followed. "Good to see you, Colin."
"You too, Charlie. Though it'd be just as good and a sight drier and warmer in my office."
"I thought we could entice you out for a drink before we get down to business. Lance won't want to stay for that anyway."
"Suits me," said Dibley. "Charlie tells me you're a friend of Rupe's, Lance."
That's right."
"He's given us a bit of a headache with this baby." Dibley crooked his thumb at the container.
"Is that the famous consignment of aluminium?"
"It is."
"How long's it been here?"
"More than a month. It arrived a couple of weeks after Rupe paid me a flying visit. After the things he said then ..." Dibley shrugged. "I should have known he was letting me in for some kind of trouble."
"Has it been a lot of trouble?" asked Hoare. "I mean, for us at Eurybia, yes, but for you, well, there's no shortage of space, is there?"
"Space is money, Charlie. You know that. Besides, there have been the lawyers to deal with. And Customs."
"Suspicious about the contents?"
"You bet. A high-value cargo from Russia always sets them thinking about organized crime. When the owner goes missing .. . naturally they want to take a peek inside."
"What did they find?"
"Aluminium, so they tell me."
"Any chance of me taking a peek as well?" I asked, stepping closer to the double doors at the front of the container. There were bolts running from top to bottom, but no sign of a lock.
Hoare gave me a weary look. "No chance whatsoever."
"Can't see what harm it would do."
"None to you, but plenty to me," said Dibley, reaching past me to finger one of the small pin-and-socket contraptions that prevented the bolts being slipped. "These are Customs seals. Breaking them's a hanging offence."
"Just a thought."
"A pretty pointless one, Lance," said Hoare. "Customs have confirmed the contents. Aluminium. That isn't the mystery. The mystery is why Rupe needed to raise so much money on his cargo."
"And mystery's certainly what he was dealing in when he came here," said Dibley.
Time we made for the pub," put in Hoare, rubbing his hands. "I need a drink if I'm to listen to this one again."
The rain began to get its act together as we left the Docks and drove out through the dismal margins of Tilbury. Dibley asked me some desultory questions about my friendship with Rupe, patently stalling till he could get his palm round a pint and unfold his tale of Rupe's more recent activities. I decided to help him out by throwing in a question of my own. "Either of you two ever hear of a guy called Hashimoto?"
"Don't think so," said Dibley.
"Nor me," said Hoare. "In our line of business, is he?"
"Not sure. He called at Rupe's house last week, apparently."
"Did he leave a message?"
"Just that he wanted to speak to Rupe."
"And Rupe's been based in Tokyo this year," Hoare mused. "This Hashimoto must know him from there. Could well be in shipping. I'll ask around. Did he leave a phone number?"
"No," I found myself saying. "He didn't." Some instinct told me to keep a few cards up my sleeve. I was fairly sure Hoare wasn't being completely frank with me. It made sense to return the compliment.
The World's End Inn was aptly named, huddled as it was in the lee of the dyke where the Essex marshes met the Thames, with so much rain falling that it was hard to be sure where one ended and the other began. Inside, though, was the haven that is every decent pub. With drinks bought and lunches ordered, we drew up our chairs at a corner table and Dibley started to tell me what Hoare seemed to think I needed to hear.
"I wouldn't claim to know Rupe as well as you obviously do, Lance. He's always struck me as a buttoned-up sort of fellow. Even a bit of a cold fish. But straight as a die. No question about that. He used to be out here every few weeks or so and we'd generally have a bite to eat here if we could fit it in. As far as work went, I'd have said he was a real asset to Eurybia."
"I'd agree," said Hoare.
"Efficient. That's what he