Knock Down

15

Crispin stood in the yard at home looking miserable and broody. I stopped the car on my return from Vic’s and climbed out to meet him.

‘What’s the matter?’ I said.

‘Oh...’ He swung an arm wide in inner frustration, indicating the flattened stable area and the new scaffolding climbing up to the burnt part of the roof.

‘All this... If I hadn’t been drunk it wouldn’t have happened.’

I looked at him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘But I do. If I’d been around... if there had been lights on in the house... that man wouldn’t have set fire...’

‘You don’t know that he wouldn’t,’ I said.

‘Stands to reason.’

‘No. Come on in, it’s cold out here.’

We went into the kitchen and I made coffee. Crispin’s mood of self-abasement flickered on fitfully while he watched me put the water and coffee grounds into the percolator.

‘It would have been better if you had let me die.’

‘It was a good job you passed out in the bathroom,’ I said. ‘It was the only room which had natural ventilation through an airbrick.’

He wasn’t cheered. ‘Better if I’d snuffed it.’

‘Want some toast?’

‘Stop bloody talking about food. I’m saying you should have let me die.’

‘I know you are. It’s damn silly. I don’t want you dead. I want you alive and well and living in Surrey.’

‘You don’t take me seriously.’ His voice was full of injured complaint.

I thought of all the other conversations we’d had along those lines. I ought to have let him drown in the bath, the time he went to sleep there. I ought to have let him drive into a tree, the time I’d taken his car keys away. I ought to have let him fall off the Brighton cliffs, the time he tottered dizzily to the edge.

Blaming me for not letting him die was his way of laying all his troubles at my door. It was my fault he was alive, his mind went, so it was my fault if he took refuge in drink. He would work up his resentment against me as a justification for self-pity.

I sighed inwardly and made the toast. Either that day or the next he would be afloat again on gin.

There was no word from Vic. I spent all day working in the office and watching racing on television, with Crispin doing his best to put his mind to my accounts.

‘When you worked for High Power,’ I said, ‘Did you have anything to do with a claim for a horse called Polyprint?’

He sniffed. ‘You know damn well I was in Pensions, not Claims.’

‘Just thought you might have heard...’

‘No.’

We drank coke and fizzy lemonade and coffee, and I grilled some lamb chops for supper, and still Vic didn’t telephone.

Same thing the next morning. Too much silence. I bit my nails and wondered what to do if my lever didn’t work: if Vic wouldn’t tell and the friend wouldn’t save him. The blood typing tests could go ahead and chop Vic into little pieces, but the friend would be free and undiscovered and could recruit another lieutenant and start all over again, like cancer.

I wandered round the place where the stable had been, desultorily kicking at loose stones.

A car turned into the yard, one I didn’t know, and from it stepped a total stranger. Tall, young, blond. Surely this couldn’t be Vic’s friend, I thought: and it wasn’t. There were two other people in the car with him, and from the back of it stepped Sophie.

‘Hi...’ She grinned at my face. ‘Who were you expecting? The bailiffs?’

She introduced the friends, Peter and Sue. They were all on their way to lunch with Sue’s parents, but if I liked she could stop off with me and they would pick her up on their way back.

I liked. The friends waved and went, and Sophie tucked her arm through mine.

‘How about marriage?’ I said.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you like oysters and I don’t.’

I smiled and steered her into the house. It was as good an answer as any.

Crispin was highly restless and not in the least pleased to see her.

‘I’ll go for a walk,’ he said. ‘I can see I’m not wanted.’

‘You’ll stay right where you are and pour us some cokes,’ I said firmly. We looked at each other, both knowing that if he went for a walk it would lead to the pub.

‘All right,’ he said abruptly. ‘You bloody bully.’

I cooked the lunch: steaks and grilled tomatoes. Crispin said that Sophie ought to do it and Sophie said you should never interfere in someone else’s kitchen. They looked at each other with unfriendly eyes as if each wishing that the other wasn’t there. Not the most relaxed of Sunday lunch parties, I thought: and Vic telephoned with the coffee.

