‘Well?’ Audley stabbed the word at him again. ‘What did she want Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State to say to you which she couldn’t say in front of the widow?’
The digital clock registered 7.30, and Tom’s stomach confirmed its accuracy. But now there were more pressing matters than hunger.
‘She wanted me to nobble the coroner before the inquest.’
‘Indeed?’ Audley pointed. ‘Go back to the village and stop at the pub. I want to make a phone-call or two. There’s a call-box just opposite.’
That was convenient. ‘Okay.’ But a little honest curiosity would be natural. ‘May one ask to whom?’
‘One may. When one has answered my first question more adequately.’
‘The old lady didn’t tell you, then?’
‘That he fell off a ladder, do you mean?’
‘No. That he was drunk when he fell.’
‘Ah… No, she didn’t add that ingenious embellishment.’ Audley shifted slightly. ‘But, since he only fell this morning, just how has that been so quickly established beyond a peradventure?’ Audley sniffed. ‘Although I can now well understand why Mrs Cole
He smelt like a distillery and had an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker stuffed in his pocket—right?’
‘Substantially right. Except it was twelve-year-old Bunnahabhain malt, and it was only half empty. And it was in his garden shed, complete with a half-full tumbler.’ Tom could see the lights of the village ahead. And there was nothing behind. ‘Christine Cole says Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State it’ll make her mother-in-law very unhappy, if that comes out.’
‘Bunkum! The old girl’s used to what’s always been the truth—it will make Mrs Christine Cole, who is teetotal, and the Reverend Brian Cole, her husband, unhappy… although they might equally have taken the view that the poor old devil ought to be held up as a horrible example of the evils of drink in death, just as he had been in life. That would be what I would have expected, actually—
hmmm… In fact, I would have bet on it even, now that I come to think about it.
‘What?’ The man’s sudden vehemence took Tom by surprise.
‘I was just being mildly ashamed of myself for being flippant. He was a drunken, difficult old devil. But—’ He pointed again ‘—the pub’s just ahead, on the corner—remember?’
‘But what?’ They were back to the awkward turning, and there was still nothing behind. ‘But what?’
Audley ignored him.
He negotiated the corner and swung the car on to the pub forecourt.
Audley still didn’t reply, and made no effort to move. ‘Damn!’
Audley turned slowly towards him. ‘Evidence?’
‘I hardly think there’ll be any. Not if it was professionally done. Is that what you think, David?’
Audley opened his door. ‘What I think is that I want to make a couple of phone-calls. Have you got any change?’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State
‘No.’ Tom knew that his pocket was full of coins. ‘Don’t use the call-box. Go and phone from the pub. They’ll give you change.’
Audley stared at him. ‘Is that minder’s rules?’
‘Just a precaution, nothing more.’
‘Okay. Come in and have a drink. I need one.’
Tom shook his head. ‘I’ll mind the car. Just another precaution—
okay?’
He waited for two agonizingly long minutes after Audley had disappeared into the pub before going across to the call-box himself. Only two minutes was a risk, he knew. But more than that opened up a risk later on, depending on how quickly the old man managed to make his own calls. But both risks were now outweighed by a greater one, in any case.
He dialled and fed in plenty of money.
‘Consolidated Slide-Dimmers. Can I help you?’
‘This is Thomas Arkenshaw for Henry Jaggard. And I’m in a public call-box, and I’m in a hurry.’ He had to trust Garrod Harvey’s promise. ‘Put me through.’
‘Putting you through directly, Sir Thomas.’
The only trouble was that Jaggard might well expect him to be phoning from halfway to the West Country, thought Tom. But if Jaggard didn’t ask, then he wouldn’t say.
‘Hullo, Tom!’ Jaggard sounded almost genial. ‘All well?’
Tom changed his mind. ‘I’m in a call-box in Hampshire, just off the A34. And I’ve got maybe three minutes.’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State
