TWENTY

'Harry,' said Chipchase in a hoarse whisper. 'Christ Al-bloody-mighty, you nearly gave me a heart attack.'

'Sorry about that, Barry. I know how it feels. I've had one or two nasty shocks myself recently.'

'What the bloody hell are you doing here?'

'I could ask you the same question.'

'Will you keep your voice down, for God's sake. I don't want Shona knowing you've rumbled us.'

'Hard to see how we can avoid that. Aren't you going to show me in?'

'No, I'm bloody not.'

'We have to talk, Barry. Seriously.'

'All right, all right.' Chipchase considered the problem, then proposed a solution that, given the many hours they had spent together on licensed premises over the years, hardly counted as original. 'There's a pub round the corner. We can talk there.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Cameron's Bar was a comfortless harbourside den dedicated to the consumption of strong lager, high-tar cigarettes and deep-fried snacks. Custom was slack, the atmosphere chill. Chipchase bought a couple of large Scotches, then steered Harry to a window table, as far as possible from eavesdropping bar-proppers. The ten years and a bit that had passed since their last encounter had left their mark on Harry's old partner. He looked grey and weary. The luxuriant hair of his youth had grown thin and lank. His shoulders had acquired a despondent slump. Even his clothes were cheaper and shabbier than they would once have been. The hat and raincoat dated from happier, wealthier days, but were overdue for replacement. And the cracked leather of his shoes told its own sad story.

'How did you find me?' growled Chipchase, dispensing with a toast as he started on his Scotch.

'Spotted Shona buying your favourite cigars.'

'Bugger. It's always your vices that trip you up in the end.'

'How did you persuade her to take you in?'

'She's a sucker for a hard-luck story. Especially the kind that's true. Thanks to all the scrapes her worthless junkie of a son's got into, she's quite sympathetic to, er… what you might call…'

'Ex-cons?'

Chipchase scowled. 'Go on. Rub salt into the wound. I suppose Plod were bound to slip that juicy little morsel your way. Chokey's where you'd have predicted poor old Chipchase would end up eventually, anyway, isn't it? Does Danger know about this?'

'Everyone knows, as far as I can tell. It's just that some knew sooner than others. I was one of the last.'

'Sorry about that.' An expression close to genuine regret flickered across Chipchase's face. 'Look, Harry, if I'd had any idea Plod were going to come up with the crazy notion that we'd become partners in crime just because one of our old Clean Sheet buddies does himself in and another dies in a car crash, I'd… well, I'd have…'

'Yeah? What would you have done, Barry? I'd really like to know.'

'I'd have warned you off, wouldn't I? What do you take me for?'

'You didn't give me any warning when you and Jackie ran off to Spain and left me to face the music at Barnchase Motors.'

'Christ, Harry, that was more than thirty years ago. Can't we forgive and forget?'

'I'd like to. But leopards don't change their spots. As your recent foray into the nursing-home business clearly shows.'

'That wasn't my fault. It could have worked if I'd been given more time. I was badly let down.'

'Not as badly as your investors. And the jury were convinced it was your fault.'

'Bleeding-heart liberals, the lot of them. They call anything fraud these days. Let me tell you, Harry, we'd never have had an Industrial Revolution — we'd never have had an Empire — if we'd dragged all those thrusting entrepreneurs into court every time they cut the odd corner.'

Chipchase leaned back in his chair, took the telltale pack of Villiger's cigars from his pocket and lit one, his self-esteem briefly boosted by the belief that he was somehow making common cause with legendary titans of Britain's imperial past.

Harry allowed him one long, savoured puff, then asked, 'How was prison?'

The next puff was more of a sigh — and a heartfelt one at that. 'Bloody awful,' he murmured. Then he added, 'I can't go back inside, Harry. I just can't.' And it was quite clearly the truest thing he had so far said.

'That bad?'

'I'm a free spirit. You know me. I can't be… confined. I still catch the smell of the place in my nostrils. This godawful, sour reek. It's just a memory, of course. A rotten bloody memory. But I can't forget it.' He summoned a grin. 'The cigars help.'

'Going to ground when the police want to speak to you isn't the smartest way to avoid another spell inside, Barry. Surely you realize that.'

'I didn't go to ground to avoid them, did I?'

