Life Goes On

  I lay in bed puzzling over what had happened to Matthew Coppice’s promised papers. I’d thought up to now that if all went wrong with the disposal of the goods in the boot of the car I would at least have his depositions to fall back on, and that even if I got the chop they would already be on their way to Interpol. From a sky of bright prospects I was in the non-visibility gloom of nothing. Yet it didn’t seem an unpromising condition in which to try getting some sleep.

  Dismal lay across the bottom headboard, which meant I couldn’t stretch full length. I didn’t mind, because sleeping curled up as if I was back in the womb seemed to work, for the next thing I knew I waded through thick and perilous activities called dreams, trapped in clotted caverns like the murkiest insides of a whale, my feet invisible, and head drawn onwards by some gleam I never reached, the tip of a needle which, if I did get close enough, would jab forward and put out an eye. I heard the wafting slow swing of an enormous bird and turned my head in terror to watch it coming, waiting for it to get close and be seen. I never did see it, yet the two feet that gripped my shoulder made me shout and wake up.

  Twenty-Eight

  I thought they had come to get me. A sheet of Fen light was fastened at the window. I kicked Dismal off the bed, but it was Clegg who gripped my shoulder. ‘It’s seven o’clock.’

  I felt worse than when I had gone to sleep, but then, I always did. If I had woken up feeling wonderful I’d have felt awful, especially on the Day of Days. I knew that if I was alive this time tomorrow my chances of living to the extent of my biblical stretch would be fair to middling. Dismal went down to reconnoitre for food, while I lay an extra few minutes and sipped Clegg’s tea.

  Why was I so dead set on ruining Moggerhanger? If he vanished into the dungeons, there would be a hundred others in the fresh air above, jostling to take his place. They were the people who would benefit, not the clapped-out druggies perishing on wastelands and parking lots all over Britain. But Moggerhanger, the tin-pot god, had got me sent down for eighteen months to save his own skin, and now I was in a position to get my own back. I was feeling more optimistic by the minute that I would escape his wrath. Even without help from Coppice I could put enough information together, provided I was able to get the boat for Holland.

  Clegg put eggs and bacon in the pan, while I gobbled a dish of cornflakes. The only hole in my scheme, and my heart fell through it like a lump of lead, was that by going to Holland I would be separated from Frances. There was no saying how long I’d be away, yet I had no option but to skedaddle. I hoped she’d remember me, and respond to my love letters homing in from different places.

  I shaved, showered, put on clean underwear, changed my suit and polished my best zip-up boots, all in double-quick time. The gold cufflinks were awkward to get into the shirt-holes, and Dismal shook his head as I swore. I threatened that if he didn’t show a bit more sympathy I’d send him back to Peppercorn Cottage so that the rats would get him. At which he sloped off to look for leftovers in the kitchen.

  ‘There’s some post for you,’ Clegg shouted.

  I found a large envelope, which nobody else could have sent but Matthew Coppice. I put it aside, though, to open a letter with an Oxford postmark, which I knew was from Frances Malham. I skimmed it to see whether she hated me and, when it seemed she did not, sat down to read:

  Dear Michael,

  I’m back in Oxford and can’t stop thinking about you. I’d like to thank you for spending your time with me, when I know how busy you are. The whole episode was a lovely surprise! I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t need to get to know you because we had made love. I’d like to see you again, and hope you’ll be able to visit me in Oxford. I share a house with another girl. I hope you’re not toiling too hard.

  She signed off with love. A short letter, but with its scented paper packing my wallet Moggerhanger’s threats would fall on stone ears, while I had any ears at all.

