‘Most prudent,’ I said.
‘Yes. So Kenneth Charter went to the Simpers shop himself this afternoon, and sure enough they said they’d twice made a set of nine keys like that, and both times they’d had to send away for the blanks. The young man who’d ordered them had given his name as Harrison each time. Kenneth Charter is spitting mad as of course the shop has no record of the shapes they cut into the blanks, and he doesn’t know which of his tankers is now at risk.’
‘Awkward.’
‘He says if he loses the whole business it won’t matter a damn. What upset him most was Kenneth Junior going to such lengths.’
‘Does he know how Kenneth Junior got hold of the keys?’ I asked.
‘He says they’re usually kept in his office, but when the tankers’ valves are being steam cleaned the keys are out in the workshop. He reckons Kenneth Junior took them from there.’
‘Cunning little beast.’
‘Absolutely. Incidentally, both Kenneth Charter and Deg-let’s have now received from Rannoch the profile analysis of all three of the stolen loads of scotch. Apparently they are all slightly different because they were blends from more than one distillery. Too technical for me. Anyway, they’re in our office ready, if we find anything to match.’
‘Mm. I wonder if Mrs Alexis’s neighbour still has any.’
‘What a thought! Get onto her pronto.’
‘Pity she poured hers down the drain.’
Gerard and I disconnected and I got through to Mrs Alexis who sounded breezily unaffected and said she would find out at once; but she called back within ten minutes to say her neighbour had sold the lot some time ago and couldn’t get any more at that price because Vernon had discontinued the discount, but she thought Vernon must have got the wind up after his brush with her and had closed down altogether in her area.
Damn, I thought, and told Gerard.
‘Whenever we get near that stuff it seems to recede from us like a phantom,’ he said wearily.
‘Maybe I’ll find it tomorrow.’
He sighed. ‘It’s a very big haystack.’
Seventeen
Flora came breathlessly into the shop soon after I’d opened it on the Saturday morning, saying she was on her way to fetch Jack home and wanted to thank me again for my help with Howard and Orkney Swayle.
‘There’s no need. I enjoyed it.’
‘All the same, Tony dear, I want you to have this.’ She put a gift-wrapped parcel on the counter, and when I opened my mouth to protest said, ‘Now don’t argue, Tony dear, it’s for you and it’s not enough, it’s very small and I expect you have one already, but I’ll have my hands full when Jack’s home so I thought I’d bring it for you now.’
She patted my hand in motherly fashion and I bent to kiss her cheek.
‘You’re very naughty,’ I said. ‘But thank you.’
‘That’s right dear. Where’s your sling?’
‘I forgot it this morning. It’s at home.’
‘Don’t tire yourself, dear, will you? And we’ll need some more drinks whenever you’ve time.’ She fished in her handbag and produced a list. ‘After Jack’s home the owners will start coming again and some of them drink like fish, though I shouldn’t say it, and Jack says he’s going to add it on their bills as medicine for the horses, which you can’t blame him for, can you, dear?’
‘Er... no.’
She put the list on the counter beside the present, and, saying she had a thousand things to see to on her way to the hospital, went lightfootedly away.
I unwrapped the parcel curiously and found that although it was small in size it couldn’t have been in price. The box inside the glazed white paper had come from a jeweller in Reading, and it contained, in a nest of red velvet, a silver penknife.
Not one that would necessarily gladden the hearts of Boy Scouts. Not knobbly with thirteen blades and a hook for taking stones out of horses’ hooves, like the one which had been the pride of my childhood. A slim elegantly tooled affair with a sharp steel cutting blade tucked into one side and a second blade on the other which turned out to be a screwdriver. I liked both the look and the feel, and although it was true I already had a knife, it was old and blunt. I took the old knife out of my pocket and replaced it with the new, and thought friendly thoughts of Flora all morning.
Ridger added to my pleasure by telephoning to say there would be no more pub crawls for a few days as he had been assigned to other duties, but we would resume on Wednesday and he would be along for me then at ten-fifteen.
I suppose I should have told him about Mrs Alexis and the mysterious Vernon with his telephone number, but I didn’t. It seemed odd to me to find that my allegiance was to Gerard rather than to the police. I had caught from him quite thoroughly, it seemed, the belief that the paying client’s interests came first, with public justice second.
I did actually half jokingly ask Ridger who I should tell if I came across the suspect scotch when I wasn’t in his own company, and he answered seriously, after earnest thought, that I’d probably better tell Chief Superintendent Wilson straight away, as Ridger himself along with many of the county’s police was having to go up north to help deal with some ugly picketing, which made a change, and he couldn’t tell who’d be on duty while he was away.
‘How would I reach the Chief Superintendent?’ I asked.
He told me to wait a moment and came back with a number which would reach the Zarac investigation room direct. Night or day, he said. Priority.
‘Would the Silver Moondance scotch be priority?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Anything would.’
‘O.K., Sergeant. See you on Wednesday.’
He said he hoped so, and goodbye.
Relieved at being let off the drinking I sold a lot of wine to a flood of customers, with Mrs Palissey busily beaming and Brian carrying the loads out to the cars, and it seemed as if it would be for once a normal day until Tina McGregor telephoned at eleven.
‘Gerard’s gone up to the office,’ she said. ‘I wish he wouldn’t on Saturdays and particularly as he’s not right yet from last Sunday, but it’s like arguing with a bulldozer... Anyway, he asked me to tell you they’ve traced the number you gave him yesterday and it doesn’t look too promising. It’s the number of the big caterers at Martineau Park racecourse. He says if you’d care to go along there you might ask them if Vernon — is that right? — still works for them. He says if you should see Vernon yourself he’ll leave it up to you to decide whether or not to ask him where he got the scotch and wines from. Is that all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I said. ‘How’s his shoulder?’
‘He’s being utterly tight-lipped about it and they’ve put him on antibiotics.’
‘It’s infected?’ I asked, alarmed.
‘He didn’t say. I just wish he’d slow down.’
She sounded neither anxious nor angry, but one could never tell Tina’s reactions from her voice. I said weakly, ‘I’m sorry,’ and she answered, ‘No need to be,’ in the same calm tone, and said Gerard would like me to telephone him at his home later to let him know how I got on at Martineau Park.
It was odd, I reflected, putting down the receiver, to think that I had been at Martineau Park races so long on Tuesday afternoon totally oblivious of the existence of Vernon among the caterers Orkney Swayle so much detested. Life, as Gerard said, was full of ironies.