They didn't go to the stadium restaurant, for which Joe was glad. He didn't want to run into Zak till he'd got his thoughts straight. Still less did he want to see Mary and Schoenfeld again. So they went to the stripped-pine-and-carrot-cake cafe next to the art gallery which wasn't officially open, but quickly succ.u.mbed to Endor's c.o.c.kney charm.

"Rehearsing for tomorrow," he said as he put a cup of coffee in front of Joe. "Told 'em you was a Caribbean coffee taster. If you liked it, the mayor would love it."

Joe liked it. He'd have liked muddy water if that was all there was to lubricate his still painful throat.

"Now, Joe," said Endor. "About this investigation of yours..."

"You the one who recommended me to Zak?" asked Joe.

That's right," grinned Endor. "But don't be too grateful. I'd read about you in the local rag after that boy-in-the-box affair, so when Zak asked if I knew any Pis locally, I didn't want to lose my reputation for infallibility."

"She give you any ideas what it was about?"

"Not her. And I didn't press. One thing I've learnt about Zak, she makes her own decisions. So while I want to know what's going on, don't tell me anything you think she'll be p.i.s.sed at you telling me."

Joe said, "I've thought about that. Ongoing, my lips are sealed. But it's over, and after what you saw, you ought to know. In fact, considering you employ Mary, you've a right to know."

Briefly he outlined what had been going on.

Endor was gob smacked "Jesus," he said. "If I'd even suspected it was something serious as this, I would never ... I'd have called in the Old Bill straight away."

He would never have recommended me is what he was going to say, thought Joe without resentment. Shoot, first thing I said to her was you ought to ring the fuzz!

"She was worried from the start someone in her family might be involved," he said. "Seems she was right."

"G.o.d, yes. Mary. I blame myself there."

"You do? How come?"

"This sounds to me like one of them two-to-tango things," said Endor grimly. "If I hadn't let Zak talk me into taking Mary on in the first place ... All it was really was a way of Zak paying Mary's salary without her working directly for Zak, know what I mean? Should've known better. Only reason to hire anyone is they can do the job."

"And couldn't she?"

"In fact, she could. Pretty nifty at it as it turned out. That was my second mistake, I began to forget the background ... you know, the accident, all that."

"I know."

"At first I kept her busy on my other accounts, not Zak's. But when these Vane University geezers got in touch, I wanted to check the place out, get the feel of things, look at the small print. It was peanuts commercially, but in terms of development, it could be crucial. Zak was very keen. Didn't want to lose touch with her art interests. Wise girl. Always keep the day job open is what I tell my clients. So I went over first. I like people to sell things to me, then I sell them to my clients. Saves a lot of aggro. And I took Mary with me. It was Zak's idea. Said she deserved a trip and could suss things out from the woman's point of view. Big mistake."

"Because she met Schoenfeld?"

That's right. I could see Abe was making a play for her. I put it down to the guy being so keen to get his hands on Zak, athletically speaking, that he thought it wouldn't do no harm to soften up the sister. How wrong can you be!"

"No way you could guess how it would pan," said Joe with the sympathy of one who spent a great deal of time being amazed at how wrong he could be.

"That's right," said Endor, glad of the comfort. "When Zak went over herself to take a look-see, Mary went with her. I didn't. So I didn't have a chance to see how things were developing there. And she went out again in the autumn, allegedly to help Zak settle in. But I didn't see them together again till Abe turned up here, earlier this week. And I got the impression things were pretty cool between them now."

"An act," said Joe. "If they'd been able to keep it up, if Jones hadn't heard them at it in the changing room "No, I reckon from the sound of it, you'd have got on to them eventually, Joe," said Endor.

It was pleasant to meet someone who had such confidence in his ability.

"Maybe," said Joe modestly. "But I still don't understand how they came up with such a crazy idea in the first place."

Endor pursed his lips, looked grim and said, "OK, this is the way I see it. With Mary, it's obvious. Not just the money, maybe not even the money. I reckon the sheer kick she'd get out of seeing her sister lose in front of her own home crowd would be motivation enough. As for Schoenfeld, well, he must have got the message he don't have no place in Zak's long-term plans. OK, they've got a good programme going over there, I made sure of that. But Abe's nothing but a college coach. Zak's in the market for one of the top pros. And when she finds the one that suits, it'll be like poor old Jim Hardiman all over. Bye bye, Abe. So why not make a killing while he can?"

Joe sipped his coffee and examined the hypothesis. The way Endor put it together it all made real sense. He'd been right to talk to the agent, use his cool calculating way of looking at things.

He said, "So what do we do now?"

"We?"

"Hey, she's your client as much as mine. More. I mean, I know what my responsibility is. Find out the facts and report them to her. Only question is how and when. Don't want to upset her more than necessary."

