Wilt in Nowhere (9 page)

‘No, these guys are different.’

‘I’ll say they are. The same as me they’re not. I don’t get any kicks out of spying on fat
women pissing in the privacy of their own bathrooms. You’ve got to be a genuine pervert
to like that.’

‘No, the Shit Squad are sewage experts. They’ve hooked into all the effluent coming out
of the Starfighter and are running it into a tanker for analysis. The thing is parked round
the back of the old drive-in movie screen and it’s enormous. Must take fifteen thousand
gallons a throw. And the lab truck is there too where it can’t be seen. They’ve got equipment
in there that can trace drugs in athletes’ urine weeks after they’ve taken them.’

Sheriff Stallard was gaping at him. Nothing in a long career as a Law Enforcement
Officer came anywhere like this. ‘They’ve hooked…? Say it again, Baxter, say it again and
slowly this time. This stuff is not getting through to me.’

‘It’s like this,’ said Baxter. ‘They’ve sealed off all the outlets from the house, all the
water and sewage pipes, and they’ve hooked this huge sucking device on so that they can pump
it–’

‘Shit,’ said the Sheriff. ‘These guys are using taxpayers’ money to test all the urine
comes out of Wally Immelmann’s place? You’ll be telling me next they’ve got this satellite
in statutory orbit over Wilma.’ He stopped and looked in horror up into the sky. ‘Could be
reading the letters on my badge.’

‘I think the word is ’stationary’. Stationary orbit. You said ’statutory
orbit’.’

Sheriff Stallard turned his glazed eyes on his Deputy. He was beginning to feel quite
mad. ‘Stationary, Baxter, stationary it can’t be. Wilma’s moving at around three
thousand miles an hour. Has to be because that’s the speed the world goes round. Something
like that. You can work it out. The world goes round once a day and the circumference is
twenty-four thousand miles. So twenty-four goes into twenty-four thousand a thousand
times. Work it out yourself. Well, if you’ve got a satellite out there squatting over
Wilma…no, not squatting, let’s cut the squatting. I don’t want to think about that again.
It’s up there even further out than Wilma, and Wilma’s way out enough for me the way those
guys are acting, that baby has to be moving even faster just to keep up. Right?’ Baxter
nodded. ‘Good. So when I said ’statutory’ I mean ’statutory’. This operation has to be
costing millions. So it’s got to be statutory. Washington’s approval. And who’s been
talking about cutting the Federal deficit?’

He went back to his office and took a Tylenol and lay down and tried to pretend nothing
was happening. He couldn’t. The image of Joanie Immelmann on the can overwhelmed him.

In Oston Police Station Bob Battleby continued to protest his innocence. He hadn’t
set fire to his own house. Why would he do a thing like that? It was a beautiful house and
his family had owned it for hundreds of years. He was very fond of it and so on. As for porno
mags and the other stuff, he had no idea how they had got into his Range Rover. Perhaps the
firemen had put them there. It was the sort of muck people like firemen tended to read. No,
he didn’t know any firemen personally, they weren’t the class of people he usually mixed
with–but they were never doing anything useful. They hadn’t saved his house from being
burnt to the ground, for instance, and reading porn, he supposed, helped them to pass the
time. The handcuffs and the gag and whips? Did he really imagine the firemen made use of
them, too, to pass the time? Well no, now that he came to think about it he didn’t suppose
they did. They sounded more like things the police might have a use for.

That comment didn’t go down at all well with the Inspector putting the questions in the
absence of the Superintendent who was catching up on his sleep. Battleby wasn’t so
fortunate. The questions kept on coming and he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he
answered them correctly. Where was his wife? He didn’t have one. Was he on good terms with
his family? They could mind their own fucking business. But that was exactly what they
were doing; their business was arresting criminals and, for his information, men who
set fire to their own houses and possessed Obscene Material of a paedophile nature, not
to mention punching Superintendents in the face, came into the category, several
categories of criminals.

