‘Fact number two,’ he went on, ‘Kenneth Charter’s son... whose name is also Kenneth, to be awkward, so we’ll call him Kenneth Junior... Kenneth Charter Junior made the theft of the scotch possible by telling Zarac of the Silver Moondance where to find the tanker.’ He paused. ‘We still have the unanswered question.’
‘How did Kenneth Junior know Zarac?’
‘Yes. Anyway, I’ve brought the photostats of the pages of Kenneth Junior’s notebook.’ He pulled a well-filled business-sized envelope from an inner pocket and laid it on the table. ‘I’ll leave these with you... see if you make anything from them that we haven’t.’
He saw the doubt in my face. ‘You’ll try?’ he said almost severely, and I without apology said, ‘Yes.’
‘Right, then. Fact three: Zarac passed on the message and wasn’t present when the tanker was stolen. Fact four: scotch was being sold under the wrong labels at the Silver Moon-dance, which Zarac as head waiter must have known. Supposition arising: the substitute scotch was part of an earlier load stolen from Charter’s tankers. Any comment?’
I shook my head.
‘Second supposition arising: Larry Trent knew his whisky and wines were cheating the customers.’
He stopped, waiting for an opinion. I said, i agree with that, yes. I’d say it was definite.’
‘Supposition three: Larry Trent organised the theft of the tankers.’
I frowned.
‘You don’t think so?
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I never talked to him... can’t make a first-hand guess. He certainly did have in his hands a great deal more cash than he would have made out of the Silver Moondance, but he said it was his brother’s.’ I told Gerard precisely what Orkney Swayle had told me at Martineau Park. ‘Larry Trent was buying horses and shipping them abroad to be sold. As sweet a way as one can imagine of turning illegal money pure white.’
Gerard drank some brandy.
‘Did you believe in the brother?’ he asked.
‘You mean, was it a case of the hypothetical friend? My friend has a problem, give me advice?’
He nodded.
‘I would have thought so,’ I said, ‘except for one thing which rang humanly true. Orkney said that Larry Trent said he, Larry, was buying the horses for his brother because his brother couldn’t tell good from bad. About the only thing his brother couldn’t do, he said. Orkney Swayle said Larry was envious. That sort of grudge sounds like a real brother to me. Or at any rate a real person. Partner, maybe.’
A small silence. We both thought about the partner who might or might not be a brother, and finally Gerard gave him his name. The name, anyway, that we knew him by.
‘Paul Young.’
I agreed.
‘Supposition four,’ Gerard said. ‘When Larry Trent was killed, Paul Young came to the Silver Moondance to take over, unaware that the police were investigating the drinks and unaware that Charter’s tanker thefts had been linked with Zarac’
‘Those are certainties, not suppositions. I saw him arrive myself... he had no idea he was walking into trouble.’
‘Right. And I’ll add in a few certainties of my own at this point. I’ve spent all day interviewing people from the Silver Moondance, especially the waitress and the wet little assistant who were both there with you in the bar. They say that soon after you left, Paul Young told them to go home, the waitress until told to return and the assistant until the following day. Paul Young said he would discuss with the police about a re-opening date, and run the place himself until the manager returned from holiday. After that, Head Office would appoint a replacement for poor Mr Trent. None of the staff saw anything odd in his manner or proposals. Very sensible, they thought him, considering how angry he was about the drinks. He then sent the kitchen staff home, telling them also to return when told. The waitress said Zarac arrived for work just as she was leaving, and Paul Young told him to go into Larry Trent’s office and wait for him.’
I was fascinated. ‘Did she remember exactly what they said to each other?’
Gerard smiled thinly. ‘She’s used to remembering orders. An excellent ear. She said they knew each other... Paul Young called him Zarac without being told.’
‘And the other way round?’
‘She said Paul Young said “I’m Paul Young” which she thought silly because Zarac looked as if he knew him perfectly well.’
‘Telling Zarac his alias.’
‘Exactly. The waitress said Paul Young looked very angry with Zarac, which she thought natural, and she thought Zarac was going to get a right ticking off, which she was sorry about because Zarac was all right with the waitresses and kept his hands to himself, unlike some others she could mention.’
I appreciated the verbatim reporting. ‘And who were those?’
‘The manager, mostly.’
‘Not Larry Trent?’
‘No. Always the perfect gent, she said,’ He paused. ‘She said the police sergeant had been round before me, asking the same questions. She said he asked her about Paul Young’s car.’
I was amused. ‘What else did she say?’
‘She said it was a Rolls.’
‘Really?’
‘Her exact words were “a black Roller with them tinted windows.” She said it had to be Paul Young’s because it was in the staff car park and it didn’t belong to the regular staff, and it hadn’t been there when she came to work an hour earlier.’
‘Observant girl.’
Gerard nodded. ‘I went to the wet assistant’s home after I left the waitress and asked him mostly the same questions. He said he didn’t know what car Paul Young had come in. He couldn’t even describe Paul Young. Useless.’
‘And the barman hoofed it.’ I relayed Ridger’s half-hearted search. ‘I guess he knew he wasn’t selling the right stuff, but you wouldn’t get him to admit it, even if you found him.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘So now we come to supposition... where are we? five?... supposition five: that Paul Young and Zarac spent the afternoon deciding what to do and organising the removal of all the wines and spirits to look like burglary.’
‘It would have taken them hours if they did it themselves.’
‘And they would have needed a van.’
‘Large,’ I said, nodding. ‘There were dozens of cases.’
He put his head on one side. ‘They had all day and all night, I suppose.’
‘Do we know when Zarac actually died?’ I asked.
Gerard shook his head. ‘There was an opening inquest last Friday, adjourned for a week. The police aren’t giving out much publicity on Zarac, but I’ve found a friend behind the forensic scenes and I’ll hear everything the police know about times and so on by this Friday.’
‘He suffocated...’ I said with revulsion.
‘It bothers you?’
‘Like bricking up someone alive.’
‘Much quicker,’ he said prosaically. ‘Supposition six: Paul Young and Zarac weren’t the greatest of buddy-buddies.’
‘A fair conclusion,’ I said dryly.
‘Supposition seven: Zarac was in some way a terrible threat to Paul Young.’
‘Who solved the problem permanently.’
‘Mm,’ he reflected. ‘So far, that seems reasonable. Any questions?’
‘Yes... How did Paul Young Happen to have plaster of Paris bandage with him on what he expected to be simply an organisational outing?’
‘You mean it might be significant?’
‘Something to add to what we know of him, anyway.’
‘And why use it? Why not smash in his head?’
‘Well, why?’ I said.
‘A warning to others, perhaps. Or genuine psychosis. Very nasty, in any case.’ He drank some brandy. A brain alive above a flagging body. ‘Our Mr Young is a middle-aged businessmen with a hearing aid, a black Rolls and a reason for carrying plaster of Paris. Pity we can’t, as they say, run that lot through the computer.’