"You're going to have to do that sooner or later," said Endor. "I take it the police are still right out of the picture?"

That'll be down to Zak. No cops unless she says so. But what I meant was, how might it affect her if I gave her the full story now?"

"Take your meaning," said Endor. The race. That would be a real turn-up if solving the problem upset her so much she lost the race anyway!"

"But I've got to tell her. She's got to know, otherwise she won't know how to run, will she?"

"You don't think there's any danger any more?"

"No. Listen, it was the threat to her family that really got to her, and I don't reckon Mary's going to start offing the others just to get at Zak. But even if I just say it's OK, there's no need to worry any more, she's going to want to know it all. Don't know about you, Doug, but I ain't got the machinery for saying no to a lovely girl like Zak."

"You got yourself a problem, Joe," said Endor. "You could always send her a note."

"A note?" Joe considered. "No, that would look, I don't know, impersonal. Like I thought it didn't matter. This needs someone talking to her He drank more coffee, contemplating the prospect, and incidentally Endor, gloomily over the rim of his cup. Endor looked rather uncomfortable under the gaze and finally burst out, "Now see here, Joe, there's no way I'm going to do your job for you!"

"What? No, I didn't mean ... but hey, that's it, that would solve everything!"

"No way," said Endor. "She's going to come at me hard as she'd come at you to get the details, and like you, I just know I'd have to tell her."

"But no, you wouldn't," said Joe eagerly. "Listen, you can say you met me and I asked you to pa.s.s the message on, it's OK, everything's taken care of, no more problem. Tell her I was absolutely sure, but I had to shoot off on another case, very urgent, life and death. And I'd contact her for a debriefing soon as I got back. Probably tomorrow. You'd be in the clear. You can't tell what you haven't been told, can you?"

The agent didn't look convinced.

"OK, suppose I did it," he said. "What do I get out of it?"

"Spoken like a true agent," said Joe with a grin. "What you get is a happy client who gets a good night's sleep and breaks the European indoor record tomorrow. Then I'll appear and tell her it's all down to her big sister and crooked coach."

"Who are doing what in the meantime?"

Tacking their bags and checking the flight schedules if they've any sense," said Joe. "I wouldn't want to be around when Zak finally hears the truth."

"Me neither," said Endor. "OK, Joe, you're on. But you owe me. I ever want a prospect checked out, you're my freebie. Deal?"

"Deal," said Joe. They traded skin on it and stood up. As they left the cafe, Joe noticed Hooter Hardiman standing by the art gallery entrance, watching them, but as they walked towards him he turned and moved away.

Joe headed straight for the car park, eager to minimize the risk of being spotted by Zak or indeed Jones.

He felt good. There was a public phone on the edge of the car park. Ride your luck, he thought. He picked up the receiver and dialled Naysmith's number, etched forever on his memory. Lucy Naysmith answered. She didn't sound overjoyed to hear his voice, but clearly Pollinger's wish was his employees' and ex-employees' command.

"All right, you can come, Mr. Sixsmith. But you mustn't tire him. I don't know what that hospital was doing letting him out like that. He's still far from well."

"I'll be gentle as a lamb," promised Joe.

What he hoped to get out of the interview, he still wasn't sure. But he'd learnt long since that when things were going his way, the only tactic was to go with the flow.

Usually the sight of the Magic Mini was an instant mood depresser, but as he approached it now, it had the opposite effect.

He'd spent much of the sixties in short trousers, so most of the ideology had pa.s.sed over his head. But one thing was for sure, no one painted such way-out stuff on a piece of machinery without they thought they could see a big bright light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe hope was all we had, all we needed. And when had hope ever had anything to do with reason?

With a smile that would have had Ram Ray raising his eyebrows and his prices, he patted the Mini on the bonnet, slid inside, gave an amazed Whitey a big hug, and drove away.

Twenty-Two.

An hour later the Magic Mini was puffing its way up Beacon Heights. Houses here were set too well back for curtain twitching, but Joe did not doubt that some kind of early-warning system operated and wouldn't have been surprised to find his way into Naysmith's drive blocked by old Marble-Tooth of the S AS bearing a horsewhip. Instead, all he found was a young Scottish PC called Sandy Mackay looking bored in a Panda.

Mackay's soul was still up for grabs between the instinctive belligerence of officers like Chivers and Forton, and his own natural friendliness. True, he'd once nicked Joe on suspicion of being a hospital flasher, but Joe, who believed in building bridges rather than burning them, greeted him enthusiastically.

"Sandy, my man, how're you doing? Hey, they're not keeping a man with a claymore in his sporran on duty over Hogmanay, are they?"

He only had a faint idea what claymores and sporrans might be but the notion tickled Mackay who grinned and said, "No way. I've got tickets for the ceilidh at the Cally. You coming, Joe?"