Battleby said he hadn’t set fire to his own house. Mrs Rottecombe could prove that.
She’d been with him when he left the kitchen. The Inspector raised his eyebrows. But Mrs
Rottecombe had made a sworn statement that she’d been waiting for him in her car outside
the front door. Battleby made an even fouler sworn statement about Mrs fucking
Rottecombe, and merely pointed out that as the Arson Squad had begun their
investigations and were being helped by the Insurance Company investigators who
were the real experts, they would soon know. What the Inspector would like to know was the
state of Battleby’s finances. Battleby refused to answer. It didn’t matter, they’d get
a court order to see his bank accounts. It was normal procedure in cases of arson where
so much insurance money was involved. He had insured it, of course? Battleby supposed
so. He left money matters to his accountant. But the house was insured in his name? Of
course it bloody was. Had to be. After all, his family had lived in it for two hundred and
more years so it had to be in his name. Quite so. Now, about the Obscene Material…Mrs
Rottecombe had made a statement saying he had asked her to tie him up and whip him and
she’d refused…Like hell she had. The bloody bitch enjoyed whipping and torturing people.
She was into fladge in a big way…He stopped. Even in his state of almost total fatigue he
could see from the Inspector’s expression that he’d said the wrong thing. He asked to speak
to his solicitor. Of course he could. Just give them the number and the lawyer’s name and he
could phone him. Battleby couldn’t remember his solicitor’s telephone number. The man
was up in London and…Would he like a local solicitor? No, he fucking wouldn’t. The only
thing those dunderheads knew about was boundary disputes.

And so the questioning had gone on and on and every time Battleby’s head drooped on to
the table he was shaken awake. He was even given strong coffee and allowed to use the
toilet. Then the questions began again. A different officer took over at midday and put
the same questions.

At Ipford Police Station, Inspector Flint shared the Sheriff’s feeling about Drug
Enforcement Agents. He had just read Superintendent Hodge’s report on Mrs Wilt and was
appalled.

‘You can’t send this stuff across to America,’ he protested. ‘There wasn’t a shred of
evidence the Wilts had anything to do with the distribution of drugs in Ipford. They were
as clean as a whistle.’

‘Only because someone blew one for them,’ said Hodge.

‘Meaning?’ said Flint whose blood pressure had soared. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning they were tipped off we were on to them and they took cover in the American
airbase and dumped the stuff.’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting I had anything to do–’

‘Not you, Flint. Just take a dekko at the evidence. Wilt has this job teaching Yanks at
Lakenheath and this guy Immelmann’s been stationed there. So Wilt’s got contacts with
Yanks even before he starts. That’s one. Two is PCP is an American drug. Designer drug and
the Lord Lieutenant’s daughter dies of an overdose at the Tech where Wilt teaches her. ODs
on PCP. There’s more evidence, a whole heap of it and it all points one way. To the Wilts. You
can’t deny it, Flint. And another thing. Where else was Wilt teaching? In the hoosegow here
in Ipford.’

‘Hodge, we don’t have hoosegows in Britain. You’ve got America on the brain.’

‘All right. Wilt was teaching in the prison and mixing with some of the nastiest
villains in the drug business. That’s three strikes against the bastard. Number four
is–’

‘Hodge, don’t let me interrupt you but you can’t have four strikes in baseball. Miss
three and you’re out. If you really want to go transatlantic, you’ve got to get these things
right. You’ll never make the Yankee Stadium if you go on like this.’

‘Very funny, I’m sure. You always were known for your wit. Well, this time just stick to
the evidence. Mrs Wilt’s aunt is married to a known drug importer in the States. OK, they’re
legit those drugs. On the surface. Then again he’s got a place in the Caribbean and a motor
boat that does over sixty knots and on top of that he has planes. Learjets and Beechcraft.
All the apparatus for a highly lucrative drug pusher. And Mrs Wilt just happens to
visit him with her quads. Very good diversionary tactics those quads. And to top it all
Wilt isn’t home and no one knows where he’s hidden himself. It adds up, it all adds up.
You’ve got to admit that.’

