Pix (Volume Book 24) (Harpur & Iles Mysteries) (9 page)

Manse really tried to focus everything on her now, but still managed to hear the front door bell ring, then ring again – twice that sort of heavy push Sybil had given when he thought, police. The whistling and singing stopped. The decorators must be puzzled. They would probably of expected Manse to go from the drawing room and answer. After a while, he heard one of them click-clack down the bare stairs and open the door. Somebody spoke, though Manse could not get what he said. Then the decorator answered. Shale pulled away from Sybil and went to the drawing-room door to listen better.

Iles said: ‘Perhaps he's asleep. The drawing room, yes? That's here, isn't it?' A fist hammered the door. ‘Are you all right in there, Manse? It's Harpur and Iles on a visiting spree. We wouldn't like you to be left out. Manse? Is this locked?' Manse saw the handle turn. ‘Oh, new lock here, Manse? And I thought maybe on the front door, too. Some recent carpentry. Been having trouble?'

Harpur said: ‘Is he alone?'

The decorator said: ‘With a lady.'

‘Who've you got in there, Manse?' Iles said.

‘Is that you, Mr Iles?' Shale replied. He could half see Sybil dressing behind him to his left.

‘And Col Harpur,' Iles said. ‘We looked in, Manse. Having works done around the rectory, are we? Locks, wallpaper, stair carpet – you're giving the full treatment, are you? New look.'

Sybil brought Shale his clothes and he began to put them on. ‘Mislaid the key for the moment, Mr Iles,' he said.

‘New locks can stick, can't they? Harpur will break the door down if you like,' Iles said. ‘He loves a challenge. “Show me a door and I'll show it some shoulder.” You know the thug sort, Manse.'

‘Sybil and I were going over some property papers,' Shale replied.

‘Well, you'd have to lock the door for that, obviously,'
Iles said, ‘and take the key out. Oh, yes. Sybil, is it? We all miss her.'

‘Ah, Sybil's found the key,' Shale said. He smoothed down his hair and replaced the cushion. He opened the door and reminded himself about the way to behave – politeness first and even a crawl, but other reactions ready, too, such as brickwalling, some silence, some fly footwork. Iles had called it a visiting spree and said they'd just ‘looked in' – supposed to sound
so
fucking casual. These two didn't do nothing casual, and especially not Iles. These two knew things, but you could never know
what
they knew. They most likely did not know what each
other
knew, not complete. These two was high police officers.

‘Sybil,' Iles said. ‘Wonderful! Dare I deduce from this that you and Mansel are once more –'

‘Some business matters,' Shale said.

‘Oh,' Iles said. ‘Well, it's grand to see amity and mutual understanding continue between you despite the –'

‘I do think couples who part should still try for a reasonable relationship,' Shale said. ‘Maturity.'

Harpur stood in the drawing-room doorway looking up the stairs to where the work went on. He was wearing one of them suits he got from somewhere, but nobody else knew why. He kept the jacket undone, maybe because the fit would not look too comical like that. ‘Yes, I'm giving the place some facelift,' Shale said. ‘Routinely.'

‘Do you know my first thought when I noticed the redecorating and most likely fresh carpeting planned, and then heard Sybil had come back?' Iles said. He paused. ‘But, I suppose I'm inclined to get too romantic. Harpur often reproaches me for that, don't you, Col? Anyway, I decided in my fanciful way that these domestic improvements were a sort of welcome home gesture to Sybil – a big gesture which would be so in keeping with your character, as we know it, Manse.' Iles also had on a suit, but a real suit, grey with a darkish stripe in it, not less than two grand's worth, a tie from some club, most probably, more stripes but brighter – red, silver, yellow, offensive, so maybe upper class.

Sybil said to Iles: ‘Why are you here?' She could be like that – out with it, too blunt. She did not know the procedure for dealing with this pair, or she knew it but did not care about it.

‘We do these little tours of pivotal people,' Iles replied.

‘I don't remember them,' Sybil said.

‘Harpur likes to call on prominent folk now and then – gets the feel of the city that way, eavesdrops on the buzz. Policing's about more than point duty.' Iles moved across the room to look at the Hughes.

‘Is Manse prominent?' Sybil said.

