Undercover (18 page)

Richard Coombs had supplied another flash picture which appeared on the screen alongside the snap of the boys and must have been taken earlier. It showed a white van with the words ACME LAWN AND GARDEN SERVICES in red on the side to camera. Mr Coombs apparently told the reporter: ‘
“Tom Mallen rolled up in this van one day and parked it outside his house. I thought it was so odd and funny that I took the photograph of it – I mean, he was a police officer! What was he doing in something like that? Without the photo, people wouldn't have believed it when I told them. Now, of course, we're all wondering if the van had some special role. It might be to do with his move to that other force. It could be a sort of incognito van.”
'

‘Yes, it could. Good for you, Dicky Coombs,' Iles said. ‘One can see the observation holes. Can we enlarge the pic? It's a really brilliant construction. Well done, Leo.'

Harpur said: ‘Wouldn't Tom be mad to go home in that kind of vehicle?'

‘He was a family man, Harpur,' Iles said. ‘For some folk that bond is prime. His son's birthday? Wouldn't the van enable him to arrive with the Valhalla for the celebrations?' The last few words of this statement came out as a burgeoning screech. Iles went on: ‘But you're probably not one to understand all this – the prioritizing of family – given that you casually debauch other men's wives, show contempt for their family ties.' Authentic, lively froth began to form on Iles's upper lip. Harpur had already noticed how the ACC's voice proved the acoustics of this little cinema room excellent.

Maud said: ‘So, Tom observed Claud Norm Rice from the van.'

‘He'd be regarded as a traitor or backslider or potential rival,' Harpur said. ‘They might want to get a case together against him, or her. Many of these firms have their fair-play rules. If they're going to kill someone there has to be a bit of a reason. It looks as though Tom had achieved absolute acceptance in the gang and could be trusted with very sensitive and vital work harvesting evidence.'

‘Exactly,' Iles said, his tone suddenly sweet and sane and instructive. ‘You see, Maud, Col has quite a grasp of essentials despite his disregard for basic moral standards. Ability is not necessarily linked to wholesomeness, cock control and decency. You'll find this difficult to comprehend, but it is so. In some aspects Col's invaluable. In others, Harpur's a consummate shit. But which is the main, the preponderant aspect? That's the conundrum, isn't it?' He smiled ungenially and did not revert to the high-pitched disgust mode. Instead, he began to howl or bay his agonized words, the sound seeming to come from somewhere much deeper in him than the mere larynx. ‘This was a man – Harpur I mean – who owed me and my rank and the service generally full and long-lasting fealty and yet in many a cheap and frowsty venue he frequently dipped his—'

‘You'd suggest they've deliberately picked the name of a firm with plenty of As in it, would you, Desmond – ACME LAWN AND GARDEN SERVICES – so as to get a full array and spread of peep facilities?' Maud replied. ‘Even the conjunction, AND, supplies one. Clever.'

‘I'm always glad to see As pulling their weight,' Iles said. ‘They have a duty to live up to their position as first in the alphabet.'

BEFORE

‘S
o, what's with the van outside, Mr Mallen?'

‘I needed it to bring the bike.'

‘Yes, but lawns and gardens. I mean, what's lawns and gardens? I mean, what's it to do with you – the lawns and gardens? What's the, well, link?' He could be unflinching, this lad, a friend of Steve's. He had given himself a mission to kick the life out of half-truths, the young avenging twerp, and son of twerps. He'd trample a lawn and a garden.

‘A friend lent it to me,' Tom replied.

‘You're still a cop, though, are you? Like plain clothes, but still a cop, a detective?'

‘Oh, sure.'

‘Is this for some duty with the other force, such as, like, disguise – saying in red, like, it's to do with lawns and gardens, but really a police vehicle?'

‘It's a friend's. He knew I wanted to get back for Steve's birthday, and with the present.'

‘You've made some good friends there, have you? I mean, for someone to lend you a van, even if they don't know you very well, that's really kind. What did he say? Did he say, like, “It's obvious you need to be there for the celebration, so I got this van not in immediate use, as to lawns and gardens, and I'd be really pleased if you'd take that,” even though he got no real notion of Steve, never met him or even heard of him till now, most probably?'

‘Yes, along those lines.'

