That Will Do Nicely (25 page)

"I take it something bad happened at the Embassy this morning chief?"

"Too bloody true; is there any scotch left?"

Heath retrieved a half-f bottle from the filing cabinet and passed it to his boss who filled him in on the meeting. By the time he had finished, he was a little calmer.

"What are you going to do?" Heath asked him, cautiously.

"I don't see there is anything we can do, Pat, except comply with the request. Any enquiries we make will be frowned on from above and even if we find Chummy, our lords and masters don't want him prosecuted, because the publicity might be harmful to the institution's image
. I've a good mind to put in my papers."

"Then they'll have won."

"Anyway, we're not finished yet; they might not know about Forbes at the Yard, I think I'll give him a ring." Roberts picked up the phone and dialled Forbes’ number.

"Hello Duncan, Jim Roberts here
; any more news?"

"Yes
. Interpol think they've found the bank where your man forwarded the money; the Belgae Bank in Brussels."

"That's good news
. Anything else?"

"Yes, it seems that one of Interpol's investigating officers had something on the bank manager and pressured him to give some more details on Chummy
."

"And?"

"The account was closed a few days ago and all the funds were transferred on Chummy's instructions to the Engelburger Bank in Geneva. However, before you get your hopes up, it was a numbered Swiss account and you know what they're like to deal with."

"Fine, that's great Duncan, but it might be too late."

"What do you mean, too late?" queried Forbes.

"Orders from the Home Office, via the top floor - hands off
.., they don't want the publicity."

"You're joking, of course?" c
ommented Forbes incredulously.

"If only I were
. Listen Duncan,., do me a big favor and don't stop your enquiries until you're told to and keep me up to date."

"Sure, but why do they want it hushed up?"

"God only knows.., I think they're embarrassed by the whole thing. They say they want the whole thing handled by the U.S Treasury department and I'm expected to hand over my files to them."

"Are you going to?"

"I don't have any choice Duncan - one of the funny men from Whitehall, a man called Hathaway has already reminded me that I've only got 18 months to go before retirement and a pension. You can guess the rest."

"Yes, I can
. So you want anything I learn, unofficially."

"That's right."

"You've got it.., and Jim?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry it's turned out this way. I thought we were onto him."

"We were. Just keep your head down while the shit's flying, Duncan
. Thanks." Roberts hung up and looked across the room to Heath.

"Are
you really going to drop it?" asked Heath, unable to imagine his boss backing off completely.

"No option son. That's one thing I have learned in 30 years on the force
... you can't beat the system."

"So we're just going to hand over our files to someone from the U.S State department and that's it?"

"That's about the size of it.., except from now on we keep no written notes on the case - we just keep our ears and eyes open and get on with some of the other work on our plate. I expect there's quite a backlog."

The next few days for Roberts and Heath passed routinely, coping with the paperwork which always piled up. Ironically, although they had been pulled off the case, their notes on it s
till had to be written up. Rumors circulated the office, both of them receiving strange looks from their colleagues in the canteen, but no one spoke to them directly about the case. They had no choice but to live with it and hope that things would soon return to normal.

The week-end nearly over, Roberts and Heath were studying reports on a recent spate of armed sub-post office robberies, when a phone call raised their spirits. Heath passed the phone over to Roberts, cupping the mouthpiece as he did so. "It's a D.S. out at Heathrow
... about a Yank they've picked up travelling on one of the passports used to cash the cheques." Roberts snatched the phone from his sergeants' hands.

"D.I R
oberts here. What have you got? Yes. Hang on." Roberts snapped his fingers to attract his colleague's attention and made a scribbling motion with his hand to show he needed pen and paper. "O.K. Fire away.., yes, I've got that... Did he give you a description and of the girl as well.., great - that's the best news I've had all week. Thank you sergeant.., I owe you..," Roberts jumped of the desk with delight.

"Good news?" asked Heath.

"Nothing we can use officially of course, because our lords and masters don't want Chummy caught.,. but I want him."

"What did the D.S. give you?"

