Deep Cover

FIVE

Harry Vicary turned off Commercial Road and drove down a narrow side street of mainly, but not wholly, Victorian era buildings and the easily located Continental Removals. The sign was loud — black writing on a yellow background — and evidently kept clean of East End grime. The premises of Continental Imports/Exports revealed itself to be a large yard set back from the road, a garage beyond that capable of accommodating three high-sided removal vans. It was surrounded on three sides by high, soot-blackened brick walls. To the left of the yard was a green-painted garden shed which evidently served as an office. Two men wearing overalls stood beside the shed and eyed Vicary with hostility as he left his car and walked towards them. ‘Morning,’ Vicary said cheerfully.

‘Get lost, mate,’ replied the taller of the two men. ‘Go on, sling it. . vanish.’

‘Can’t do that.’ Vicary showed his ID.

The shorter of the two men said, ‘I’ll go and get the boss,’ and turned away, walking towards the door of the shed.

Vicary put his ID back in his jacket pocket. ‘Now tell me, why on earth would your friend want to do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Go and get his governor — strange reaction for someone to have the instant they see a police officer’s warrant card, don’t you think?’

The taller of the two men glanced at the other man and glared at him as if to say ‘idiot’.

And that, Vicary thought, really makes me suspicious but he said, ‘So this is part of Curtis Yates’s little empire, I believe?’

‘Maybe,’ the tall man growled.

Vicary saw a slender, middle-aged woman emerge from the shed, followed by an equally slender woman in her early twenties; both had hard faces and cold eyes, and could have been mother and daughter, though Vicary doubted that that would prove to be the case. Fathers and sons in mutual villainy. . but mothers and daughters. . rare, very rare in his experience.

‘The Bill?’ the older woman asked.

‘Yes, making enquiries about Curtis Yates.’

‘Why?’ Her voice was hard-edged.

‘We believe he might be able to help us in our enquiries. We understand he has the property rental business in Kilburn and this business — ’ Vicary pointed to the yard — ‘importing and exporting to Europe, and they provide an income sufficient to support a large house in Surrey. What goes to Europe and what comes back from Europe?’

‘This is a legitimate business!’ The younger woman snapped. ‘Kosher.’

‘And you are?’

‘Felicity Skidmore.’

‘Ah. . now that name rings bells. Didn’t you look after the office in Kilburn after Mr Dunwoodie was attacked and murdered?’

‘Yes, just two days; got another manager there now. I’m an East End girl, I don’t like going out of the East End. We don’t travel well ’cos we’ve already arrived. How do you know I was there anyway?’

‘My officers visited. I read their recording.’

‘Oh, you write everything down?’

‘Everything. I’ll be writing this down.’ He turned to the older woman. ‘You’ll be the governor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your name, please.’

‘Gail Bowler.’

‘You must have known Mr Dunwoodie?’

‘Yes, wrong place at the wrong time. It happens.’

‘You think?’

‘What other explanation is there?’

‘That he was targeted. You see, it was following up the leads in the Dunwoodie murder that we found out that Mr Pilcher, is also known as Curtis Yates. . interesting why he should use an alias. . and the witness-’

‘Witness!’ Gail Bowler sounded alarmed. ‘You have a witness to Dunwoodie’s murder?’

‘Yes. A very good one — gave a very good description of Mr Dunwoodie’s attacker. In fact, since I am here, I wonder if you could look at the E-FIT we have compiled based on the witness testimony.’ Vicary took a brown envelope from his inside jacket pocket, and from it he extracted a glossy E-FIT showing a bald-headed, moon-faced man which he handed to Gail Bowler. She took it and smiled. ‘No, I don’t know him.’

‘We think he’s about twenty years of age — a youth, high on drugs maybe, or someone sent to attack Dunwoodie.’

‘Well, I don’t recognize him.’

‘How about you, Miss Skidmore?’

Felicity Skidmore took the E-FIT and glanced at it. ‘Nope.’ Though she too showed some amusement, or some relief, at the sight of the E-FIT. She handed it to Vicary.

‘Gentlemen.’ Vicary handed the E-FIT to the two overall-clad men, who both seemed anxious to look at it, and again, both held it, looked at it and smiled as they viewed it.

‘Sorry, squire.’ The taller of the two men handed the E-FIT back to Vicary. ‘No recognition.’

‘Thank you anyway.’ Vicary slid the E-FIT back into the envelope. ‘We’ll ask around Kilburn, but since I was here I thought I’d take the opportunity. . just on the off chance.’

‘So, just the one geezer attacked Dunwoodie?’ Gail Bowler said, smart in a grey suit.

‘According to the witness.’

‘He wasn’t a big man.’ Gail Bowler spoke with a marked degree of satisfaction. ‘He couldn’t have put up much of a fight. One man could easily have done it.’

‘Seems so.’ Vicary paused. ‘So this is part of Yates’s empire?’

‘Possibly.’ Bowler again became defensive.

‘I see.’

‘Vicary? You said your name was Vicary?’

‘Yes, Detective Inspector, New Scotland Yard, Murder and Serious Crime Squad. Do tell Mr Yates I was asking after him.’

‘We will, don’t worry.’

‘How long have you been working for Mr Yates?’

‘A little while,’ Bowler replied.

Vicary glanced across at the two men and then at Felicity Skidmore. ‘Same,’ the tall man said, ‘a little while.’

‘Well, do be careful.’

‘Careful? Why?’ Gail Bowler asked with a note of fear in her voice.

