Then Zak and Abe Schoenfeld came out on the track and everyone stopped what they were doing.

The runner and trainer trotted together down to the first curve where they paused and went into a discussion.

"Bends are the key indoors," said Endor. "Outdoors, longer your distance, less they matter. Indoors, whatever you run, you spend as much time leaning sideways as you do standing straight."

"Hardiman says these are good bends," said Joe.

"That's like saying a bog what don't suck you under first time you step on it is a good bog," said Endor. "You ever see Zak run, Joe?"

"Only on the telly."

"In the flesh is something else. There she goes now."

Zak was taking her tracksuit off. She stood at the starting mark. A word with Schoenfeld, a momentary crouch, then she was away. Joe felt a lump in his throat. Poetry in motion seemed a tired old cliche when the papers used it, but what else could they say? She did four circuits then came to a halt and went back into discussion with the coach.

"Shouldn't bother with a race," said Joe. "Folk would pay just to watch her run by herself."

"I like that, Joe," said Endor. "Fink we could use that. Probably get you a royalty."

"I'm sorry?"

"Commercials, Joe. Always on the lookout for a catchy phrase."

"You mean Bloo-Joo?"

"No, they're small beer, small purple beer, ha ha. They got Zak when she was up and coming. Now she's up, or close to it, they'd need to pay ten times the money for half the time, you with me? It's the new generation of deals I'm talking about."

"Like Nymphette?"

"What you know about Nymphette?"

"Something about doing clothes as well as scent and stuff."

Endor laughed and said, "Scent and stuff. I love that. They're the cla.s.sy end of the young cosmetic market, Joe, and next year they're branching out into the snazziest range of casual wear you ever saw. And they're hot to have Zak fronting up their sales campaign."

"So it's all set up?"

"We're just arguing decimal points," said Endor confidently. "That ain't just poetry in motion you see down there, Joe, that's a bestseller on the hoof. Zak is going to be seriously rich."

"And you too, I suppose?" said Joe.

"I take my percentage, yeah," said Endor. "Why not? Labourer's worth his hire, right? But I gotta work for it, believe you me. Not like being a lawyer, say, where you can be a millionaire just sitting on your hands and watching the clock tick up a pony every minute."

"Don't tell me about lawyers," said Joe fervently.

"You sound like you got trouble," said Endor. "Anything I can help with?"

An agent offering free help? Maybe there's hope for world peace after all, thought Joe.

But no harm in telling the man about his problem with Penthouse a.s.surance. He still had their insulting cheque in his pocket, and though events since he got it had tended to sideline his indignation, he was still determined not to sit under their cavalier treatment. Except he hadn't got the faintest idea what to do next.

They're trying it on," said Endor after he'd heard the story.

"Listen, Joe, what you want to do is go along there, front it out with them, let them see that you're not going to roll over, know what I mean? The difference between what they've given you and what you're claiming is peanuts to them. Let them see you'll fight 'em all the bleeding way and they'll soon up their offer."

"You reckon?" said Joe. "Trouble is, like you just said, lawyers cost a fortune, even ordinary lawyers. Penthouse'll take one look and know that I don't have the kind of money to put at risk in a court case, 'cos if I did, I wouldn't be getting so het up about this deal anyway!"

"You don't have to have the money nowadays, Joe," said Endor. "This new legislation means we're going to be like the Yanks. You can cut a deal with a lawyer that means no win, no pay."

"You sure?" said Joe doubtfully.

"Certain," said Endor. "Anyway, it's worth a try. You can do anything if you don't let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds grind you down. Look at me. Started with nothing, now I'm farting through silk. All down to hard work and clear thinking. Set yourself a goal and go for it, Joe. Like Zak before a race. She don't just fink she might win, she's bleeding sure she's gonna win!"

They sat in silence for a while, watching Zak flow round the track beneath them. Endor might be a c.o.c.kney blow-bag, thought Joe, but that didn't mean he was stupid. On the contrary, Joe guessed he used his self-made kid act to lull you into a false a.s.sessment. He glanced at his watch. His grand plan was at some point to head back to Sycamore Lane on the pretext of picking up his donkey jacket and having a casual chat with Mrs. Oto. But she wouldn't be back till after lunch, which Joe proposed taking in Daph's Diner which wasn't a million miles from Penthouse a.s.surance.

