If you had stayed at home
(© London Mystery Magazine 1977)

-----It was on the eve of his fortieth birthday that Robert King decided he would not live one more year struggling to keep his family alive. Struggling on a meagre salary, while his gather lay on what had once been thought his death bed, getting older year by year, and richer day by day, but never getting stronger, or weaker.
-----It was easy to arrange to be in the house alone with the old man. While the icy winds howled around the gables, he sat and talked to his father about the past, his left hand turning the dead fuse over and over in his pocket. By midnight, the dead fuse had replaced the live one, and the old man slept peacefully. While Robert King stayed alive in his insulating middle-age spread, his father did not. In the morning his son found him stiff in his room, the temperature at three below.
-----He did not feel remorse. He had loved his father before senility had taken a firm hold. And with that senility had come meanness. A refusal to sign a sale contract of any sort, whether it be for the ski clothes he would never wear again, or the horses he would never ride. That had hurt Robert more than anything. To see the investments growing, the property increasing in value. And not being able to touch any of it.
-----Whilst he felt no remorse, he did experience some guilt just before the misadventure verdict was announced. And then again after the will was read, but he soon pulled himself up sharp, and spoke to himself angrily, as he sometimes did: Now, Robert. There's to be no more guilt. You've done no one any harm. Dad would have died soon - at any rate, he would never have left that bed again. I've sent him to see mother.
-----Things always happened on his birthday. Or so he saw it, but in fact things happened to him all the time. Birthdays just stood out because he hated getting older. On his twelfth birthday he had broken his leg. On his sixteenth birthday his mother had taken to her bed with her final attack of influenza. On his twenty-seventh he had married Wendy, his father's secretary. On his thirty-fourth he had lost his car, and almost his wife, in a foolish gamble with a continental truck after celebrating his birthday in nearby Dover. He quickly brushed aside memories of his fortieth. And now it was forty three. and he was comfortable, happy, a little overweight... but a loud voice cut deep into his wandering thoughts. The part sounds came filtering back like a half-heard radio play. He jumped to his feet, grasped his daughter's hand and patted it, guiltily. "I'm sorry, darling, what must you think of me, dozing at my own party?"
-----"It's all right, Daddy," she laughed with the cruel innocence of her sixteen years, "no one's missed you." She hushed her voice melodramatically. "They're on about the local elections again. You said we could talk about me having a moped."
-----"Okay, Jo," he said sleepily. "I'll tell you what we'll do. Tomorrow morning, first thing, we'll go to Corrigan's and have a look at some. But you must promise me you'll learn to ride it properly before you go out on the road."
-----"I'll have to wait for my licence to come anyway."
-----"That's true." King turned to see his wife had joined them. "Forsaken your guests?"
-----"Yes." She turned a slim nose in the direction of the dining room. "They've gone to discuss the educational merits of Easy-Read. For the hundredth time." She sighed.
-----King put his arm round his daughter. "We are going to buy a moped tomorrow. Want to come?" He felt a slight squeeze on his arm, and interpreted it as his daughter's wish that they should go alone, for fear her mother would be over safety conscious about the machine she could have, so he added: "but I will have to make a visit or two first."
-----Predictably, Wendy King shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I've got things to do."
-----He saw a hint of a smile on Jo's face, and said, as if to smooth over any favouritism: "She won't be riding for long. When she's seventeen, we'll get her a car."
-----"Ha!" cried Wendy, before she could stop herself.
-----"What do you mean, 'ha!'?" He was frowning.
-----"Oh, these wild ideas," she said, having to continue now the mood was upon her. "You'll get fed up with teaching her to ride the bike, let alone teaching her to drive a car."
-----"No I won't."
-----"Yes you will. You've abandoned that many schemes and projects..."
-----Jo, her eyes wide, thrust herself between them. "Please, don't argue, you two! Apart from anything else, it's Daddy's birthday."