  Clegg sat by the range with shirtsleeves rolled up, while I looked through the papers from Matthew. Spots of rain flopped at the window, a summer shower brewing. Coppice had done his job. The future programme of world drug transport was set out in detail. Albert Croy would be coming from Brussels with five hundred and nineteen grammes of cocaine and two kilos of cannabis. A gang, whose names were given, was coming from Bogota, each member carrying cocaine in bottles of Scotch whisky. Another group would leave Bogota, three going to Paris and two to Frankfurt, each coming separately into London with a large cargo of cannabis. Pindarry would bring a car from the Continent, half the petrol tank for petrol and the other for cocaine paste from Peru. Jack Mullion from Barbados would bring in (date given) four kilos of cocaine in the false bottom of a suitcase. Cocaine would also come in from Montreal concealed in a false-sided Samsonitebrand case. Luis Gonzales and his daughter Rosanna (daughter, for God’s sake!) would travel the Mexico City, Rio de Janeiro and Los Angeles route with cocaine. From the Hook (Amsterdam) a lorry would bring cannabis resin in thirty-five boxes of fruit juice, which load was to be met by Alport and conveyed to Breezeblock Villa at Back Enderby. Twelve kilos of cannabis would come from Beirut, and forty kilos of heroin from Damascus. And so it went on, page after page, the complete plan of Operation Hop Garden. Zero hour was in ten days.

  I whistled, and whooped, and smacked my thigh. And that was not the end of it. On another couple of sheets were details of false investment companies to lure money from the Continent, and from Middle East nationals who had so much liquidity that they hardly knew what to do with it. There were schemes to launch false insurance companies, and plans to defraud genuine insurance companies by making false claims, especially in Germany and Austria. I laughed at the ingenuity and admired the enterprise, though I was determined to put the kaibosh on all their schemes.

  ‘Good news?’

  ‘Put it this way,’ I told him. ‘I think I’m on my way to a breakthrough.’

  He looked at the window covered with colourless beads of rain. ‘I’ll get back on the road then. It was certainly an unexpected pleasure, bumping into you again.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I must resume the circuit. I don’t want to get used to the good life. In any case, my feet have a distinct itch – at both heels.’

  ‘You can’t leave me so soon, Cleggy. We’re not finished yet.’ I told him what was in the papers from Coppice. I had a weapon to bring Moggerhanger’s hopheaded operations to a standstill. The only flaw was that there was nothing to incriminate Lanthorn, though if Moggerhanger and Company Limited collapsed he would be forced to lie low at least, and wouldn’t be able to use his police resources to get even with me – for a while. He might also be afraid of Moggerhanger turning Queen’s evidence, or of me getting my hands on other material to bring him down. Nor was it by any means certain that they would connect me with Moggerhanger’s crash, though I wouldn’t be so daft as to rely on that to save my neck.

  ‘I suppose you’re worried that things might not turn out as you expect?’ he said.

  It was eight o’clock, and a move must be made. ‘There’s a gulf before me.’

  He squirted washing-up liquid over dirty crockery. ‘Right’s on your side. This time, anyway,’ which was a sly dig at me for having pilfered his watch. I let it pass. ‘When God is with us,’ he said, ‘who can stand against us?’

  I got up. ‘If only it was that easy.’

  He drew a hand back from the scalding water. ‘If you want it to be easy, there’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘The first thing I must do is phone Moggerhanger. I’ve got to turn the car over to him with all that stuff in the boot so that he’ll let my friends go.’

  I went to the station so as to talk from a public call box rather than phone from home. I wanted the pips to keep sounding between me and Moggerhanger. They would put a feeling of urgency into the conversation and stop it going on too long. I could pretend to run out of ready coins, though I had been careful to bring plenty.

  I left the engine
going, and the wipers wiping in the rain, and lit a cigarette before dialling. Alice Whipplegate answered, but I wasted no small talk. ‘I’d like to speak to Lord Moggerhanger.’

  ‘I’ll see if he’s out of his bath, Michael.’

  ‘Alice, I’m in a public call box, and can’t wait.’

  But I did.

  ‘Michael, where are you – in latitude and longitude, I mean?’ Moggerhanger’s voice was as smooth as silk. I hardly recognised it.

  ‘In a phone booth.’

  I sensed his chuckle. ‘That’s a mistake, unless you have five hundred ten-pee pieces burning under your arse.’ He laughed at his own witticism.

