Blame The Dead

'I will, boy. But when did you get elected Jesus Christ? -you're getting something out of this.'

'I damn well hope so. I'd like to keep out of it as much as possible, but if I'm in then you're in and I'm standing on your shoulders. Ask your solicitor aboutthat, too.'

He worried at this for a while, then said carefully, "You lousy stinking rotten little son-of-a-bitch. Get off the line; I've got calls to make.'

'Now you're sounding more reasonable.'

We ate in the kitchen and I tried to explain what I'd been up to. Lois listened thoughtfully, then asked, 'But I don't see why those characters should plead guilty – what have they got to lose?'

'Depends what they're charged with. In a case like this the police like to have a real banquet, and the menu starts with attempted murder. After that, it comes down to wounding with intent to do grievous bodily harm and then unlawful wounding. They'd probably accept a plea of unlawful wounding plus a side dish from the Firearms Act. Possession with intent or carrying with criminal intent. They shouldn't get more than three years or so for that. But make a fight of it and it won't cost the cops any more to try for attempted murder and a life sentence. I think they'll plead.'

She mused on it, scooping delicately at a boiled egg. 'So Paul Mockby will get off scotfree?'

'I'd think so.'

'You don't sound as if you mind.'

'Maybe not… Iknow what he did. In a sort of way, knowing's enough. But it would never have been easy to involve him anyway. You can show Charles was his chauffeur, but it's a big long step to prove Mockby sent him down here. Even if Charles claimed it, no judge would let a jury convict on his word. And since Charles's pay has at least doubled since I talked to Mockby. I somehow doubt he'll do any implicating.'

'We implicated Paul, though, in those statements we made.' She pushed aside her egg and lit a cigarette.

'Witnesses' statements aren't evidence, not unless you try to deny them. Anyway, if they plead guilty there's no witnesses, no statements, nothing in court.'

'So – David won't have to know?'

I shrugged. 'You and I'll get mentioned at the trial; have to be. But maybe…'

'Well, I think you handled it all with great delicacy.'

'Don't sound so surprised.' I was wondering what a certain chief inspector would think of my handling when Mockby's solicitor suddenly landed on him waving a writ. I'd done more influencing people than making friends in the last night.

I looked at my watch – nearly seven, by now – and Lois caught the gesture. 'Are you off back to London now?' she asked, a little wanly.

I smiled as cheerfully as I could, and shrugged. 'I've got to go sometime, but…' I didn't really know what the hell Iwas going to do next I hadn't found the log, and it was a Saturday besides. "What are you going to do?'

'I've got to take the Rover down to the garage in the village; they're going to clean it and maybe make me an offer for it."

'You're not keeping it?'

'No. I can't think of it except as Martin's.' She shuddered at an abrupt memory. 'That means I've got to unpack it first. So I'd better get dressed.'

'Unpack it?'

'There's Martin's suitcase still in the trunk. I just kept putting off having to…'

'I'll do that.'

'You won't hurt your back?'

'No. I'll be okay.'

The garage was as cold as Caesar's nose, and I didn't waste time there. I hauled the solid black-leather suitcase out of the boot and slammed the lid. Actually it did make my back twinge a bit.

Back in the house I humped it up the stairs and into his bedroom and on to the bed and opened it. The log of the Skadi was the first thing I saw.

Thirty-two

'Just as simple as that?' Willie asked.

'You could say so.'

'So Martin was ready to hand over the real thing if it came to it. What? If they called his bluff?'

'Well – he was keeping that option open, anyway. The blackmail was working that well, at least.'

'M'yessss.' And he went back to staring at the log.

I'd rung him from Kingscutt and we'd met at my flat. I'd given him a rough, rather simplified outline of the night's events and then handed over the log. For the moment he was happy, but I had a feeling he was going to come back to last night.

The book itself was the size I'd expected – about fourteen inches by twelve, and bound in stiff fawn cardboard, like a big but not too expensive desk diary. What I hadn't expected was the mess it was in, which was silly of me when I remembered it had spent at least four wintry months in a burnt-out hulk. The covers were soaked in oil and stained with rust and rubbed away at the corners; the pages themselves were buckled and wavy with damp, and some torn besides-but not stuck together (unless Steen had separated them, of course). But luckily the entries were all in ball-point and hadn't run… What did I mean 'luckily'? Damp must be a problem sailors have met before.

Willie held it like a first folio and leafed slowly through it without seeming to breathe.

'D'you make anything of it?' I asked.

'Not a lot yet. I read some Norwegian but… I think I can see what most of the figures are. And I know what a British log looks like; this is just about the same, you know.'

Each page was laid out like some crazy ledger, with sixteen thin vertical columns and one wide one. Horizontally, it was divided into two batches of twelve, subdivided into fours, with some extra bits and pieces at the end of each twelve. Even I could work out that each page was a day, each line an hour and each four a 'watch', but the headings and the figures written into each column didn't mean a dicky-bird.

Willie explained, 'Oh, they're things like course steered, compass error, wind force and direction, that one's obviously the barometer reading, air and sea temperatures – you know?'

'Is it the right log?'

He turned hastily to the last filled-in page. 'September sixteenth. Yes, that was the day before the accident. That'd be right.'

'Who fills in this sort of log – the captain? '

'Oh, no, the chief officer. He does this. The master does the official log, but that's mostly about personnel, you know? Smith was sentenced to twenty lashes. Brown lost a sock overboard, the cat had kittens, that sort of thing.'

I nodded, then yawned. I couldn't help it. 'Sorry. So, what now? – d'you want to take it round to somebody who reads Norwegian?'

'I don't think so, not yet. I mean, we don't want to make a song-and-dance about having it, do we?'

'Everybody else has been singing-and-dancing, and mostly on me, when theythought I had it… No, you're quite right. So what now?'

'I'd just like to see what I can make of it, from the figures and so on, you know?'

'You're happy just sitting here?'

'Oh, yes, old boy. You want to get a bit of a snooze, what? How's the back?'

'Not so bad, but – it was a long night.'

'Rather eventful, too.' But his face was sweet innocence. 'You don't expect any frightful comebacks, do you? After shooting that chap and all that?'

'I just hope it keeps Mockby quiet for a day or two.'

He nodded and frowned down at the table. 'I suppose he did send those chaps down because… because of what I said back at his place when-'

'And because of what I'd said before that and Fenwick before me and probably Steen before him.' I was too tired even to listen to regrets. 'There's some beer in the fridge and some eggs – no, I'm out of eggs – arid a lock on the door, and I'm in bed.'

And half a minute later, that was true.

It was three o'clock when I woke up, soaked in sweat and completely lost, the way you get after a deep daytime sleep. But gradually I began to remember who I was, where and why. After a time I put on a fresh shirt and staggered through into the main room.

Willie was still at the table, which was littered with full ashtrays, a plate with a few crumbs on it, a coffee mug, an empty beer can, papers, atlas – and the log. He didn't look any tidier himself, with his hair rumpled and his shirt sleeves rolled up.