Pix (Volume Book 24) (Harpur & Iles Mysteries) (28 page)

‘No, which type?'

‘Oh, crooked. Total unreconstructed villains. You can often read it, can't you?'

‘Can you?' he said. Was her stare intended to ‘read' him? But she didn't need to, did she? Hadn't she just done an accurate account of the drugs game in this city,
his
game?

‘Oh, yes,' she said. ‘It's in my mind to say to one of them that Graham has been done by Chandor and there's £15K on offer to knock him over. Knock anyone else around him over as well, if necessary, but make sure and finish
him
. Listen, Ralph, I can't let the sod live after this, can I? The bank account is joint, Graham's and mine. I insisted. I'm very solvent. I can buy help.'

Ember chuckled again in a calm fashion, a quizzical fashion. ‘You're saying you know hit men?' he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Fair enough. No, I'm not sure I do know hit men, not absolute, experienced pros. That's why I'm here this morning, isn't it?'

‘It is?'

‘I know shady folk who were Graham's friends and might – might – want to do something to even things out for him and for me. But, you're right, they're probably not
proven, accomplished contractors. That's a select and confidential calling, isn't it? And so, yes, I hesitate over asking any of them, in case they fuck up, or take the money and don't do it but bugger off on holiday to Mexico, or start blabbing about it, and I'm in bother.'

Ralph thought he began to cotton the astonishing, contemptuous, outrageously unsexual purpose of this morning visit.

‘A lot of the talk I've listened to lately here is appraisal talk, Ralph.'

‘Appraisal of what?'

‘Of people here – figureheads. You come out pretty all right. Not perfect, but pretty all right. Gifted. Well, I'm not going to approach someone like Shale who picks such a suit and shirt, am I, for God's sake?'

Still with his face quite close to Goss's in this empty club, Ralph felt hopelessly distanced from her. He was conscious of enormous, warranted rage growing in him. This he reckoned as a magnificent positive factor, chasing out all remnants of the panic. A woman with that fucking razor wire haircut intended offering him,
him
, Ralph W. Ember, £15K to kill Chandor, because she fancied a bit of vengeance for the probable death and special burial of a lover. He'd had a thought to kill Chandor, yes, still had the thought, but just as a pure and necessary kill. He didn't take commissions, was not purchasable, as one of Trove's gutter London pals might be. Her talk of the money sickened him.

He'd very reasonably thought she arrived here today because she carried away from Low Pastures a recollection of him that sparked an understandable yearning she could not dowse. In fact, she came not driven by such admirable, natural desire but to buy a sniper. Just the same, he found his rage centred not so much on her as on Chandor, who had created this vile situation. Ralph would reject her foul proposal, yet his own project for Chandor grew stronger.

‘He's threatened you, hasn't he, Ralph? I've spoken to people who were in the club when he mocked the fine, elegantly collaged steel shield as farcical, and said you
were wide open to a bullet or two. You'll want to give him an answer to such abuse, won't you?'

‘I don't recall anything like that, not in the least,' he replied, ‘and I can tell you it wouldn't make any difference if he did say something of the sort.'

‘You should give him an answer and get paid for it. I could probably go to twenty grand for you, taking account of your experience, as long as it's a definite wipe-out.'

‘Look, I –'

‘And among other gobbets of chat I heard was admiration for the way you might – I say might because there's no proof – that's the brilliance of it – the way you
might
have seen off awkward fuckers in the past – Alfred Ivis, for instance? These are the kind of credentials I'm looking for if I engage someone.'

Such
an awkward fucker, Alf Ivis. ‘I don't think it suits to engage in slander of that sort, even though you may be emotionally off balance,' Ember replied. God, the only time she could sound really enthusiastic about him was as an executioner – nothing to do with his unquenchable glory as a man.

‘Up to £20K,' she replied. ‘Old notes, obviously and no fallible fifties.'

This genuinely grieving bitch thought she could get his services for cash, his thug skills, and not his more comforting and attentive flairs. Would she be able to comprehend the degree of affront in this, even if he explained it to her? He wouldn't, of course. That would be so much beneath him. Did any woman ever go to the head man at the Athenaeum and offer him a bag full of notes to flatten a business rival? Good God, something like this would most probably not even happen in that London media club, the Groucho.

