October Men by Anthony Price Page B

to a solicitor,” Richardson replied helpfully. He turned back quickly to Trenchcoat before anyone could change the action. “What about the rest of it?”
    “You mean the other man?”
    “The other man—“ Richardson held his gaze to the exclusion of anyone else’s warning expression. “—Yes. The other man.”
    Trenchcoat shrugged. “Apart from the imprint of his shoes in the flowerbed at the back where he jumped out of the window, we haven’t got a thing on him. He must have beat it fast after Clark shot his mate, but he didn’t leave his calling card anywhere.”
    So there’d been two of them, and the news—whatever the news was —was out. Two of them, and they hadn’t bothered to tell him: his role was simply to soften up Mrs. Clark and then return to the joys of Dublin.
    “Of course, we haven’t asked round the village yet—“ Trenchcoat stopped abruptly, as though someone had pressed his switch.
    “I think—“ Stocker filled the break smoothly “—we’d better find out first whether you can open up Mrs. Clark before we tie up the loose ends for you, Peter.”
    “Right.” Richardson spread an innocent glance around him; Stocker was playing it deadpan still, although Trenchcoat could not quite conceal his confusion any more than the Superintendent bothered to hide a suggestion of contempt at this turn of events. It was Oliver St. John Latimer’s expression of suspicion which decided him on his course of action: the man was a slob, but not a foolish slob to be taken in by false innocence. The moment he got Stocker alone he would make one thing clear: that Richardson was a disciple of Audley’s, and therefore not to be trusted. And Stocker would believe him—now.
    So there was nothing more to be gained by being a good little boy!
    “Right,” he repeated. “So what sort of deal do I make with her?”
    “Deal?” The Superintendent frowned. “What do you mean—deal?”
    “Just that. She’s not going to talk to me because I’ve got a kind face—she’ll talk because when I offer her a bargain she’ll know she can trust me to keep my side of it. And don’t tell me you haven’t tried that already.”
    “What sort of deal have you in mind, Captain Richardson?” said the Superintendent cautiously.
    “There’s only one that’d do: let old Charlie off the hook.”
    “We’ll promise to go easy on him.”
    “Easy on him? Christ—the poor old bastard hasn’t committed a crime!”
    “He’s killed a man, Captain.”
    “In self-defence—and if he hadn’t he’d be dead.”
    “It doesn’t alter the case.” The Superintendent shook his head. “But we’ll go in and bat for him—that’s the most I can do.”
    “Well, it’s no damn good. It’s the court appearance that’d break Charlie. But you aren’t offering him anything he hasn’t got already— there isn’t a judge or a jury on God’s earth that’ll touch him, and she knows that even if you don’t. But the damage’ll be done all the same —she knows that too.”
    “Then what exactly do you suggest?”
    “We fake it up. The man fell down stairs and blew his own head off. I believe it’s called ‘misadventure’.”
    The Superintendent shook his head. “It can’t be done, Captain.”
    “It’s been done before.”
    “Not by us, it hasn’t.” The Superintendent looked hard at Stocker. “And we aren’t starting now, that’s final.”
    And that, also, was a mistake, thought Richardson happily: it was exactly the sort of challenge Stocker could not afford to overlook.
    “Final?” Stacker’s tone was deceptively gentle. “I wouldn’t quite say that, Superintendent. It seems to me that we might manage something along those lines, you know.”
    “Indeed, sir?” The Superintendent said heavily. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t agree with you there. You’re asking me to break the law.”
    “To bend it, certainly. But not to pervert it. After all, since you’ve already agreed to—ah—bat for Clark