"Immigration at the Airport picked up a guy.., J.S. Lewinski with a passport number that matched the number written on some of the Dallasbank cheques. Evidently, nobody's cancelled the watch at the airport. However, it seems this D.S. was passing by when the incident happened and assisted at the interview. Lewinski, when questioned, thought he might have recognized Chummy while he was in France, but when he challenged the man, he denied it, said his name was Pascoe, which was corroborated by another man with him. Lewinski couldn't be sure of course, because the man didn't have a beard, but later, he saw the same man leave the village by car and it stopped and picked up a girl, whom he swears was the Fairbrother woman - and she didn't have a beard on either occasion."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"There’s nothing to do about it, Pat. One must obey one's Lords and masters, mustn't one?" Roberts left the office and headed straight for the duty roster on the bulletin board to see if he had any leave due to him.

A quarter of an hour later, he was knocking on the door of the chief Superintendent's office.

"Come in and sit down, Jim... this is a rare visit... what's on your mind?"

"There's nothing on my mind
Sir.., it's just that this latest case has been a little wearing and I've got some leave owing to me."

"And you'd like to take it
; is that it?"

"Yes,
Sir."

"I believe you've put in something over 30
years’ service, Jim.., is that right?"

"31 years in August, to be exact."

"And you've never risen higher than Detective Inspector.., not because you didn't have the right qualifications, but..."

"Because, I wanted to stay and do the job I know best
.., not, with respect, administration."

"Jim", suddenly the tone became more official. "We both know exactly why you've never climbed any further up the promotion ladder and it has little to do with the reasons you have just given. You always had a knack of doing things your own way and have not ridden easily to orders from on high. Understand me
.., I am not saying your methods have not brought results, but if you are asking for leave because of pressure of work, a few days after you've had a case taken away from you.., what do you think I am.., a complete idiot?"

Not at all
Sir. I have told my sergeant to stop all enquiries into the case and we have filed our reports on it, so although we don't like the idea of leaving unfinished business, we're both quite aware that we're here to take orders. So my request stands, Sir."

"And if I refuse? What then
, sick leave?"

"
I was feeling a little off-color earlier on as a matter of fact, Sir."

"Get out of my sight, Jim."

"Do I take it that my leave has your approval Sir?" Roberts asked, opening the door to leave.

"One word of warning Jim
.., don't get caught. I won't be able to save you and it would be a lousy end to a fine career."

"Thank you,
Sir."

The net closes

Roberts returned to the office and put Heath in the picture.

"Do we have a contact in the passport office, Pat."

"Yes
.., Bob Gethings. Do you want the number?"

"Get him for me, please." Heath
dialed for an outside line.

"It's ringing
."He passed the phone to Roberts.

"May I speak to Bob Gethings please
. D.I. Roberts, Serious Crime Squad... Yes, I'll hold."

"Gethings here. How can I help you?"

"I don't think we've met, Mr. Gethings, but you may know my sergeant, Pat Heath?"

"Some time ago, I think
.., your name rings a bell. What can I do for you?"

"How far are you computeri
zed now in passports?"

"Fairly well, as a matter of fact
... all the current stuff is on file and we're back as far as 1970 on the back log."

"Is it cross
-indexed?"

"Certainly. T
hat's what takes the time. What do you need?"

"I'm looking for a man, name of Pascoe
.., Tom Pascoe. I've every reason to believe he's British.., between 25 and 45 years of age."

"Is that all you've got?" Gethings asked, incredulously.

"No, there are a couple of other things... dark brown hair, above average height and to make it interesting, his profession might show him as a banker, printer or photographer. Can you help?"

"I can certainly feed your request into the machine."

"How long will it take?"

"Give me your number and I'll get back to you within the hour."

"Thanks." Roberts hung up and sat back to wait.

"So you are going after him, chief?"

"You know me son."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, Pat. Thanks all the same, but I want you kept right out of it. That way, if the shit starts flying, you'll be all right. Anything I do will be unofficial."

"What'll you do if you find Chummy?"

"I've wondered about that... I really don't know.., but this is one I want for me. Not for the force or the record.., just for me. It'll be a bit like the old days.., we had villains then and some of them were really nasty pieces of work, but more often than not, they knew when the game was up and came quietly. Chummy reminds me of those days.., he's cunning, got a good brain and has worked out a bloody ingenious scheme..."

"S
ounds as though you admire him, Chief."

"I suppose in a curious way I do. Remember, he hasn't harmed anyone
.., no threatened violence or blackmail; he's succeeded because of his wits and that's something I respect."

"But even if you do find him, you won't be able to arrest him
."