"No, I'm going to the Hoolie at the Glit. May see you in the streets later. Sandy, I'm expected here, you want to check?"

"No, Mrs. Naysmith told me you were coming when she brought me a coffee out. Nice lady. You can take the cup back if you like."

"Glad to, but sure you don't want to hang on to it so's you've an excuse to knock at the door later on when you fancy another cup?"

"Good thinking," said the youngster appreciatively. "Hey, Joe, I heard them saying down the nick that you probably knew more about this lot than you're letting on. Do you think there's much chance of this geezer Montaigne having another go?"

Joe's ears twitched. The reference to Montaigne sounded a bit stronger than just a precautionary a.s.sumption.

He said, "If he's got any sense he'll have got out of the country again."

"Again? From what we've been told he never left it in the first place. Not unless he swam."

He looked at Joe speculatively as if it was dawning on him he was giving rather than receiving information.

Joe said hastily, "You'll have got a good description, I suppose?"

"Yeah, medium size, hook nose, black beard."

"Yeah, well," said Joe. "But don't forget."

He made a cutting motion at his throat with his index finger.

"You reckon he might've topped himself ?"

"No," said Joe. "Shaved himself. See you."

The door opened as he approached and Lucy Naysmith greeted him politely rather than warmly and repeated her telephone reservations.

"He's still very weak, Mr. Sixsmith. Please don't overtire him. He's stubborn and will probably go on as long as you want to talk to him, so I'm relying on your good judgement."

She herself looked a lot better today with her hair in some kind of order. But there was still a lot of strain showing and she still wasn't bothering her make-up bag.

She led the way up the stairs into a roomy, overheated bedroom. The curtains were drawn back, but there were Venetian blinds on the windows half closed, ploughing furrows of light across the bed. This, with the heat and a faintly musky perfume, gave Joe the weird impression that he'd strayed from an English winter into the kind of old-fashioned colonial set-up you sometimes saw on the movies.

Should maybe have worn my houseboy gear, he thought.

Naysmith was sitting up in bed, propped against an avalanche of pillows. He wore a bandage round his brow and had a dressing taped from his left cheek across his nose with a lot of bruising seeping from under it. With the memories, not to mention the pain of his own recent a.s.sault fresh in his mind, Joe regarded the man with considerable sympathy.

"Mr. Sixsmith, I'm glad to have a chance to thank you at last."

The man's voice was strong but had an odd lisp to it. He smiled as he spoke and Joe saw where the lisp came from. His top front teeth were missing.

"I didn't do much, well, nothing actually," said Joe. "All over by the time I got here."

"You tried," said Naysmith. "And if I'd listened to you a bit longer on the phone, I probably wouldn't have opened the door."

"Yeah. You remember that now, do you?"

"Not clearly," admitted Naysmith. "I think it's coming back, but I'm not sure how much I'm being influenced by the police, who are obviously very keen for me to remember that it was Victor Montaigne. I keep getting flashes of Victor but that could be autosuggestion, don't you think?"

"Maybe," said Joe, who was something of an expert on the way certain cops could keep on dropping ideas in your mind during questioning till you didn't know where your thoughts ended and theirs began. "I did hear you say What the h.e.l.l are you doing here? like you knew the guy. And we have established that Montaigne never actually left the country."

Willie Woodbine was never backward in taking credit from Joe, so no reason the process shouldn't be reversed.

"Is that so. Good Lord. Victor! But no, I'll need to get my own memory back loud and clear before I can accept that, and even then it won't be easy."

Good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon loyalty, thought Joe. Or Anglo-Saxon arrogant a.s.surance in the infallibility of his own judgement?

He said, "No one's jumping to conclusions, Mr. Naysmith. Listen, when you spoke to Mr. Potter on the phone and he said he wanted to meet with you because there was trouble in the firm, did he actually mention Mr. Montaigne?"

Naysmith hesitated then said, "I'm not sure if I should talk about this with you, Mr. Sixsmith. Superintendent Woodbine seemed pretty keen I shouldn't discuss my statement with anyone but the police."

Joe smiled. Willie Woodbine was a big card to play, but even the biggest bowed to the Ace of Trumps.

"Yeah, well, that's Willie," he said negligently. "On the other hand, old Darby is pretty keen I should get the full picture."

For a second he thought Naysmith was going to challenge his right to sound so familiar, but, like a good -lawyer, he decided to play safe.

"Yes, he did urge me to be frank with you," he admitted. "All right. Yes, Peter did mention Victor. But only inter alia, among others. He felt the same distaste as I did, still do, for suspecting any of our staff or colleagues, particularly those who were, are, close friends. All he knew for certain was there were discrepancies. What he hoped to do before we met was pinpoint their source. Till then, little though he liked it, he wasn't excluding any possibility."

"No? That mean Mr. Pollinger himself was on the list."