Reginald Hill - The Long Kill

‘Reassuring to whom?’

‘To solid English burghers looking for someone to do a bit of conveyancing for them,’ said Bryant. ‘But I’m sorry to have bored you with my family history. In the interests of equity, I will now keep quiet, and you must take your chance of telling us something about the Huttons and their origins.’

He smiled satirically as he spoke and he and Anya settled into near-caricatures of close attentiveness.

A trade-off! thought Jaysmith. He would much rather have relaxed and examined what Bryant had told him, looking for clues to his potentially fatal connection with Jacob.

But he needed all his mental powers now to concentrate on the lies he was about to tell. Glancing at Anya, he was filled with shame, but there seemed to be no choice. But rescue was at hand. Inside the house a voice called, ‘Mum? Gramp?’

Anya turned her head, tautening the line from chin through neck in a way which caught at Jaysmith’s breath, and called, ‘Jimmy! We’re out in the garden.’

A moment later a boy of about six ran out onto the terrace. He pulled up short when he saw Jaysmith, then resumed his approach more sedately.

‘Jimmy, this is Mr Hutton. Jay, this is my son, Jimmy.’

‘Hello,’ said the boy. He was small, with his mother’s brown eyes but much fairer both of hair and complexion. His expression at the moment was rather solemn and serious, but any suggestion of premature maturity was contradicted by a chocolate stain under his lower lip and a comprehensive graze of the right knee.

‘Hello,’ said Jaysmith.

He held out his hand. Before the boy could shake it, he turned it over to reveal that there was a fifty-pence piece in the palm. Slowly he made it move across the undulations of his knuckles and back again. Then he tossed it high in the air, caught it with his left hand and immediately offered both hands, fists clenched, to the boy who studied them with that look of calm appraisal Jaysmith knew from his mother.

‘What’s the problem, Jimmy?’ said Bryant after a while.

‘Well, I know it’s in that one,’ said the boy pointing to the left hand. ‘Only, it’s probably not, as it’s a trick, and it’ll be in that one.’

‘You’ve got to choose, Jimmy,’ said Anya. ‘That’s what the game is, choosing.’

Her eyes met Jaysmith’s for a moment.

‘All right,’ said the boy with the certainty of defeat. ‘That one.’

Slowly Jaysmith opened his left hand to show an empty palm.

‘I knew it’d be the other after all,’ said Jimmy with resignation.

Jaysmith opened his right hand. It was empty too. Then he shot his left hand forward and apparently plucked the coin from Jimmy’s ear. He handed it to the boy who took it dubiously and glanced at his mother.

‘Is it mine?’ he asked hopefully.

‘You’d better ask Mr Hutton.’

‘It’s certainly not mine,’ said Jaysmith. ‘Would you want a coin that’s been kept in someone else’s ear?’

The boy laughed joyously and thrust the coin into his pocket.

‘Thanks a million!’ he cried. ‘Mum, what’s for tea?’

‘Nothing till you’ve washed your face and I’ve put some antiseptic on that knee,’ said his mother.

She took him firmly by the hand and led him into the house.

‘Nice kid,’ said Jaysmith. ‘He looks fine.’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’ said Bryant.

‘An only child without a father, it can be tough. Does he talk about him much?’

‘Not to me,’ said Bryant. ‘Children are resilient, Mr Hutton. A boy needs a man around, that’s true. Well, Jimmy’s got me, so that’s all right.’

He spoke with controlled aggression.

‘I’m sure it is,’ said Jaysmith. ‘How long has it been since his father died?’

‘Last December.’

‘What was it? Illness? Accident?’

‘Climbing accident,’ said Bryant shortly. ‘But I think my daughter’s business ought really to be discussed with my daughter, don’t you? Another drop of brandy?’

‘No thanks,’ said Jaysmith rising. ‘It’s late. If school’s out, it’s time I was going. Goodbye, Mr Bryant. Thanks for your help and your hospitality.’

He stretched out his hand. Bryant took it and gave it a perfunctory shake without rising.

‘Glad to have you with us,’ he said. ‘I hope Anya asks you again. Grose will get the conveyance under way.’

He found Anya in the kitchen bathing her son’s knee. The boy’s face was screwed up in mock agony.

‘I must be off,’ said Jaysmith. ‘It’s been a splendid day.’

‘Are you coming to Carlisle with us on Saturday?’ asked the boy.

Jaysmith raised his eyebrows interrogatively.

‘There’s a soccer match,’ said Anya gloomily. ‘He’s conned his grandfather and me into taking him as a pre-birthday treat.’

‘Birthday?’

‘That’s the following Saturday. Fortunately Carlisle United are playing down south that day, so he’ll have to make do with a party instead.’

‘Please come,’ urged the boy.

‘Well, I’d love to come to the party, if I’m asked, but I can’t make the match. I’ve got to go down to London tomorrow and I may have to stay away a couple of days.’

He thought Anya looked disappointed but it may have been wishful thinking.

‘I’ve been to London,’ said Jimmy. ‘Granddad Wilson lives there.’

‘And Mr Hutton will soon be living up here. He’s buying Great-Aunt Muriel’s house.’

The boy digested this.

‘Is Great-Aunt Muriel dead?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not! She’s just moving down into the village. Jay, if you can hang on till I finish with this monster, I’ll see you out.’

Jaysmith said, ‘I’ll use the bathroom if I may.’

He went upstairs and swiftly checked the landing windows. They were double glazed and fitted with what looked like new security locks. He had already noticed an alarm box high up under the eaves. He opened a bedroom door at random. It proved to be Anya’s. The straw handbag she’d been carrying in Keswick was tossed casually onto the bed. He opened it and was amazed at the quantity of bric-à-brac it held. After a little rummaging, he came up with a key ring which he bore off with him into the bathroom. He locked the door and sat on the edge of the bath. Ignoring the car keys, he carefully made prints of the three others in a large cake of soap. It was a process he had seen used in television thrillers but not one he’d ever had occasion to try for himself. Carefully he wrapped the soap in his handkerchief, removed all traces from the keys, flushed the toilet and unlocked the door. Swiftly he made for Anya’s bedroom but stopped dead on the threshold.

Anya was standing by the bed in the process of shaking out the contents of her handbag onto the coverlet.

‘Hello,’ she said, becoming aware of his presence. ‘Won’t be a sec. I wanted my car keys and as usual they seem to have sunk to the bottom. I keep far too much rubbish in here.’

She resumed her shaking. He stepped into the room, put his hands on her shoulders, and spun her round to face him. He drew her to him and kissed her passionately as he dropped the keys onto the bedspread. It was more successful than his attempt on the Crinkles in that she did not thrust him off but nor did she return the kiss and when he broke off she said calmly, ‘Is it the sight of a bed which brings out the brute in you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I think I just wanted to assure you that I’d be coming back.’

‘Why should I doubt it? After all, you are buying a house up here. Oh, there they are.’

She had turned away from him and seen the keys.

‘Am I moving too fast?’ he asked gently.

‘Not as long as the finance is in order, no,’ she said judiciously. ‘Aunt Muriel won’t want to hang about, you know.’