‘And the story is Heather Garbutt?’ asks Jack, game forgotten for the moment.
‘More than Heather Garbutt. Something bigger, someone connected to her,’ says Ron. ‘And you were connected to her, Jack. Coincidence, innit?’
‘No such thing as coincidence,’ says Jack.
‘Well, that’s what we think. So there are minds cleverer than mine who say Heather Garbutt is stealing money for you, Bethany Waites uncovers the connection – maybe in the same way we have – so you have Bethany Waites killed.’
Jack nods. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention.’
‘Just, people might start asking, you know,’ says Ron.
‘I’d imagine they might,’ agrees Jack.
‘And I wondered,’ says Ron, ‘between you and me, what you make of that story?’
Now it’s Jack’s turn to smile. ‘Between you and me? I’d say this. Look, I was up to my eyes in the VAT thing, course I was. No proof, no, nothing, till you mentioned this Trident thing, but that could be a coincidence. They won’t get me on that. I’m locked tight, Ronnie – they’ll never find the money. Even I’ve lost track of it.’
Ron nods. He really wants to play his next shot, but Jack hasn’t finished.
‘And this Bethany Waites. I won’t pretend I haven’t heard the name, I have, lots of the evidence in Heather’s case came from her. But this message you’re saying she sent before she died? Where would I have heard about it from? Makes no sense.’
‘You never met Bethany Waites?’
‘Never.’
‘Never even spoke to her?’
‘Never, God’s honest,’ says Jack.
‘You’re not offended I asked though?’ says Ron, and misses yet another red.
‘No, I get it, I get it,’ says Jack. ‘But you must have thought this was a bit too amateurish for me? Leaving a loose end, killing a journalist. Bit offended if you thought that’d be my style.’
‘We all make mistakes, Jack,’ says Ron. ‘Especially when the pressure’s on. But you’re right, I figured it wasn’t you. She might not even be dead, Jackie. They never found the body.’
Jack Mason lines up another shot. He doesn’t look at Ron.
‘Oh, she’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Ron thinks he must have misheard.
‘I said she’s dead.’ Jack pots another ball, then chalks his cue.
‘You know that for a fact?’
‘I know that for a fact,’ confirms Jack Mason, lining up his next shot.
‘How can you know it for certain?’ says Ron. ‘Unless you killed her?’
‘Listen, Ron. I know she’s dead,’ says Jack Mason. ‘And I didn’t kill her. But that’s all you’re getting from me. You work it out if you want to.’
How can Jack Mason be sure that Bethany Waites is really dead? Unless he killed her. Or at least unless he knows exactly who did?
Ron bends over the table and pots his first ball of the game. He nods casually as if it was never in doubt. Two men playing snooker – you can’t beat it. Fewer and fewer people to play against these days though. There used to be a whole gang of them, London, Kent, wherever you were you could get a game. But between death, prison and living in exile on the Costa del Sol, the gang were all gone. Ron now relied on Jason taking pity from time to time and playing against his old man. Ron pots a black. This is more like it.