So then I said to myself, “Okay, old chap, you’re never going to get this chance ever again in your life. You have to start this business right this very second. Or someone else will.” So I pulled up my bootstraps, and I got to work. That was how Ride+ was born, and the sky has been the limit ever since.’
Jon was quite unsure what to say. Had he asked about Crockley’s business ventures? Had he even said a word? He really couldn’t remember. Even in Crockley’s current state – pale and sweating – he was still on top form (his very unique version of ‘top form’ anyway). Regardless of what one thought of him, Crockley had this uncanny ability to weave an enticing narrative that was hard to escape.
‘Right,’ Jon said rather awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry, what were we discussing?’
Crockley did not answer, but instead spluttered into his handkerchief. There was indeed something very wrong with him. As if the man were responding to this directly, he smiled and said, ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’
Jon continued then. ‘I think I asked about your private audience with the King, yes?’
Thomas Crockley’s smile faded somewhat. ‘That may be what you call it. I rather prefer it as the Longest Ten Minutes of My Life. Really, a dreadful waste of time. I should have stayed down in the basement kitchen with you, where I couldn’t be found. The old boy was lucky that it’s Christmas and I didn’t have business calls to make, otherwise I’d be billing him for lost revenue. Well, I mean, figuratively. He was the King, after all.’
‘May I inquire as to the content? Princess Maud mentioned that you would not tell her.’
‘No.’ Crockley’s energy had entirely dissipated. ‘Look, it’s a rather touchy subject, so I would prefer not to talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘If your audience has any correlation to the King’s death, then it could be of the utmost importance. I am not necessarily accusing you either – there could be information about someone else that you are overlooking.’
‘I find that hard to believe, old boy. My ritual sacrifice was very much about myself and my father-in-law. Can you imagine how embarrassing it is to know that your wife’s parents have never liked you? Now, take that embarrassment and multiply it by a thousand because your father-in-law’s only the sodding King.’
‘Was there any reason why the King chose to voice his opinion today, of all days?’
Crockley hesitated a moment, as if trying to catch himself, but then thundered on anyway. He was away now, the spinning top of gossip. ‘Oh yes, absolutely. The King, with all due respect you understand, had a bee in his bonnet for a long time about something, and he finally felt he had to nail me to the wall for it.’
‘Would this be the fact that the King thought there was someone leaking palace secrets to the producers of The Monarch?’ Jon thought back to what he had overheard at dinner.
Crockley did not appear surprised at all. ‘Yes, sir, it would. Maud told you that, did she? The old King has been talking about it for what feels like years, and I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion he suspected me for it. He’s never had the cojones to come out and say it though.’
‘But today he did.’
‘Yes. He made quite a performance out of it – I’m surprised he didn’t sell tickets. Don’t know if the conversation went the way he thought it would though. He had this evidence, this file – don’t know where it is, never want to see it again – where he’d compiled every interview I’d ever done and photos of Royal events and correspondence of God knows who and who knows what else. He was brandishing it at me like a sodding gun. Apparently, it all meant that I was the only one who had been present at every single instance that cropped up in the show. Going senile in his old age, clearly.’
Thomas Crockley was getting vile, but Jon had to let him get on with it to hear his tale. ‘Mr Crockley, you haven’t been leaking secrets to the producers of The Monarch, have you?’
Crockley’s insipid demeanour instantly eroded back into an agreeable one as he gave a chortle. ‘Well, of course not. I’ve never heard anything so ludicrous in all my life. There is no reason for me to leak secrets – none whatsoever. Eric and Marjorie Windsor have clearly always had it out for me, and this was how they intended to separate me from my wife.’
Crockley took a spluttering break before continuing.
‘I will tell you what I told him and the rest of the family. A man approached me in my local haunt, The Gentlemen. I was there one afternoon toasting my business success. This man came to me, I think his name was Tippin, and offered me a significant sum of money to be the production company’s informant. He placed his business card on the bar, and he said to me, “You don’t have to say a thing, you just have to take that card as confirmation.” Well, you know what I did? I ripped that card into little pieces and I told him to eff off. In fact, I got him thrown out and barred for life. I know the manager, you see.
‘The King won’t listen to the truth though. It doesn’t fit his little narrative. That I may be loyal to this family.’
