Name To a Face

FORTY-ONE

Isbister caught up with Harding as he was leaving the train at Penzance the following morning-a cold, grey morning, with the fug of slumber still clinging to many of the disembarking passengers.

“Are you going straight round to see Humphrey, Mr. Harding?” Isbister asked, grimacing as if his indulgences of the evening and night before had taken their toll.

“Probably not. I’ll leave it till a more civilized hour.”

“Could I offer you a lift somewhere? I’m parked on the quay.”

“No need, thanks. I could do with stretching my legs.”

“In that case…” Isbister drew Harding aside by the elbow, more or less forcing him to stop and listen. “Look, I probably shouldn’t have told you what Gordon Meek said about Gabriel Tozer’s will. But… in vino veritas; there it is. I’d be really grateful if you didn’t mention it to Humphrey, though. Or to anyone else, come to that. Not just to spare me some embarrassment, but to avoid… inflaming the situation. Know what I mean?”

“I shan’t breathe a word.”

Isbister smiled in relief. “Excellent. Good man.”

“Any chance you could do me a favour in return?” Harding asked, sensing an opportunity he would be foolish to let slip.

“Name it.”

“The keys to Heartsease.”

Isbister frowned apprehensively. “I don’t think I can…”

“Look on it as a favour to Barney. He asked you to help me in any way you could, didn’t he?”

“In respect of the auction, yes. But…”

“Everything’s connected with everything else. Remember?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I’d have them back to you within an hour. I just want to… take a look.”

Isbister’s wrestling match with his professional conscience ended in submission. “I’m not going to regret this, am I, Mr. Harding?”

“No. Definitely not.” Harding smiled. “I’ll pick them up later.”

It was pushing close to nine o’clock when Harding reached the Spargo house, still unconscionably early, he suspected, by Darren’s standards. His suspicion was soon vindicated when Darren’s harassed mother answered the door, or, more accurately, opened it: she was on her way out, young child in tow.

“Darren about, Mrs. Spargo?” asked Harding.

“Not up yet. You’d better-”

“I’ll give him a wake-up call.” He dodged past her into the hall and made for the stairs.

“Hold on. You can’t go up there.”

Patently, however, Harding could. He was certainly in no mood to pay close attention to etiquette. Reaching the landing two steps at a time while Mrs. Spargo struggled to reverse back into the house with the child, he spotted only one closed door and made straight for it.

“Come back here,” he heard Mrs. Spargo shriek as he flung the door open.

Thin curtains were pulled across the window, admitting an ooze of grey light to the small, cramped bedroom. The bed covered most of the floor space. A shape stirred and groaned beneath the blankets. Harding moved past it and yanked the curtains apart, then opened the window wide in a squeal of swollen wood and a rush of cold air. “Rise and shine, Darren,” he shouted, turning back to the bed.

“Fucking hell,” came an answering moan. “What’s going on?”

“Ventilation, to start with. It smells like the camel house at the zoo in here.”

“Fuck,” slurred Darren, blearily focusing on his visitor. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I’m phoning the police if you don’t leave right now.” Mrs. Spargo glared in at Harding from the landing, doing her best to look and sound intimidating while the young child gaped open-mouthed through the banisters from halfway up the stairs.

“Do you want your mother to phone the police, Darren?” Harding countered. “There are a few things I want to discuss with you they might find very interesting.”

“Shit.” Darren pushed himself up on his elbows, revealing a scrawny torso. He squinted first at Harding, then his mother. A moment of woozy deliberation was followed by a scowl of resignation. “It’s OK, Ma. Mr. H and me… need to have a chat, that’s all. You… carry on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. You can… leave us to it.”

Mrs. Spargo cast Harding a wary look, muttered something inaudible, then retreated down the stairs, dragging the child with her and glancing back suspiciously as she went. “Who’s that man?” the child asked, her high-pitched voice carrying up to the bedroom. But Mrs. Spargo’s reply did not carry. The front door closed behind them with a clunk. Silence descended on chez Spargo. Darren slumped back on his pillow.

“What d’you want, man?”

“I thought we’d take up that conversation we were having on Monday where we left off.”

