Time to Kill Read online

  Time To Kill

  Roger Ormerod

  © Roger Ormerod 1974

  Roger Ormerod has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1974 by Robert Hale.

  This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

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  Extract from Third Time Fatal by Roger Ormerod

  1

  The flat door was on the catch. I touched it with a delicate finger and slipped inside.

  There was something huge shading the windows. As he looked like trouble I slid forward fast, taking the attack into his half of the room. That’s my way with those types, hit hard and ask afterwards.

  He struck me with the wall, caught me by the throat as I bounced off it and laid me face up on the ceiling, then on the way down helped me with a hundredweight of hand so that I joined the pattern in the carpet. Considerately he stood and waited until I picked myself up and bruised my fist against his guts, then he laughed and put his palm in my face.

  I picked myself off the bed. The bedroom door was still swinging wildly where I’d taken the lock out. He ducked through the doorway edge on, and I had time to call him a name, which held him while I got a good fix. Mid-thirties, blond, a face like an angel carved out of granite, and huge, solid hands that swung just above his knees. I went fast for the bedside drawer, but he reached out one of his ponderous maulers like a flash of light and pocketed my thirty-two automatic. Up to then he’d been playing himself in. Now he flexed his muscles. I tried a kick in the belly, but I’d got on my snugs and they were softer than his stomach muscles. He toyed around with the foot for a while, then swung me gently around by it in an arc that included the upright chair that nobody was going to sit in any more.

  Around that time I decided he was going to be difficult to take. His face came close enough for me to hit, so I hit it, and it didn’t even remove the smile—but it was a pleasant smile. Then he got tired of it. He patted me a bit until I lost consciousness, and as far as I know simply walked out.

  It was no good complaining I was out of condition. The doc had cleared me for duty on the Monday, so there was no excuse. So I lay awhile and congratulated myself I was still alive. Then I crawled off the bed and began an inventory of what he’d done. There were some defacing marks between my mouth and ears, and a cut over one eye. I still couldn’t stand straight, and two teeth were somewhere on the floor. I hoped my back wasn’t broken.

  I rang the office and thought maybe I’d try a trace on him, and Records were answering before I spotted the oblong of white pasteboard on the floor in the debris. I said, “Hold it,” and went to have a look.

  It was one of Eldon Kyle’s visiting cards. Just a plain card with his name printed on, which he must have kept from before he went inside. He’d handwritten across the top: ‘With the compliments of—’ So Eldon Kyle had sent the goon. Well at least he was showing his hand. I went back to the phone and said never mind now and hung up. It needed a bit of thought.

  The bottle of scotch hadn’t been smashed. I found a whole glass and filled it twice before I decided. I limped to the phone and called Geoff Forbes in Shropshire. If Eldon Kyle was sending demonstrative visitors, Geoff would have to know. Perhaps, even, he’d had a visit already. The ringing tone went on a long while, so I looked at my watch. It was only a few minutes after eleven. Geoff wouldn’t be in bed, might not even be home from his office. It was Elsa who answered.

  “Geoff there, Elsa?”

  “It’s David? Well ... hello again. It’s been a long time—”

  But it was not the occasion for social chat, and I’d be lured away from the firm purpose of it by Elsa’s voice.

  “It’s important, Elsa.” Maybe I wasn’t talking too well. My tongue was still searching for its old friends in the gaps. But I didn’t have to be that harsh. “Sorry Elsa. Something’s happened.”

  “You’re all right? David, what’s the matter? You sound strange.”

  I could have afforded a few seconds of reassurance but that would have assumed her concern. “I’m getting used to a new dental arrangement. Is he there, Elsa?”

  Her voice became cool, efficient. “He’s here now.”

  “What’s up, Dave?” His voice brisk. He’d been a good interrogator, when he’d been with us.

  I told him. I couldn’t say how much of the flat was still useable because I hadn’t been through it.