‘My friend will meet you,’ he said. ‘For five minutes only. Like you said.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘Here. At my house. Six o’clock.’

‘I’ll be there,’ I said.

His voice held a mixture of instructions and anxiety. ‘You’ll cancel those blood tests?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘After the meeting, I will.’

I went back to the kitchen. Sophie was smoking and Crispin glowered at his coffee as if it were an enemy. When we were alone he often stacked the plates in the dishwasher but I knew he wouldn’t do it while she was there. He took it for granted that if there was a woman in the room she would do the household chores, even if she were a guest. Sophie saw no reason to do jobs she disliked, and her host’s jobs at that, simply because she was female. I watched the two of them with a sad sort of amusement, my liability of a brother and the girl who wouldn’t be my wife.

During the afternoon Peter and Sue rang to say they were staying overnight with Sue’s parents and consequently couldn’t take Sophie home. Would I mind frightfully driving her home myself.

I explained to Sophie that I had an appointment near Epsom.

‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait in the car while you do your business, and we can go on to my place after.’

A flicker of caution made me uneasy. ‘I’m going to see Vic Vincent,’ I said.

‘Is he likely to be as lethal as Fynedale?’

I smiled. ‘No.’

‘And don’t forget it was a good job I was with you at Ascot.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Well, then.’

So I took her.

Crispin followed us out to the car. ‘I suppose you won’t be back till bloody morning,’ he said.

‘Whether I am or not, you’ll be all right.’

He looked at me in desperation. ‘You know I bloody won’t.’

‘You can be if you want to,’ I said persuasively.

‘Sod you, Jonah.’

He stood and watched us as I started the car and drove away. As usual he had made me feel a grinding guilt at leaving him to struggle alone. As usual I told myself that if he were ever to beat the drink he would have to stay off it when I wasn’t there. I simply couldn’t be beside him every minute of his life.

We drove towards Epsom. We were early, by design. Vic had said six o’clock, but I thought that a preliminary scout around might be prudent. The friend, whoever he was, had already sent a load of trouble my way, and I had a minimum of faith that all would henceforth be caviar and handshakes.

I drove fifty yards past the entrance to Vic’s drive, and pulled up on the grass verge with Sophie’s door pressed close against the hedge. I switched off the lights and turned to her.

‘When I go, lock my door behind me,’ I said. ‘And don’t get out of the car.’

‘Jonah... You really do think Vic might be lethal.’

‘Not Vic. But he might have someone else with him... I don’t know. Anyway, I’ll be much happier if I’m sure you’re sitting here snug and safe.’

‘But...’

‘No buts.’ I kissed her lightly. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour or so. If I’m not here by six thirty, drive on into Epsom and raise a posse.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Put the rug round you, or you’ll get cold.’

I slid out of the car and watched her lock the door. Waved. Smiled as if I were going to the circus. Went away.

The night was not pitch dark. Few nights are. My eyes adjusted to the dimness and I went quietly through the gateway and up alongside the drive, walking on the grass. I had worn for the occasion a black sweater and dark trousers, black rubber-soled shoes. I pulled a pair of gloves from my pocket and put them on. I had dark brown hair, which helped, and apart from the pale blob of my face I must have looked much at one with the shadows.

There were two cars outside the front of Vic’s house, both of them unfamiliar. A Ford Cortina and a Jaguar XJ 12.

I drifted round the house towards the pool, hoping and guessing that Vic used his office, as I did, as the natural place to take his friends. Most of the house was in darkness. Vic’s window shone with light. Round one, I thought.

Carefully I skirted the pool and approached under the protection of the dark overhang of the roof over the guest suite, keeping tight against the wall. Faint light from the sky raised a sheen on the unruffled pool water. There was no wind, no sound except from an occasional car on the road. I edged with caution closer.

Vic’s window was hung with thick fawn-coloured crusty net in clustered folds. I found that one could see a certain amount when trying to look through it straight ahead, but that slanting vision was impossible. It also seemed possible that as the curtaining was not opaque, anyone inside could see through it to someone moving about outside. Inconvenient for peeping Toms.

