'll leave it to you.'
Gilbert finished his tea. 'I'll take this,' he said, holding up the file. 'I'll ring him from home, then let you know what's happening.'
'Cheers.'
I don't normally pass on the dirty work, but I was grateful to let this one go. It wasn't as cut and dried as I'd first thought. Gilbert rang me at seven.
'I'm just setting off. I'm seeing him at eight. He's moved to bloody Harrogate.'
'I've been thinking, Gilbert,' I said. 'Do you think you ought to have a driver with you?'
'No, you know the score. Wait up for me, I'll call in on my way back.'
An hour there, an hour back, an hour talking. That came to ten o'clock. Say eleven. I cooked a meal fit for a condemned man and hardly touched it. It passed the first hour, though. The next four weren't filled so easily. I tried luxuriating in the bath, with a couple of cans of beer, but the beer warmed almost as quickly as the water cooled. It had seemed a good idea. I watched some bad TV, then went into the garage to talk to the E-type. The dust sheets slid to the floor like a neglige off a beautiful woman. I ran my fingers along the curves, then unlocked the door and slid in. I sat there for a long time, thinking about people I'd known, messes I'd made. I wondered how much it would sell for.
It was after midnight when I went to bed, annoyed that Gilbert hadn't rung. Earlier, I almost called Molly, to see if he was home, but I realised that would only make her as worried as I was. I was still awake when I heard a car in the road, followed by the doorbell ringing.
I knew straight away, from Gilbert's pallor, that something had gone wrong. I poured him a stiff Glenfiddich, with a very small one for myself. He downed his in one.
'Hey, this isn't Japanese muck, y'know,' I told him, pouring another.
'Cheers, Charlie, I needed that.'
When he'd composed himself I asked: 'How'd it go?'
He sat looking at his hands, as if wondering where to begin, then said: 'Bad, Charlie, really bad. I'd made it clear on the phone that he'd better see me. I think he had an idea what it was about. His wife was out, at a meeting, or something. I told him about the tunnel and the fingerprints. He said: 'It's that Priest, isn't it, making wild accusations?' I said: 'No, it's me, and there's nothing wild about that.' I showed him one of the photos, one taken from the paperknife. I didn't bother explaining. He stared at it and started trembling.'
I had a sip of my drink and waited for him to continue.
'I asked him how well he knew Cakebread; thought I'd give him an opening. He didn't answer. After a while he said he needed a drink, did I mind if he fetched one? He stood up and went into the kitchen.
While he was gone I had a look round the room, like you do. It's cluttered with all that stuff you see in the supplements; mass-produced special editions, as if he didn't know what to spend his money on. Then I saw the drinks cabinet in the corner. You'll never guess what he drinks.'
'What?' I asked, remembering the Macallan I'd seen in his office.
'Macallan,' Gilbert replied.
'Well at least he's got taste in whisky,' I said.
'I walked over and opened the door to the kitchen,' he continued. 'He was standing at the far end, with his back to me. It's a long room. I said: 'Mr. Hilditch,' and he turned round. He was holding a shotgun, with the end of it in his mouth.'
'Oh, no!' I groaned.
'He just looked at me for a moment, then pulled the trigger.'
'Jesus Christ!' I said, putting my head in my hands.
'Do you mind if I have another?'
'Of course not.' I gestured towards the bottle. 'Help yourself, I'll run you home.'
