Sculby pulled on to the forecourt of Loshkevoi’s garage and switched off the engine. He had been expecting to find at least the pumps still open, it was only eight o’clock, but everywhere was shut up and deserted.
‘We can’t figure it out,’ Royston had said to him earlier that day. ‘Chummy seems to have gone to pieces.’
He’s not the only one, thought Sculby. The Sanson inquest was in a mess, he had an intolerable backlog of paperwork and to cap it all he had spent the day arguing at Marylebone County Court in an unsuccessful attempt to save a client from being committed to prison for contempt of court. Royston was the last straw. His face was drawn and there were dark rings under his eyes. Sculby thought he looked tired and ill. So when Royston told him that Loshkevoi had gone to pieces, Sculby thought that that made three of them.
‘He shuts up the garage at five or six and goes on the bottle. But that’s not all. He keeps futzing up to this road in Clapham and hanging around, as if he’s supposed to be meeting someone, then loses his nerve and goes home again. We’ve got a pretty good idea who it is, too. Woman name of Bradfield, Vera Bradfield.’
‘Who’s she?’ inquired Sculby.
‘Never mind. But we’re interested in that, Laurie. Very interested. Go and see him. Try to find out what’s going on, will you.’
Sculby rifled through his ‘In’ tray. ‘You might be in luck, at that. I seem to remember the depositions coming in a while back… oh yes, here we are. Regina v. Victor Gregory Loshkevoi. I suppose I could always make an appointment to go and see him.’
‘You do that.’
Royston stood up and Sculby walked with him to the door. ‘You look all in,’ he remarked cheerfully, and Royston made a face.
‘I’ve not been sleeping too well.’
‘Early night, then.’
‘Fat chance. It’s my wedding anniversary today.’
‘Congratulations.’
Royston grunted. ‘She’s expecting to be taken out to dinner. That’s thirty quid down the drain for a start. Then there’s the taxi…’
Sculby grinned. ‘Think of all the years you’ve been coming here for a “divorce”, Michael. Just say the word and I’ll make it for real.’
But now, sitting in his car on Loshkevoi’s forecourt, he didn’t feel like laughing. It was bitterly cold, and he pulled up the collar of his overcoat even for the short walk from the car to the entrance to Loshkevoi’s flat. He pushed the bell-button and waited for the whine of the entry-phone. Nothing happened. Sculby began to feel uneasy. Loshkevoi had sounded strange on the telephone when he had rung earlier to make the appointment; as if he’d been drinking, perhaps. Sculby tried again. This time the buzzer sounded and the latch of the door clicked back. Loshkevoi obviously didn’t care to find out who was calling.
Inside the door some narrow stairs led straight up to the first floor. Sculby found himself in one of the most depressing living-rooms he had ever seen. The only lighting was provided by a single table-lamp half obscured by a dark brown shade. The predominant colour of the wallpaper and the furnishings was deep, dark red; the materials struck the eye as heavy and substantial.
‘Hi, Laurie.’
Loshkevoi was lying across the sofa, apparently watching a portable television. Sculby looked again and saw that the picture was of the forecourt where he had stood a moment ago. It seemed a lot of expensive trouble to go to over a tiny flat in one of the poorer quarters of London.
Loshkevoi was holding a remote-control unit; he flicked a switch and the picture dissolved into darkness.
‘That’s neat.’
‘Thank you. I like gadgets… mechanical things. You wanna drink?’
Sculby examined his client carefully. It was impossible to say how much Loshkevoi had drunk before his arrival, but the lawyer sensed that it was a good deal. The effects showed only in the slow, ponderous movements of Loshkevoi’s body, and speech that was faintly slurred. To Sculby, it was rather like encountering the real Loshkevoi in a dream: everything was fuzzy at the edges.
‘Thanks. Gin.’
‘Help yourself. Over there…’
A large, heavy mahogony table carried a wide selection of bottles. Sculby poured himself a drink and looked in vain for tonic.
‘Don’t you have any mixers?’
‘Never touch the stuff. Water in the tap if you want.’