'Who, then? Peter Askew and Neville Wiseman? Them and however many other of our old buddies you swindled in the nursing-home racket.'

'I didn't swindle them. It wasn't a racket.' Chipchase propped the cigar in the ashtray and slouched forward, elbows on the table. 'OK. Yes, I did a runner to avoid a face-to-face with some of my aggrieved investors. My unjustifiably aggrieved investors. What else was I supposed to do?'

'Why did you accept Danger's invitation in the first place? You must have known they were likely to turn up.'

'Why? Because I was down on my bloody uppers, Harry, that's why. I'd never even have got the invitation otherwise. My half-brother lives in the house I grew up in. That's where the MoD sent the—'

'Hold on. Half-brother? You always said you were an only child.'

'I thought I was. But it seems my mother had an illegitimate child before she married my father. Gave him up for adoption. He tracked her down about twenty years ago and weeviled his way into her affections. A real snake. An out-and-out bloody schemer. Managed to persuade her to leave the house and everything to him. I was… abroad at the time. Out of touch. Only heard my mother had died and he'd cheated me out of my inheritance when it was too late to do anything about it.'

'Of course, if you'd been a more attentive—'

'Don't start, Harry. Just don't start. OK? The point is I went to see him a month or so back, hoping I could talk him into buying me out of the half-share of the house I'm morally entitled to. No such luck. He's a stone-hearted bastard. And I choose my words carefully. Anyway, he'd just received Danger's letter. That's all I got out of the visit and it wasn't much. But I was desperate. Down to my last few rolls of the dice. So, I spun Danger the story that I'd sold my house and was about to quit these shores for good, but could stay on for the reunion if only I had somewhere to rest my weary bones in the meantime. Generous sod that he is, he asked me up here. Well, Sweet Gale Lodge is a cushy billet, as you know. I wasn't complaining. I knew I'd have to do a vanishing act if Judd, Tancred and Wiseman came to the reunion, but what the hell? The state my finances are in, I don't look much further ahead than—'

'Just a minute. Judd, Tancred and Wiseman. They all invested in Chipchase Sheltered Holdings?'

'Only Judd and Wiseman, actually. Tancred turned me down. But all three knew about it, so—'

'Plus Peter Askew?'

'No, no. Askew had nothing to do with it. I hadn't a clue where he was, anyway, even if I'd wanted to try and sell the idea to him. I only went after those I knew I could find and who might have some spare cash I could separate them from. I'd seen Judd's name on builders' hoardings around London and I'd come across Wiseman during my brief but lucrative phase as middleman for a dealer in Middle Eastern antiquities. He put me onto Tancred, much good that it did me. I tried Maynard as well, but he turned out to be dead. As for Askew, no. Absolutely one hundred per cent not.'

'That doesn't make sense. The police found an ad for a meeting of your creditors in his pocket. That's what pointed them towards…' Harry's words faltered as his thoughts raced ahead. 'It was planted on him. Which means he was murdered. And Wiseman's car was sabotaged. With you and me lined up to take the blame.'

'Bloody hell.'

'The police think I hid some of the proceeds of the nursing-home scam for you. They think we knocked off Askew — and tried to knock off Wiseman — to stop them finding out about it. They've taken my fingerprints and a DNA sample. I suppose they've already got yours. They're trying to tie us to two murders, Barry. And an attempted murder.'

'Bloody hell.'

'Can Shona supply you with an alibi for Friday afternoon?'

'No. She was out cleaning most of the day. Danger's not her only client. I was lying low. Not much choice, really. I didn't want to risk bumping into Danger after telling him I had to fly to Manchester. Benjy saw me. That's the son. But I doubt he'd remember. Especially if he knew it'd help me if he did.'

'And Saturday night, which is probably when Wiseman's car was got at?'

'Shona was out with her sister till late. I can't prove I didn't borrow her motor and drive to Kilveen under cover of darkness, if that's what you mean.'

'I suppose it is.'

'So, where does that leave us?'

'Well, it leaves me reporting to Police HQ at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, accompanied by a solicitor.'

'For your sake, I hope he's a good one.'

'It's a she, actually. And it's our sake you should be concerned about, Barry. Yours and mine. Because you'll be coming with me.'