Driving Force Part 1

DrivingForce.

d.i.c.kFrancis.

CHAPTER1.

Ihadtoldthedriversneveronanyaccounttopickupahitchhikerbutofcourseonedaytheydid,andbythetimetheyreachedmyhousehewasdead.

ThebellbythebackdoorrangasIwasheatingupleft-overbeefstewforafairlyboringsupper,consequenceoflivingalone,andwithbarelyasighandnopremonitionIswitchedoffthehotplate,putthesaucepantoonesideandwenttoseewhohadcome.Friendstendedtoenteratoncewhileyellingmyname,asthedoorwa.s.seldomlocked.Employeesmostlyknockedfirstandenterednext,stillwithlittleceremony.Onlystrangersrangthebellandwaited.

Thistimeitwasdifferent.ThistimewhenIopenedthedoorthelightfrominsidethehousefellyellowlyonthestretchedscaredeyesoftwoofthemenwhoworkedforme,whostooduncomfortablyonthedoormatshiftingfromfoottofoot,agonisedlyandobviouslyexpectantofwrathtocome.

Myownresponsetotheseclearsignalsofdisasterwasthefamiliaradrenalinerushofalarmthatnoamountofdealingwithearliercrisescouldprevent.Theoldpumpquickened.Myvoicecameouthigh.

'What'sthematter?'Isaid.'Whathappened?'

Iglancedovertheirshoulders.Thebulkofoneofthetwolargestinmyfleetofhorseboxesstoodrea.s.suringlyintheshadowsoutonthetarmackedparkingarea,thehouselightsraisinggleamsalongitssilveryflank.Atleasttheyhadn'trunitintoaditch:atleastthey'dbrought.i.thome.Allelsehadtobesecondary.

'Look,Freddie,'DaveYatessaid,adefensivewhinedeveloping,'it'snotourfault.'

'Whatisn't?'

'Thisfour-eyeswepickedup...'

'Youwhat?'

Theyoungeronesaid,'Itoldyouweshouldn't,Dave.'

Inhimtheanxietywhinewasalreadyfull-blown,sincewrigglingoutofblamewashisfamiliarhabit.He,BrettGardner,alreadyonmylistforthechop,hadbeenhiredforhismusclesandhismechanicalknow-how,thewhingingnatureatfirstunsuspected.Histhreemonths'trialperiodwasalmostup,andIwouldn'tbemakinghimpermanent.

Hewasacompetent.w.a.tchfuldriver.I'dtrustedhimfromthestartwithmybiggestandmostexpensivewagonsbutI'dhadrequestsfromseveralgoodcustomersnottosendhimtotransporttheirhorsestotheraces,ashetendedtosowhisowndissatisfactionslikeavirus.Stableladstravellingwithhimwenthomeincubatinggrouses,totheiremployers'irritation.

'Itwasn'tasifwehadanyhorsesonboard,'DaveYateswa.s.saying,tryingtoplacate.'JustBrettandme.'

I'dtoldallthedriversoverandoverthatpickinguphitchhikerswhiletherewerehorsesonboardinvalidatedtheinsurance.ItoldthemI'dsackanyoftheminstantlyiftheydidthat.I'dalsotoldthemnever,ever,togiveanyliftsatalltoanyone,eveniftheboxwasemptyofhorses,andeveniftheyknewthelift-beggerpersonally.No,Freddie,ofcoursenot,they'dsaidseriously;andnowIwonderedjusthowoftenthey'ddisobeyedme.

'Whataboutthefour-eyes?'Isaid,myannoyanceobvious.'What'sactuallythematter?'

Davesaiddesperately,'He'sdead.'

'You...stupid...'Wordsfailedme,drownedinanger.Icouldhavehithim,andnodoubthesawit,backingawayinstinctively,frightrising.Allsortsofscenariospresentedthemselvesinrapidsuccession,noneofthempromisinganythingb.u.t.troubleandlawsuits.'Whatdidhedo?'Idemanded.'Trytojumpoffwhileyouweremoving?Ordidyourunhimover...'AnddearChrist,Ithought,let.i.tnotbethat.

Dave'ssurprisedshakeoftheheadputatleastthosefearstorest.