-----"What are you so deep in thought about? You haven't spoken to me since we got on this dual carriageway."
-----"Sorry, Jo." He couldn't tell her he was thinking about his father and his wife's constant jibing at the good fortune which had seemed to come with no effort on his part. And suddenly he knew what he would do. He smiled. He would write a letter, describing how and why he had killed his father. And when he himself died, the world would see he was not the man of inaction that his wife thought he was.
-----"What are you smiling at?"
-----"Nothing, Jo." His smile grew wider. "Just solved a little problem."

-----It was easy to do. He typed it out, sealed it and presented it to an obscure London bank for safe keeping. That would show them, especially Wendy. He could live with her taunting now, now that it would all be nothing on the day she read the letter. She was bound to live longer than him anyway, be observed ruefully. Women always did. They took life seriously, never took risks, accepted the coddling and sympathy as if it was their right, while men burned themselves up with action, worry, and the knowledge they would never be able to prove themselves men, not in the twentieth century, not most of them, anyhow. It had always been a sore point with King. Women had babies and were fulfilled, but there were no lions to kill, no desperate deeds left for a man to prove his manhood...
-----He shook himself out of the mood as Jo's little machine came putt-putting round the drive from the back of the house. She applied the brakes evenly and crunched to a stop beside him. "How am I doing?"
-----"I reckon you're just about ready for the road now, darling," he said, pleased with himself. He was glad she had good balance, unlike himself, and said so.
-----"I get it from Mum," she said simply.
-----"Just a week," he said, half to himself. Not bad.

-----How the time flew by. He watched Jo pull away out of sight, the wide MG exhaust burbling as if with pleasure. How grown-up she had seemed, riding the moped the previous year, prim in the white helmet and gloves, and yet there was now a world of difference in her again. In another year she might be married, leaving him alone. Since Wendy had died, Jo and he had drawn even closer, almost like brother and sister. Life was sweet, but how long would it last?
-----A red Mini van scurried down the drive towards him, the words 'Royal Mail' almost obliterated by the summer dust. The postman swung his van close to King and, without stopping, slapped a slim brown envelope into his hand. With a cheery greeting he was gone again, to the next customer. King took the envelope inside and opened it. As he read, his fist banged softly on his forehead.
-----It was headed 'Harold Courier, Merchant Banker' and continued:

Dear Mr King,

Safety Deposit Envelope 697/P

It is very much regret that we have to inform you of a theft at our premises in Lombard Crescent on 14th inst. in which a number of safe deposit items were removed. Your envelope was among those taken. We have of course informed the appropriate authorities and every effort is being made to recover the stolen property. In addition we have offered a reward of one thousand pounds for information leading to the recovery of the property and the apprehension of those responsible.

Since the contents of your envelope were not disclosed, we have of course not been able to advise the police accordingly; should you wish to do so, please telephone the officer in charge of the investigation, Superintendant Paul Farthing, at New Scotland Yard, Whitehall 1212, who will treat your advice with the strictest confidentiality. (I bet he will, thought King.)

Please do not hesitate to call this office if you feel we can be of any further help. In the meantime, we trust good news will be forthcoming in the near future.