  I waited.

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I asked where you were.’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I thought I had.’

  ‘I don’t think you did.’

  ‘You mean what part of the country am I in?’

  He simulated a very expressive sigh of relief. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m in Kettering.’

  There was a costly pause, then:

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can wait. As long as you have money to put in the box, I can wait. All day, in fact. I’m a very patient man. You should know that by now.’

  ‘Wait for what?’

  ‘For you to tell me where you really are. But I don’t like waiting, all the same. The idea of wasting money on the phone doesn’t appeal to me, even though it’s your money.’

  I laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s yours.’

  I detected a slight gear-change in his voice. ‘I shall want an itemised expense account.’

  ‘I’ll send you one. From Norway.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know exactly how you feel. The world is nobody’s oyster, nor is the lemonjuice. Money has to be earned. You’ve got several million pounds’ worth of goods of mine. You haven’t earned it. I’m just a little bit more entitled to it than you are. I’ve at least done something to assemble it in one place.’

  ‘I may not have earned it.’ I couldn’t help gloating. ‘But I’ve got it.’

  ‘That’s very true. But shall I tell you something, Michael? I’m an extraordinarily patient man when I’m dealing with someone I like who has indulged in the luxury of a misdemeanour against me. I really am. Now, the situation as I see it is that you’ve been working too hard lately. I should have grounded you for a while after your recent tour of operations. That’s what I think now. Perhaps I was foolish to give you such a key part in the Buckshot Farm job. But what’s past is past. I did, and it’s no use crying over spilt milk. I did it because you’re one of my best men, and your sort don’t grow on trees, though occasionally they do end up hanging from them. Forgive that little joke, Michael. I had a good breakfast this morning, and I haven’t got rid of it yet. Have you anything to say for yourself?’

  ‘Not till you say a bit more to me.’

  Ten-pence worth of silence went by.

  ‘As I was saying, I used you because I needed you, and I didn’t expect you to carry on like this. I won’t call it lack of moral fibre, but there’s certainly a stress element involved. Only the best are afflicted by it, but after a few sessions with Dr Anderson, the eminent psychiatrist, and a three week vacation on the beach at St Tropez looking at all those topless dollies playing volleyball, they’re usually as right as rain. Atomic rain, that is. See my point?’

  I had imagined something shorter than this, a rancorous bit of argy-bargy ending in verbal fireworks and a mutual slamming down of telephones. ‘I do. The fact is, though, I don’t like you taking my friends and holding them as hostages. That may happen in other countries, but I didn’t think anybody in England would stoop to it.’

  ‘Michael, I hope you are not accusing me of provocative, unconventional, unpatriotic behaviour?’

  I had to be careful. ‘Well, Lord Moggerhanger, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m merely describing the situation as it seems to be.’

  ‘That’s better. I knew we could have a discussion without entering into a competition regarding what was actually happening. I’ve always known you to be a man of the world, Michael. I like you. I’ve been proud to employ you. You’ve done work that others might have quailed at. I suppose in the normal world, which people like us healthily despise, you would have got put inside for three hundred years for doing work like that. Fortunately, we don’t belong to that world. It’s not for the likes of us. We’re freeborn Englishmen, who not only began at the bottom of the ladder, but from the bottom of the hole in which the ladder was placed to keep it from toppling backwards. I won’t say it’s all we have in common, but it’s sufficiently similar to allow us to understand each other without so much hanky-panky – and without this shameful waste of ten-pee pieces.’

  ‘I’ve got a big canvas bag of them standing on the floor.’

  I rattled a few.

  ‘I believe you. You always were resourceful. But, Michael?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know whether it was the same with you, because you’re not old enough to remember the worst of times. But when I was a lad I used to walk to Bedford from our village, eight miles there and eight miles back, in rain or frost quite often, to try and earn a copper or two to take home to my family. Don’t laugh. There’s only one way by which my hand could come down this telephone cord and strangle you, and that would be if you laughed when I told you that my family went through times when they were half starved.’