However, Ralph recorded another present triumph. He was able to convert his revulsion and disappointment into a further restrained chuckle. ‘Turn assassin?' he remarked, in one of the best wry tones he thought he had ever uttered. ‘Not quite my line of things, I fear.' He continued
to aim his reproaches and loathing at Chandor, the dirty fountainhead of all this, responsible for causing such a grotesque, soiling interview.

She stood, as angry as himself, but showing it. ‘So, I will have to try a London mate or that fancy dress grammarian, Shale,' she said.

When she had gone, Ember went into the loft at the Monty and looked out a Heckler and Koch pistol, new, of course, and able to fire untraceables. Almost everyone had switched to H and Ks these days, including the police.

Harpur read the front page of the
Evening Register
to Iles in the Assistant Chief's suite. He liked being read to sometimes and would sit contentedly listening with one eye shut. A while ago, he'd told Harpur that this took him back to childhood and his mother going through the
Uncle
elephant story books for him at bedtime.

‘A very flattering comparison, sir, if I may say,' Harpur had replied, ‘– your mother.'

‘Oh, I didn't much like her. The tales were good, though. Not everyone likes Uncle, the elephant. They find him arrogant and vain. For myself, I loved him. Yes. He warred constantly against evil, as represented by the Badfort Crowd. Perhaps that won me. Did
your
mother ever read to
you
? What would it be, form articles from the
Racing Times
?'

Now, Harpur began: ‘ “Marina Murder and Mayhem, by crime correspondent Kate Mead.

‘ “A prominent local businessman was shot dead yesterday near his luxury home and only a few hundred yards from his marina office complex. Two of his associates, with him at the time, were severely injured and rushed to hospital where they remain in a critical condition. Because of its ruthlessness and expert planning, detectives believe there could be a gangland element to the shooting.

‘ “Police were today examining a burned-out car possibly used in the attack. Marina residents and office staffs are shocked by the outburst of violence in a normally quiet, prestige area. Detective Chief Inspector Francis Garland, who is in charge of the case, said: ‘This was an appalling
crime in one of the city's most sought after districts. It is essential that the attacker or attackers are detained very soon.'

‘ “Hilaire Wilfrid Chandor, 41, the dead man, had recently arrived in the city from London to establish a property business, H.W.C. Developments. The two men injured are executives of the company.

‘ “The shootings took place at lunchtime yesterday. Mr Chandor usually left the office at a little before 1 p.m. and walked to his home in Cape Matapan Terrace, which he occupied with his partner, Fiona Raegi and their son, Lance, aged seven, who attends Mayflower Preparatory School. Ms Raegi has a part-time post in H.W.C. Developments.

‘ “Neighbours say Mr Chandor was almost always accompanied by at least two members of the firm, as if for security. Police are investigating whether he had received threats, possibly from business rivals and perhaps with a London connection.

‘ “A near neighbour who did not wish to be named told the
Register
: ‘I heard a car outside at about 1 p.m. and then the sound of what I thought at first to be fireworks. I went to the window and saw Mr Chandor lying on the pavement. There was a blood patch on the pavement near his head. Two other men lay close by. One of them attempted to get to his feet but fell back. Mr Chandor and the other man were totally still. The car I'd heard had disappeared. I went to the telephone and dialled 999. The police arrived within five minutes.'

‘ “Although business rivalry is regarded as one possible motive, DCI Garland said he was keeping an open mind at this stage. Nothing was taken from any of the men and robbery has been discounted. Police would not disclose the make of car found burned out. DCI Garland said the efficiency of the attack could suggest a professional hit man or team.

‘ “Ms Raegi and Lance were being comforted today by relatives and neighbours. A member of the family said Ms Raegi was too upset to talk to the Press at this juncture.
Cape Matapan Terrace is a quiet side road of red-brick, marina-style town houses. It is believed Ms Raegi was in the kitchen at the rear of the house when the shootings took place and did not know of the attack until neighbours alerted her.