Yours sincerely,

J. Price, Sub-manager

-----"Damn!" King's fist came down from his forehead to the table with a crash that sent a small jade figure toppling on to the floor. He carefully refolded the letter, put it in his pocket and began to pace the room.
-----He had only intended the confession to be a poke at Wendy, but had not bothered to withdraw it after she had died. It had been an action of pure vanity, and now he could imagine his retribution. Blackmail. He could imagine the letter, words cut out of a newspaper telling him to pay up or else. And then, when he had paid up, another letter would come. And so on. He swore again and glared at the photograph of his wife that smiled at him from the top of the piano.
-----Several days elapsed, and no letter came. Jo openly wondered why her father was so tense, and looked hurt when he said he could not tell her.
-----Another week. It was unbearable. He was on the point of sharing it with her, knowing it would break their happiness for ever, when he received the phone call.
-----"Mr King?" The voice sounded educated, not like a thief at all.
-----"Yes."
-----"Mr King, my name is Barley, from the Courier Bank."
-----"Yes, Mr Barley?" He held his breath.
-----"I'm afraid the news is not too good, sir. The police have recovered much of the stolen property - it seems the thieves were involved in a motor accident in Surrey, but..."
-----"But not my envelope."
-----"Alas, sir, no. Well, that is, not exactly. You see, the envelope has been opened, and whatever was inside is missing."
-----"Oh." King shuddered. "So where are we? Back where we started?"
-----There was a slight pause. "Well, sir, it's all very confusing. It seems the accident occurred on the day of the robbery. The thieves were obviouslymaking their way out into the country when it happened. From what Superintendant Farthing told me, I gather they opened some of the packages and extracted money and jewels, and placed all other property in an attaché case. Then they had a head-on collision with a lorry. All were killed instantly. The local police held the attaché case for some days before they found the key to open it - the key was hidden in the car. Apparently the thieves were identified as being members of a terrorist organisation, and it was thought the case might contain explosives."
-----"Are you coming to the point, Mr Barley?"
-----"Yes, sir. The point is that the contents of your envelope could not be found in the car, nor on the thieves' persons. Why it cannot be found is a mystery, and we were wondering what, I'm sorry, whether you might throw any light on the matter, in view of your being the only person aware of its contents."
-----"I see." King did see, only too well. But: "Why are the police not asking me this, Mr Barley? With all due respect to you, it would seem to be more in their line of responsibility?"
-----"Er, that is true, sir. But since you had to be informed of the recovery of the envelope, and Mr Farthing being extraordinarily busy at the moment, he had no objection to my questioning you on the matter."
-----"I see," said King, again, but this time, he didn't. Something wasn't quite right. Then he had an idea: "Mr Barley, where did you say the accident happened?"
-----"On the A3, sir, near Godalming. The police have searched everywhere around the scene, sir, but..."
-----"But of course they don't know what they are looking for," interrupted King, irritably.
-----"No," admitted Barley.
-----"Thank you, Mr Barley, for explaining. I am sure the police will come up with something. Goodbye." He replaced the receiver, fuming. How on earth was he going to get out of this? If the police found it, they would read it. If he told them what to look for, they would find it all the quicker. There was nothing for it, he would have to go and look for it himself.

-----He had no difficulty in finding the spot. There were skid marks, a ploughed-up stretch of grass verge, and swept-up heaps of windscreen glass here and there. A newly-planted sapling was snapped off near the base. King stood there for some time, imagining the terrible scene as it happened, the deafening crash, perhaps some screams, and the total silence that follows in the wake of such a disaster, when a rustling noise behind him made him turn round. A wizened old man, swinging a shovel back and forth at his side as if it were an oar, approached.
-----"I see'd it," he grunted. He peered up at King, like an outsize rodent, inquisitive, sniffing. "You from the law?"
-----"No. Have they been here?"
-----"Yeah. Few days ago. You from insurance, then?"
-----"No. You saw it, did you? Where did they take the car?"
-----The old man shrugged, and leaned on his shovel. The pose suited him, and King guessed he often did it. "I dunno. To the station, I s'pose, or to a dump. Search me," he sniffed. "What you doing then, if you're not law or insurance?"
-----"Looking for something." He made up his mind the man was harmless. "A letter."
-----"A letter," echoed the old man. I 'aven't seen it. I keep this section clean as a whistle. I'd 'ave seen it."
-----"Where's the nearest dump?" Seeing the look on the old man's face, King thrust his hand in his pocket and drew out a pound note. The old man's eyes lit up. "Anything you can tell me..."
-----The old man took the note, folded it, and stuffed it into the pocket of his ancient waistcoat before speaking. "The people what took the car away was Woolcotts. Big breakdown thing. They couldn't tow it, I 'eard them say, 'cause the chassis was smashed up. Right mess it was."
-----"What sort of car was it?"
-----"I dunno, mate. White. I never had a car, so I don't know the makes. But it 'ad a thing on the front."
-----"A thing?" King leaned forward.
-----"Yeah. Sort of lion, or something."
-----"In a jumping position?"
-----"That's it. Jumping lion."
-----"Jaguar," muttered King. He looked down at the old man. "You've been a great help. Thanks."
-----"Any time, mate, any time," sniffed the old man, patting the pound in his pocket.
-----King returned to his car and drove into the town. He hadn't been to Godalming before, but soon found the garage, spacious and unobtrusive, beside the river. He sought out a junior mechanic, and found one tinkering with a starter motor that looked beyond repair. "Excuse me," said King, "you had a smashed Jaguar in here a few days ago - can you tell me where it is?" Quickly he added: "I'm looking for a boot catch, my brother's broken his."
-----"Oh, yes, there was one here. White one. They took it down to MacNabb's. That's up on the Guildford Road, about two miles."
-----"Thanks. Thanks very much." King was getting into his car when the boy called: "Watch out for old Roy, he'll do you if he can." King grinned and drove off.