I crawled the last bit, feeling a fool. The window stretched down to within eighteen inches of the paving stone. By the time I reached the wall I was flat on my stomach.

Vic was walking around the room, talking. I risked raising my eyes over the level of the sill, but to little purpose. All I could clearly see was a bit of the table which stood near the window, and a distant piece of Florentine mirror. I shifted sideways a little and looked again. A sliver of bookcase and a chair leg. Another shift. More bookcase, and a quick impression of Vic moving.

His voice came through the glass whenever he walked near the window. I put my head down and listened to unconnected snatches.

‘...Polyprint and Nestegg... bloody dynamite...’

‘...what does it matter how he found out? How did you find out in the first place...’

‘...beating him up wouldn’t have worked either. I told you... burning his place hurt him more...’

‘...you can’t put pressure on a wife and children if he hasn’t got any...’

‘...brother... no good... just a lush...’

I shifted along on my stomach and looked again. Another uninformative slice of furnishings.

I couldn’t see who Vic was talking to nor hear the replies. The answering voice came to me only as a low rumble, like a bass drum played quietly. I realised in the end that its owner was sitting against the window wall but so far to the left that unless he moved I was not going to be able to see him from where I was. Never mind, I thought. I would see him face to face soon enough. Meanwhile I might as well learn as much as I could. There might be a gem for the bargaining session ahead.

‘...can’t see any other way out...’ Vic said.

The reply rumbled briefly.

Vic came suddenly close to the window. I buried my face and stretched my ears.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I more or less promised him you would meet him.’

Rumble rumble, seemingly displeased.

‘Well I’m damn well not going inside just to save him from knowing who you are.’

Rumble rumble.

‘Damn right I’ll tell him.’

Rumble rumble rumble.

Vic hadn’t been exactly frank, I thought. He hadn’t told his rumble-voiced friend that I was due there at six o’clock. Vic was going to hand the friend to me on a plate whether the friend liked it or not. I smiled in the dark. Round two.

‘I don’t give a damn about your reputation,’ Vic said. ‘What’s so bloody marvellous about your reputation?’

A long rumble. Infuriating not to be able to hear.

Vic’s voice in reply sounded for the first time as if he were stifling doubts.

‘Of course I agree that business is founded on trust...’

Rumble rumble.

‘Well, it’s too bad because I’m not bloody going to jail to save your reputation, and that’s flat.’

Rumble.

Vic moved across the window from right to left, but I could still hear him clearly.

‘Where are you going?’ His voice suddenly rose sharply into anxiety. ‘What are you doing? No... No... My God... Wait...’ His voice went higher and louder. ‘Wait...’

The last time, he screamed it. ‘Wait...’

There was a sort of cough somewhere inside the room and something heavy fell against the window. I raised my head and froze in absolute horror.

Vic was leaning back against the glass. The net curtain all around him was bright scarlet.

While I watched he twisted on his feet and gripped hold of the curtain for support. On the front of his lilac shirt there was an irregular scarlet star.

He didn’t speak. His grip slackened on the curtains. I saw his eyes for a second as he fell.

They were dead.

Without conscious thought I got to my feet and sprinted round to the front of the house. It’s easy enough looking back to say that it was a mad thing to do. At the time all I thought was that Vic’s murdering friend would get clean away without me seeing who he was. All I thought was that I’d set Vic up to flush out the friend, and if I didn’t see who it was he would have died for nothing. The one thing I didn’t think was that if the friend saw me, he would simply shoot me too.

Everything happened too fast for working out probabilities.

By the time I had skirted the pool and the garden room the engine of one of the cars in the drive was urgently revving. Not the big Jaguar. The Cortina. It reversed fiercely in an arc to point its nose to the drive.

I ran. I came up to it from behind on its left side. Inside the car the dark bulk of the driver was shifting the gears from reverse to forward. I put my hand on the handle of the rear door, wanting to open it, to make him turn his head, see who he was, to stop him, fight him, take his gun away, hand him over to justice... heaven knows.

The Cortina spurted forward as if flagged off the grid and pulled my arm right out of its socket.