Read Online Come Clean (1989) by Bill James - Free Book Online Page B

been bought bit by bit, maybe from a junk shop doing reclaimed hire-purchase stuff, with no attempt at matching. All Harpur had learned so
far about the occupant of this house was that he did not have much taste, and that he liked tea and could cook a bit. Perhaps his clothes took all the real money. Drawers from a foul, high-gloss
sideboard had been turned out on the worn, would-be scarlet carpet. There were cassettes, holiday brochures, bills, a miniature rum, out-of-date raffle tickets. What struck Harpur as especially
strange was that on the other side of the room stood a bureau, as shoddy and unhandsome as the sideboard, but clearly left alone during the search. Perhaps it was empty. He crossed the room and
opened a drawer. No, it seemed stuffed with newspapers and telephone directories. He opened another drawer. That had clothes in – shirts, ties, a silk white scarf. He stood near the bureau,
looking back across the room, trying to work out why there had been no interest in the bureau. There was a sort of frontier roughly in the middle of the faded carpet; one side, chaos, this side,
neatness, like hell and heaven, and the great gulf fixed between, which he used to hear about from preachers as a terrified child. A small table with the telephone on it seemed to mark the divide
and, after a moment gazing at the room, Harpur stepped to this table and examined the instrument. It was one of those white, plastic, console jobs with a memory device for your half-dozen most used
numbers; press one of the six buttons and it automatically dialled pre-set digits. Five of the buttons had small stickers against them, with names on. He saw ‘Benny’ and
‘Ma’ and ‘Mandy’ for the top three and two sets of initials lower down the panel that meant nothing to him. It was the fourth button that had no sticker at all.
    He listened carefully again for any sound in the house or outside and then pressed the unlabelled button. In a moment he heard the number ring out and, after another moment, a deep, cautious
male voice answered, ‘Yes?’
    ‘Ah, Jack,’ Harpur said.
    ‘Who is it?’ Lamb replied.
    ‘Last time you had a call from this phone it was heavy breathing.’
    After a long pause, Lamb said: ‘Colin?’
    ‘I’m afraid they’ve got your number, Jack.’
    ‘You’re at Justin Paynter’s place?’
    ‘It’ll never get into
Ideal Home
, Jack, you made an error.’
    ‘What error?’
    ‘Well, to start with basics, using young Justin. That boy’s got no idea of security. Your number’s only a push button away from anyone who walks in here. He did have the sense
not to write your name down, but that’s his limit.’
    There was another pause.
    ‘Jack, you understand? They don’t have to beat anything out of him, supposing he’s alive. It’s on an electronic plate.’
    ‘Tell me slowly.’
    ‘The other error; ringing him, probably. Looks as if they were searching here when that happened. Your call must have taken them to the phone, brought it to their attention, so when
you’d rung off, one of them decided to try its memory bank of numbers. Yours was the only promising one, Jack. That’s what I mean about this lad’s mad carelessness. They
wouldn’t be interested in the other five because they’d probably recognize the names and initials – Benny Loxton, Justin’s mother, his bird, that sort of thing. So, you get
an immediate return call, and the same witty silence.’
    ‘Jesus.’
    ‘They didn’t bother searching any more. This room’s in two sections, like an ad for “before and after our cleaning service”. Obviously they were looking for
anything that might tell them who exactly Justin leaked to. Could mean they’d failed to batter it out of him up till then, or perhaps he died too soon. Anyway, there it was, all nicely
automated for them. Did you say your name at any stage during these calls?’
    ‘You’re joking.’
    ‘But there’ll be a simple way of finding which number is