“Sorry to drag you out, George,” Andy Croft said, a bottle of alcohol-free beer in his hand. “I always go to watch my son play football on Saturday morning no matter what but I wanted to stop by and see you. I have news—Metz is dead.”
George straightened up. “What happened?” he asked. His beer wasn’t alcohol-free.
“He was out in the garden at his daughter’s place. She and the son-in-law were at work. Whoever it was, they got in through the side gate, which has a simple lock. It must have been a bonus finding him outside rather than having to break into the house. They hit him over the head—it wasn’t pretty. The daughter found him when she got home. We’re making all the usual enquiries. There’s a parade of shops opposite with parking out front and flats above and houses all around, plus passing traffic, so someone must have seen something. Metz had been out of trouble for the best part of ten years.”
They moved into the paved outside area at the back as the pub started to fill up. A cold wind was blowing which meant they were on their own.
“Everything points to the Grouper Junior being responsible for this, although proving it will be a very different matter. He may be unsure about how much Metz has already told us but wanted to cut off the information supply line anyway. What we do know is that Metz and an unidentified companion were sent by the Grouper to a house somewhere in Clapham to pick up Pennington’s body. They then went to a pre-arranged meeting with Charlie Willis and gave him instructions as to what to do with it. The question is why—what was the link between Pennington and the Grouper? Could Pennington have upset him in some way? We’re scratching around really at the moment.”
George sipped thoughtfully at his beer with the wind tugging at the tufts of his remaining hair. He was pleased he’d thought to put on his overcoat when he received the unexpected summons from Croft. “Charlie Willis took over the body to satisfy a debt to the Grouper. Metz knew he couldn’t refuse the Grouper’s direct order. What if the Grouper himself was also paying back a debt?”
Croft put his bottle to his lips and then realised it was already empty. “That raises even more questions. The Grouper was a powerful figure at the time. Who could have had him under the cosh to such an extent that he was prepared to take that level of risk with some of his best operatives? Was he following someone else’s instructions?”
“We should also ask why the Grouper Junior is taking such an interest that he felt the need to eliminate Metz, unless of course he was involved himself at the time. He could have been with Metz when he picked up the body. We don’t know who Metz’s companion was.”
“That’s a big leap, George. It could have been anyone.”
“If it was the Grouper Junior, that could account for why he turned up at the Willis funeral and why he needed to eliminate Metz.”
“That raises the level of the operation to deal with Pennington’s body even higher if the Grouper was prepared to endanger his son as part of it. In any event, George, Metz’s death changes the whole complexion of what you and the two ladies are up to. You’ve struck a very raw nerve somewhere. When are you planning your visit to Clapham?”
“Tomorrow with Cynthia. We’ll be just another house-hunting couple. She’s already been doing research on houses with garages. There aren’t many but she’s found two for sale which we’re arranging to go and see.”
Croft tossed his bottle into a nearby bin, where it clattered into numerous others. “Thanks—you’re saving us a job.”
“I’d be surprised if you have the resources to send a team around Clapham to look for houses with garages, relying on information from an old lag with the beginnings of Alzheimer’s who may not even have been telling the truth in the first place, or indeed be able to separate truth from fiction. It’ll be a day out for us.”
“All right—but you don’t need me to tell you to keep your eyes wide open. Look, I have to go now to make the kick-off. I miss enough of my children’s stuff because of the demands of this job and the football is sacrosanct. Report into us afterwards, OK?” His gaze fastened on to George for a few moments before he dashed away round the side of the building to the car park. George heard his car start up and take off with a squeal of tyres.
There was plenty of time before lunch. He carried on standing there, quietly drinking on his own.
**
They gathered after lunch at George’s request when he told them the news about Metz and the conclusion that the Grouper Junior was responsible. The two women were shocked into silence. It was Gladys who reacted first. “That poor old man—I know he threatened us and that was scary but he didn’t deserve to die. I suppose this means we have to butt out now and let the police get on with it. It’s a shame though; the taskforce has been fun and I’ve got myself back into journalism.” She handed out copies of her article with pages stapled together to George and Cynthia. The top half of the first page was taken up by one of Cynthia’s photos of Shamira poised against her desk.
“I’m pleased with my picture,” Cynthia responded, looking down at it. “It’s the first one I’ve ever had published.”
“And there’ll be an appropriate share of the royalties. Although I’m afraid Behind the News doesn’t pay that well—enough for a bottle or two maybe.”
“We’re not quite butting out yet,” observed George quietly. “Or I’m not at any rate.”
