Read Online The Gardens of the Dead by William Brodrick - Free Book Online

into each other, Nick said, ‘Would you
fight for yours?’
    ‘I
really don’t know.’ She spoke as if the crowds were waiting, but this was St
John’s Wood not the Colosseum.
    Thinking
now of his mother on the edge of the sofa, eyes glued to the screen and
worried, Nick decided to ignore the parting advice of a monk. He pulled into a
lay-by and fished out Mr Wyecliffe’s business card. It was stained with oil
from the cashew nuts. He dialled the number on his mobile. The solicitor’s
surprise was forced and his charm predatory, as if he smelled business. An
appointment was made for the next day and Nick resumed the journey home,
wondering about the relief of Mafeking.
     
     
     
    11
     
    It was odd, but George
could remember in his sleep. Sometimes his dreams were like the old films shown
at Christmas. He watched with recognition. So when George was slipping away, he
would try to switch on what was lost to him while awake. Most of the time it
worked. But when he snapped upright it was with the horrible fear that he’d
made it all up.
    With
the sharp stone, George scratched another day of waiting upon the wall. It was
early evening. Sheets of polythene wrapping flapped in the corner. He turned on
his pocket radio and Sandie Shaw sang ‘Puppet on a String’. He became drowsy,
drugged by the waiting and the cold. Elizabeth’s voice rose in his memory. They’d
often sat in Marco’s listening to the radio echo from the kitchen. Songs like
that were always being dug out. Quite deliberately, George held himself at the
line between sleep and wakefulness.
     
    Elizabeth bought more cocoa
and toast. ‘You really have changed. I barely recognised you.’
    ‘You
keep saying that.’
    ‘I’m
sorry.
    Elizabeth
picked up a triangle of toast with dainty fingers.
    After
the trial Riley sold Quilling Road.’
    ‘Did
he?’
    ‘Yes.
And he left the Isle of Dogs. In fact, he was sacked. With the money from the
sale he set up a house clearance business.’
    ‘Did
he?’
    ‘Stop
asking if he did something, when I just said that he did.’
    ‘Fair
enough.’
    Elizabeth
licked her thumb and forefinger. ‘He set up two companies. One of them is a
shop run by his wife, Nancy, whom you saw at court. I don’t suppose you met?’
    ‘No,’
said George. ‘It wasn’t that type of party.’
    Elizabeth
dabbed the corners of her mouth. ‘The second business is Riley’s own concern.
He runs it from a transit van, selling odds and ends at fairs and bazaars.’
    ‘Stuff
from the house clearances?’
    ‘Yes.
So when he buys a job lot, everything is somehow or other divided between this
shop and his van.
    ‘So what?’
George wasn’t interested in Riley’s commercial habits.
    ‘Aren’t
you ever inquisitive?’
    ‘Not
really’ His eye fell on the last triangle of toast. ‘How do you know all this?’
    ‘He has
to file accounts at Companies House. I’ve read them.’ Elizabeth pushed the
plate towards George, as if it were a donation. She said, ‘I’m reliably
informed that this business isn’t what it seems.’
    George
threw down a crust. ‘You’ve just said that he’s gone straight.’
    ‘No I
didn’t. I said he’d gone into business.’
    ‘What’s
the difference?’
    ‘All
the figures add up perfectly’
    George
couldn’t understand lawyers. How could they see a weakness that wasn’t there?
Mind you, that was what the other one had done. How had he known to ask about
David Bradshaw? Duffy was his name. He’d got lots of pages all to himself in
book thirty or so.
    Elizabeth
said, ‘To find out what he’s really doing we need to see more than a balance
sheet.’
    ‘We?’
    ‘Sorry,’
said Elizabeth with a smile. A slip of the tongue. But now you mention it, I’ve
an idea.’
    ‘Have
you?’
    Elizabeth
glowered at him. ‘Yes. Both companies are registered at Nancy’s shop.’
    ‘What
does that mean?’
    ‘It’s
their official business address. Riley is obliged by law to keep all financial
records