  “He hasn’t been here,” he said, and we both knew that he wouldn’t call on Geoff now. Geoff would be ready, a bigger man than I am.

  “What d’you make of it?”

  I’d had time to line up a few thoughts. Eldon Kyle had been out of prison three months now, and we’d assumed he’d forgotten all about the threats he’d made when we put him away. But if it wasn’t going to be more than a beating up...

  “I reckon he’s one of those bleating types that don’t live up to their tongues,” I said, hoping for encouragement.

  But he didn’t come up with any. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

  “A beating up —”

  “You never did understand him, Dave.” He didn’t let me ease in a gentle protest. “The man’s psychotic. You think maybe he’ll have forgotten. But don’t you believe it. His sort brood on it. Whatever he threatened he’ll have multiplied to an obsession.”

  “Oh come on Geoff, the man sends a goon—”

  He wasn’t going to let me finish anything. “Watch him Dave, that’s all, and if something else happens...anything, ring me straight away.”

  “Such as the big ape showing again?”

  “Such as that.”

  I didn’t fancy another visit like the last. There was very little I could pull out that would stop him, and he’d taken my thirty-two with him.

  “I could get Kyle on assault.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to prove it. All you’ve got’s a visiting card. Get a trace on the tough...”

  “He wouldn’t send anybody with a criminal record.”

  And there was very little more we could say. It was a matter of wait and see. For the moment Kyle was calling the tricks.

  So I waited.

  As I’d guessed, the Police Doctor who’d cleared me on the Wednesday didn’t hesitate to sign me on again on Friday, when I took him my wounds to gloat over. I was getting a bit bored of sick leave. Three months is too long to sit around and contemplate. Doctor or not I went in on the Monday, said hello around and displayed the new bruises, and looked in on this Supt. Vantage I’d been under when I’d got a broken arm working for him. It was a mistake. I don’t know if I’d been expecting sympathy, but I didn’t get any.

  He grunted sourly. “Stringing it on a bit, aren’t you?”

  “If it hadn’t been for this big ape— ”

  “You tread on too many toes,” he said ungraciously.

  All right, so I trod on toes, but he hadn’t waited to hear that the toes had been trodden on six years before. But Vantage hadn’t forgiven me for letting my arm get broken, and thereby depriving him of my valued services for three months.

  So I said nothing more about it. Vantage and me, we never got on. A strict book man, Vantage was, no corners cut, no straights left unexplored. The trouble was, I’d learned my bit under Geoff Forbes, who had been my idea of a perfect copper when he’d been with us. The difference was that Geoff could afford it, and independence was a luxury I should hav
e left alone. It was all right for him. He’d had a private income, and he just didn’t care. Maybe if he’d have stayed with it he’d have not cared himself back into the ranks. But the sudden deaths of his father and brother had pitched him overnight on to a board of directors, and if he cared there he had never said.

  So I let it drop. If Kyle was going to show his teeth I decided I’d rather get it done with than have Vantage putting in his official nose. I told him I’d maybe be joining him in a week’s time and wandered along to Records to look at a few mugs. There weren’t many to look through, because of his size, and I was not surprised there was nobody like my goon.

  I asked about Kyle, just to place the opposition. He’d got his full remission, and as far as anybody knew he was being a good and responsible citizen, having rented a place in a quiet part of Wolverhampton. He was playing a few exhibition snooker matches. I made a note of his address, and departed.

  I had left my old black Morris Oxford in the car park at the rear. Sometimes it acts up a bit. The trouble with cars is that the older they get, the more personality they develop. This one was getting positively skittish, but we had an understanding, me and the car. This morning I’d got all the time in the world so it started first touch.