“Forget it. Hayley plugging Barney Tozer cancelled all bets. I’m not interested.”

“Frightened she might come after you, are you?”

“What d’you think?”

“I think I might be frightened. In your shoes.”

“Yeah?” Spargo sat up, slid a cigarette out of the open pack lying on the flimsy bedside table and lit it. There was a volley of coughs. Then he said, “Look, Mr. H, I’m sorry I messed you about. It was all Hayley’s idea. I just… did what she told me. And she really did skip town owing me a grand. Scheming little bitch. So, I’m out of pocket and you’re… out of luck. Let’s call it quits.”

“I want to know who stole the ring.”

“For Christ’s sake, why? The ring’s Tozer business. And that dies with Barney, the way I see it.”

“Not the way I see it. Who took the ring?”

Spargo coughed out a lungful of smoke. “You really sure about this?”

“Never more so.”

“OK. The offer stands. Slip me the dosh and I’ll slip you the name.”

“I’m not going to pay you a penny.”

“Fine. Don’t. You can show yourself out, can’t you? Put the kettle on on your way, will you? I’m dying for a cuppa.”

“I’m willing to do a deal, Darren. But it doesn’t involve money.”

“Not my kind of deal, then. Since I got burned by Hayley I’ve decided to do nothing without cash up front.”

Harding took a step forward and propped one foot on an exposed edge of the mattress. Spargo looked gratifyingly nervous. “Nathan Gashry, the man who passed on Hayley’s message to Barney, setting up the rendezvous, died yesterday.”

“Never.”

“It’s true. You’ll probably be able to read about it in today’s paper. They’ll say it was suicide, but it’s the old ‘Did he fall or was he pushed?’ problem. Either way, he’s dead.”

“Fucking hell.” Spargo had now abandoned all attempts to disguise his anxiety. “What’s going on? What has that bitch got me into?”

“A whole lot of trouble. The fatal kind, potentially. As it is, I’m the only one who knows you helped Hayley Where did the helping stop? That’s the question: the question the police will ask-if they’re pointed in your direction.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I won’t mention your part in all this to them if you tell me who stole the ring. Provided you genuinely know, of course. Provided what you tell me is the truth. If I check, as I will, and it turns out you’ve pulled a fast one, the deal’s off. You see, conning Barney out of a thousand quid with some duff gen might have been a smart move. But buying my silence with it wouldn’t be. Because you need me to keep my mouth shut about your role in Hayley’s activities, you really do. Otherwise, who knows what might happen to you? The police wouldn’t be your only problem, just like they weren’t Nathan Gashry’s only problem. So, I hope you know what you claim to know. For your sake.”

“Did Hayley kill this guy Gashry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then…”

“Who? Exactly. Who? And why?”

Spargo shook his head. “It’s not the party who nicked the ring. I can tell you that for nothing.”

“Just tell me who it was.”

“If we’re going to get smart, I’d better straighten one thing out. I went round to see Hayley that night-the Sunday before the auction. I was beginning to get the feeling I had a trickier job on my hands than she’d let on. Thought you might give me some serious aggro. I, er, wanted more money up front, like. She talked me out of it with a promise of more later. Only had to open those big wide eyes of hers and you’d agree to any crazy fucking thing. Y’know? Anyhow, she told me to give you your phone back and hang loose till we made our next move. It was supposed to be all about blackmailing you. But I was starting to see there was more to it than that. When I left, I, er, hung about outside. She’d been that keen to get rid of me I thought she was expecting someone she didn’t want me to see. So, I, er, kept watch on the place for a while. Just in case, like. Then, all of a sudden, the alarm went off. And I saw this bloke slip round from the back and hustle off down the road. What I’m saying is I can’t swear for a fact he took the ring, ’cos I never saw it, but he’s your man, sure enough. No doubt about it.”

“And who is he?”

“You don’t want to know, Mr. H, believe me. Best leave it, hey? If folks are getting themselves killed… the likes of you and me should leave well alone.”

“There are no likes of you and me, Darren. We’re completely unlike. So, just tell me, OK? Who is he?”

Spargo took a long pull on his cigarette and looked Harding in the eye. “Have it your way,” he said with a shrug.