‘Because you haven't been there, I mean, away, for very long, but he will still lend you a van, regardless?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do they know you're dodging out of it for a while, coming back here, which is not usually where it gets around to the lawns and gardens, not its home ground – not its home lawn and garden?'

‘Who? Do who know?'

‘The chiefs.'

‘Didn't I tell you this was a loan from a friend? People can be very understanding about some family occasions, for example, a birthday.'

‘Which people?'

‘If they can help, they will, and providing a van they don't need for the moment is a striking glimpse of this generosity. You're so right, Luke.'

There, soak up the compliment and get lost.

‘But you've got to get it back on time?' Luke said.

‘Oh, yes.'

‘They trust you to do that?'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘Who, exactly?'

‘Clearly, the owner of the van.'

‘That's not “clearly”. Who?'

‘There's not going to be a lawns and gardens need at night, is there? This is putting the van on to twenty-four-hour use – maximizing, like extra shifts at a munitions factory, because of a war.'

‘What factory? How does a factory come into it? What war?'

Tom had this van tale ready: he knew there'd be interrogation from Steve and his mates. It might work. Kids weren't always easy to fool. Kids could be plodding and dogged. Yes, they went for the simple, big, awkward questions, like these from Steve's pal, Luke Coombs, now. Luke was a sharp boy, with Community Watch parents. That is, fucking nosy, intrusive parents, poking about, ‘to help the community', so they said. Often. They lived opposite. Steve plus friends had been for a swim and jacuzzi outing at the Leisure Club pool as a sort of birthday party, entry paid for by Iris. Could any of them successfully surface dive for a coin in the deep end? Now, they'd come back to the house to eat a pizza supper, pre-ordered to suit their individual tastes and doorstep delivered, paid for by Iris. On birthday treats there was an iron duty to reciprocate at a decent standard. It's what communities were about. The boys had grown too old for a bouncy castle.

Tom would make up the outlay to her – make both amounts up to her. He'd never given Iris any of the supposed expenses cash he collected from Howard Lambert at that introductory meeting with Rockmain and him in the service station: the handler's handout among the crockery. Tom had meant to pass all of it to Iris, but then suffered his powerful attack of conscience about involving the family in a possibly smoke and mirrors transaction; perhaps the first in a series of smoke and mirrors transactions. He jibbed. Instead, he'd treated the amount as ordinary income,
his
ordinary income, and spent it in the normal way. Now, though, he'd give Iris the cash for the Leisure Centre outing and pizzas and Cokes from what he had in his pocket and wallet. It would be, sort of,
here's some uncontaminated loot
,
darling
,
to meet outgoings on a
uniquely grand day
.

But he realized that the money in his pockets and wallet now might not have been the same if he hadn't spent the lump from Howie Lambert on personal running costs – how things were with money. What you had at present depended on what you had then, no matter how long ago, and what he had then included the lavish dole-out from Lambert. So, the family was getting indirectly touched by the taint, if there was one. He could give Iris clean loot largely because he'd been using possibly dirty loot from Howie. This grey area was
so
damn grey and chewy, so complex, that he gave up nagging himself about it. He'd fork out, no matter how the money came to be available. In the kind of work he'd taken on he knew there'd be plenty of knotty, dark moral dilemmas, and he'd better get used to resolving them fast, with the needs of the job always put first. Undercover had its own foggy and compulsive ethics, its own very practical, very adjustable, theology: ‘I believe in undercover and will try everything to make it work and save my skin, this skin having a false name and fictionalized background for the occasion, amen.'

There were six boys. Steve's sister Laura hadn't gone to the pool with them: strictly a lads' outing. She'd been at a friend's house but returned now for the scoff. Two extra pizzas had been ordered by Iris, one for Laura, one for herself. Laura was puzzled by the van, too. ‘I saw it outside the house on my way back from Cheryl's and wondered what it was for. And Luke's dad was taking pictures with his mobile and having a chortle. He told me a woman had asked him about it, too. He said: “Is your father moonlighting in lawns and gardens, then, Laura?”'

The prick would. Which woman?

‘He does a story of the street like in a big scrap album, with photos and drawings,' Luke said. ‘It's a sort of diary. Or a kind of log. That van – unusual. He'll put it into the album. It's an event, like, an
unusual
event. He'll write a remark under the photo, such as: “Why such a van next to their VW?”'