Flint hitched his chair forward. ‘Wilt’s hidden himself? No one knows where he’s got to?
Are you certain about that?’ he asked.

Hodge nodded triumphantly. ‘Add this to the catalogue,’ he said. ‘The day Mrs Wilt flies
into Atlanta her husband goes to the building society and draws out a large sum in cash.
In cash. And where does he leave his credit cards and passport? At home. On the kitchen
table. That’s right, on the kitchen table,’ he said as Flint’s face registered
astonishment. ‘Bed not made. Washing-up not done. Dirty plates still on the table.
Drawers in the chest of drawers in the bedroom open. Car still in the garage. Nothing
missing except Mr Henry Wilt. Not a bloody thing. Even his shoes are there. We got the
cleaning lady to check them out. So what does that tell you?’

‘It makes a change,’ said Flint sourly. He disliked being wrong-footed, especially by
clowns like Hodge.

‘Makes a change? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hodge demanded.

‘It means just this. The first time I ran into Wilty, it was his wife was missing.
Supposed to be down a damned great pile hole at the Tech. Only it just so happens Wilt has
stuffed an inflatable plastic doll dressed in Mrs Eva bloody Wilt’s clothes down there and
they put twenty tons of pre-mix on top of her. In fact she is living it up with a couple of
daffy Americans on a stolen boat on the Broads. So where is Mrs Wilt now? Sitting
pretty…well, as near pretty as she’ll ever get at any rate, in the United States and it’s
our Henry who is missing. Yes, that makes a change. It does indeed.’

‘You don’t think he’s done a runner?’ Hodge asked.

‘With Wilt I’ve given up thinking. I have not the faintest idea what goes on in that mad
blighter’s mind. All I do know is it won’t be what you think it is. It’s going to be
something you wouldn’t even dream of thinking about. So don’t ask me what he’s done. I
wouldn’t have a clue.’

‘Well, my guess is he’s getting himself an alibi,’ said Hodge.

‘With his credit cards and all on the kitchen table?’ said Flint. ‘And none of his clothes
missing? Doesn’t sound much like a voluntary disappearance to me. Sounds more like
something has happened to the little bastard. Have you checked the hospital?’

‘Of course I have. The first thing I did. Checked every goddam hospital in the area. No
one answering his description has been booked in. I’ve checked the morgues, the lot, and he
is not around. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’

‘No,’ said Flint firmly. ‘It does not. I’ve told you. Where Henry Wilt is concerned I
don’t even try to think. It hurts too much.’

All the same when Superintendent Hodge left Flint sat on considering the
situation.

‘There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of Wilty being involved in drugs,’ he told
Sergeant Yates. ‘And can you see Eva Wilt in what that madman Hodge would call that ‘ball
game’? I’m damned if I can. They may be crazy, the Wilts, but they’re the least likely people
to start committing real crimes.’

‘I know, sir,’ said Yates. ‘But Hodge is presenting a pretty nasty profile to the
American authorities. I mean, it doesn’t look good all that stuff about Lakenheath and so
on.’

‘It’s all purely circumstantial. He hasn’t got even the tiniest shred of real
evidence,’ said Flint. ‘Let’s just hope the police over there see that. I wouldn’t want the
Wilt family up before an American court. Not after the OJ trial. Television in the
courtroom and everyone becomes a bloody actor. And we know what twerps they are.’ He
paused in thought. ‘I wonder where the hell our Henry’s got to, though. That’s the real
mystery.’

‘I’m so worried about Henry,’ Eva told Auntie Joan. ‘I’ve tried calling him time and
again–seven times today–and he’s never in.’

‘Maybe he’s teaching this course you told me about. The one about Tradition and Culture
for Canadians.’

‘But that only takes up an hour or two and he wouldn’t be teaching it at six in the
morning,’ said Eva. ‘I mean, the time difference is five hours, isn’t it?’