“You mean you still want to find the house with the slanty garage?” Gladys asked. “I can’t do it anyway because of my foot.” She pointed down to her ankle, which was now encased in a voluminous white elasticated bandage with an extra fastening in the form of a large safety pin. She’d made it out and back to lunch with the aid of a stick but her leg was now stretched out on one of Cynthia’s kitchen chairs.
“We hadn’t reckoned on your coming with us but the plan is for Cynthia and me to see two houses tomorrow.”
“It’s three now,” Cynthia put in. “Another one popped up today with a garage.”
“Are you sure this is safe, dear?” Gladys came back. “You don’t know who’s watching.”
“Well, I’m going,” George declared. “We’ve gone too far now not to at least have a shot at finding the house. It’s unlikely but if we manage to locate some candidates we hand over to the police from then on.” His eyes locked on to Cynthia. “I’ll understand completely if you don’t want to come with me. There are plenty of lone house hunters out there. I don’t think I’ll raise too many eyebrows.”
Cynthia’s eyes didn’t drop. Her initial reaction was to be reticent and stay behind the gates of the Village. But then she steeled herself. She’d faced challenges before in her past life when dangerous individuals and groups had to be monitored and followed. The Metz killing was to silence him but also, she suspected, to send out a message to others. Was she going to accept that message? And did she want George to go on his own?
“You don’t have to decide now,” George went on. “Let me know when we get together for brandy after dinner tonight.”
Cynthia didn’t say any more, although she’d already made her decision.
They went their separate ways, each grasping a copy of the article which Gladys had written and featuring Cynthia’s first published picture. As the sun had come out for the first time that day Cynthia went out to her favourite perch on the patio. She ran through the article, which was largely a recitation of the answers which Shamira had given to Gladys at the time of the interview. It was all familiar ground. Her eyes lingered on the picture and then she folded the papers up on her lap as she stared out into her small garden. She watched the birds as they fought for stewardship of her birdbath, which she always kept filled to the brim, and the plants in their pots as they were tossed about in the wind. It was only when the sun was firmly shoved away by a bank of dark clouds and spots of rain started to splutter down that she went indoors.
George by contrast sat in his living room and read the article line by line. As he expected, it showed a person deeply affected by what her family had regarded as two significant miscarriages of justice and by the death of her sister. The wounds had dug a deep trench in her very being to the extent that they could never be truly healed. When he’d finished reading his gaze transferred to the picture, a picture of a self-assured, attractive woman to all appearances in charge of her life and her destiny. He started as his phone rang. It was Cynthia.
“George,” she began, “I’m trying to understand why the Grouper Junior should want to do harm to Jack Metz. The transferring of Richard Pennington’s body took place so long ago. Why should he be concerned about what Metz might have to say now?”
“You’re asking the right questions.”
“Do you think that the Grouper Junior might have been working with Metz that night when the body was handed over to Charlie? Why else would he be so concerned?”
“I agree that’s a strong possibility.”
“The other thing is what on earth could the connection be between the original Grouper and Pennington? Could he have been a client of the bank, part of the Reserve Account elite?”
“That’s certainly possible.”
“Or it might be that someone had something on the Grouper, obliging him to take the action he did.”
“Absolutely.”
“The Grouper could have been responsible for Pennington’s death, but there’s no identifiable motive, and why would the body have to be picked up from a garage in Clapham? Metz said nothing about that garage or the house being connected to the Grouper.”
“That’s also true.”
“So you think I’m right, that someone made the Grouper act the way he did?”
“I do.”
“Bearing in mind the position the Grouper held, the motivation must have been a very powerful one.”
“It must. We need to find out what it was.”
“You’re not giving me much back for my theories,” Cynthia protested.
“Perhaps that’s because I agree with them!”
There was a pause and George wondered what was coming next. “I want to come with you tomorrow. I want to get to the next stage with this if we can.”
“You don’t have to decide finally until tonight.”
“I’m not going to change my mind, George.”
She disconnected and George sat there holding the phone, smiling the widest smile he’d had on his face for a very long time.
**
That evening Gladys decided to forego the brandy in the bar but took a glass back to her bungalow where she could rest her ankle. George and Cynthia sat together at the corner table. She confirmed to him once again that she intended to go with him on the house-hunting trip. He didn’t try anymore to dissuade her but told her instead he would value her company.
“Let’s keep our clothes fairly casual,” he suggested as he polished off the first slug of brandy and peered around for the second. “We don’t want the sellers to think we’re loaded.”
“In that case,” replied Cynthia doing her best to keep pace with him, “I’ll wear my jeans.”
“Good idea,” he said as the second ration arrived.