He finished his coffee and rose.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said. "Got a date with my insurers."

Thirteen.

The Penthouse a.s.surance building was a monument to the affluent eighties, rising like a lighthouse out of a sea of lesser commercial development, much of which had clearly drowned in the depths of the post affluence depression. But Penthouse had survived and prospered and its dayglo concrete seemed to create a kind of force field which left it untouched by the squally rain.

All the visitors' parking spots were full, so Joe slipped the Magic Mini into a four-s.p.a.ce bay marked CHAIRMAN, between a wine-coloured Bentley and a white Merc. How the shoot could one man come to work in four cars anyway?

The foyer was tastefully carved out of pink marble with artificial windows through which streamed artificial sunlight. Better than real windows through which you could see real rain? wondered Joe. Not that there was a shortage of your actual water here. Down one high wall ran a cascade tinkling into a fern-fringed pool in whose depths gleamed silver and gold.

Joe smiled at the receptionist and said, "Thought they'd have got a mermaid."

For a moment she almost smiled back, then recalling the dignity of her position she said, "Can I help you?" in a tone which didn't sound optimistic.

"I'd like to see Mrs. Airey in your Claims Department, please."

"Is she expecting you?"

"If she's got any sense," said Joe.

The receptionist let this pa.s.s and went on, "Because I know she's very busy. Perhaps I could get one of our claims clerks to ..."

"No," said Joe, who wasn't a naturally a.s.sertive person but knew that with certain types, like Jehovah's Witnesses and shop a.s.sistants keen to sell you an expensive tub of gunge to clean the shoes you just spent your last farthing buying, you had to be unwaveringly firm. "Has to be Mrs. Airey."

"Well, I'll see ... it is about a claim, is it?"

Nor was Joe a naturally sarcastic man, but at times the temptation was very strong.

"No, it's about a crime," he said, taking out one of his dog-eared cards and laying it on the desk. "I think she can help with my enquiries."

The young woman did not look persuaded but she picked up her phone and spoke into it. Then, after a moment's listening, she said, "Mrs. Airey says to go on up. Fourth floor. Room seventeen."

"Thanks," said Joe, smiling again, in a conciliatory manner. He didn't like having to lean, even if ever so gently, on kids guilty of nothing more than a slight lack of manners.

Mrs. Airey was a different kettle of fish. Despite the fact she was so thin even her ear lobes looked anorexic, you could lean on her till your shoulder ached without getting any movement.

Knowing from experience there was no room in that narrow ribcage for a heart, Joe aimed his puny attack straight at the wallet.

"This is offensive," he said, waving the cheque. "I've got a notarized statement from my mechanical adviser testifying to the first-cla.s.s condition of my car plus affidavits from collectors' clubs confirming its market value."

That pretty well exhausted his legal jargon.

Mrs. Airey smiled and said, "Naturally we'd be interested to see them, Mr. Sixsmith, but I doubt if they will materially change our a.s.sessment."

"Oh, you'll be seeing them all right. In court."

"In court?" She stopped smiling without actually starting to quake in her boots. That's your prerogative, of course, but you must be aware that in civil cases the plaintiff, if he loses, can end up being responsible for the defence costs as well as his own, which may themselves be considerable. You would be well advised to think hard before embarking on such a perilous course. Unless you have private means."

Meaning, man who can't afford a decent car certainly can't afford justice.

"Oh, I've been well advised," said Joe, getting angry. This new law which says British lawyers can do like the Yanks and take on no-win-no-fee cases, that's going to apply here. And no fat cat lawyer's going to take that risk without he reckons he's on a certain thing!"

He sat back to observe how Endor's ploy was working out. Mrs. Airey hadn't yet fallen off her chair.

"Really?" she said. "And may I ask which law firm takes such an unlikely view of things?"

Joe guessed that the Bullpat Square Law Centre wouldn't send her reaching for her smelling salts. So he heard himself saying, I've consulted Messrs Pollinger, Potter, Naysmith, lies and Montaigne of Oldmaid Row."

She was giving him an oddly doubting look. OK, so she'd read the papers and knew that Poll-Pott were short a couple of names from the team sheet, but so what? Premier-division outfit like that could surely rustle up an international-strength reserve side.

"And they advised you to go ahead?" she said, incredulous this side of politeness.

He hadn't actually told the lie direct so far, but now he was in too deep to back off.