'He'sinthebox,'hesaid.'Lyingontheseat.WetriedtowakehimwhenwegottoNewbury,totellhimitwastimetogetoff.Andwecouldn't.Imean...he'sdead.'

'Areyousure?'

Theybothreluctantlynodded.

Iswitchedontheoutsidelightstofloodthetarmacwithvisibilityandwentoverwiththemforalook-see.Theyskitteredoneeachsideofme,crabbingsideways,makingunhappydeprecatingflappingmovementswiththeirhands,tryingtoshedtheirguilt,tojustifythemselves,togetmetounderstanditwasunfortunatebutnot,definitelynot,asDavehadsaid,theirfault.

Dave,ofaboutmyownheight(fivenine)andage(mid-thirties)wasprimarilyahorsemanandsecondarilyadriver,usuallytravellingwithanimalsthatforsomereasonweren'tbeingsentwithenoughattendantsoftheirown.I'dseenhimandBrettoffthatmorningtopickupninetwo-year-oldslocallyforaone-waytriptoNewmarket,theirownerbeingintheprocessoftransferringhisentirestringfromoneperfectlygoodtrainertoanotherinatypicalbad-temperedhuff.Itwasn'tthatman'sfirstexpensiveacross-countryflounce,andnodoubtnothislast.I'dshippedhisthree-year-oldcoltsforhimthepreviousdayandwasbookedforfilliesonthemorrow.Moremoneythansense,Ithought.

Iknewtheninetwo-year-oldshadarrivedsafelyintheirnewhomeasBretthadmadethecustomarycallstomyofficebothwhenhereachedhisdestinationandatthestartofhisreturnjourney.Alltheboxeswereequippedwithmobilephones:theregularreportingcallswereausefulroutine,eveniftheolderdriversthoughtonefussy.FussyFreddietheymightwellcallmebehindmyback,butwithafleetoffourteenboxeszig-zaggingroundEnglandmostdayscarryingmulti-millionfortunesonthehoof,Icouldn'taffordignoranceornegligentmistakes.

Thefrontcabsofbighorseboxeswerealwaysprettyroomy,havingtoaccommodateseveralattendantsbesidesoneorsometimestwodrivers.Thecabsofmynine-horserigscouldholdeightpeopleatapinch,notinpullmancomfortbutatleastsittingdown.Behindthedriverandthetwofrontpa.s.sengerseatsalongpaddedrea.r.s.eatusuallygavesupporttofourorfivenarrowbottoms:onthisoccasion,itsentirelengthwasoccupiedbyonemanlyingonhisback,feettowardsme,silentandnolongerworriedabouttime.

Iclimbedintothecabandstoodlookingdownathim.

I'dexpected,I'drealised,somesortoftramp.Someonewithastubble,smellyjacket,grubbyjeans,downonhisluck.Notaprosperous-lookingmiddle-agedfatmaninsuit,tieandgoldonyxsignetring,withleather-soledpolishedshoespointingmutelytoheaven.Notamanwholookedasifhecouldhaveboughtothermoresuitabletransport.

Hewascertainlydead.Ididn'tattempttofeelforapulse,norclosethesaggingmouthorthehalf-openlidsbehindthethick-lensedgla.s.ses.Arolleduphorserughadprovidedhimwithpillow.Onearmhadfallenbyhisside,thehandwiththeringrestinglaxlyonthefloor,nearbutnottouchingablackbriefcase.Ijumpeddownfromthecab,shut.i.tsdoorandlookedattheworriedfacesofmymenwhowouldnolongermeetmyeyes.

'Howmuchdidhepayyou?'Iaskedbluntly.

'Freddie!'Davewriggledinembarra.s.sment,tryingtodenyit,happy-go-luckyalways,likeable,butofvariablegoodsense.

'I'dnever...'Brettbegan,fakeindignationalwaysready.

Igavehimadisillusionedstareandinterrupted,'Wheredidyoupickhimup,whydidhewantaride,andhowmuchdidheoffer?'

'Davefixedit,'Brettsaidaccusingly.

'Butyouhadyourcut.'Itookitforgranted;notaquestion.

'Brettaskedhimformore,'Davesaidwithfury.'Demandedit.'