  ‘I’m not laughing.’

  ‘I didn’t really think you were. Forgive that little outburst. But in the days I’m telling you about, one of those ten-pee pieces – that you are slotting into the box like three-o-three rifle cartridges as if the fuzzy-wuzzies were coming up the hill to slit your throat – would have bought me a cup of tea. Another would have purchased a cream bun. There was many a time when a cream bun and a cup of tea would have given me much satisfaction. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Abundantly.’

  ‘So where are you?’

  ‘Near Newmarket.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  There was another long pause.

  ‘Why did you wreck my house?’ I asked.

  ‘You know that I regard private property as sacrosanct. I would never do such a thing.’

  ‘But Kenny Dukes did.’

  ‘I have to delegate, Michael. My life would otherwise be impossible. I’d have no time for my family. My boys didn’t like being sent up on their day off.’

  It was useless to argue. ‘Where are Maria and Bill Straw?’

  ‘All in good time. First of all I want to know when you are going to arrive at my house with the Roller and all the goods therein.’

  ‘I’ve got news for you, Lord Moggerhanger.’

  ‘And what might that be, Mr Cullen?’

  He was having fun. So was I. ‘I’m not coming to London.’

  The next pause was so long that even I found it uncomfortable.

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘What the fuck now?’

  ‘I think we shall have to meet soon. And don’t swear.’

  ‘You’d better get in touch with my agent.’

  ‘Don’t you think we ought to come to some conclusion?’

  We were speeding up. ‘Not until I see Bill and Maria safely back.’

  ‘Granted, Michael. I don’t want to go on feeding them, not while the National Assistance could be doing it. What do I pay taxes for?’

  I laughed. ‘Taxes?’

  ‘Oh, if only you knew what I have to dish out. It’s my greatest headache. There are some things even I can’t get out of. But when can I get my hands on my goods? I won’t disguise my anxiety on that score.’

  ‘I’ll drive the car to London.’

  After a pause he said: ‘On second thoughts, I’d rather you didn’t.’


  ‘When can I see Bill and Maria?’

  He sounded amiable. ‘Anytime.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I don’t want what’s in the Roller. I hope you never thought that. I don’t know how this misunderstanding could have arisen. When I got to Peppercorn Cottage I just didn’t like the look of the situation, so I didn’t unload. I was dubious about leaving it in the care of that idiot Percy Blemish.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have had it long.’

  ‘I didn’t feel sure of that. And I’d had a few brushes with mysterious cars on my way there. The situation didn’t feel good. So I thought I would give the Green Toe Gang a run for their money and stay on the road for a few days.’

  ‘How do you explain going off with that television crime reporter, Wayland Smith?’ he said dryly.

  ‘I fed him reams of false information that will throw him off the trail for good. Even when I seem to be working against you I’m working for you. I can’t help myself.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you. But you’re wandering away from the issue. You begin to annoy me, if only because while the goods are out of my hands I am losing money. Every twenty-four hours that they are prevented from being turned into money I lose approximately six hundred pounds sterling in interest alone. Six hundred pounds! Only in interest! How many cream buns and cups of tea would that buy? You see, even in the midst of tribulation I don’t lose my sense of proportion. Or humour. Do I?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  I wasted more cream buns on another pause. Then the voice came back, as if after a long weekend in Miami. ‘Just tell me where you’re going to leave the Roller, and the key, and I’ll send the lads up with your friend Bill Straw, and Maria – as you call her. She’s a delicious little woman, except that she just about bit Kenny Dukes’s balls off.’

  I nearly choked laughing. ‘I hope he does better in his next life.’

  ‘I think he sincerely hopes so as well, though if I have anything to do with it I don’t think I’ll allow him to have one, in case I have one too. Your friends will be let out of the car as soon as the Roller has been checked, and everything is seen to be safe inside. You don’t even have to be present. In fact I gather you’d rather not. Am I right, Michael?’