The Altered Case (12 page)

‘Still plenty of time . . .' Ventnor stopped talking as the steward approached.

‘This is Mr Evans now, gentlemen –' the steward indicated towards the car park – ‘the Bentley.'

‘Thank you.' Ventnor glanced out of the window as did Webster. They watched as a two-tone Bentley, black over bronze, of late 1950s' vintage, entered the car park and was parked neatly between two Volvos. A portly, golden-haired man dressed in a light-coloured suit with ‘plus four' trousers got out of the car, as did a noticeably younger woman who tottered round the rear of the Bentley on four-inch heels, hooked her arm into his, and then together they walked across the car park towards the golf clubhouse.

‘I will introduce Mr Evans.' The steward turned and walked towards the foyer.

Webster grinned at Ventnor. ‘Methinks I am going to like Mr Evans muchly.'

‘Methinks likewise.' Ventnor returned Webster's wide grin. ‘Methinks likewise and, as you say, muchly so.'

A few moments later the steward of the golf club returned in the company of Edward Evans and his younger, much younger, lady companion. Webster and Ventnor stood smartly and shook Mr Evans by the hand as he was introduced. Evans then introduced his lady friend as Molly. Molly, guessed the officers, was in her mid-thirties, slender, but yet should, they both thought, be in the next larger dress size. Evans despatched Molly to the bar with a wholly politically incorrect, though playful, slap on her bottom, saying, ‘Men talk, sweetheart.' Molly tottered obediently and indignantly towards the bar in her wasp-waisted, below the knees, red dress.

‘It's all part of the game,' Evans explained. ‘Couldn't act like that these days but that's the joy of the people I mix with . . . the clothing, the old car . . . the floozy of whom the wife would not approve. I tend to introduce Molly as my niece, but I know it wouldn't wash with two worldly-wise officers of the law.'

‘Probably wouldn't,' Webster replied, ‘but it wouldn't be any of our business anyway.'

‘Whatever . . . Shall we sit down?' Evans took a seat by the table. Webster and Ventnor also sat. ‘I like to feel I am in that era, the late 1950s, when rock and roll was the thing, Macmillan was the prime minister, the Suez Crisis, Cold War, and me, at my age, with a floozy of her age.' Edward Evans glanced at Molly who was by then perched on a bar stool in front of a gin and tonic and seeming to Webster and Ventnor to be growing in indignation. ‘She's a lovely lady but the dragon would not approve.'

‘The dragon?'

‘The wife,' Evans explained with a sigh. ‘She's a little highly strung and capable of throwing real tantrums. I mean it is “Bikini State Red . . . real DEFCON One” if she gets even a little bit angry, so I have to be discreet, even making a detour before I pick up Molly in case the Dragon has put a private eye on my trail. She'd do that, you know, she really would. The Dragon lost all interest in our marriage years ago . . . on every level . . . but does all she can to keep me reigned in. But, a blessing is this: she is not interested in the Fifties set.'

‘The Fifties set?' Ventnor queried.

‘It's a group of eccentrics . . . I belong to the Yorkshire chapter. We meet once or twice a month or so dressed in 1950s' clothing and drive 1950s' cars if we can. My car is actually a 1962 model but the design dates from the 1950s . . . so we “jive” the afternoon away. We go on outings every now and again and once hired a 1950s' double-decker bus and went to Scarborough for the day. The owner of the bus wouldn't drive her “baby” as she called it, at more than thirty miles an hour . . . and this was a Bank Holiday Monday . . . so by the time we arrived at the coast we had quite a stream of angry motorists behind us . . . really quite a following. We had an afternoon in Scarborough, all the boys in baggy trousers and double-breasted jackets and all the girls in long flowing skirts and dresses.'

‘Sounds fun.' Webster was encouraged that Evans seemed willing to relax in the company of himself and Ventnor. He thought it augured well for a cooperative member of the public.

‘It's great fun, it's what the Brits are good at, producing eccentrics, and I get to pat Molly on her bottom . . . 1950s' attitudes you see. So, the steward said that you wanted some information from me, want to pick my brains, what's left of 'em. So I'll just go and get myself a nip.' Evans indicated the bar. ‘You two gentlemen don't want . . .?'

