Flyaway

'Two bullets through his lungs, one through the belly, and another through the head at close range – that's what happened to Lash. There are three dead men out there, and another with an amputated foot, and all because of you, Jock. All because you were so scared of what Paul Billson might find that you put out a contract on him.' I tapped my arm in its sling. 'Not Gstaad, Jock; the Tassili. You owe me something for this.'

'I owe you nothing,' he said contemptuously.

Then we come to a man called Torstein Aarvik who married Helen Billson.' I drew a photocopy of the marriage certificate from my briefcase. 'This really shook me when I saw it because legally she was Anderson, wasn't she? Helen had lost sight of you so she took a chance. She married Aarvik as the widow Billson without divorcing you. It was wartime and things were pretty free and easy and, besides, she wasn't too bright – I have Alix Aarvik's word for that. But you knew where she was because you'd been keeping tabs on her. I don't know how you separated her from her money in the first place but you used her bigamous marriage to keep her quiet for the rest of her life. She couldn't fight you, could she? And maybe she wasn't bright but perhaps she was decent enough to prevent Alix knowing that she's a bastard. Now who's the bastard here, you son of a bitch?'

'You'll never make this stick,' he said. 'Not after forty-two years.'

'I believe I will, and so do you, or you wouldn't have been so bloody worried about Paul Billson. There's no statute of limitations on murder, Jock.'

'Stop calling me Jock,' he said irritably.

'You're an old man,' I said. 'Eighty years old. You're going to die soon. Tomorrow, next year, five years, ten – you'll be as dead as Lash. But they don't have capital punishment now, so you'll probably die in a prison hospital. Unless…'

He was suddenly alert, scenting a bargain, a deal. 'Unless what?'

'What's the use of putting you in jail? You wouldn't live as luxuriously as you do now but you'd get by. They're tender-minded about murderous old men these days, and that wouldn't satisfy me, nor would it help the people you've cheated all these years.'

I put my hand into my pocket, drew out a calculator, punched a -few keys, then wrote the figure on a piece of paper. It made a nice sum if not a round one -?1,714,425.68. I tossed it across to him. 'That's a hundred thousand compounded at a nominal seven per cent for forty-two years.'

I said, 'Even if Scotland Yard or the Director of Public Prosecutions take no action the newspapers would love it. The Insight team of the Sunday Times would make a meal of it. Think of all the juicy bits – Lady Brinton dying of cancer in virtual poverty while her husband lived high on the hog. Your name would stink, even in the City where they have strong stomachs. Do you think any decent or even any moderately indecent man would have anything to do with you after that?'

I stuck my finger under his nose. 'And another thing – Paul Billson knows nothing about this. But I can prime him with it and point him at you like a gun. He'd kill you – you wouldn't stand a flaming chance. You'd better get out your cheque book.'

He flinched but made a last try. 'This figure is impossible. You don't suppose I'm as fluid as all that?'

'Don't try to con me, you old bastard,' I said. 'Any bank in the City will lend you that amount if you just pick up the telephone and ask. Do it!'

He stood up. 'You're a hard man.'

'I've had a good teacher. You make out two cheques; one to the Peter Billson Memorial Trust for a million and a half. The rest to me – that's my twerve-and-a-half per cent commission. Expenses have been high. And I get Gloria's shares, and you sell out of Stafford Security. I don't care who you sell your shares to but it mustn't be Charlie Malleson.'

How do I know you won't renege? I want all the papers you have.'

'Not a chance in hell! Those are my insurance policies. I wouldn't want another Lash turning up in my life.'

He sat down and wrote the cheques.

I walked the streets of London for a long time that afternoon with cheques in my pocket for more money than I had ever carried. Alix Aarvik and Paul Billson would now be all right for the rest of their lives. I had put the money into a trust because I didn't want Paul getting his hands on it – he didn't deserve that. But the not-too-bright son of a not-too-bright mother would be looked after.

As for me, I thought 12i% was a reasonable fee. It would enable me to buy out Charlie Malleson, a regrettable necessity because I could no longer work with him. Jack Ellis would continue to be a high flier and he'd get his stake in the firm, and we'd hire an accountant and pay him well. And Byrne would get something unexpectedly higher than the. ridiculous fee he'd asked for saving lives and being shot at.