Permissible Limits (27 page)

‘
You make him sound like a gangster.’

‘
He’s not a gangster. Loner, yes. Gangster, no.’

‘
So are you telling me to be careful? Is that it?’

Dennis gave the question some thought. Then he shook his head and barked with laughter.

‘
No,’ he said. ‘I’m just really proud of you for chiselling out that hundred and sixty grand.’

It was at this point that I gave him Steve Liddell’s cheque for £70,000. Dennis looked at it in disbelief, held it up to the light, then voiced the obvious question. Just where had Steve Liddell got his hands on a sum like this? I said I didn’t know and didn’t - to be honest - much care. Far more important to me were the questions that preceded it. How had Adam acquired the money in the first place? And why hadn’t he shared news of this little windfall with me?

On the phone, Dennis had used the word ‘laundered’ and I quoted it back to him, toying with the remains of my fish while he explained exactly what Adam had done.

A group of international businessmen, it seemed, wanted to re-stage a famous wartime operation involving Mustangs and B
-17s
,
the hefty four-engine bombers known to the Mustang pilots as ‘Big Friends’. The mission, made possible by the range of both aircraft, centred on a bombing raid against German targets around a town called Ruhland. Bombs gone, the B
-17s
and their escorting Mustangs headed east to an airfield in friendly Russia. A couple of days later, refuelled and rebombed, the task force hit Poland, then flew on to Italy. A week later, after excursions into Hungary and Romania, the Mustangs returned to the UK, completing the triangle. Within days, the American PR people had turned the operation into a legend. Hunting for a headline, they dubbed it ‘The Russian Shuttle’.

I followed Dennis’s account, trying to fit our own Mustang into the story, trying to visualise our little silver fish swimming in the clear,
cold
air
over
Russia.

‘
But why the businessmen?’ I queried. ‘Why their interest?’

‘
It’s a gimmick,’ he said at once. ‘It’s a deal dressed up as history. Just now, Russia’s hot, really hot. That’s where the opportunities are. That’s where the sharp guys make the real killings. What they’re after is an angle, a way in. The Soviets are still obsessed by the war. Stage a re-enactment, make an anniversary of it, throw in a couple of gallons of vodka, and you’ll have them queuing round the block.’

‘
And this was Adam’s idea?’

‘
The Shuttle?’ Dennis shook his head. ‘Came from another guy, very well-connected, good footwork, big player in the warbird market. You may have come across him.’ Dennis tore at the remains of his bread roll, waiting for me to catch up.

‘
You mean Harald?’

‘
The very same.’

‘
Harald asked Adam?’

‘
Yeah. To organise the Shuttle. Get some Mustangs together. Talk to the people with the refurbished B
-
17s.
Plot a route. Shake down the logistics. All that shit.’

‘
And the seventy thousand?’

‘
A down-payment on his fee.’

I blinked, watching Dennis brush breadcrumbs into his cupped hand and toss them over his shoulder. So why did Adam pass the money on to Steve Liddell I wondered? And why had he never mentioned this Shuttle operation to me? I began to put the questions into words but thought better of it. If Dennis was so well-informed, there was a more important issue to resolve.

‘
Tell me about Steve Liddell,’ I said, ‘and this woman Michelle. Why did she leave him?’

‘
I’ve no idea.’

‘
Was it someone else?’

‘
Yeah. But I don’t know who.’

I spotted the waitress approaching with the brandies. ‘You mentioned some windsurfing school.’

‘
That’s right. Place out on the west coast. St Ouen’s Bay. Somewhere near L’Etacq.’

‘
Is it hers?’

‘
As far as I know. She started up last year. Did well, the way I hear it.’

The waitress deposited the drinks between us. The huge balloons of Courvoisier brought a smile to Dennis’s face. He reached for his glass and proposed a toast. I ignored him.

‘
How much does it cost to start a windsurfing school?’

‘
No idea. Starting anything ain’t cheap.’

‘
Seventy thousand?’

I looked him in the eye, waiting for an answer. He took a mouthful of the brandy, then wiped his mouth.

‘
You’re crazy,’ he said at length. ‘You think Adam funded that? Is that where you’re coming from?’

‘
It’s a question,’ I said. ‘That’s all.’

‘
But you think she needed someone else’s money? Michelle La Page?’

This was the first time I’d heard the girl’s surname. The inflection in Dennis’s question suggested I was being woefully naive.

‘
Tell me about the La Page family,’ I said evenly. ‘What have I missed here?’

‘
You’ve never heard of Bernard La Page?’

‘
Never. Should I have done?’

Dennis gave me one of his despairing shrugs. Bernard La Page, it seemed, was a major, major player on the island. Amongst his many business interests was a clutch of engineering firms in the West Midlands, and sole ownership of a small commercial airline, ChannelAir.

ChannelAir I’d come across. Short Skyvans in a rather fetching shade of green.

‘
Don’t they fly to Heathrow?’

‘
Twice daily. The Heathrow slots are worth a fortune. Just one reason the guy’s got money to burn.’

‘
And Michelle?’