‘It’s five hours later in the UK. The time there now must be around midnight,’ said
Auntie Joan. In his chair in front of the TV Uncle Wally groaned. He’d had a hard day
trying to keep the thought of Dr Cohen and the scandal of being known as a sodomiser out of
his mind. It was impossible. Life in Wilma could become impossible. The scandal had
come at the worst possible time just when he was thinking of diversifying Immelmann
Enterprises into pharmaceuticals. And here he was saddled with a woman who didn’t
know that English time was five hours ahead of Eastern US time. Like she didn’t understand
the sun rose in the east.

‘But then he must be at home,’ said Eva, her anxiety reaching a new pitch. ‘I’ve been
phoning him every day around this time because he finishes his course by midday and he
never stays out late at night. Do you think I should try again?’

‘Yes,’ said Wally. ‘I definitely think you should. He could have had an accident. Guy
down in Alabama fell off a stepladder last fall and his wife kept calling and he couldn’t
reach the phone. Couldn’t make the fridge either. Died of starvation. That and thirst. They
didn’t find him until some kids broke in and there he was nothing but skin and bone.’

He didn’t have to say any more. Eva was already in the bedroom trying to get through
again.

‘You didn’t have to tell her that,’ said Auntie Joan. ‘That was a real mean thing to
say.’

‘I did and it wasn’t. Like being cooped up in prison with her and those nieces of
yours.’

‘And yours, Wally Immelmann, your nieces too.’

Wally smiled a nasty smile and shook his head. ‘I married you, honey, not your fucking
family. Ain’t no blood relations of mine.’

Before another full-scale quarrel could develop Eva had returned with the news that
the phone at home had rung and rung and Henry still hadn’t answered.

‘Guy’s got good sense not to,’ said Wally to himself. He didn’t say it out loud.

‘Isn’t there some friend you could get to see where he is?’ Auntie Joan asked.

Eva said Henry didn’t like the Mottrams and he wasn’t on good terms with the
neighbours.

‘His best friend is Peter Braintree. I suppose I could try them.’

She went back into the bedroom and came out five minutes later.

‘They don’t answer either,’ she said. ‘It’s the summer holidays and they always go
away.’

‘Perhaps Henry has gone with them,’ said Auntie Joan.

But Eva wasn’t convinced. ‘He’d have told me if he’d been going to do that. He
definitely said he had to stay behind because he has this course for the Canadians to
teach. We need the money for the girls’ education.’

‘From what they said to the Revd Cooper…’ Wally began and was silenced by a look from
his wife.

‘Tomorrow we’ll go out in the sail boat and have ourselves a picnic,’ she said. ‘It’s
really nice out on the lake this time of the year.’

In the swimming-pool the quads were having a wonderful time.

‘Honestly, how those girls do enjoy the pool,’ said Auntie Joan. ‘They’re having a
whale of a time.’

‘Sure are,’ said Uncle Wally. He reckoned he knew why they were so peculiar. With a
mother as dumb as Eva it was surprising they could talk. For the first time he was
surprised to find himself feeling fond of them. They took his mind off his other
worries.

But Eva’s thoughts were concentrated on Henry. It wasn’t like him to be out all the
time. And he couldn’t have gone away. If he had, he would certainly have phoned to let her
know. She didn’t know who to turn to. Besides, if anything had happened to him like he’d
been knocked over or been taken ill, someone would have got in touch with her. She’d left her
name and Auntie Joan’s address and telephone number on the cork pin board in the kitchen
where no one could miss it and just to be on the safe side had given it to Mavis Mottram.
Henry might not like Mavis or Patrick Mottram and they certainly didn’t like him–Mavis’s
feelings amounted to loathing because, Eva suspected, she’d once made a pass at Henry and
he’d told her where to get off–but even so Mavis would have been the first to let her know if
anything serious had happened. She’d relish doing it. On the other hand Eva didn’t
relish having to phone Mavis and ask her what Henry was doing. She’d only do that as a
last resort. In the meantime she tried to console herself with the thought that the girls
were learning so much and having such a good time with it.

She was unknowingly correct on both counts. Josephine and Samantha had retrieved the
tape recorder from under the bed and on the excuse that they just wanted a quiet day
playing music in their room asked could they borrow Uncle Wally’s earphones so as not to
disturb him and Auntie Joan.