Iles chuckled: ‘A unique Pre-Raphaelite collection on his walls!' He bent to look harder at one of the canvases. ‘Some of these could be genuine, you know. Unquestionably. I'd say that brought some prominence, wouldn't you, Sybil? And the rectory.'

‘But why are you here?' Sybil said. ‘To see the art?'

‘Ah, the children have arrived,' Shale said. They came home from Bracken Collegiate, their private school, by special bus in the afternoons. Harpur stood to one side, so they could get into the drawing room.

‘Mum!' Matilda said. ‘Such a lovely surprise!'

‘Exactly,' Iles said.

Matilda gazed at him, mystified ‘This is Mr Iles and this is Mr Harpur,' Shale said.

‘Mr Harpur is police, isn't he?' Laurent said. ‘I've seen him on TV News, interviewed when there's trouble.'

‘He loves getting his face on the screen regardless,' Iles said.

‘Are you police, too?' Laurent said.

‘Don't blame yourself for asking – many people can't believe it, because I don't at all look the type,' Iles replied.

‘What's wrong?' Laurent said.

‘Wrong?' Iles said.

‘Why are police here, dad?' Laurent said.

‘Exactly,' Sybil said.

‘So what do you think of your dad getting the house all smartened up, Matilda, Laurent?' Iles replied. ‘Isn't it going to look great?'

‘It's just that now and then things have to be changed,' Matilda said. ‘Everybody does this in their houses.'

‘Right,' Laurent said.

Shale thought them kids would really deserve the two twenties each, or even three. They went up to their rooms to get out of school uniform.

‘A missing person inquiry,' Iles said.

‘How do we help?' Shale said.

‘You're an Assistant Chief Constable, aren't you?' Sybil said. ‘And Mr Harpur's something high, too. You actually do missing person inquiries at your ranks?'

‘Harpur likes to be what's called “hands on”,' Iles said. ‘Also referred to as engaging with “the nitty-gritty”. I go along.'

Harpur brought a photograph from the inside pocket of that suit and put it on the circular rosewood table. Shale gave this a full inspection. ‘No,' he said. ‘Sorry.' That was what he had meant when he told himself to get ready with some dazzling footwork, as well as slimy mateyness. The dark-haired, smiling man didn't have his face bruised or throat cut at the time of the photograph, of course, but was still too recognizable. ‘Can't help you with him. Who is he? As Syb says, an ACC and a Detective Chief Super – it must be important.'

Oh, yes. Didn't all this show you could never tell what them two fuckers knew? But how
could
they know about the corpse on the stairs? They phone tapped? Hadn't Manse been very careful to speak vague, though? He could remember he didn't say a body but ‘another aspect', when he called Chandor. He named the suit and the shoes, but you could not do an identity from them. Did someone get in here and look – someone being Harpur or Iles or Harpur
and
Iles? There'd been that sign of a break-in, hadn't there? Maybe this really was an ordinary missing person inquiry, even though it took an ACC and a Detective Chief Super. And, then again, perhaps it pointed to something else. Things usually did point to something else, something more than the obvious, when this pair got interested.

Sybil looked at the picture and shook her head. ‘Did you think Manse would know him?'

‘We're getting around a lot of people,' Iles said.

‘Did you think Manse would know him?' Sybil replied.

Harpur picked up the photograph and put it back in his pocket.

In the evening, Shale sat alone again at the big desk in his den-study, working through some more figures. Ralph Ember was due to arrive for one of their private meetings at about 10 p.m. The children would be in bed by then. Sybil had gone back to Wales. Manse wondered what she felt now. Obviously, that rough intrusion by Harpur and Iles had upset Syb and maybe made her think this showed what life in the rectory would be like if she lived here – special near-climaxes jinxed in front of the Hughes, followed by sudden inquiries about someone missing shoved at Manse like he was a suspect. Perhaps Ivor and Wales seemed more comfortable, after all. Iles and Harpur had left before her. ‘Did you know him, Manse?' she'd asked.

‘Who?'

‘Photograph man.'

‘I said no.'

‘I know you said no. That was to Iles and Harpur. Did you know him?' Sybil replied.

