Inside Straight (21 page)

So Stephen was a professional inspector, and while he'd had the odd job with the odd other company – I spotted a year with the Whitworth Street Grosvenor casino – he'd always ended up back with Sovereign, and it was odd, then, that he'd just decided to up and leave without telling anyone. Disgruntled staff always made their feelings known well in advance of any disappearances. Perhaps Stephen here was just another voice lost in the noise, or maybe there was something else behind his departure.

I printed out his record, carefully folded the paper. Then, before I forgot, I looked up Jacqui Prince and wrote down her address and phone number. I didn't want to ask for it from the likes of Nash or Dave – that would be an open invitation to spread all kinds of gossip. I just wanted to see how she was, and maybe if she fancied getting a coffee some time. That was all. She could hardly say no, could she? I'd saved her life. And, besides, it would be interesting to hear what she'd told Kennedy, assuming he'd interviewed her in the first place. If she'd noticed anything she shouldn't have then I needed to know about it. I folded the paper, slid both sheets into my jacket pocket, then shut down Big Heather's computer and left the office.

I was three steps up the corridor when I saw Dave Randall and Jeremy Blake come in from the floor. I stopped in my tracks and beamed at Blake. He was a ball of dung in a suit, balding and tanned, and when he leaned forward to shake my hand, I noticed the series of ostentatious rings that made his fingers look like prize-winning chipolatas. "Graham, how are you?"

"Fine, Mr Blake."

He made a show of checking his Tag Heuer. "You got a minute now?"

"Absolutely. Lead the way."

He did. I looked at Dave Randall as I passed. He stared at me. I'd probably interrupted his schmoozing and he hated me for it. I lowered my gaze to the carpet. He could hate me all he wanted. He probably had his reasons. My chat with Blake would no doubt give him a few more. Because I no longer had much to lose when it came to Dave Randall, and I intended to prove it.

"So, Graham, how are you holding up?" Blake sat behind Jacqui's desk, the chair pushed back and his hands laced across his round belly like a little Buddha.

"I'm fine." I shrugged. "I mean, you know, you just get on with it, don't you?"

"You're coping, then."

"When you've been in the business as long as I have you learn to roll with the punches."

He tucked his chin into his chest. It was an expression designed to relay concern, but it looked more like indigestion. "Still, it was quite a night, wasn't it?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"Stressful."

I nodded, said nothing. That word was an invitation to something I didn't want to discuss, something that had been planted by Dave Randall. I kept my hands in my lap, palms down.

"And you know, these things, they don't always manifest themselves right away. Look at Jacqui Prince."

"Well, Jacqui
was
injured."

"Not seriously, though." Blake raised his head and attempted a half-smile. "At least that's what she told us. But she needs some time to process what happened and we're more than happy to let her take as long as she needs." The smile turned up to a full beam, showing teeth. "You know, we're more than happy to let anyone take as long as they need, Graham."

"I know."

He leaned forward in the chair, tugged it towards the desk. "So if you feel under pressure at any time, or you just feel like you want someone to talk to, we have counsellors who can help."

"That's very useful. Thank you."

"For your own well-being."

"I'll bear it in mind."

"You know, after your recent experience at the Palace—"

"No."

Blake looked confused. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"I don't need counselling. Not at the moment. Thank you, anyway."

"That's okay." He waved a hand at me, that half-smile back. "You don't have to make a decision now. Just think it over."

"I don't need to think it over. Really. Look, I know you have to come down here and offer counselling after something like the other night. I understand that. But I think you've been misinformed about the state of my mental health, and I'd like to set the record straight if I may."

Blake moved his head, stretched his neck. He cleared his throat and opened one stubby hand at me. "Very well. Go ahead."

"You know how long I've worked for Sovereign, Mr Blake?"

"I don't have the exact—"

"Just over sixteen years. I started with the company before I was legally old enough to work the tables."

"Is that right?"

I nodded. "I started as a valet, and then I worked my way up to dealer, then inspector, then senior inspector, and then pit boss. And in those sixteen years, I think I must've taken like three or four days' sick leave in total. It's true. Until recently. And you've probably looked at my file, and you saw the incident at the Palace and those days I took off, and you probably thought that I wasn't very stable. No doubt Dave confirmed that for you. But I didn't want to take those days off, Mr Blake. I was told to. Not because I was ill or because I was under any kind of stress, but because my manager wanted someone to blame for the incident."

Blake watched me. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, looked uncomfortable. He'd been prepped, alright. Dave had sold him my instability with everything he had. Phrases popped like fireworks in my head. Repression. Depression. Stress. Counselling. Didn't matter that it was rubbish, Dave's story presented Regional with a helpful, easy-to-understand narrative that might, just might, put me out of commission for good while he was filling in for Jacqui Prince.

Blake rubbed his damp lip and gestured at me to continue.

"I wasn't to blame, Mr Blake, and neither was stress. It was an unfortunate series of events that could have been mitigated had my manager been available and monitoring the pit."

"I see."

"I don't know where he was at the time. I have my suspicions, but I wouldn't want to voice them without evidence to back them up. I think we both know how damaging rumours about a man's personal life can be."

He nodded. He also knew how those rumours very often turned out to be true. Except, of course, when they were about me.