'Yes,well,calmdown.'Ibegantowalkbacktowardsthehouse.'You'dbettersortoutwhatyou'regoingtotellthepolice.Didhegiveyouaname,forinstance?'

'No,'Davesaid.

'Orareasonforwantingalift?'

'Hiscarhadbrokendown,'Daveexplained.'HewasattheSouthMinimsservicestation,pacingaboutandsweatingroundbythedieselpumps,tryingtogetthedriverofanoiltankertotakehimtoBristol.'

'So?'

'So,well,hehadafistfulofreadiesb.u.t.thetankerwasgoingtoSouthampton.'

'Whatwereyoudoingbythedieselpumpsanyway?'Iasked.

They'dhadnoneedtotakeonmorefuel,notjustgoingtoNewmarketandback.

'We'dstoppedthere,'Davesaidvaguely.

'Davehadastomachache,'Brettenlarged.'Thesquits.Wehadtostoptogethimsomethingforit.'

'Imodium,'Daveconfirmed,nodding.'Iwasjustwalkingpastthepumpsonmywayback,see?'

BleaklyIledthewayintothehouse,goingthroughthebackdoorintothehallandthenwheelingleftintothebigall-purposeroomwhereIcustomarilyspentmuchofmytime.Idrewbackthecurtains,revealingthehorseboxoutonthetarmac,andstoodlookingat.i.twhileIphonedthepolice.

Thelocalconstablewhoansweredknewmewell,aswe'dbothspentmuchofourlivesintheracingcentreofPixhill,abigvillagevergingonsmalltownsprawlingacrossafoldofdownlandinHampshire,southofNewbury.

'Sandy?'Isaidbriefly,whenheanswered.'ThisisFreddieCroft.I'veaslightproblem...Oneofmyboxespickedupahitchhikerwhoseemstohavediedonthejourney.Doyoumindcomingover?He'soutsidemyhouse,notalongatthefarm.'

'Dead,doyoumean?'heaskedcautiously,afterapause.

'Imeandead.Asinnotbreathing.'

Heclearedhisthroat.'You'renothavingmeon?'

'Sorry,no.'

'Well,allright.Tenminutes.'

Pixhill'stokenpoliceforceconsistedofSandyalone,aWildWestoutpostonthefrontiersoflawandorder.Pixhill'spolicestationconsistedofanoffice-roominSandy'shouse,wherehischiefactivitywaswritinguprecordsofhisdailypatrols.Outofhours,likenow,hewouldbewatchingtelevisioninscruffyclothes,drinkingbeerandcasuallycuddlinghischildren'smother,aplumpladyperenniallyinbedroomslippers.

Inthetenpromisedminutesbeforehespedimportantlyontomytarmacinhisofficialcarwitheveryavailablelightflashing,Ilearnednotmuchmoreaboutourunwelcomedeceasedguest.

'HowwasItoknowhe'ddieonus?'DavesaidaggrievedlyasIputdownthereceiver.'Dosomeoneafavour...Yeah,wellIknowyoutoldusnotto.ButhewasgoingonsomethingchronicabouthowhehadtogettoBristolforhisdaughter'sweddingorsomething...'

Ilookedathimindisbelief.

'Yeah,well,'Davesaiddefensively,'howwasItoknow?'

'ItwasallDave'sidea,'Bretta.s.suredme.

'Didyoutalktohim?'Iaskedthem.

'Notthatmuch,'Davesaid.'Hechosethatseatbehindus,anyway.Didn'tseemtowanttotalk.'

'ItoldDaveitwasallwrong,'Brettcomplained.

'Shutup,'Davesaidangrily.'Youcouldhaverefusedtodrivehim.Ididn'tnoticeyousayingyouwouldn't.'

'Andneitherofyounoticedhimdying,either?'Isuggestedwithirony.

Theideadiscomfitedthem,butno,itappeared,theyhadn't.

'Thoughthewasasleep,'Davesaid,andBrettnodded.'Sothen,'Davewenton,'whenwecouldn'twakehim...Imean,yousawhowhelooks...well,we'djustpulledoffthemotorwayattheNewburyjunction...weweregoingtodrophimattheChieveleyservicestationtheresohecouldgetanotherliftontoBristol...well...therehewas,dead,andwecouldn'trollhimoutontotheground,couldwe?'