  I hadn’t gone a mile before I spotted I was being followed. It was a bright orange Mini and when I got held up at the lights he drew alongside and waved. It was my goon. How he’d got into the thing I couldn’t guess. I did not wave back. It is undignified to wave to a man who’s beaten you up. Of course, I should have got out and asked him who the devil he was, and requested he should get the hell out of there. Oh, and asked him for my gun back while I was at it. The trouble was, he probably would have simply smiled, the way he was smiling right then, and how could anyone take offence in the face of such splendid innocence? He obviously felt no animosity towards me for the feeble defence I’d put up. And equally obviously he expected none from me. So I let it ride.

  When the lights changed he kindly allowed me to lead off, and fell in neatly behind me. As a tail he was hopeless. But a man like him doesn’t need to hide his bulk in shady corners, and he wasn’t worrying what I thought about it. He was right behind me when I parked outside my flat, and having done his escorting act he gave me a double pip of the horn—one for each symbolic finger—and blasted off round the corner to the main traffic stream. If I hadn’t still been feeling the pain of his efforts I might have found something to like about him.

  There had been time to tidy-up the place. I called it a flat, but it was in effect two rooms, one for sitting in and one for sleeping in. Sometime in the past somebody had opened a cupboard door and decided there was room inside for a tiny sink and a rudimentary cooker, so the whole arrangement got itself called a three-roomed flat. Below and above were similar flats, and as far as I knew the occupants were normal peace-loving citizens. That meant they did nothing if I played my record-player till midnight, and reacted in precisely the same way while I was having the hell beaten out of me. It’s known as minding your own business.

  I had an unconventional mix of furnishings, but as long as the cupboards held the necessary support for existence I was happy enough with it. I’d got a few bottles— scotch for me and Hollands and Cointreau for Elsa if she ever decided to pay me a visit, which she hadn’t done. There was a television set I’d bought when I’d come out of hospital, with the prospect in front of me for two months of sitting round, and the pride of my possessions, the Hi-Fi record-player. Fortunately for my friend, it was whole, otherwise I wouldn’t just at the time be thinking of him in a semi-amused way.

  I brewed myself a pot of tea and had it with a cigarette, and put a Beethoven trio on the turntable and let it heal some of my discomforts. Then, at around seven, I had a phone call from Eldon Kyle. So the goon had reported I was home.

  “Nice to hear from you,” I said with insincerity.

  Kyle was one of those people who never seem to get flustered. I had thrown it at him with no attempt to disguise my anger, but when he replied his voice was just as it had always been, not leaking any hint of his mood or intentions. “I hear you’re around again.”

  “I’ll be ready next time.”

  “Do we really need a next time?” he asked. It was one of those questions with no answer, so I took a breath and waited. “I was wondering what you’re doing this evening.”

  “Sitting around. Waiting for more of your toughs.”

  “Do you still play snooker?”

  I’d been National Police Champion. “A pocket here and there.” Now what was he up to?

  “I was just going along to Queens for a few frames. Thought maybe you’d care to meet me there.”

  I was frantically trying to work it out. When Geoff and I had finally caught him with the drugs on him he’d been full enough of threats to keep an ordinary maniac busy for the rest of his life. Did this mean it was all to fizzle out with one little roughing up and a conciliatory handshake, clammy though it might be? So much for Geoff’s premonitions.

  “I’m not in your class,” I admitted.

  “I’m out of practice,” he said blandly.

  “I suppose I should apologize for that.” Apologize hell!

  “No apologies, sergeant. You gave me time to sit and think.”

  And if that wasn’t a threat I don’t know one when it looks me in the eye.

  “Pure and wholesome thoughts?”

  “Profitable. Can I expect you?”

  “After such an open threat?”

  “Oh, come sergeant, what have I said?” For one moment a touch of emotion eased its way into his voice. He was—genuinely—sorry to have given me that impression.

  “You wouldn’t want to scare me off.”

  Then he laughed. Kyle laughing was something deadly. “I’m expecting to take a fiver off you. Does that frighten you?”

