placed another in front of Dave and an orange juice and soda on his own beer mat.
“Cheers,” we said.
“Cheers,” he replied, taking a sip. As Chilcott was still on the run and appeared to have a reasonable working knowledge of my movements, we had forsaken the Spinners and were having our Wednesday night meeting in the Bailiwick. “So what time were you there until?” Nigel asked.
“Seven o’clock.” I said. “We were stuck at Ne’er Do Well Farm until after seven. The SOCOs had left about four.”
“We were running about like blue-arsed flies,” Dave said.
“Flashing blue-arsed flies?” I suggested.
“And them.”
“Do you think he’s still in Heckley?”
“God knows.”
“It’s four days today. SB said he’d lie low for four days.”
“Don’t remind us.”
I took a sip of beer and said: “Well it proves one thing.”
“What’s that?” they asked.
“That I’m not paranoid.”
“Just because someone is trying to kill you doesn’t mean you’re not paranoid,” Dave argued.
“Of course it does.”
“No it doesn’t. He’s only one man. It’s not a conspiracy.”
“Of course it’s a conspiracy.”
“No, it’s not. He was doing it for money. It’s not personal.”
“What difference does that make? The whole thing is one big conspiracy.”
“Against you? One big conspiracy against you?”
“Against everyone.”
“So someone’s out to kill Nigel, too. And me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I might be.”
“You definitely are paranoid.”
“Is that what you think? Is that what you really think?”
“Yes.”
“Right,” I said. “Right. Let me tell you something. You see this place?” I gestured towards the ceiling and they nodded. “Good. And you see the names on all those labels behind the bar?” I read them off: “Tetley’s, Black Sheep, Bell’s, Guinness, Foster’s, and so on, and so on?”
“Ye-es,” they agreed.
“OK. Now let’s look at what’s outside. There’s the Halifax opposite, and Barclays, and the NatWest. Further down there’s Burger King and Pizza Hut. There are jewellers, clothes shops galore, snack bars and…oh, you name it and there’s one out there.”
“So what’s the point of all this?” Dave asked. Nigel grinned and took another sip of orange juice.
“The point is,” I told him, “that it’s all a big conspiracy. Why do all these companies exist? Go on, tell me that.”
“To do what they do,” he replied. “To make beer or whatever, to provide a service, to employ people and to make a profit for their shareholders.”
“No they don’t.”
“Well go on, then, clever clogs. You tell us why they exist.”
“They exist, every one of them, for one sole purpose.”
“Which is…?”
“Which is…to convert my money into their money. That’s what it’s all about.”
“So that’s why you’re so reluctant to go to the bar,” Nigel commented.
“Cheeky sod!” I retorted.
“You are paranoid,” Dave concluded.
Shirley came to take us home and Dave bought her a tonic water. We were finishing our drinks when a familiar warbling tone came from somewhere on Nigel’s person. “Oooh, oooh,” we groaned, expressing our disapproval. Mobile phones are verboten on walks and in the pub. Nigel blushed and retrieved it from his pocket.
“Nigel Newley,” he said. I drained my glass and Dave did the same. “Hello, Les.” Sounded like it was Les Isles, his boss. “Hey! That’s brilliant!” Good news. Lucky for some. “Where does he live?” Sounded like Nigel had some work to do. “Right. In the morning? Right. See you then. Thanks for ringing.” It would be an early alarm call for someone. He closed the phone and replaced it in his pocket, his face pink with enthusiasm.
“Guess what?” he said, “We’ve had a match. One of the donated samples matches the DNA in the semen we found on Marie-Claire Hollingbrook. We’re bringing him in first thing.”
“That was quick,” Dave said.
“It was, wasn’t it.”
“So, er, where does he live?” I asked.
“Um, Heckley. He lives in Heckley.”
“Really? In that case he’s one of ours, isn’t he?”
“Oh no he isn’t,” Nigel assured me. “Oh no he isn’t.”
I had a bodyguard, of course. It was all over the papers that we’d let Chilcott, Enemy Number One, slip through our fingers; if he still managed to complete his mission we’d really have egg on our faces. Well, they would; I’d have something else on mine. The two of them, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, sat patiently in the pub, backs to the wall, sipping soft drinks, while we tried to ignore them. I didn’t like it, but knew better than to object. Shirley took me home first and they followed. I handed my keys over and one of them entered the house, casually, without making a drama out of it. “You know where everything is,” I said when I was allowed in, waving towards the coffee ingredients, videos and sleeping bags that had accumulated in my front room. “Make yourselves at home, gentlemen, I’m off to bed.”
“I’ve brought Terminator Two,” one of them told me as he filled the kettle.
“Seen it,” I lied. “Early night for me. Keep it low.”
“Right. Tea?”
“Yes please. Will you bring it up?”
“No chance, you can wait.”
I felt like a guest in my own home. An unwelcome one at that. I took the mug of tea and trudged up the stairs to bed. Drinking doesn’t suit me, and lately it had been creeping up a bit. I’d been thinking a lot, also, and the conclusions weren’t good. I was at a funny age. From now on, it wasn’t going to get much better. The good years, or what should have been the good years, were all in the past. Friday teatime Chilcott had gone on a dummy run, Superintendent Cox had said. I disagreed. I’d been up on the moors, watching the farm. Chilcott had come to Heckley looking for me, and he could have been out of the country again by the morning. Detectives are supposed to work regular hours, and on a Friday the whole world tries to get off home on time. It was his first opportunity to do the job, but my car hadn’t been outside the nick, so he’d had to abort. A bullet through the brain, while I was sitting at the traffic lights; or here at home, sleeping, didn’t sound too bad. I could live with that. It’s all the alternatives that terrify me.
Annette took it badly. She’d sat there, white faced, when I’d announced that I was Chilcott’s intended target. Afterwards she came into my office and asked what I was going to do. She thought I’d move away, stay in the country until things blew over, but I explained that it wasn’t necessary. I had my minders, and Chilcott’s number one priority, now, was making his escape. Even if he’d been paid in advance, nailing me would be off his agenda. I tried to sound as if I knew what I was talking about, as if the inner workings of an assassin’s mind were my workaday fodder, but I don’t think she believed me. I played safe and didn’t suggest we go for a meal, that week.
Nigel and Les Isles arrested Jason Lee Gelder and charged him with the murder of Marie-Claire Hollingbrook.