‘Can't, sir,' Webster replied warmly, ‘we are on duty, but thanks anyway.'

‘Very well.' Edward Evans stood and walked confidently to the bar, next to where Molly was sitting, ordered a whisky with dry ginger and another gin for Molly, with whom he exchanged a few words and then returned to the table where Webster and Ventnor waited. Seated once more, he asked, ‘So how can I help you? Pick away.' He sipped his drink. ‘Pick, pick away.'

‘We understand you used to own Evans and Marshall Plant Hire Co.?'

‘Yes, founded the business, built it up from scratch and sold it for our retirement money. That's the way to really make money, start a business and build it up, then sell it as a going concern. The Batemans will have to work for longer than we did before they recover their investment, but if they play the game they'll sell it on for their retirement money.'

‘Yes, we met Mr Bateman junior, or rather our boss did. He put us on to you.'

‘Nice young fella. He's a member here but he doesn't play . . . one arm you see. He or his father can't help you? I am well out of touch these days.'

‘No, unfortunately they can't.' Webster leaned forward. ‘You see, this is the tricky bit, or as our boss would say, “this is a long shot”, but as he would also say, “they've paid off before”.'

‘So shoot away.' Evans grinned. ‘Let's see where we get. I do so love an adventure. I'm in my seventies now but I'm still game for an adventure.'

‘Well, sir.' Webster opened his notebook. ‘This is going back a way but we would like to know if you can recollect a particular transaction, a hire of machinery some thirty years ago this month.'

‘Thirty years ago this month . . .' Evans pursed his lips. ‘That would be just before we sold the company. I might recall a particular transaction but only if it had some distinct aspect to it, or if it had some personal significance for me or my partner, or for the company as a whole . . . or if it was memorable in some other way . . . unusual sort of customer, for example, that sort of thing.'

‘All right,' Webster replied, ‘we might be able to help you there. Can you go back thirty years . . .?'

‘I think so . . . I'll try . . . I like going back in time, the Fifties set and all that. So, thirty years ago I was a sprightly forty-seven years of age, our marriage still had a semblance of life about it . . . the old flame of passion . . . hot, hot passion had not been entirely extinguished. Heavens, we even slept in the same bed in those days. Now it's not just separate beds but separate rooms for us. We still eat together, though, we manage to do that. The children were still at home, just. I can recall that period . . . it's beginning to come back. I recall that period, not as halcyon days, though. I recall the bad weather, the flooding . . . I remember the car breaking down. I ran an old Vauxhall in those days; the Bentley out there is or was a pre-retirement present to myself. I saw her advertised as a “classic”, so called, in a specialist car magazine and drove down to Devon to collect her. I brought her back on a trailer pulled by a company Land Rover, but I paid the diesel out of my own pocket . . . that kept it legal.'

‘Good for you.'

‘Well, it was that time; we were selling to the Batemans. The discussions were at a very early stage and it was a year or two before we completed, but we wanted them to purchase clean books. So, yes, I recall the era quite well . . . it's all coming back. So, the transaction you are interested in, what can you tell me about it?'

‘It was the hire of a small digger, a Bobcat 322 we believe.'

‘Yes, I know the type, used for entrenching or ditch clearance.' Evans sipped his whisky. ‘It's the smallest type of plant available.'

‘So we believe,' Ventnor said.

‘Yes, we had those machines. We had six; they were, probably still are, very popular little beasts. In fact, we soon recovered our purchase price on the Bobcats, which fact might be a hindrance to you.'

‘Oh,' Webster asked, ‘in what way?'

‘Well, their popularity you see. We had many customers wanting to hire those things,' Evans explained. ‘They came in and they went straight back out again. They were in such demand that we barely had time to give them a quick hose down and basic service before they were hired out again. I mean, they were in such demand that it was not at all unusual for a customer to say “don't bother washing it, we need it yesterday”.'

‘I see . . . could complicate things as you say.' Webster tapped his ballpoint on his notepad. ‘Can I ask how your customers paid?'

‘Cheque, or credit card . . . or sometimes charged to their account.'

‘Always?'

‘Always.' Evans nodded. ‘Always any one of those three methods.'

