thought it would be. The wind was going. It was getting darker by the minute. I walked across the road. Just beyond the grass verge was a hedge and behind the hedge, hugging it, was an old rotten fence. There were tire marks in the ground on the verge and there was a hole in the hedge and behind it I could only see a few splinters belonging to the fence. I went and stood in the hole in the hedge and looked down.
It was more of an incline than a drop. It stretched down for about a hundred and fifty feet until it came to the water that filled the bottom of the disused sandstone quarry. The quarry looked enormous but that was probably because of the hundreds of little islands of sandstone that rose above the water. They gave you the impression that theywere bigger than they were because there was nothing to give them any scale, just the water. They were oblong shaped, twenty times as long as they were wide, with sloping sides forming ridges running the length of the islands. In the dusk it looked like a dumping ground for old Toblerone packets.
The car had been moved. From where I was there was nothing to show that it had ever been there. I turned slightly so I could look at the path the car had taken through the hedge. From the way it went, he’d been coming down hill, going towards town, which meant if it had been an accident, then he’d been drinking somewhere out of town in one of the villages—which was something else Frank wouldn’t have done. If he’d got any drinking to do, drinking like that (which was something else) he wouldn’t have left the town. As far as the outskirts, maybe, but not outside.
I walked back to the car and got in and sat there. I didn’t really know why I’d come. Just to see, I suppose. Just to see what it looked like.
I drove off down the hill towards the town and as I drove I decided that tonight I had to spend in The Cecil. I couldn’t piss about. They knew I was in town anyway. All hanging about in The Cecil would do would be to perhaps make them wonder why I hadn’t gone home, make them think I knew something, make them decide that I hadn’t just come for the funeral. And they’d know if Keith was tipping the wink. They’d see me and him and they’d get him and work on him until he told them things, which was hard luck for him but it would tell me what I wanted to know. He’d be able to put me on to the blokes who worked on him and from there I might get somewhere. Somewhere Gerald and Les wouldn’t want me to get. I remembered what was said in Gerald’s flat before I left. They’d both been there. Gerald in his county houndstooth and his lilac shirt, sitting at his Cintura-topped desk, the picture window behind him, Belsize Park and CamdenTown below him and Les sitting on the edge of the desk, in his corduroy suit, thumbing through a copy of Punch . I’d sat in the leather stud-backed chair with the round seat, and Audrey had poured the drinks and passed them round. She’d been wearing a culotte skirt and a ruffled blouse, a sort of Pop Paisley, and I’d wondered what would happen if Gerald found out that this time next week I’d be screwing her three thousand miles away instead of under his nose.
Gerald had said:
“I’m sure you’re wrong, Jack. I can’t really convince myself into seeing it your way. I’m sure it’s the way it looks.”
“It smells shitty, Gerald. It’s so strong it’s blowing all the way down from the north into your air-conditioned system and right up my nose.”
“Well,” he’d said, “if you feel you’re right, feel it so strongly, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to the funeral aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are, and then what?”
“I’ll see if anyone has any knowledge.”
“You’ll start sniffing?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, Jack, if Frank was mixed up, if he was knocked off, then you can bet the coppers know all about it. And they’re saying it was an accident. So if it wasn’t, then they’re
It was more of an incline than a drop. It stretched down for about a hundred and fifty feet until it came to the water that filled the bottom of the disused sandstone quarry. The quarry looked enormous but that was probably because of the hundreds of little islands of sandstone that rose above the water. They gave you the impression that theywere bigger than they were because there was nothing to give them any scale, just the water. They were oblong shaped, twenty times as long as they were wide, with sloping sides forming ridges running the length of the islands. In the dusk it looked like a dumping ground for old Toblerone packets.
The car had been moved. From where I was there was nothing to show that it had ever been there. I turned slightly so I could look at the path the car had taken through the hedge. From the way it went, he’d been coming down hill, going towards town, which meant if it had been an accident, then he’d been drinking somewhere out of town in one of the villages—which was something else Frank wouldn’t have done. If he’d got any drinking to do, drinking like that (which was something else) he wouldn’t have left the town. As far as the outskirts, maybe, but not outside.
I walked back to the car and got in and sat there. I didn’t really know why I’d come. Just to see, I suppose. Just to see what it looked like.
I drove off down the hill towards the town and as I drove I decided that tonight I had to spend in The Cecil. I couldn’t piss about. They knew I was in town anyway. All hanging about in The Cecil would do would be to perhaps make them wonder why I hadn’t gone home, make them think I knew something, make them decide that I hadn’t just come for the funeral. And they’d know if Keith was tipping the wink. They’d see me and him and they’d get him and work on him until he told them things, which was hard luck for him but it would tell me what I wanted to know. He’d be able to put me on to the blokes who worked on him and from there I might get somewhere. Somewhere Gerald and Les wouldn’t want me to get. I remembered what was said in Gerald’s flat before I left. They’d both been there. Gerald in his county houndstooth and his lilac shirt, sitting at his Cintura-topped desk, the picture window behind him, Belsize Park and CamdenTown below him and Les sitting on the edge of the desk, in his corduroy suit, thumbing through a copy of Punch . I’d sat in the leather stud-backed chair with the round seat, and Audrey had poured the drinks and passed them round. She’d been wearing a culotte skirt and a ruffled blouse, a sort of Pop Paisley, and I’d wondered what would happen if Gerald found out that this time next week I’d be screwing her three thousand miles away instead of under his nose.
Gerald had said:
“I’m sure you’re wrong, Jack. I can’t really convince myself into seeing it your way. I’m sure it’s the way it looks.”
“It smells shitty, Gerald. It’s so strong it’s blowing all the way down from the north into your air-conditioned system and right up my nose.”
“Well,” he’d said, “if you feel you’re right, feel it so strongly, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to the funeral aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are, and then what?”
“I’ll see if anyone has any knowledge.”
“You’ll start sniffing?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, Jack, if Frank was mixed up, if he was knocked off, then you can bet the coppers know all about it. And they’re saying it was an accident. So if it wasn’t, then they’re
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