‘
Is his daughter.’ Dennis nodded. ‘Seventy grand to her would be a birthday present.’

‘
So Adam wouldn’t… ?’ I could feel the relief flooding through me.

‘
No way. If Michelle went into business, Daddy would have footed the bills.’

‘
You’re sure about that?’

‘
Of course I’m sure. Stands to reason. That’s what families are for, isn’t it? Sticking together? One for all? All for one?’

He gave me a rather sharp look, and seconds later I realised why. He’d liked Adam. And, more importantly, he’d thought that Adam had rather liked me.

‘
He could be very stupid sometimes,’ I said defensively. ‘Very silly. You know how headstrong he was. How he always wanted his own way.’

‘
But you think him and this… Michelle chick? You really think that?’

In my mind’s eye, I could see the creased photo in Adam’s drawer, the rolled-down wetsuit, the expression on her face, the adolescent message scrawled across the back.
For you, my darling,
she’d written.
From all
of
me.

Dennis was still waiting for an answer.

‘
Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘I think it’s a real possibility.’

‘
You’re nuts.’ He frowned at me. ‘You’ve got evidence?’

I didn’t answer him. Not directly. At length, I took a sip of brandy. It burned my throat and made my eyes water.

‘
You haven’t told me what happened to the seventy thousand,’ I reminded him. ‘You haven’t told me why Adam give it to Steve in the first place.’

‘
That’s because I don’t know.’

‘
Then it could have been…’ I shrugged hopelessly, ‘… something to do with her, couldn’t it?’

Dennis, never patient, was beginning to get irritable. He picked up Steve’s cheque, still lying on the table between us.

‘
It’s back,’ he said gruffly. ‘The money’s back. What the hell does it matter why Adam parted with it?’

‘
Is that a serious question?’

‘
Of course it is. You’re paranoid, Ellie. The last thing you need just now are more problems. Christ knows what Adam was up to. You know what he was like. He could be a real lunatic sometimes, a complete dickhead. He’d get some idea, some bee in his bonnet, and off he’d go. The unguided bloody missile. Completely out of control.’

I looked at him for a moment, looked at the exasperation in his face. Then I pushed back my chair and stood up.

‘
You’re right,’ I said coldly. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

I found Steve Liddell in his hangar on the far side of Jersey airport. He was perched on a pair of wooden steps, working on the
engine
of one of Harald’s latest batch of Yaks. The driver of my taxi was eager to get back to St Helier. I asked him to wait.

‘
This won’t take long,’ I said grimly.

Steve watched me walking into the hangar. With the greatest reluctance, he abandoned his spanner and clambered down the steps to meet me. He looked wary and ill-at-ease. We didn’t shake hands.

‘
We were having a chat,’ I said. ‘Over at Mapledurcombe. I don’t suppose you remember.’

Steve wiped his face with the back of his hand.

‘
Yeah,’ he grunted, totally noncommittal.

‘
I was asking you why Michelle left. You told me it wasn’t your fault.’

‘
That’s right.’

‘
Then whose fault was it?’

Steve bowed his head. He was wearing overalls and his old peaked Timberland cap, and when he looked up again his eyes were shadowed.

‘
I can’t tell you,’ he said.

‘
Can’t
tell me?’

‘
No.’

‘
Why on earth not?’

He shrugged, and the way he glanced up at the exposed engine said it all. I’m in the middle of a job. I need the money. What I don’t need, just now, are questions like these.

‘
Was it Adam?’

‘
I don’t know what you mean.’

‘
Nonsense. Of course you know what I mean. Michelle left you.

She left you for someone else. I’m asking you again, Steve. It’s a really simple question, a yes or a no. Was it Adam?’

Steve began to frame an answer, then had second thoughts. Instead, he rolled his head on his shoulders, round and round, the way you do when the muscles get tight.

‘
I’m sorry about throwing up,’ he muttered at length. ‘Across at your place. That was out of order.’

‘
It’s not a problem.’ I stepped closer. ‘Yes or no. Then I’ll go.’

He looked down at me. Then, very slowly, he shook his head.

‘
Is that a no?’

He shook his head again. For a moment, I wanted to hit him. It was a quick, hot gust of anger, almost a reflex. I linked my fingers, squeezing very hard, fighting for control. Violence would solve nothing. Violence would simply get Steve off the hook. Adam’s missus. Just another hysteric.

I changed tack.

‘
Adam lent you seventy thousand pounds,’ I pointed out.

‘
I gave it you back.’

‘
I know, but why? Why did he give you that money in the first place?’

This time Steve obliged me with an answer, gesturing round at the half-empty hangar.

‘
Debts,’ he said. ‘Running costs. He bailed me out of the shit.’

‘
Because he felt guilty? About Michelle?’

Steve thought about the proposition. For some reason it seemed to amuse him, a ghost of a smile that came and went.

‘
She’s gone,’ he said bleakly. ‘It’s over and that’s that.’

‘
You don’t feel bitter?’

‘
Of course I feel
bitter.’

‘
About Adam, I mean.’