Uncle Wally jumped at the opportunity. ‘Make yourselves at home, feel free,’ he said
enthusiastically, showing them his music workroom. ‘I built this sound system myself
and though I do say it, it’s got to be the best this side of Nashville, Tennessee. Man, I
doubt even Elvis himself had anything this powerful. I call it my music operations
centre. With the equipment I got in here I can blast a boat out of the water with Tina
Turner at three miles. And deafen a fucking…well, anyway a bear at five hundred yards. The
way I look at it, girls, you got to have decibels, and I’m telling you the speakers I got
installed in the grounds up trees and you name it, all water- and weatherproofed, are so
powerful I could play a tape of a Shuttle launch and it would make more noise than the real
thing. Did it for your auntie because she don’t like bears too much so I got this gunfire
tape and I put it on a timing device so it goes off every hour we’re away. And I can vary
it, too. Sometimes only every four hours and then three shots in a few minutes. I got a
banshee sound, too, that don’t do intruders any good. Come over the gate or the fence and
sensors in the ground pick up the intruder and all hell breaks loose. Tried it out one time
on a guy who came to serve an injunction on me. He got through the gates OK and then I closed
them automatically behind him and let this baby go full bore. Couldn’t tell he was
screaming till I switched it off. Could see he wasn’t having the nicest time because he was
trying to climb the gates to get out and running around like he was crazy. He dived in the
lake in the end and I had to fish him out because he couldn’t swim. Couldn’t hear, either, by
that time. I never did get that injunction. I reckon he lost it someplace like he lost his
hearing for a while. Wanted to sue but didn’t get no place. No witness and bears don’t give
evidence in court and besides, I’ve got influence in these parts. When I talk people
listen to old Wally Immelmann and no mistake. Learn something, too.’

The quads had thanked Uncle Wally and had taken the earphones up to their room and
listened to him and Auntie Joan having their spat in bed. And they certainly learnt
something, too. So while he was busy playing mechanics with the Sherman turret and
keeping his head down, the quads returned to the music operations centre–Auntie Joan and
Eva were baking cookies in the kitchen and Eva was saying how difficult Henry had become
and how he needed a new job instead of being stuck at that stuffy old Tech–and went
quietly about their business. It was not business Auntie Joan or Eva would have liked
knowing about and Uncle Wally’s feelings would have been inexpressible. They found
another long reel tape and made a copy of the one they had already heard. Uncle Wally was
most helpful. He was beginning to think the only thing wrong with those girls was that they
went to a Godless school run by nuns. What they needed was a good American education and
help with acquiring good old American know-how. So he came out of the turret and showed
them his equipment again and how to do things with it like with the timer and how to copy from
reel to reel, and he was very impressed how quickly they picked it all up.

‘Those girls of yours have real talent,’ he told Eva when they were having coffee in the
kitchen mid-afternoon. ‘You should let them come over here for their schooling. Put them in
Wilma High School and they’d be real Americans no time at all.’

Eva was pleased to hear it and said so. Unfortunately Henry was such a
stick-in-the-mud he wouldn’t ever consider emigrating.

By the evening the quads had got Uncle Wally to set up the music operations centre and
the timing device to play when they were all out on the lake having a picnic on the island
where Uncle Wally had another barbecue.

‘I’d show you what this system can produce in decibels except your auntie doesn’t like
it real loud,’ he said. ‘Now what shall we play? Nothing too heavy. Your auntie just loves
Abba. I guess it’s kind of old-fashioned for you but it’s soothing and we’ll hear it real
good.’ He put the reel on the machine and fed the tape through and presently the house was
filled with sound. In the kitchen Auntie Joan had to shout to make Eva hear what she was
saying.

‘I hear that Abba again I’m going to go crazy!’ she screamed. ‘I keep telling him I don’t
like it any more but he doesn’t listen. Men! I said, ‘Men!”

