He said, 'There's always hope, Chris. You at the club now?'
'Yes. I'm in the car park. Had to come out here to ring you, but I'm heading back to the terrace. Mustn't let people think I'm running for cover.'
That's my Young Fair God, thought Joe. Still sticking to the rules even though the bastards were going to chuck him out for breaking them! And determined not to let anyone think he was running scared.
He said, 'I'm following a lead just now but I'll be along later, OK?'
'A lead?' The hope in Porphyry's voice gave him a jolt. 'I knew I could rely on you, Joe.'
He looked at Sir Monty, who, though he'd only heard one side of the conversation, had an expression on his face that said, So that's it, Sixsmith. Give it up. You had your chance to convince me and you blew it.
Maybe if I got him to talk to Chris, thought Joe. No, there was no way forward there. What could they say to each other? Sir Monty would only be rudely triumphant and Christian would be completely bewildered.
On the other hand…
He said, 'Hold on, Chris,' and put his hand over the mouthpiece.
'Sir Monty,' he said, 'I'm going to ask Mr. Porphyry a question and I want you to listen to his answer, OK?'
Wright shrugged indifferently.
'Chris,' said Joe. 'Just to clear something up, Sir Monty Wright was up for membership recently and he got blackballed. Was it you who put the blackball in?'
He shuffled his chair round alongside Wright's and held the phone between them.
'Good Lord, no,' said Porphyry in a surprised tone. 'I thought he was an excellent candidate. I met him when his sponsor brought him round to look over the place. Very nice chap, and I heard he could hit the ball a mile. I was really knocked back when he didn't get elected.'
'Yeah? Any idea who might have blackballed him?'
'No. Whole idea is that nobody ever knows, you see. Though I did hear… but no, idle gossip causes nothing but trouble, I should know that!'
Thinks he's being disloyal to his beloved club, thought Joe. Dear God! How could anyone believe this guy was a cheat?
He said, 'Nothing you tell me is gossip, Chris. Client confidentiality, right?'
He felt bad about that, sitting here with his phone held up so Sir Monty could hear the reply.
'Well, if you're sure,' said Porphyry reluctantly. 'The only person who might get a glimpse of who puts what ball in is Bert Symonds, our steward, who carries the bag round when the vote is taken. That evening after Sir Monty got blackballed, I went round to the service area to have a word with Bert about some catering matter and I overheard him say something about the vote to another member of staff. Well, when I got him by himself, I really tore into him. Firstly because I hate gossip, and secondly because I knew in this case it must be untrue.'
'What was it he said?'
'He reckoned it was Tom Latimer who put the blackball in. But he must have got it wrong. I'm absolutely sure of that because… Joe, the pro's waving at me, wants a word. I've got to go. Keep in touch. Please.'
The phone went dead.
Joe switched off and looked at Sir Monty, who shook his head violently and said, 'No!'
'No? Hey, listen, this wasn't something I set up-' Joe began indignantly.
'No, it can't be true,' said Wright, ignoring him. 'He got that right at least. No way it could have been Tom Latimer… no way!'
He was shaking his head, but to Joe it seemed he was shaking it to dislodge an idea rather than deny it.
It took Joe his usual ten-second delay to get there. And then…
'It was Tom Latimer who proposed you! Wasn't it?'
'Yes, of course it was.' Wright snarled. 'And Latimer's a smart guy, he knows which side his bread's buttered on. So tell me, smarty-pants, why the hell would he want to put the black in?' This time Joe didn't need ten seconds. 'Maybe because if you'd just got elected to the Royal Hoo, you were hardly likely to be interested in knocking the place about and building a hyper-mart on the site, were you?' he said. He saw Wright taking this on board and pressed his advantage. 'Who was it told you it was Christian who blackballed you?' Wright didn't answer. He didn't need to. 'And how long was it afterward that King Rat said he'd got a whisper that the Hoo might be up for grabs?' Joe went on. Now Sir Monty spoke. 'About a fortnight.' Joe did some working out. 'That would be a good week or more before the Porphyry cheating thing came up,' he said. He didn't need to say more. He had a great respect for people whose minds left his standing when it came to working things out, and it wasn't for nothing that Sir Monty watched the beautiful game from the Directors' Box while Joe's season ticket placed him high behind the south goal with the sun straight in his eyes. Larry approached the table looking a bit nervous. 'Sir Monty,' he said. 'They're asking about you upstairs…' 'Yeah, yeah, I'm coming,' said the chairman. 'You done here, Sixsmith? I got a really important meeting to attend.' Joe found the stress offensive. If the guy didn't think what they'd been talking about was important, he'd been wasting his time.
'Just one more thing,' he said, letting his irritation show. 'Woman called Bradshaw got fired from your Luton store a while back. You probably never heard of her…'
'Betty Bradshaw? Yes, I know her. Nobody gets fired from my stores without I know, Sixsmith. What's your point?'
'She says she got made redundant to make way for cheaper labor.'
'She's right. The amount of stuff she was lifting from the store, anyone would have been cheaper!'
'She got fired for thieving?' Joe was disconcerted. He tried to think like Butcher and heard himself saying, 'Well, maybe you weren't paying her enough to feed her family and she thought you wouldn't miss a few tins and stuff-'
'She wasn't stealing food, Sixsmith,' Wright said. 'It was top-quality Scotch and cognac mainly. About five hundred quid's worth a week. Nice little scam, undetect- able if she hadn't got greedy. Only reason I didn't charge her was it might have given some other people the same idea. I take care of my staff. All I expect in return is honesty. You might find it hard to believe, Sixsmith, grubbing around in the muck where you spend your working days, but being a businessman doesn't mean being a crook. You make hard decisions but there's a line you don't step over.'
'Does Ratcliffe King live on the same side of the line as you?' asked Joe.
The supermarket magnate stood up and glowered down at him.
'Interesting talking to you, Sixsmith. But at the end of the day, you've proved nothing.'
'Maybe not,' said Joe. 'But I know. And the difference is, now you know too, don't you?'
He watched the man make his exit. What he might do now, Joe couldn't guess. Probably nothing. The Wright Price is the right price. What effect did having that printed on your notepaper have on a guy? He said he was an honest businessman. Joe wanted to believe him. He'd kept Luton City afloat in the bad times, which meant there was certainly something he loved more than money.
Let's hope his reputation was another thing.
Sir Monty had certainly got one thing right. Though he was beginning to see the shape of the conspiracy more and more clearly, Joe still felt as far away as ever from getting his hands on firm proof of Porphyry's innocence.
So what next? Joe asked himself.
He needed help from above.
A ten-pound note came fluttering down in front of him.
'There you go, Joe,' said Larry. 'Like the good Lord, I always pay my debts.'
Joe picked up the note and took it to the bar where there was a coin-filled appeal jar for Save the Children.
He tucked the note into the jar, saying, 'Yeah, I know you do, Larry. You and Him both.'
23
Pillow Talk