‘ “Although police would not comment on the nature of the injuries, the
Register
understands that Mr Chandor was killed by two bullets in the head. The two colleagues injured are Mr Rufus Vincent Esham, 37, Personnel Manager for H.W.C. Developments, and Maurice Spencer Corl, 43, Director of Strategic Planning. Both are in Intensive Care at Paston Hospital. Mr Esham was hit in the abdomen and Mr Corl in the chest. Paston confirmed today that both men remain critical.

‘ “Police say they have little to go on at this juncture except the abandoned car but are conducting house to house inquiries on the marina. It is likely the attacker or attackers switched vehicles in their getaway and that the torched vehicle was stolen.

‘ “It is not clear whether property was Mr Chandor's only business activity. It is believed he might have wished to diversify and that this could have brought him into confrontation with established local firms. Mr Chandor had previous business interests in the Eltham district of London.

‘ “The local business community were shocked by the incident at Cape Matapan Terrace. Because of his comparatively recent arrival in the city, he was still not very well known, but one prominent local businessman who also wished to remain anonymous said: ‘He had seemed to be settling in very well. This is a very regrettable setback and will cause all members of the commercial community considerable anxiety.' ” '

Iles, back to two-eyed mode, said: ‘Hint, hint. But, OK, she's doing her best to tell what has to be told, yet can't be, because there's too much unknown. Someone hires a marksman, or marksmen, to take out Chandor and those guilty by association, Col?'

‘ “Someone” being Trove's woman?'

‘We have no Trove body, though.'

‘Chandor does some genuine property and building work. Classic.'

‘Ah,' Iles replied. ‘Then again, perhaps Ralphy or Manse don't like the potential opposition as Chandor tries to “diversify”, and act themselves, or put their people on to it. Plus, Chandor might have already given all kinds of actual, infuriating offence.'

‘What are you thinking of, sir – Manse's staircase as glimpsed from Matilda's little bedroom?'

‘Chandor could be the kind who dishes out plenty of disrespect and threats,' Iles replied. ‘And then there's Manse's new chauffeur, isn't there? Eldon. He looked capable and short-fused to me. I don't suppose the girl herself can use an automatic, can she?'

‘Goss?'

‘She's probably got a rough side. How else would she be with Trove?'

‘You, personally, thought Chandor should be removed, didn't you, in the interests of order?' Harpur replied. ‘The Forensic people say H and K shells, but everyone has H and Ks these days, haven't they, as well as you – I mean, us?'

Iles glared,
very
two-eyed, across the desk. ‘Do I see a news pic of that fucker Garland?' he said. ‘Yes, the word –
fucker
.' Harpur was holding up the
Register
as he browsed the inside pages, accidentally and foolishly giving Iles a view of Page 1. There had been a time when Sarah Iles seemed to panic in her marriage and turned for a while to Garland and, of course, to Harpur. The ACC transformed himself into anguished shouter once more. ‘Garland – that smug-looking, lesser-breed sod. He's another of your atrocious sort, isn't he, Harpur? Tell me this, was he before or after you with my wife?'

‘Ralphy has a letter on Page 6 of the
Register
that –'

‘Sarah and I can smile together about those incredible, grubby episodes now. Oh, yes, we smile. Episodes.
Episodes
, Harpur. And you can tell Garland the same.
That's how we regard them. We are civilized, we are adult. We are strong. We have come through.'

‘That's a quote, isn't it, sir?'

‘But I don't understand what in God's name she could see in either of –'

‘Ralphy has a letter on Page 6 criticizing the water authorities for still not doing enough about river pollution and a heavy decline of trout population,' Harpur said. ‘This is despite previous published appeals by him on the subject. He goes as Ralph W. Ember when writing to the Press.'

Iles nodded economically and swam gracefully back to the present, like a very hale fish. ‘Sometimes, only sometimes, Harpur, things work themselves out satisfactorily without too much involvement on our part,' he said pleasantly, patiently, the voice of masterful overview – civilized, adult, strong, having come through.