Eva said Henry didn’t listen to her either. I mean, if she had told him he needed more
ambition once she’d told him a thousand times. Auntie Joan nodded. She hadn’t heard a
word.

In the music operations centre Uncle Wally turned the tape off and smiled happily.
‘Reverses itself automatically,’ he told the quads. ‘That way you get music non-stop.
I tell you one time I had Frankie Sinatra singing ‘My Way’ up here for a month. Of course I’m
not around but they told me you could hear it fifteen miles away no problem and that’s with
the wind blowing the opposite direction. A guy over Lossville way had to buy a
machine-gun to stop the bear stampede from trampling his place to death they were so
desperate to get away their way. I’ve told your auntie she’s only got to whistle ‘My Way’
and them bears are going to hit the trail. Won’t come nowhere near her. And it’s got its own
independent power plant. Guys trying to burglarise here can cut the main power line it
won’t make any difference. Got electricity backup. Now that’s what I call American
know-how. I bet they don’t teach you that in England. And them Roman nuns don’t know
nothing. Never been…well, I guess you girls could benefit from some of that American
know-how.’

The quads already had. While he went to watch a movie and drink some whiskey they took the
label off the Abba reel, put it on the one they had made and fed it through just like Uncle
Wally had shown them. Then they wiped the Abba reel and put it away in a box and went through
to be nice to Auntie Joan and have some cookies.

Next day it rained and even Uncle Wally had to agree it was no time for going out for a
picnic.

‘Best be getting back to Wilma. I got an important meeting tomorrow and this rain’s
going to stick around.’

They packed into his four-wheeler and drove down the dirt road through the forest.
Behind them the timer on the music centre ticked ominously. It was set for six that
evening and the volume was at maximum. According to Uncle Wally that was like one
thousand decibels.

On the way Eva said she was going to call the neighbours in Oakhurst Avenue even though
Henry didn’t get along with them.

‘He’s very private,’ she said. ‘He hates people to know what he’s doing.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Uncle Wally. ‘It’s a free country. Everyone’s entitled to
privacy. That’s the First Amendment. No one has to incriminate himself.’

‘What’s ‘incriminate’ mean, Uncle Wally?’ Emmeline asked.

Uncle Wally swelled in the driver’s seat. He liked being asked questions. He had all
the answers. ‘Incriminate oneself means to say things that could damage your reputation
or land you in court on a criminal charge. It’s like it’s three words, ‘In’ and ‘Crime’ and
‘State’. That’s the way to remember things. Break them up into little lots.’

From their rented house across the street Palowski and Murphy watched the jeep turn in to
the Starfighter Mansion and the gates open automatically.

‘Big Foot’s back,’ Murphy told the Surveillance Truck in the disused drive-in over the
scrambler.

‘We got him onscreen,’ came the reply. ‘No problem. Vision sound on.’

Murphy sat back and had to agree that all systems were working perfectly. The screen in
the room showed Auntie Joan getting out of the four-wheeler and going into the house.

‘Only problem we’ve got is that Mrs Immelmann. Need wide screen to get her all in,’ he
told Palowski. ‘That’s sumo on steroids. And here comes another bulk carrier.’ Eva and the
quads had entered the hall. ‘I don’t want to see either of them undressing. Put you off sex
for life.’

Palowski was more interested in the Wilt girls.

‘Clever using kids like that. Quads. Like they’re special. Nobody’s going to suspect
they’re carriers. That Mrs Wilt can’t have any feelings. She gets ten to twenty she’s
going to lose custody. If I hadn’t seen that report from the Brits on her record I wouldn’t
have thought it possible she’d be involved. Too much to lose.’

‘Weightwise she could afford to. But some people never learn and those girls are more
than good cover. Gets a good lawyer to plead for her and work up public sympathy it could
be she wouldn’t do any time. Depends how much they were carrying.’

‘Sol said a sample, he thought. She could claim she don’t even know it’s there.’

‘For sure. Not that I care so much about her. It’s that Immelmann bastard I’m out to
nail. What’s the schedule for the other house, the one up by the lake?’