-----Old Roy wrinkled his nose. "How did you know it was here? Don't want it stripped before I get a look at it."
-----"Do I look as if I was dressed for dismantling a wreck?" King laughed to soften the retort, lest the dump owner should be awkward.
-----"All right, fella, but don't break anything."
-----King picked his way amongst the puddles and old tyres until he saw the wreck. It had no windscreen, and little to identify it as the beautiful car it must once have been. The boot was undamaged, and unlocked, and he searched it thoroughly. Nothing. He had to struggle to open the driver's door and it came free suddenly, almost throwing him to the ground. He sat inside, allowing his gaze to wander round the interior. The police will have been thorough, he thought, so where do I start? Where would I have hidden it?
-----He twisted round to look in the back, and as he did so he felt his elbow press the horn button. He cowered involuntarily in anticipation of the blast, but was even more surprised when it didn't work. But then - he looked at the mess which was the front of the car - it's not really surprising. When he turned again to look in the back, he frowned. What was it? Something was wrong. He looked around again. There! Above his head the courtesy light shone brightly in the gloomy interior. He scratched his head. So why didn't the horn work?
-----It dawned only slowly. Then he looked around the floor, and found what he wanted, a piece of trim which had been thrown in by those clearing up after the smash. With it he levered off the horn button, and almost cried with relief when underneath he saw, folded very small, a piece of paper.
-----"Well now, sir." The voice made King turn so fast a fierce pain shot down the back of his neck. The man was so obviously a policeman, King saw no point in asking the question. The felt hat, the fawn raincoat and black shoes, the hands thrust deep into the pockets, told the story so plainly it was laughable. Behind him, another man stood, dressed almost identically. He looked extremely miserable.
-----"Well now, Superintendant." The fact that it was over made King light-headed. "I suppose..." Then he stopped. What was he thinking of? He was only recovering his property. The police were only curious to know what had been in his envelope. He thrust the paper into his pocket, blissfully unaware the Superintendant was reading his mind.
-----Farthing looked up at the sky, and then down at King's pocket, and smiled. "That's all right, sir, you can put it away. I have read it." He stood patiently as realisation flooded across King's face, then annoyance. Then fear. "Will you come with me now?"
-----King laughed miserably. "I suppose I'm supposed to say 'It's a fair cop' or something equally banal, am I?"
-----"No, sir. But anything you do say will be taken down and used in evidence."
-----"Of course." King shrugged. "No need to ask the charge, I suppose, but you may as well tell me, for the record."
-----"You will be charged formally at the station, sir, and now..."
-----"For God's sake, stop calling me 'sir'!" shouted King. "And tell me something - why the hell did you let me drag all the way out here - why didn't you just come and and arrest me at home, if you've read the thing? It all seems a bit stupid to me!"
-----There were a number of envelopes which had been opened, sir, most of which had held items not disclosed to the bank." He shrugged. "We would have spent weeks..."
-----"What on earth are you taking about," growled King, dragging the folded paper out of his pocket, "can't you see..." He stopped short as he unfolded it and looked down at the bottom of the typed sheet. The paper had been folded with the signature outwards, and something - grease, mud or blood, it could have been any - had obliterated the signature entirely.
-----"So you see, sir, the confession could have belonged to anyone. Your father is not named. You have, as you might say," he grinned, "been set up. If you had stayed at home..."
-----King suddenly felt sick.

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