Blood Storm

11

That afternoon Fitch had used his mobile to contact his accomplice, Tony Canal. They had arranged to meet at 9.30 p.m. at the Pig's Nest in the East End but Fitch had used this tactic before. It was important to show who was boss, to throw his henchmen off balance. He called Canal again in an hour.

'Meet me at the warehouse now!' he snarled.

He switched off before Canal could reply. Fitch was inside the abandoned warehouse. The old wooden floor was still solid but the skylights were missing several panes of glass. The large room, once used by a shipping company for storage, had been rented by Fitch for a song. In a fictitious name.

While he waited his booted feet clunked up and down the floorboards, pacing impatiently. He was smoking a cigar, a Havana. Only the best was good enough for Amos Fitch, and he had a nice balance in a small bank, the fruits of his criminal exploits.

When Canal entered after climbing the rickety staircase Fitch blew smoke in his weird face. Tony Canal was an ex-prize-fighter in matches held in private houses where no holds were barred. A broken nose and a lopsided jaw were the earnings from his underworld life.

'Show you something,' Fitch growled at him.

Bending down, he lifted a handle set into the floor, raised a thick wooden lid about two feet in diameter. Canal heard the gurgle of rushing water a long way down. Roughly, Fitch grabbed his arm, used the other hand to point a torch.

'Take a look, thickhead.'

Canal peered down. The torch beam lit up a steel shaft with a large hook about a foot down. The beam was just strong enough to illuminate rushing black water at the very bottom. Canal didn't like it. He stepped back as Fitch replaced the lid, spoke.

'That's where we'll put 'er when we've grabbed 'er.'

'Put who, may I ask?' Canal enquired.

'You may ask, dear boy,' Fitch told him, mimicking Canal's public-school accent. 'You just damned well did,' he rasped in normal coarse voice. 'Miss Paula Grey goes down the chute.'

He picked up a coil of rope from the floor. One end was twisted into a loop, but without a slip knot. Fitch pointed this out to Canal, who was looking worried. 'With that round her neck,' he explained with a sadistic smile.

'When we get 'er 'ere, we wrap a scarf round 'er neck, then we slip this rope loop over the scarf. With that round 'er neck we lower 'er into the chute, then fasten one end of the rope over the 'ook sticking out from the side of the tube.'

'I don't understand, I'm afraid,' Canal protested.

'No, you wouldn't. You've noticed the loop goin' round 'er neck is frayed, have you? Good. Miracles 'appen. She's suspended down in the tube. She'll try to remove the rope. When she keeps tryin' to do that the frayed part gives way. Down goes Tweed's pet into the water and gets carried into the river. End of the lady.'

'Sounds horrible – and strangely complex.'

'Heaven give us strength. Don't you see? The body will be carried down the river towards the barrage. At some point the body will be seen and dragged out – or she'll get washed up on the river edge. The police autopsy will check her. No sign of strangulation. The scarf has protected her neck against the grazin' of the rope. Rope and scarf will have got washed away. She'll have lungs full of water. Verdict? She drowned. No risk of it lookin' like murder. See?'

'I think so. Do we have to do this?' 'Monkey, we're being paid good money to kidnap Miss Paula Grey. To hit Tweed hard. Imagine how much harder it'll hit him when she's dragged out dead. Get it?' 'I guess so. I'm not happy about her dying.' 'Who asked you to be 'appy? This is business. Now we've got to go out and grab 'er. You've nicked a car, fitted it with stolen plates?'

'Of course I have. It's parked out of sight at the back of the warehouse here.'

'Good. We'll grab 'er tonight. Bring 'er back 'ere.' 'You're not going to put her down that awful shaft?' 'Listen, mate,' Fitch snarled, 'your job is to do what I tell you to do. And yes, she'll be food for the fishes in the river before the night is out. I've done my 'omework. She often arrives back at 'er Fulham Road pad at about 9 p.m. So we get there early, park further down the Fulham Road, chew the fat until she arrives.'