Never Go Back -Barnett 3 by Robert Goddard

Author:Robert Goddard [Goddard, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Castles, Great Britain - Veterans, Older Men, Mystery & Detective, Reunions, Scotland, General, Castles - Scotland, Mystery Fiction, Reunions - Scotland, Traditional British, Thrillers, Suspense, Fiction, Suspense Fiction
ISBN: 9780385340632
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 2006-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-THREE

Hard by Carshalton Pond stood the Greyhound Inn, a mellow-bricked Georgian watering hole. In its bar, as thinly populated at noon on a Thursday as might be expected, Harry and Barry sat by a window, drinking Young's bitter and debating the credibility of local worthy Gilbert Tancred. 'He might be telling the truth,' said Harry. 'His explanation made a certain amount of sense.'

'Then again,' said Chipchase, 'he might be lying through his teeth.'

'There's no way to tell, is there?'

'Yes there bloody is. He was a merchant banker, wasn't he? So it stands to reason you can't believe a word he says. Besides, you were adamant: one out of him, Fripp and Judd had to be in on the plot.'

'I was, wasn't I? But, thinking about it, Fripp's a non-starter. He didn't know about Chipchase Sheltered Holdings.'

'One out of two, then. And Tancred's the one who's had to cobble together a cover story.'

'But we can't prove it's a cover story, Barry. We can't prove a damn thing.'

'What are we going to do, then?'

'I don't know. Any suggestions?'

'Well, we could ... rattle Judd's cage. See how he responds to some… gentle pressure.'

'I can't see him being mixed up in murder.'

'Neither can I. But…'

'It's worth a try?'

'Yeah. Particularly when there's nothing else to try.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Epping was at the far eastern end of the Central line. The journey there from Carshalton was long and slow enough to prompt numerous doubts about its wisdom. A walk of a mile and a half from the station to Judd's large mock Tudor house on the edge of Epping Forest converted those doubts into grumblings of outright discontent on the part of Chipchase, who falsely claimed that he had recommended phoning ahead, whereas Harry's recollection of the plan hatched at the Greyhound was quite otherwise.

A short-haired, snub-nosed woman of middle years dressed in a velour tracksuit was power-hosing a behemoth-proportioned Jeep on the driveway as they limped in off the road, Harry still bothered by his injured knee, Chipchase by rank unfitness and thin-soled shoes. The woman switched off the hose as they approached and semi-rural quietude suddenly descended.

'Afternoon,' said Harry. 'Judder about, is he? Er, Bill, I mean.'

'Sorry, no,' she replied. 'What did you, er…?'

'We're a couple of his… old RAF chums, luv,' panted Chipchase.

'Oh, right. You must have been at this thing in Scotland, then.'

'We were,' said Harry. 'Reckoned we might drop by and see what he made of it.'

"Fraid you've had a wasted trip. He and Mum flew to Fuerteventura yesterday. They've got an apartment there. They won't be back for a week or so.'

'A week?'

'At least. Could be longer. Well, they're free agents. That's the beauty of retirement, isn't it?'

'Oh yeah,' said Chipchase. 'There's just nothing to beat it.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Their dishevelled, footsore appearance moved Judd's daughter to offer them a lift to the station, which they gratefully accepted. Slumped aboard a lumbering Tube as it bore them back into London, they found nothing to say. Even recriminations were beyond Chipchase now. Somewhere in the vicinity of Snaresbrook, he fell asleep.

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