  But he’d allowed himself the luxury of inference. It had warned me, and he was treading all over his own toes to recapture the mood. It was to be a simple two or three frames. All chummy. Who’d he think he was kidding? Kyle wanted me round at that billiard hall, and so badly that he’d squeezed out a laugh that must have cost him a couple of years of life. So of course I had to go.

  He suggested nine o’clock, and it was only after he’d rung off that I realized he might have been more subtle than I’d bargained for. As he had said, he’d had time to sit and think. Maybe he’d come up with something that would make sure I’d go there. He had certainly succeeded.

  I rang Geoff again. In the back of my mind was a niggling warning not to go. But what could the man do? Stick a snooker ball down my throat? But Geoff Forbes would be the man to ask. Once again it was Elsa.

  “David? I do hope you’re better. Geoffrey told me.”

  There was a long time to wait, and I was tempted to chat awhile. But Elsa’s deep, throaty voice sent my blood racing, and I was scrambling for my cigarettes while she went on:

  “It’s that man Kyle, isn’t it? Geoffrey wouldn’t tell me much.”

  He wouldn’t, of course, so as not to frighten her. I could see her now, at the phone, those dark, anxious eyes wide with concern, her broad brows just gently fluttered with anxiety.

  Elsa was the sort of woman for whom all emotions are exaggerated. She seemed to feel more—be more excited, more depressed, and possibly more frightened—than most other women. To me it made her appear too vulnerable, and therefore in need of protection, but Geoff never seemed to notice. I often wondered how much of his attitude was carefully contrived and how much was pure accident. For Geoff was the man for Elsa; somehow he always seemed to do and say the correct thing without thought.

  I spoke quickly because I always mess things up when I lay them out and think about them.

  “Just getting his own back, Elsa. They all throw their threats around. It’s an occupational disease with crooks.”

  But Kyle’s threats had been more explicit, probably because Kyle was more vicious than most. It came of a comp
lete lack of feeling and a self-interest that was utterly over-riding. A drug pusher would have to be like that, but Kyle was a right lulu. He really played his suckers like wretched hooked fish, battening on their overriding necessity and screwing tight for the last ounce of suffering cash. If the odd suicide depleted his clientele, there was always the next initiate waiting in the agony line. So when it came to threats, Kyle had the right viciousness of temperament to sustain it. He had probably sat through his sentence, just savouring his revenge. I only wished I knew what it was to be.

  But I still had to go at nine and meet him.

  “You don’t have to worry, Elsa, I just wanted Geoff’s advice.”

  “I thought he might be with you,” she said. “He told me he was staying in town tonight, and I thought he meant he would look you up.”

  “I suppose he’ll be over at the flat in Edgbaston?”

  “If he’s not with you.”

  “Well, he hasn’t called me, so I reckon he’s getting in late. I’ll phone him before I go out.”

  “You do that, David,” she said, and as there didn’t seem any more to say which didn’t verge dangerously on the personal we said the usual pleasantries and rang off.

  The difficulty was that I couldn’t afford to let things get too personal with Elsa. I think she felt it too, because our phone conversations were always agonizingly formal, and when we met, which was mighty rare, we never got anywhere past the initial courtesies. I wondered how long it would be before I could learn to relax with Elsa.

  It occurred to me as it does at frequent intervals that it must be very pleasant to have money. There was I, grilling the odd bit of cheese, saving up for a tin of spaghetti Bolognese, and Geoff Forbes had not only got a mansion in Shropshire, but also kept a flat for odd nights in town. And not one of your two rooms and a quarter like mine, but a genuine luxury flat in Edgbaston.

  At eight-thirty I rang Geoff’s flat and got no reply. It was raining again when I went to see whether the car and I were still friends. I took two weapons, my cue and the stubby pipe I sometimes smoked. With a cue in its metal case you can clear a fair-sized hall, and if you hold a pipe with its bowl in your palm you can poke hard enough into a soft underbelly to put your man out of action for quite a while.