Proof - By Dick Francis Page 0,100

we’d get it back eventually. When the heat died down they’d dump it somewhere. They told me to report it missing, but I didn’t get a chance, the police were round at the office before you could sneeze.’

‘They,’ Gerard said calmly. ‘Who are they?’

‘They work for… Paul Young.’

‘Names?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Try again.’

‘Denny. That’s all I know. One’s called Denny. I was just told Denny would pick up the van. They were going to bring the wines here from the shop for me to sort through but they didn’t come although I waited until nine. Then I heard he turned up,’ Vernon jerked his head in my direction, ‘and something happened to put them off so they never came here. I heard later they got the wrong stuff anyway, so it was all a bloody muddle for nothing.’

‘Did anyone tell you what it was that happened to put them off?’ Gerard asked casually.

‘No, except they panicked or something because something happened they didn’t expect, but I didn’t hear what.’

Both Gerard and I believed him. He couldn’t have stood there so unconcernedly disclaiming knowledge in front of us if he’d known that the something that had happened was our being shot.

‘How well do you know them?’ Gerard asked.

‘I don’t. Denny drives the delivery van which brings the stuff here. The other comes sometimes. They never talk much.’

‘How often do they deliver?’

‘About once a week. Depends.’

‘On how much you’ve sold?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t they use that van to rob Mr Beach’s shop?’

‘It’s big… it’s got Vintners Incorporated on the door… it was in for repairs, or something.’

‘And can you describe Denny and his mate?’

Vernon shrugged. ‘They’re young.’

‘Hair style?’

‘Nothing special.’

‘Not frizzy black Afro?’

‘No.’ Vernon was positive and slightly puzzled. ‘Just ordinary.’

‘Where do they come from? Where do they bring the wine from?’

‘I don’t know,’ Vernon said. ‘I never asked. They wouldn’t have said. They’re not friendly. They work for Paul Young… that’s all I know.’

He said Paul Young this time far more easily. Getting accustomed, I thought.

‘When did you first meet Paul Young?’

‘Right when I started. When I told Zarac I was interested. He said the boss would come to check me out and explain what he wanted, and he came. He said we’d get on well together, which we did mostly.’

Until Vernon started in business on the side, stealing from his master: but he wasn’t confessing that, I noticed.

‘And what is Paul Young’s real name?’ Gerard asked.

The open doors of the confessional slammed rapidly shut.

Vernon said tightly, ‘His name is Paul Young.’

Gerard shook his head.

‘Paul Young,’ Vernon insisted. ‘That’s what his name is.’

‘No,’ Gerard said.

Vernon’s sweat ran from his forehead across his temple and down to his jaw. ‘He told me the police had seen him in the Silver Moondance when he went there unawares after his brother died, and that was the name he gave them because he didn’t want to be investigated because of the drinks, and he said they’d be looking for him now because of Zarac, they’d be looking for Paul Young who didn’t exist, he just said the first name that came into his head… He said if ever, if ever anyone came here asking, which he said he was certain they wouldn’t, but if ever… I was to call him Paul Young. And my God, my God, that’s what I’m calling him and I’m not telling you his real name, he’d kill me somehow… and I’m not joking, I know it. I’ll go to jail… but I’m not telling you.’

He’d spoken with total conviction and in understandable fear, but all the same I was slightly surprised when Gerard didn’t press him, didn’t lean on him further.

He said merely, ‘All right.’ And after a pause, ‘That’s all, then.’

Vernon for a wild moment seemed to think he had been let off all hooks, straightening up with a returning echo of burly authority.

Quigley instantly deflated him, saying in pompous outrage,

‘Gi\e me your keys, Vernon. At once.’ He held out his hand peremptorily. ‘At once.’

Vernon silently brought a ring of keys from his pocket and handed them over.

‘Tomorrow you can look for another job,’ Quigley said. ‘I’ll stick to my agreement. I won’t prosecute. But you’ll get no reference. I’m disappointed in you, Vernon, I don’t understand you. But you’ll have to go, and that’s it.’

Vernon said blankly, ‘I’m forty-eight.’

‘And you had a good job here for life,’ Gerard said, nodding. ‘You blew it. Your own fault.’

As if for the first time Vernon seemed to be looking realistically at his doubtful future. New lines of