Theycouldn't,Iagreed.Sothey'dbroughthimtomydoorstep,likecatsbringinghomeadeadbird.

'Davewantedtodumphimsomewhere,'Brettwhinedvirtuously.'Davewantedto.Itwasmesaidwecouldn't.'

Daveglaredathim.'Wediscussedit,'hesaid,'that'sallwedid.'

'You'dhavebeeninrealtroubleifyou'ddumpedhim,'Isaid,'andnotjustfromme.'

Sandy,stillb.u.t.toninghimselfhastilyintohisdarkblueuniform,arrivedatthatmomenttotakechargeintheslightlypompousmannerhe'ddevelopedovertheyears.Onelookatthecorpsesethimsummoninghelpoverhisradio,resultingpresentlyinadoctorandahostofunanswerablequestions.

Thedeadmandid,itseemed,atleasthaveaname,discoveredviaawalletfulofaddressesandcreditcards.Sandybroughtthewalletdownfromthecabandshowedittome,whereIwaitedonthegroundoutside.

'K.K.Ogden.KevinKeithOgden,'hesaid,pickinghiswaythroughthecontentswithstubbyfingers.'LivesinNottingham.Meananythingtoyou?'

'No.'Ishookmyhead.'Neverheardofhim.'

Hehadn'texpectedanythingelse.

'Whatdidhedieof?'Iasked.

'Astrokemaybe.Docwon'tsaybeforethepost-mortem.Nosignoffoulplay,ifthat'swhatyoumean.'

Thearchaicwords'foulplay'hadalwaysseemedfaintlyridiculoustome,butinthiscaseIwasgratefultohearthem.

'Ica.n.u.setheboxtomorrow,then?'Iasked.

'Don'tseewhynot.'Hethought.i.toverjudiciously.'Youmightwanttocleanit,like.'

'Yup,'Isaid.'Alwaysdo.'

Helookedatmesideways.'Ithoughtyouhadarulenevertogivelifts.'

'DaveandBrettareinbigtrouble.'

Withaglimmerofsympathyforthetwomen,helookedacrosstowheretheywaitedbythehousedoorandsaid,'Youdidn'tgetyouriron-fistreputationfornothing,Freddie.'

'Whataboutthevelvetglovebit?'

'Uhhuh.Thattoo.'

Sandyatfortyhadthickenedroundthewaistandsoftenedtopuffinessofcheekandjaw,b.u.t.theresultingairofrusticunintelligencewasmisleading.HissuperiorsatonetimehadpostedhimawayfromPixhill,inaccordancewiththeirbeliefthatapolicemanbecametoocosyandforgivingiflefttoolonginonesmallneighbourhood,andhadsentcruisingcarsinfromoutsidetodohisrounds.InSandy'sabsence,however,thepettycrimerateofPixhillhadsoaredwhilethedetectionrateplummeted,andafterawhileP.C.SandySmithhadbeenquietlyreinstated,totheoveralldismayofthemildlywicked.

SmartyoungDrBruceFarway,arecentPixhillarrivalwhohadalreadyalienatedhalfhispatientsbypatronisingtheminsufferably,climbeddownwithagilityfromthecabandtoldmebrusquelynottodisturbthebodybeforehecouldarrangeforitsremoval.

'Ican'timaginewhyIshouldwantto,'Isaidmildly.

Heeyedmewithdisfavour.We'ddislikedeachotheronsightafewmonthsagoandhe'dnotforgivenmefordisagreeingwithhisdiagnosisononeofmydriversandpayingforaprivatesecondopinionthathadprovedhimwrong.NohumilityandpreciouslittlehumanitycouldbediagnosedinBruceFarway,thoughhecouldbenicetosickchildren,I'dheard.

Leavinghimissuingbriskinstructionsoverhiscarphone,SandyandIwentacrosstothehousewherehetookbriefstatementsfromDaveandBrett.Therewasboundtobeaninquest,heinformedthem,but.i.tshouldn'ttakeupmuchoftheirtime.

Toomuch,Ithoughtcrossly,andtheybothunerringlyreadmyexpression.ItoldthemI'dseetheminthemorning.Theyweren'tcomforted,itseemed.