"Anyway, that's all I really wanted to say. I don't want to take this any further, and the only reason I mention it now was because I didn't want you or the rest of Regional thinking that I'm playing the martyr here. I really am okay." I smiled. "I can do the job, Mr Blake. And I will continue to do it as long as I'm able."

Blake matched my smile and threw in a few extra teeth for good measure. He nodded slowly. It didn't look genuine, but it was better than nothing. "Well, I want to thank you for your candour, Graham."

"You're welcome."

"And I'm glad to see that you're in better shape than I'd been led to believe." He leaned forward and offered his hand. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you in the meantime, okay?"

I stood and shook his hand once, firmly, the way a man was supposed to shake. "I will. Thank you, Mr Blake."

I left the office feeling electric and more than a little vindicated. Blake probably wouldn't do anything about the situation – if I was stable, then there really
was
no situation – but it was good to get it off my chest and onto the record. I'd been living under Dave Randall's cosh too long. We'd never been friends
per se
, but our professional relationship had always remained cordial. Of course, what I hadn't realised was that he'd been waiting for his opportunity to get rid of me, something that hadn't properly occurred to me until now. He had an angle, a narrative he could use to drive me out, and he intended to use it to the bitter end. I hadn't even thought about why he would do such a thing. He knew I was an asset to the company, so it was purely personal. And someone like Dave didn't take an active dislike to someone unless they posed a threat to him. I didn't think it was because I was an excellent pit boss – as Pollard had said, Dave could easily keep me in that role with a few well-placed rumours, and it wasn't as if I was that keen on rising to management level, anyway.

No, this was something else, and the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. He wanted to destroy me.

Dave appeared in the corridor as I made my way back to the pit. He smiled at me. "Everything go alright?"

I nodded. "Tickety-boo, Dave. You going in there now, are you?"

"Yeah, I need to talk to Jeremy about a few things before he heads off. Where are you off to?"

"Kevin Nash is in the pit, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Thought he might want a hand."

"Really?"

"I might as well make myself useful."

"Hey, be my guest. Best pit boss we have, right?"

I laughed and went to the staff door, where I turned to see Dave heading into Jacqui's office. I heard the dull timbre of Blake's voice and saw Dave close the door behind him. I pushed out onto the floor to find a slow pit and Kevin Nash perched on his inspector's chair.

He smiled at me with half his face as I approached. "I wasn't expecting you for another three hours, Graham."

"Had to talk to the brass. How you doing, Kevin?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I'm good. See you're still in the chair." I took the pit sheet from the desk. "Not a lot of movement today."

He turned a little in his chair. "It's been dead since we opened."

"Let's hope it picks up. Nothing worse than a silent night. Here, listen, you haven't talked to Jacqui again, have you?"

"Yeah, I did the other night."

"How is she?"

Something quivered in his face. "Taking it easy."

"She said anything about the robbery?"

"No. Why?"

I shook my head. "Nothing really. I've just been thinking about it. I mean, I haven't heard anything from the police, have you?"

"Why would I?"

"I mean, rumours floating about here. I don't really pick 'em up when I'm on the nights. Too busy. Besides, I don't think people want to talk about it when I'm around. I don't know why. Maybe they think I'm going to have a flashback or something, lose my mind." I leaned against the pit desk, gestured to the empty tables. "But when it gets like this, people talk."

"Yes, they do."

"So, you heard anything?"

"No."

He was lying. He'd heard plenty. He just didn't want to share any of it. "Because I was thinking, like I said. I mean, one of the reasons I came back to work so quickly afterwards was so that I
wouldn't
spend all my time thinking about it, but you know how quiet it can be round here ... Anyway, I got to thinking about that keypad."

Nash frowned at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you'll know – when was the last time the code was changed?"

"I don't know."

"Do we keep a log anywhere, d'you think?"

He shrugged. "I've never thought about it. And I don't get why you're—"

"They came in through the back, didn't they?" I looked at him, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. When he didn't, I had to keep talking. "Which meant they had the code. didn't they?"

"Oh, right, I see."

I laughed a little and it almost sounded genuine. "I mean, I don't want to start anything here, Kevin, but if the robbers got the code to that door, then I'm thinking ..." Another laugh and I waved it away. "Doesn't matter."

"What?"

"Really, it's just daft."

"Graham."

"Alright, promise you won't laugh." I looked around the pit, then moved closer to Kevin. It wasn't pleasant, but I had to do it. I lowered my voice. "I'm thinking maybe it was an inside job."

He looked at me. I backed off and held my hands up.

"I'm just saying. I mean, I haven't told the police any of this. This is my own theory, and it's probably nonsense. I don't know the place, I don't know the protocols or anything, so it could be that Jacqui changed the code just before I got here, but I've got a sneaking suspicion that it hasn't been changed since the place opened."

"You think it was Jacqui?"

"No. God, no. Not Jacqui."

"Because she wouldn't do something like that."

"Of course not. I mean, it wouldn't be someone who still worked here anyway, would it?"

Kevin was shaking his head, his mouth hanging open. I'd hooked him. "I really don't know, Graham."

"Well, I don't think it's
likely
, anyway. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't have the nerve to hang around after something like that."

"No."

"So I'm thinking it's someone who left the club recently. Someone with money problems, maybe." I smiled again and opened my hands. "But I don't know, Kevin. It's all up in the air. Like I said, it's just a theory, so I don't really know—"

"Stevie."

I feigned ignorance. "Who's Stevie?"