‘This customer didn't,' Webster replied. ‘If he hired from you and didn't go out of the area to hire plant from another company, then this customer, the one who interests us, paid in cash, hard cash, and our boss saw one such entry in the ledger. It is likely to be our man.'

‘So a hard cash transaction, thirty years ago this month,' Ventnor prompted.

‘There will be a name in the ledger,' Evans queried, ‘surely that would be a logical trail for you to follow?'

‘It will be a false name,' Ventnor explained. ‘The Bobcat was used . . . so we believe . . . in respect of a commission of a crime.'

‘Oh.' Evans sat back in his chair. ‘I see, so hence the police interest?'

‘Hence the police interest,' Ventnor echoed. ‘That's why we are here.'

‘Yes.' Evans took another sip of his whisky. ‘Do you know, I do think I am able to recall that hire . . . it was, as you say, unusual in that the payment was in hard cash.' He moved his right hand in a slow, circular motion. ‘Let me see if I can bring it back.'

‘Take your time, sir,' Webster encouraged, ‘but details are crucial.'

‘Of course, the Devil is in the detail and all that, but I need more of this stuff though.' He raised his empty glass of whisky. ‘You know the most untrue thing of all? Shall I tell you?'

‘Tell us,' Ventnor replied.

‘That you can drink to forget, because just the opposite happens, believe me. If you drink enough booze you start to remember things. That's true, take it from me.' Evans stood. ‘I'll be back in just one little jiffy.'

Edward Evans once again walked across the carpeted floor to the bar, ordered a drink and chatted to Molly, who was observed to shrug her shoulders at whatever it was he said to her, and he then returned, drink in hand, to the corner table where Webster and Ventnor sat. Evans sat down looking pleased with himself. ‘Do you fellas know, I do think I can recall that hire.'

‘Really?' Ventnor smiled. ‘It would be very useful, crucial in fact, if you can.'

‘Yes, really, it was . . . it really is the unusual nature of payment that makes it stick out in my old mind.' He took a long, loving sip of his drink. ‘Plant hire is a risky business; a lot of folk want to hire plant in order to sell it, usually overseas.'

‘So our boss told us.'

‘Yes, hurts the business, the inconvenience of having to wait eighteen months before a new piece of kit can be delivered and of course the insurance premiums rocket.'

‘So we understand,' Webster commented. ‘An unfortunate business all round.'

‘Hence the need to be able to identify our customers.'

‘Of course.'

‘So, the customer who wanted to pay cash . . .' Evans glanced out of the window. ‘What can I remember about him?'

‘Alarm bells?' Ventnor suggested. ‘Dare say the request to pay cash in hand made you suspicious?'

‘Yes . . . I am remembering now. I seem to remember that although we were doing good business overall at that time, and the Bobcats were in particular demand, we had two of them sitting in the yard. Both nice and clean and fully serviced because we had had time to wash them, so it must have been a bit of a quiet time for trench digging.' Evans took another sip of his drink. ‘I recall that we were not happy with the cash payment but the customer was most insistent . . . and he wanted it in a hurry.'

‘That's interesting,' Webster commented.

‘Is it?'

‘Well, possibly the crime had been committed by then, rather than being anticipated.'

‘I see. Now I kid you not, it was only when he agreed to deposit not only the full cost of replacing the machine but also agreed to add fully thirty per cent on top as surety that we agreed to hire it for cash. He was unlikely to steal it and try to sell it then you see. Cost of replacement plus thirty per cent, he wouldn't get his money back if he sold it on, no questions asked.'

‘That's not cheap,' Ventnor commented. ‘So the customer was monied?'

‘Must have been,' Evans agreed.

‘So you hired it on those terms?' Webster confirmed.

‘Yes.' Evans nodded. ‘He said he would send his man in.'

‘Ah,' Ventnor interrupted, ‘so you never saw the customer?'

‘No, the negotiation was done by phone.'

‘All right . . . sorry I interrupted.' Ventnor smiled. ‘Please continue.'

‘Yes, so the next day a gentleman arrived carrying a suitcase. Said suitcase was full of twenties and fifties . . . the sum agreed . . . all of it.'

‘No wonder you remember it,' Webster gasped.

‘Yes, it's coming back to me and is doing so with great clarity.' Evans grinned. ‘We were still a little wary so we offered him a cup of coffee while we counted it.'