‘We haven't got a lawn, only paved over and a patio, so I couldn't understand why lawns,' Laura said.

Iris offered her the bike yarn, speaking with plenty of what might sound like true sincerity. Tom was grateful. It shifted attention to the Viking Valhalla, thank God. The machine stood propped against the sideboard with a birthday tag they'd given him in the shop tied on to the saddle stalk: ‘HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE. LOVE FROM MUM AND DAD.' The bike looked lean and hungry for mountains. Tom wondered whether the double HAPPY overdid things. But he reasoned: one each from Iris and him. ‘Yes, great,' Laura said. ‘And adult size?'

‘Definitely,' Steve said. ‘I'm thirteen now.' He'd probably be the youngest of the boys. Teendom was taking over.

‘We're going to have a big ride-out together on Saturday, all of us,' Paul Harker said. ‘I've got a Gary Fisher bike.'

‘Terrific,' Tom said.

‘I've got a Rockrider,' Greg Mills said.

‘Also terrific,' Tom said. Maybe these were classier, dearer models than the Valhalla. Tom knew he'd better sound impressed.

Luke said: ‘Mine's a Dawes Saratoga Comfort, front suspension.'

‘Terrific,' Tom said. ‘Adult?'

‘Of course,' Steve said.

‘My dad will do photos of us starting off,' Luke said. ‘More for the album. “The mountain bike gang.” That's how he'll describe it, I expect.'

Tom thought they might not be satisfied with this sort of juvenile, mummy-run party next year. He felt damn glad he'd made the effort to get here for an important day, pleased he'd ignored the risk. It was a farewell to childhood: twenty-six-inch wheels on their bikes. That was about as big as they came, unless you wanted a penny-farthing.

Iris had been alone in the house when Tom arrived, the boys still at the pool, Laura with her chum, Cheryl. Iris and Tom kept discussion of the van short. When he mobiled to say he was on his way, she'd told him: ‘We might have half an hour alone if you're quick, Tom. And I'll get another pizza.'

‘Anchovies and mushroom,' he said. He had put his foot down. The back and forth swishing sound in the commode grew stronger as he cornered at speed. Tom realized it wasn't a very noble thought, but the sound recalled for him that
From Here To Eternity
scene on the film channel when Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr are getting close to it in the grand Hawaiian rollers around Pearl Harbour time. The mind and memory went their own way, didn't they, no guaranteed suitable tone?

Iris must have been watching for him at a window and she'd opened the front door before he reached it. She'd held out her arms to take him and hold him to her. They kissed in the doorway, a long, strong kiss, the kind of kiss that should be natural to people who'd lived together for fifteen years, assuming the fifteen years had been fairly tolerable. Fifteen years was quite a while. Then she said: ‘How come?'

‘What?'

‘The transport.'

‘Reconnaissance.'

‘Of what?'

‘Tell you later.'

‘You're right. What does it matter?'

He realized he would like to take Iris out to the van and have her on its metal floor. This wouldn't be totally the same as Lancaster and Kerr in the waves, but similarly unconventional and significant. He needed something beyond Norm Rice and the substances trolley to make this vehicle memorable. He'd say: ‘So come and have a look at the interior, if you're interested, Iris. It's quite a remarkable piece of equipment, with intriguing facilities.' He'd pulled into a lay-by a few miles back and emptied the commode basin under a hedge, so there'd be no unpleasantness about the fitments. Once inside, he'd close the doors and she'd guess the real intent. There was a light in the van and he'd leave that on, at least until they'd undressed and picked the right spot to lie down. The plan would excite and please her. She'd like the deviousness, as if this were their first time and needed to be set up by seduction trickery. Tom thought love-making in the van might help bring the five sides of his life together: husband; dad; cop; cop masquerading as Leo Young's man; cop masquerading as Leo Young's man masquerading as a lawns and gardens man. And it should show which were prime: husband and dad, weren't they? Husband/dad, yes. Oh, yes. He wanted to believe this. To have it off in the van would part prove that, because they'd be interested in none of the accessories, such as Thermos flasks and folding chairs, just their own bodies and feelings. No need for the eight A observation windows: they wouldn't care about things outside, only their closed-off, clothes-off, private area, private areas, secluded and symbolic – symbolic of human passion ready to give it a go wherever, unbothered about discomfort.