That's right," he said, adding on the sheep-as-a-lamb principle, They were real enthusiastic about my chances."

"Well," she said, rising from behind her desk and offering her hand and an almost sympathetic smile. "In that case, Mr. Sixsmith, we'll see you in court."

As he stood waiting for the lift, he tried to rea.s.sure himself it had gone OK. So she hadn't caved in and offered to renegotiate, but she wouldn't, would she? Not before she'd tossed it around with her legal eagles. Then, he hoped, they'd decide it wasn't worth the risk of losing and offer a settlement.

The lift arrived. He got in. Instead of going down it continued its upward journey to the top floor. When the door opened, you could tell just by the different quality of the carpet that this was where the high fliers roosted. A hard-faced young man with Security written all over him got in and leaned his finger on the Door Open b.u.t.ton. You came this high, you got an escort, thought Joe. Hard Face was giving him a what-the-h.e.l.l-is-this? look. Joe said, "I was on my way down," by way of explanation. Hard Face didn't reply, but his unblinking gaze signalled, better you should have stepped out of a window.

Voices were approaching, presumably belonging to the important people the lift was being held for.

One was saying, "Like I say, this is a matter which requires the instant attention of the board. Some may be impressed, like me, that you have come in person to offer your rea.s.surance. Others, I'm afraid, may find even more cause for alarm in that. Goodbye, Darby. We'll be in touch."

"Goodbye, Harold."

Harold, Joe could now see, was a short breathless man who didn't look happy. And Darby he knew, from his picture at least. Darby was Darby Pollinger, founder and headman of Poll-Pott.

Maybe he was having trouble with his motor too, thought Joe.

But he knew that wasn't the answer. That lay in Mrs. Airey's reaction when he said Poll-Pott had advised him he had a case. No wonder she'd found this hard to believe. He'd bet his pension if he had one that Penthouse's legal advisers were none other than Poll-Pott!

Pollinger's gaze hardly touched Joe as he entered the lift, but he felt like he'd been fully registered.

In the foyer Hard Face held the main door open for the lawyer. Joe rushed forward before he could close it, said, Thanks, my man. Hey, you ought to get someone to call a plumber, all this water running down the walls," and got out with only minor damage to his trailing ankle.

A step behind Pollinger, he followed his exact path to the managing director's bay. There the lawyer paused with his hand on the door handle of the Merc.

"It's Sixsmith, I believe," he said.

"That's what I believe too," said Joe.

Pollinger slid into the driving seat, reached over and opened the pa.s.senger door.

"If you have a moment to spare, I'd appreciate a little conversation, Mr. Sixsmith," he said.

Joe looked down at the soft leather seat. He'd got into worse messes than this.

"Why not?" he said.

It was nice in there. He kept the interior of the Magic Mini as clean as he could, but it still ponged faintly of oil and takeaways and (don't even think it, but too late! Whitey's disgruntled face had already appeared at the Mini's window) cat.

Nothing here though but the intoxicatingly elusive smell of money.

"First things first, Mr. Sixsmith," said Pollinger. "Could we just remove the very faint possibility that you are following me?"

"Shoot!" exclaimed Joe indignantly. "Why should I be doing that? I was in there on private and personal business."

"Yes, I believe you. I did not think it possible that you would be so obvious if I were under surveillance."

Joe looked carefully to see if there was s.p.a.ce for an implied even before the you, but found none.

"Well, you're not. Not by me anyway. Why would you think you might be?"

"In view of what's been happening recently, I should have thought that was obvious. Protection or suspicion, take your choice."

Joe digested this then said, "I get you. But either or both, that would be a cop job. I only work at what I get paid for."

"From what I have heard, that's not strictly true, Mr. Sixsmith," said Pollinger. "Who, for instance, paid you to go round to poor Sandra's flat? Or Felix's house?"

"I thought he was in trouble," said Joe.

"Which he was. That was good hearted of you. And Sandra, did you think she was in trouble too?"

"No," said Joe, who found lying so uncomfortable that he didn't bother with it except as a last resort. "I thought she might have been the one who killed Mr. Potter."

"So for the sake both of helping a fellow human in peril and of advancing the cause of justice, you were willing to inconvenience if not endanger yourself without pay? This is a degree of virtue I rarely encounter in my profession."

"Maybe you should spend some time down Bullpat Square then," said Joe.