Read Online The Lamp of the Wicked by Phil Rickman - Free Book Online
Authors: Phil Rickman
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Bogart.’
‘Hang on, this is the man you were keeping pace with on drinks? You and he each drank four pints in the Swan and then he drove off in this huge, conspicuous American limo?’
‘Charmed life,’ Gomer said. ‘Plus he do weigh over twenty stone. Reckons it don’t affect him the same.’ He paused. ‘Come to think of it, he had a couple of whiskies as well. We had a good ole chat – catchin’ up, you know. And he told me a good bit about Lodge.’
‘Oh,’ Merrily said.
It was after midnight now and she was cold and tired. But Gomer was sounding increasingly focused and rational, and that was good. And if he needed to talk, well, women were good at listening – who said that? Never mind. Merrily smoked and listened.
It had been a rare case for Jumbo Humphries, the one that brought him up against Roddy Lodge. Probably routine for city private eyes, Gomer said, but rare for Jumbo: divorce.
What he’d previously failed to mention about Roddy was the boy’s legendary success with women. Gomer said he’d found this hard to believe: flash bastard, but not much to look at. Anyway, Jumbo Humphries had been retained by a farmer from down near Welsh Newton, who’d employed Roddy for field-drain work and come to regret it big time.
First off: tools, equipment. Things disappearing – a hay-fork, a stainless steel spade – whenever Roddy had been. Which he couldn’t believe at first, this farmer, as he knew the Lodge family: honest, straight, religious – Baptists. Couldn’t believe it was down to Roddy, this petty thieving, so he didn’t say anything.
And then, a couple of weeks after Lodge had finished the job and left, the farmer got word in the pub that his wife, who seemed to have made a lot of extra shopping trips lately, had been seen getting out of a white van in a lay-by where her own car was parked. When the shopping trips continued to increase, the farmer hired Jumbo Humphries to follow the wife.
Merrily found it hard to imagine how a twenty-stone man in a Cadillac was going to operate undercover in the vicinity of sparsely populated Welsh Newton, and this turned out to be a valid point. Although Jumbo Humphries had used one of the Land Rovers from his used-vehicle lot to follow the farmer’s wife one afternoon to a disused quarry, where a man was indeed waiting in a white van, he evidently had, at some stage, been spotted.
‘The van man – this is Lodge, right?’ Gomer said. ‘Jumbo recognizes him soon as he seen the dark glasses. So he parks out of sight – he thinks – on the edge of this quarry, gets out his video camera, starts creeping up on the van, figuring he might film ’em through the back window, get his evidence. Then…’
Gomer got out a roll-up, and Merrily lit it for him, noticing his hands were a long way from steady. He had two good drags before continuing.
‘Then just as he comes around the side o’ the van… bloody thing starts up, see. Spins round, comes after Jumbo – big empty space this is, the ole quarry yard – and Jumbo’s running for his bloody life. Van’s coming straight at him, near takes his foot off, and Jumbo, he stumbles and drops the camera. Van runs over it. Four hundred quids’ worth of camera!’
‘Occupational hazard, I suppose, for private eyes,’ Merrily said.
‘Not round these parts it en’t. But there was more to come, see. Lodge knowed Jumbo. Everybody does. He knowed where to find him, where he goes, where he drinks. That night, Jumbo comes out the pub at Llyswen, just on closing time, finds all four of the Caddy’s tyres slashed. Had to call a taxi to get home, come back with a low-loader next day to pick up the ole Caddy.’ He looked at Merrily expectantly. ‘See?’
‘Well… Gomer, it’s one thing running over a camera and slashing four tyres. I mean, it’s
bad
… But a major arson attack on a competitor’s yard involving… loss of life…’
‘Vicar, you yeard what that woman said on the phone. And
‘Hang on, this is the man you were keeping pace with on drinks? You and he each drank four pints in the Swan and then he drove off in this huge, conspicuous American limo?’
‘Charmed life,’ Gomer said. ‘Plus he do weigh over twenty stone. Reckons it don’t affect him the same.’ He paused. ‘Come to think of it, he had a couple of whiskies as well. We had a good ole chat – catchin’ up, you know. And he told me a good bit about Lodge.’
‘Oh,’ Merrily said.
It was after midnight now and she was cold and tired. But Gomer was sounding increasingly focused and rational, and that was good. And if he needed to talk, well, women were good at listening – who said that? Never mind. Merrily smoked and listened.
It had been a rare case for Jumbo Humphries, the one that brought him up against Roddy Lodge. Probably routine for city private eyes, Gomer said, but rare for Jumbo: divorce.
What he’d previously failed to mention about Roddy was the boy’s legendary success with women. Gomer said he’d found this hard to believe: flash bastard, but not much to look at. Anyway, Jumbo Humphries had been retained by a farmer from down near Welsh Newton, who’d employed Roddy for field-drain work and come to regret it big time.
First off: tools, equipment. Things disappearing – a hay-fork, a stainless steel spade – whenever Roddy had been. Which he couldn’t believe at first, this farmer, as he knew the Lodge family: honest, straight, religious – Baptists. Couldn’t believe it was down to Roddy, this petty thieving, so he didn’t say anything.
And then, a couple of weeks after Lodge had finished the job and left, the farmer got word in the pub that his wife, who seemed to have made a lot of extra shopping trips lately, had been seen getting out of a white van in a lay-by where her own car was parked. When the shopping trips continued to increase, the farmer hired Jumbo Humphries to follow the wife.
Merrily found it hard to imagine how a twenty-stone man in a Cadillac was going to operate undercover in the vicinity of sparsely populated Welsh Newton, and this turned out to be a valid point. Although Jumbo Humphries had used one of the Land Rovers from his used-vehicle lot to follow the farmer’s wife one afternoon to a disused quarry, where a man was indeed waiting in a white van, he evidently had, at some stage, been spotted.
‘The van man – this is Lodge, right?’ Gomer said. ‘Jumbo recognizes him soon as he seen the dark glasses. So he parks out of sight – he thinks – on the edge of this quarry, gets out his video camera, starts creeping up on the van, figuring he might film ’em through the back window, get his evidence. Then…’
Gomer got out a roll-up, and Merrily lit it for him, noticing his hands were a long way from steady. He had two good drags before continuing.
‘Then just as he comes around the side o’ the van… bloody thing starts up, see. Spins round, comes after Jumbo – big empty space this is, the ole quarry yard – and Jumbo’s running for his bloody life. Van’s coming straight at him, near takes his foot off, and Jumbo, he stumbles and drops the camera. Van runs over it. Four hundred quids’ worth of camera!’
‘Occupational hazard, I suppose, for private eyes,’ Merrily said.
‘Not round these parts it en’t. But there was more to come, see. Lodge knowed Jumbo. Everybody does. He knowed where to find him, where he goes, where he drinks. That night, Jumbo comes out the pub at Llyswen, just on closing time, finds all four of the Caddy’s tyres slashed. Had to call a taxi to get home, come back with a low-loader next day to pick up the ole Caddy.’ He looked at Merrily expectantly. ‘See?’
‘Well… Gomer, it’s one thing running over a camera and slashing four tyres. I mean, it’s
bad
… But a major arson attack on a competitor’s yard involving… loss of life…’
‘Vicar, you yeard what that woman said on the phone. And
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