Chapter Twenty-Six

“I knocked out three teeth, split both lips, broke his nose and fractured his cheekbone in two places. And I’ve never felt happier about anything in my life.”

“You got into a lot of trouble over it,” said Venetia.

“Of course I did. They couldn’t possibly overlook it. That’s why I’m going back to the Middle East. Bahrain this time.” Mercer grinned reminiscently. “Defence counsel tried to make capital out of it on behalf of his poor, ill-treated client. When the jury heard that Mo had burned off Nevinson’s ear with a cigarette lighter, trying to extract from him a master key which didn’t exist, they somehow lost interest in his little troubles.”

“Keep out here,” said Venetia. “If you get too close to the bank you’ll lose your pole in the mud.”

She was sprawled on the cushions of the punt, trailing one brown hand in the water, and watching Mercer, who was punting with considerable skill and assurance.

“All the same,” she said, “it was silly to hit him. He was bound to get a long sentence, on account of the Superintendent being killed.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Mercer. He rubbed one finger down the scarred side of his face. “How do you think I got this?”

“I’ve often wondered.”

“Mo did it. Whilst two of his men held me. For various reasons there wasn’t much I could do about it at the time. But I couldn’t let him get away with it. It would have been bad for morale.”

“I don’t suppose his morale will be up to much for the next fourteen years.”

“I wasn’t thinking of his morale. I was thinking of mine. All the same, the biggest kick I got out of the whole trial was seeing Weatherman go down for seven years.”

“He wasn’t a very nice person,” agreed Venetia. “A good lawyer, though.”

“Will the firm survive?”

“I think so. Willoughby’s having to work really hard for the first time in his life.”

“It’ll do him a power of good.”

“They’ve lost a lot of clients, of course. But they’ve got quite a few new ones. People will always go to a solicitor if they think he can fiddle their taxes for them.”

They slid on in silence for a few minutes. It was early summer and there were no other boats on the river.

Mercer said, “I meant to congratulate you on Robert.”

“Thank you.”

“Just the right husband for you. Clean-living, upright and industrious.”

“Now you’re being beastly.”

“No. I mean it. Did you tell him about us?”

“Naturally. I didn’t want him to imagine I was entirely inexperienced.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Oh!’ “

Mercer laughed so much he nearly dropped the punt pole.

Venetia said, “I suppose, when you get to Bahrain you’ll turn Mohammedan, and have four wives.”

“It would be nice in some ways. But terribly expensive.”

“As I probably shan’t see you again, there’s one thing I wanted to ask you.” Having said this, Venetia was silent for so long that Mercer said, “I can’t bear the suspense. What is it?”

“It’s impertinent. And nothing to do with me. But why did you shoot Jack Bull?”

“He’d have shot me if I hadn’t.”

“Couldn’t you have disabled him?”

“It’s only in cowboy films that the sheriff shoots the gun out of the bad man’s hand.”

“I think you’re ducking the question.”

“Yes,” said Mercer. “I’m ducking the question.” He rested on the pole for a moment, holding the boat into the current, and staring back into the past; only six months gone, but already a world away. “I think,” he said, “that I shot him because I realised that prison would kill him, but it would take a lot longer to do it. You can’t think out elaborate reasons when you’ve only got a split second to make up your mind. But I think that’s why I shot him.”

“You were fond of him?”

“Yes. I liked him a lot. We were the same sort of people, really. We had the same sort of outlook on life. But he made a mistake. When he came back from the war, with one arm and not much money, he decided to go against the herd. It was a perfectly conscious decision. And it was a mistake.”

“How do you know all this?”

“He told me about it, one evening when we were drinking together. He didn’t put it in so many words, but I knew exactly what he meant, because I very nearly did the same thing myself, once.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I worked out that it was easier, and a lot safer, to go along with the herd and take up any easy pickings on the way.”

“You make it sound as if the only difference between honesty and dishonesty is the safety factor.”

“You could be right.”

“I think it’s a disgusting philosophy,” said Venetia. “Bull was a crook. And his friends were crooks. He swindled old ladies. And he was a murderer. Wasn’t he?”

They were up with Westhaugh Island now and they could see the spit of gravel where the body of Maureen Dyson had been laid.

“Yes,” said Mercer. “He certainly killed Maureen Dyson. Who was a most unpleasant little girl and no loss to the community. I doubt if we should have been able to prove it. Although I think there was a witness, who either saw him digging the grave the night before, or saw him putting Maureen into it.”

“I suppose that was Sowthistle?”

“I think so. It would account for all the muddled stories he told. I don’t think he’d have made a very convincing prosecution witness, though. He was scared stiff of Bull.”

“Do you think Bull killed Sweetie, too?”

“No. I’m quite certain that was an accident.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he was very fond of her.”

“You can’t know that.”

“If he hadn’t been fond of her, do you think he’d have made a will leaving her everything he’d got?”

“Did he do that? I didn’t know.”

“They found it when they were searching through Weatherman’s papers. He made it four years ago. What’s more he didn’t change it after she was dead.”

“Is it a lot?”

“When the garage has been sold up, and everything got in, it will come to about forty thousand pounds, and unless they can prove that any of it came from his dealings with the Crows – which I don’t think they can – I suppose it will all go to Sweetie’s next of kin.”

“Who is?”

“Her father.”

“Sowthistle?”

“That’s right.”

“What on earth will Sowthistle do with forty thousand pounds?” said Venetia.

“The imagination,” said Mercer, “absolutely boggles.”