Loshkevoi gestured vaguely in the direction of a door and Sculby went through to find himself in the kitchen. There everything was at sixes and sevens. Loshkevoi couldn’t have washed up anything for at least a week. Sculby negotiated his glass round a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and added some water to the neat spirit, trying to avert his eyes from the globules of cold fat floating on the surface of the nearest plate.
‘At least we know what the police are going to say now,’ he called. ‘It doesn’t add up to much. I reckon we’re going to win this one without too much trouble, Victor.’
Loshkevoi seemed not to be paying attention. Sculby went back into the living-room and poured a couple of drops of Angostura into his glass. He looked around for a chair. There was only one, opposite the sofa, and he flopped down into it. A spring had broken, allowing him to sink down further than he expected, and causing him to spill his drink.
‘I’ve got the depositions here. We can go through them if you like.’
Loshkevoi waved a hand. ‘Later. Cheers.’
They drank.
‘Would you mind passing me the bottle, Laurie. Vodka.’
Sculby obliged. Loshkevoi poured himself a generous treble and then appeared to forget about it.
‘These charges,’ he said. ‘A joke. A fraud. What’s that expression? To do with cards…’ He rubbed a hand across his face. ‘Trumped up.’
‘Could be. It’s pretty flimsy stuff. It’s there, but only just. But why would anybody do that to you?’
Loshkevoi rested his glass on the floor and sat up, placing his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Sculby heard him sigh.
‘Oh… all kinds of reasons. You get to make enemies. There’s a lot of trouble I could make for a lot of high-up people in this city, you know?’
Sculby sipped his drink and said nothing. It was a sentiment which most of his clients expressed at one time or another, but if Royston was involved it just might be true.
‘Sometimes I think I’d trade it all for a little peace and quiet. You know what I mean? Another name.’ Loshkevoi paused and sighed again. ‘Somewhere warm, where it don’t rain too often. A little money as well, maybe.’
Sculby raised his eyebrows. ‘You’d have trouble finding a buyer if that’s your price.’
‘No.’ Loshkevoi seemed to talk to himself rather than to Sculby. ‘There’s plenty of people in this country who’d pay my price, Laurie. Aach…’
He stood up, putting out a hand to steady himself on the arm of a chair.
‘Life used to be simple. Y’know? Uncomplicated. There can only ever be one boss, Laurie. S’right, isn’t it? One boss…’
Sculby shifted uneasily in his seat.
‘Forget it. Just forget I said anything, will you?’
Loshkevoi was standing by the window. Sculby saw him pull the edge of the curtain aside a fraction and peer out.
‘I tell you want I need… I need a woman.’ He giggled. ‘I fancy a night out. Coming, Laurie? It’s on me. There’s a massage joint round the corner. Anything you want. Hand job. French. Even a screw. Nice girls, they are. Cheap.’
He was swaying slightly, his back still turned to Sculby.
‘…Or maybe we could go and see Vera… sweet little, pretty little Vera B.’
Sculby stood up, not quite sure whether he had heard correctly. ‘Who?’
‘Vera, Vera, Vera B.’
Then Loshkevoi did the most extraordinary thing. With slow, elephantine movements he knelt down in front of the window, as if about to pray: first one leg, then the other. Having done that he paused, as if not sure what to do next. Sculby moved forward uncertainly.
‘Victor…?’
As if in response to some unspoken command reflected in Sculby’s voice, Loshkevoi keeled over to the left and began to snore.
At first Sculby was so taken aback that he couldn’t do anything. When he recovered from his initial surprise he went over to where Loshkevoi was lying and arranged him more comfortably, placing a cushion from the sofa under his head and loosening his collar. Then he stood up, wondering what to do next. He realised that there was nothing he could do.
He took his glass out to the kitchen and left it on the dresser. Then he let himself out quickly, pausing for a second at the top of the stairs for a last look at this curious room the colour of blood, before descending to the forecourt and getting into his car.
French, Loshkevoi had said. Even a screw. Maybe Judy would be free tonight…
Sculby drove away in search of a phone-box.