"I don't think that'll be necessary somehow. I think if I find him and confront him, he'll quit."

"That's rather a lot to expect, isn't it?"

"Not really son. You see, I think he thinks his crime is just about perfect and when I prove it's not, he'll stop
. After all, he won't need any more money after this little lot."

"I wish you luck."

"Thanks, Pat, I appreciate it."

Gethings rang back a little later.

"Any luck?" Roberts inquired of the man in the passport office.

"I don't know about luck, but I've certainly got a few names for you
.., if you like, I'll send the details by telex."

"No!" s
aid Roberts abruptly, sharply. "I'm sorry Mr.Gethings, but there's no need to do that. Just tell me if you have any match between the names and those occupations."

"I've got three which might interest you
... I'll read them out to you. Ready?"

"Yes, fire away."

"Richard Bradley Winterman, born 1941, London; profession, bank clerk.  Address of next of kin, Mrs. Winterman, could be his mother or his wife; 327A, Brompton Road, Harrogate. Thomas Craig Pascoe, born 1945, London. Profession: photographer; import/export; Address of next of kin : Mr. And Mrs. Pascoe, could be his wife or his mother,  416, Acacia Avenue, Sevenoaks. Kent.., and the last one.., Dinsdale Arthur Lynden, born 1959, Stirling. Profession: Accountant, Address of next of kin: Mrs Lynden, 62, Bank Street. Stirling. That's the lot."

"Thank you Mr. Gethings, you've been a great help. Goodbye
."

Roberts automatically knew which one to choose
.., the line of least resistance. He surmised that if Chummy had been born in 1945, it would make him 40 years old, with a good chance that his parents would still be alive. If his hunch was correct, he could call at the address in Sevenoaks, on his way to France.

"I'll be off now Pat and I'll start my leave tomorrow, so you'll have to hold the fort
."

"Good luck G
uv. If there's anything I can do..."

"I'll let you know," s
aid Roberts, "I'll see you in a week's time."

Roberts went home and packed and
then took the train to Sevenoaks. A cab from the station's taxi rank delivered him to the address in Acacia Avenue. It was half-past three when he rang the bell to number 416. It was opened by a smartly dressed lady of some seventy years of age.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I am a Police officer
. Would you happen to be Mrs. Pascoe?"

"Yes, officer
.., there's nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Pascoe. I'm trying to locate your son Tom,
You haven't seen him recently?"

"He's not in any trouble?"

"No, not at all. You see, he lost his passport some time ago and we've recently had it handed in. We'd like to return it to him. Do you know where we might find him?"

"To tell you the truth Mr. Roberts, we've hardly seen anything of him since his marriage broke up a couple of years ago."

"I see.., do you happen to have his address?"

"I can tell you where they were living when they were married
.., Thorn Tree Cottage, at Patrixbourne, near Canterbury. Although I don't know how they afforded it on Tom's salary."

"He's a photographer, I believe
."

"He was
.., and a very good one too, only there just wasn't enough money in it. Then he met his wife and moved down from Slough to Kent where he got married. Her father got him a job in an import/export office on the coast."

"And he's still there, is he?"

"No, he got the sack. That's when his wife left him for some man with a double-barreled name, something-Crichton.., the stuck up little bitch... Oh, I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't worry, I quite understand. One of my colleagues thought he remembered a Tom Pascoe from his school days, but the chap he remembers was interested in printing, so it's p
ossibly not the same one."

"Our Tom did quite a lot of that at school I believe
... the school magazine and programs for the school play - that sort of thing. I remember that clearly.., ever so clever with his hands.., he might be the same one."

"Well thank you Mrs. Pascoe, you've been a great help
... before I leave... you wouldn't happen to have a telephone number for the cottage at Patrixbourne.., it might save me a wasted journey, later."

"Yes, it’s still in my address book, I believe
. I'll get it for you... " 

Pascoe and Sam had settled into a routine at 'les Boudous'. Once the site had been cleared, the outline of the existing walls marked, they had started on knocking the buildings into habitable shape. Once they had made it habitable in Spartan fashion, they moved out of the hotel at Rennes-les-Bains and into the farmhouse. There wasn't even a bed to begin with, but they made do with a straw-filled pallet on the floor, covered with a continental quilt. This they placed in front of the open fire and in the evenings, when Sam had prepared a simple meal, they would lie on the pallet and discuss their plans for the next day, supping the strong local wine of the region. The days were simple and idyllic, almost too good to last and both of them were unaware that their nemesis, in the shape of D.I. Roberts was drawing ever closer.