Jon wouldn’t say that sounded like the King at all, but with Maud and Thomas both corroborating some kind of a vendetta, he wondered if maybe he had simply not been privy to a slightly sharper side to Eric Windsor. What was this evidence Thomas had mentioned? ‘Maud said that the King would not tell her what he had found out . . . or, excuse me . . . theorised. Is that true?’
‘It would seem that way, yes.’
‘And you will not tell her? Why?’
‘That is simple – to even entertain this is giving it time that it doesn’t deserve. A man should not meddle in the affairs of his daughter, and that is exactly what the King was doing. He wanted to destroy our marriage, but I would like to think he brought us closer together. Bringing up all this rubbish could only hurt her. I have not only a wife, but two boys to think about.’
Jon nodded – he could see that, at least. ‘Can you see how this might look? The King seems to have something to hold over you, even if it is untrue, he confronts you about it, and a few hours later he drops dead.’ He didn’t know how he felt about Thomas Crockley’s possible involvement, but he was mightily curious about his response.
‘I see exactly how it looks, old bean.’
‘What do you think the criminal charge is for leaking royal secrets?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
Jon didn’t really know either, but he could guess. ‘I would think it very much depends on the severity of the leak, but I could see prison time, excommunication, public humiliation. Treason?’
‘That sounds about correct. But it does not concern me, as I did not do it. I have no reason to jeopardise my small position here at the side of the Princess. My business is booming, for Christ’s sake. I did not do it!’ He shouted this last declaration.
‘I am not accusing you of anything.’
Crockley paused and sighed. ‘I know, my good man. Sorry about that, it’s just, emotions are running high, you know. And I do not feel my best.’ Jon could confirm that. As previously noted, the man most definitely didn’t look his best either. ‘Look, I’m very sorry that the man is dead, and I’m even more sorry that he seemed to die with a misconception of me. I had nothing to do with his death, and I fear that if you concentrate on this farcical thing, you may miss something truly important. I mean, I tried to bring him back to life, for God’s sake!’
‘Who do you think killed the King?’
‘I’m going to be honest – I haven’t the foggiest, and I am glad about that. I have enough to deal with by myself. It would seem that the question of who killed the King falls to you. You have my support for catching the bastard.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Jon said, out of a matter of principle more than anything else.
Crockley dabbed at his forehead with his soggy handkerchief. ‘I have been wondering though, the CPR I performed. Now we’re out of the moment, I think I may have done it wrong. I don’t think you’re meant to breathe into their mouths anymore. Maybe I did more harm than good.’
Jon’s stomach turned. Why had he not seen it? With everything going on, Crockley’s problems had been an afterthought. Crockley had touched the King’s lips with his own. Please God, there was not a chance that Crockley had been poisoned, was there?
‘You know,’ Crockley said, ‘I think the day is catching up with me. Would you permit me to go and lie down in my room?’ Jon would almost certainly not have if he hadn’t just realised what might be happening to the man. Hopefully, if it was the poison, Crockley had gotten a small enough dose to pull through.
‘Yes,’ Jon said, ‘I suppose you can.’ It was dangerous, but Jon remembered those red dots on Speck’s security tablet. The Royal Family were in the drawing room, and no one else was here. ‘Go directly to your room, and it may be advisable to lock your door.’
Crockley, with one final splutter, nodded and shuffled out of the room, leaving Jon with a sinking feeling. Although he didn’t particularly like the man, he did not wish him ill. But now Jon had to search through the forest of Crockley’s many, many words. It was such a thick forest that he barely had time to search – such was the problem of Thomas Crockley.
Jon first wondered if the King and Marjorie’s vendetta against the man was not unfounded, then wondered if it was greatly exaggerated. From knowing Eric for over thirty years, Jon knew he had been a man with a strong moral compass, and one who believed in the correct treatment of others. If Eric was accusing Crockley of this leak, he must have had ample evidence to prove that he had his culprit, and he would have made sure he secured this to back up his claim, despite any personal feelings.
Jon hoped Crockley would get to his room alright.
Jon needed a break from all of this – his brain was still running overtime with all he had just heard. The forest of truth and lies. But was there something in the forest of words that his suspects didn’t want him to find?