this?
But he didn't want to load Porphyry with the possibility that Steve might have been saved. He was having difficulty enough accepting the possibility of the boy's death.
'Joe, this is terrible… but it's just theory, right? I mean, what makes you think this is more likely than that he accepted a pay-off and headed out somewhere?'
'Because I got a message from Ratcliffe King saying that the pressure was off you, that this cheating thing was going to go away.'
This should have been the news that brought a sunburst of relief to Porphyry's face, but he remained somber.
'I don't understand-what's this got to do with Steve? Unless he's decided to give evidence… Couldn't that be it? Steve's told them he's going to come forward and tell the truth?'
'No, Chris. I'm sorry. I told Monty Wright what I thought had happened. When I got through to him that it wasn't you but Latimer who'd blackballed him and that it was probably the Triangle who framed you for cheating, I reckon he just wanted to step right away from the whole business. Probably didn't make much commercial sense for Wright-Price anyway. So I think this afternoon he rang King Rat, told him what I'd told him, and asked him to confirm or deny it. Whatever King Rat replied, it was enough for Sir Monty to realize I was telling the truth. Then he probably told King Rat he was pulling out. Not only that, if these accusations against you weren't made to go away, he'd make a public stink about it. He's a very sporting guy, Sir Monty.'
'And that was enough for King to scrap the whole deal, despite all the money he must already have put into it, buying land and such?'
'I think it would be a close call. I think that King Rat would know very well that, with regard to you, they were in the clear. What proof did Sir Monty have? What proof did I have? There was a good chance they could still get you out and get their hands on your shares. Worth a fight anyway. Except-'
'Except for Steve!' cried Porphyry triumphantly. 'If they knew Steve was going to tell the truth-'
'No, forget that, Chris,' said Joe urgently. 'They'd taken his gear and his scooter and dumped them in Leck's Bottom. They'd got his landlady to say he was still around on the Wednesday morning. But he wasn't. I think that the previous night, when they realized he was dead, Hardman put him in Rowe's big golf-bag carrier that he had in his boot, plus a few rocks maybe, zipped it up and dropped it in the lock basin. That's what tipped the balance with King Rat. When it comes to financial deals, and regulations, and legal trickery, he can run rings round anyone. Bodies are different. Bodies can't be explained away with figures. All you can do is hide them and hope they never show.'
Pain was sharpening the YFG's perceptions.
'And he begins to fear your inquiries might reveal what had happened to poor…'
His voice broke on the boy's name.
'Right,' said Joe. 'He does his best to tidy things up. But it's not working. Getting me out of the way one way or another is a definite option. Then Sir Monty backs out and threatens to cry foul! Suddenly it's all unraveling. So King decides to cut his losses, press the restore button, and get everything back to where it was. You're in the clear, the Hoo is safe, everyone's happy.'
Porphyry considered this for a moment then said, 'But I'm not in the clear, Joe. Latimer's been here all afternoon and he's not said a word about me being in the clear… Perhaps that means you've got it wrong and Steve's alive after all…'
His willingness to be labeled a cheat if it meant that Waring was still living confirmed everything Joe felt about the man. He hated to remove even this dry crumb of comfort but it had to be done.
'No, Chris,' he said. 'Latimer's not said anything because he doesn't know that things have changed yet. This has all just happened in the last hour. King Rat's trying to get in touch with the Triangle, but they're all here with their mobiles in their cars. And I've persuaded Bert not to pass on any messages.'
Porphyry stared at him for a moment, then his expression hardened from hope to resolve.
'Right!' he exclaimed. 'Let's go and give those bastards a nasty surprise.'
He started to get out of the car. He had the look of an avenging angel.
Joe held him back.
'Chris, no. All you'll do is warn them, give them time to get their story straight and tidy away any evidence that might be lying around in their homes or offices. King will be squeaky clean by now. The only way to him is to get those three so terrified they start singing like Rev. Pot's choir. No way we can do that. That needs special training. The kind of training Willie Woodbine's had.'
'Then let's call Willie.'
'Done it,' said Joe. 'But even Willie needs evidence. He should be down at Leck's Bottom by now with a bunch of police divers.'
This reminder of what the evidence might consist of drained the light of avenging fury from the YFG's face.
'Poor Steve…' he murmured. 'Poor Steve…'
Joe assumed what he hoped was the reassuring briskness of a man in complete charge of events.
'Listen, Chris, I asked Willie to ring me soon as he found… anything. You take my mobile and stay here. Soon as Willie rings, you come up to the clubhouse to let me know. Tell Willie to get his ass over here quick as he can. I'll go up to the terrace now and check on the Triangle. If they look at all restless, I'll find a way to keep them occupied. This sound OK to you?'
The YFG nodded and with an unconvincing attempt at brightness said, 'Joe, as usual you're spot on. You should be top man at the Yard.' 'Great,' said Joe. 'Then I'll see you soon.' He got out of the Morris and walked away. Just before he entered the alley through the shrubs he turned and looked back. Porphyry was slumped forward over the dashboard, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of the sobs that had finally broken to the surface now he was alone. Joe turned away. The bastards who could cause so much pain to his Young Fair God deserved everything they had coming to them. He went on his way to play his part in making sure they got it.
27
End of Play
The terrace was crowded.
Joe took in the scene as he approached. The elegantly dressed members and their guests lounging beneath huge sunshades striped in the club colors of crimson, green and blue, the sound of chattering voices and laughter and ice cubes clinking against glass, the swift but unobtrusive movement among them of Bert Symonds and his white-coated assistants, the sense that all was for the best in the best of possible worlds. But he knew it now for a world in which butterflies roared and you couldn't tell by looking who was playing gotchas.
He glanced at his watch. Five o'clock. How time flew when you weren't enjoying yourself. He tried to remind himself that most of the people here had worked hard to earn their place in the sun, but he couldn't help wondering how many of them had decided to make an evening of it at the club because they knew the Four Just Men were sitting in judgment on Chris at eight o'clock.
He recalled reading somewhere that public hangings way back had always drawn huge crowds. It wasn't every day you got the chance to view the death of a Young Fair God.
He spotted the Triangle at the same table they'd occupied when first he met them. Perhaps, like Sir Monty's table at the Supporters', it had an invisible reserved sign on it. He advanced, looking to right and left as if in search of someone.
'Good day, Mr. Sixsmith, nice to see you again.'
It was Bert, the steward, who'd contrived to cross his path. The reason why became apparent when in a rapid whisper which didn't trouble the deferential expression on his face, he said, 'King's getting really pissed no one's returning his calls. Can't keep this going much longer, Joe.'
Joe didn't blame him. He knew from experience that being on the wrong end of King Rat's anger was not a