Roberts considered the facts he had on the train to Dover. If Pascoe was 'chummy', he would be 40 years old, above average height and would have spent his career in the world of photography and import/export, with some printing experience gained at school. He had married a wife who had all the makings of a first class bitch, who had left him for some double-barreled name, when the going got rough. Chummy was at a dangerous age; had been kicked in the teeth when he was down and had possibly reacted by channeling his energies into crime rather than risking a similar repetition of events by carrying on down the straight and narrow path.

Roberts
realized he almost felt sorry for Pascoe and knew that it was a dangerous emotion to have, especially as within a few hours he would be across the channel, pursuing his quarry. There, there would be no place for sentiment.

At Dover's Eastern Docks, he used the 15 minute wait in the departure lounge to check the whereabouts of the village with the R.A.C desk. Even they had to resort to their Gazetteer of France to find its location some twenty-five miles south of Carcassonne.

He didn't reach the walled city of Carcassonne until mid-day the following day, having travelled overnight from Paris to Bordeaux and then another three hour journey by train via Toulouse. Although fairly exhausted from the travelling, he didn't rest at Carcassonne, but picked up a hire-car from the Hertz office near the cinema.

By two o'clock, he was on the road heading south towards Limoux, Couiza and Rennes-le-Ch
âteau and an hour later he had reached the mountain top village itself. He stood for a while, gazing at the foothills of the Pyrenees in the distance, soaking up the atmosphere of the location. He felt the calm and peace of the mountains and drank in the cool, fresh mountain air. If Pascoe was Chummy, he thought, he couldn't have picked a better place to settle down, far from the bustle of city life and from the exhaust fumes and noise of the traffic. He dozed off on a bench, overlooking the plateau to the south and woke up, slightly stiff and a little cold just before six o'clock.

He knew that if he didn't get a quick lead on Pascoe, he would have to leave his search until the next day. He scouted around for anyone who could possibly give him the information he sought, but after ten minutes, the only place he had found, which had any life at all in the village, was the Mayor's office. He worked out the phrase he was going to use in his head, before entering the office.

Once inside, he found himself in a small, stone-floored office, smartly furnished. The same secretary Pascoe had dealt with, spoke to him.

"Je vous aide, peut-
être?" Roberts cursed himself for never having bothered to learn the language.

"Do you speak English," he smiled, hopefully, "I am looking for a monsieur Pascoe," he tried to explain to the secretary.

The woman looked at him blankly, trying to make out what he was trying to say. He tried again, with the same negative response. The secretary, pushed paper and pen towards him on the desk and motioned to him to write. When he done so, he slid the paper back to her. Immediately her face brightened, as she understood. She stood up and led Roberts to a large scale map of the area on the office wall.

"Ici. Il habite ici a 'l
es Boudous'', vôtre Monsieur Pascoe," The secretary said, writing the name on a slip of paper.

"Merci
, Madame. How do I find it?" With a slight grimace denoting hopelessness and a despairing shrug of the shoulders and appropriate gesture with his hands, Roberts tried to convey his wish for greater and more detailed directions. He moved across the room to the wall of the office where a large scale map of the commune hung. He pointed to the map and said, “les Boudous?” The secretary pointed to its location, Roberts made a few notes, thanked the secretary profusely and left the office. He had what he wanted.

He found the track without difficulty and turned off the main road in the direction of '
la Valdieu'. As he remembered from the map, he turned off again to the right just before the farm at 'la Valdieu', in order to find 'les Boudous'. The track was no more than a deeply rutted farm track and he was immediately worried as to whether his hire car would cope with the tough conditions. The track wound round, up a slight gradient following an outcrop of a wall of limestone on his right. The track undulated around a series of slight bends but the vista to his left was spectacular as he looked across grassy meadows to the hills of the Corbières and there, in the far distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. It was truly spectacular! As he turned the final bend, the track divided. The right-hand fork led to a place on the high ground known as la Pique. The left, led to les Boudous. He noticed a deux-chevaux Citroen standing in the farmyard - possibly the same car that the American had seen them in when they left the village.