‘You got to be careful with them two. They can make a three weeks' trial plus the verdict they want from what I might say about a photo on the table.'

‘You knew him, did you?'

‘I think you really hit it when you said, How come people so high in the police was on ordinary missing person duty? They could really wrap anyone up if he said yes to a photograph like that.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like coming from Harpur's inside pocket.'

‘Who is he, the man in the photo?'

Obviously, the rug love would be no good now, not a
rerun. He could not start all that up again, with the slow stripping and so on. The atmosphere was gone. If you had Iles strutting about this room and commenting on the pictures, and Harpur in that hobo suit, it would seem mad straight after to try for a screw situation and expect Syb to re-wet up. In the love aspect, there was moments, and there was moments that could never be moments, such as these, current. When he went to wave her off from the drive it seemed just like waving anyone off. He could not tell whether she would ever come back to the rectory to see the new wallpaper and carpet, that special, sincere gesture especially for her, as he truly hoped she believed. All this did make him miserable for a while. Probably no major police walked into that place in Wales like they had an invitation and flashed a pre-death picture of a murdered man in front of them.

Ember and Manse organized these private meetings every so often to deal with the way the firms had been doing lately. Although they was not partners, they had an arrangement, an association, and split the main trade between them in peaceful conditions. At this kind of rectory meeting they could discuss things as they factually and actually was and do their planning. They put on other meetings now and then at the Agincourt Hotel for all employees of both outfits – street pushers, managers, heavies, blenders, couriers and so on – with a worthwhile free dinner and wines and non-pay bar. Manse or Ralphy would give a statement on recent business and the future, but this statement had to be a careful job, not with any awkward confidential figures included, obviously. It would be stupid to hire a big hotel dining room to give yourself problems. For instance, you could not tell people at the Agincourt that Manse and Ralphy took home over half a million each year from the profits. That could of made some folk dissatisfied with what
they
was getting theirselves and might interfere with the way staff worked and sold. Most likely people could
guess
Manse and Ralph took more than half a big one each year, but guessing stayed guessing and did not add up to undoubted reality.

The one-to-one meetings usually happened in Manse's den-study because Ember would not allow that kind of trade discussion at his sacred dump club, the Monty, and, of course, definitely not in Low Pastures, the brilliant bloody manor house where he lived – big chimneys, lead on the windows, stables, a paddock, or paddocks. His family and his fucking club had to be so white, didn't they, the holy prick? Aloof. That was it, the word. Ralph wanted the dirty trade, but he also wanted to stay aloof as far as that club and his home was concerned.

Manse decided it would be best not to tell Ralphy about the carry-on with the pictures and the corpse on the rectory stairs. It might seem like Hilaire Chandor had started a business campaign against the Shale-Ember alliance, and this would look to Ralphy like Chandor thought Manse was the dodgy one and could be cracked, could be frightened and pressured out, leaving space in the association for dear Hilaire. Ember would most probably have an armagnac giggle about that, and maybe help Chandor along, or pretend to. Anything that made Manse weaker would help dear Ralphy. If Chandor and Manse had to fight each other, Ralphy could sneak ahead while they was at it, and build more on to that half a big one plus. Ember wanted to buy his way up and up until he and his rathole club was dainty and eminent. Of course, it would never happen, but the idea kept Ralphy going and kept him scheming, the proud, pathetic twat.

This fine, wholesome friendship with Ember had lasted for quite a few years now. Ralph usually brought a bottle of Kressmann armagnac to the rectory meetings to make up for never allowing Manse into fucking Low Pastures or into the Monty to talk commerce. Of course, he'd get the armagnac cut price by bulk buying for the club. There was three or four topics that kept coming back in these sessions, and they talked about them again tonight.

1. A price slump worldwide in the commodities mainly because of over-production by greedy sods in South America and other regions had made things difficult for a while, but also gave increased sales.

2. Then this new Chief Constable. The old one, Mr Mark Lane, could be a bit weak, and Iles had run things, really. Great. He didn't mess about with Ralph's and Manse's businesses as long as they kept things to no violence, or not too much. Iles thought drugs was here to stay, so fit the trade into the general law and order system. But this new Chief seemed tougher. He didn't like blindeyeing. Iles's power might start sinking any day now, though not yet.