‘Because,’ Vicary replied, ‘because, you see, people who move in his circle. . how shall I put this? They tend to disappear. . or get murdered.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘I do say. You see, the gofer of Mr Yates, Michael Dalkeith by name — strange story. You know he actually lay down in the snow on Hampstead Heath, as though he was committing suicide, but he lay down right on top of a shallow grave which concealed the corpse of a lady called Halkier, Rosemary Halkier, who we believe was romantically involved with Mr Yates when she went missing. It was as though Michael Dalkeith was leading us to her grave, and then at the same time, Mr Curtis Yates’s old cook, Mrs O’Shea, went missing. . and Mr Dunwoodie was beaten to death, and he was employed by Mr Yates. . and the Welsh runaway who was found strangled in a room of a house belonging to Mr Yates. So, you see what I mean? He doesn’t sound like the man you’d want to take home to meet your parents. Anyway. . I’ll say good day.’

Vicary turned and walked back to his car, which stood at an oblique angle to Continental Imports/Exports, and he saw out of the corner of his eye the two men and the two women walk into the garden shed, doubtless to make a phone call. He smiled. He thought he seemed to have put the cat amongst the pigeons quite nicely. ‘Just wait and see what springs out of the woodwork now,’ he said as he unlocked the door of his car. ‘Just wait and see.’

That afternoon Vicary sat with his team in his office in New Scotland Yard; he glanced at Yewdall, Ainsclough, Brunnie and Swannell. ‘I took a leaf out of Frankie’s book,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘No, sir, reckon everyone knows anyway.’ Frankie Brunnie held up his hands.

‘Frankie’s method of obtaining Curtis Yates’s fingerprints nudged the boundaries of questionable practice, but the upshot is that A-Ten are not taking any action.’

The team members grinned at Brunnie and Penny Yewdall gave him the thumbs-up sign.

‘And whether Frankie’s actions brought on the murder of J.J. Dunwoodie. . well, we’ll probably never know. . and Frankie could not have foreseen the consequences. As I said, I took a bit of a leaf out of his book — out of Frankie’s book — and visited Curtis Yates’s import and export company in the East End. Four people were there. . one was Felicity Skidmore. . the others I don’t know. Anyway, I showed them an E-FIT of a thug we are looking for in an isolated and unconnected case, and told them it was the E-FIT of the person we want to talk to in connection with the Dunwoodie murder. They all looked very pleased when they saw the E-FIT because it clearly didn’t look anything like Rusher or Clive “The Pox” Sherwin. So, I think I gave them the clear impression that we were not just barking up the wrong tree, we were in the wrong part of the forest entirely, but more importantly, they were obliging enough to take hold of the E-FIT, each in turn.’

‘Fingerprints!’ Yewdall said in a hushed but excited tone.

‘Yes, which is what I meant when I said that I took a leaf from Frankie’s book.’ He smiled at Brunnie. ‘You put me on the right track there, Frankie. Well. .’ he tapped sheets of computer printout which lay on his desk. ‘The upshot is that all are known to us. Felicity Skidmore has two priors for possession of cannabis. . small fines. . but her prints are on file. The other woman. . I thought she and Felicity Skidmore were a mother and daughter team. . she is one Gail Bowling, though she told me her name was Gail Bowler. Now, she is one very interesting lady, a right madam by the look of her track. She’s fifty-three years old, started when she was a teenager. . shoplifting, receiving stolen goods. . she worked the streets and has convictions for soliciting, then she stopped being a brass and started running them and got five years for living on immoral earnings, which always means she was the top Tom in a brothel — the old brass that runs the younger brasses. Then she did ten years for possession with intent to supply.’

‘Ten!’

‘Yes. . so a large amount of illicit. . in this case it was Charlie. . a lot of white stuff is why she collected ten years, probably got out in five. So the governor of the import and export business got herself covered in cocaine once. That is significant because Frankie came back from Sunninghill nick with the news that the Drug Squad are interested in Curtis Yates. So I will contact the Drug Squad and let them know of our interest. It might become a joint investigation, but I will insist on having operational command. It’s a murder enquiry, possible multiple murders, which takes priority over drug smuggling.’

‘Do we know how long Gail Bowling has been associated with Curtis Yates, boss?’ Ainsclough asked.

‘No. Why do you ask?’

‘Because when I visited Mr O’Shea yesterday he mentioned that his wife Tessie had seemed frightened of her employer, or employers, and had made a comment about “she” being worse than “him” or something similar.’

‘So, a female accomplice?’

‘Yes, sir, possibly, unless the “she” in question is or was no more than an overbearing housekeeper, but I think we need to find out who “she” was. . or is.’

‘Yes.’ Vicary sat back in his chair. ‘That’s a task. The two men at the yard. . one was Rusher, Oliver “Rusher” Boyd, plenty of track for violence — a tall, hard, lean individual. The other was younger, rejoices in the street name of “Mongoose Charlie”, Charles McCusker being his real name, twenty-eight years, track for burglary and then he moved up to the league and did time for manslaughter. Sentenced to a five stretch, but probably joined the Christian Union and was drinking IPA again within two years.’ He paused. ‘So how do we proceed? Curtis Yates is the target but he is well under cover. Seems he’s been getting away with too much for too long. People are murdered. . cocaine is possibly imported. . he is probably exporting ecstasy pills, as well, but between us and the Drug Squad we should be able to put a solid case together. Make sure he swaps that large house in Virginia Water for a shared cell in Wandsworth or the Scrubs. His victims deserve justice but Yates doesn’t seem to get his paws dirty.’ Vicary glanced out of the window of his office as again the rain started to fall.

‘We need to find someone who will talk,’ Swannell said. ‘We would offer witness protection, of course, but it will have to be someone well on the inside, or someone who can provide evidence to link Yates to a murder. . or two.’

‘Or perhaps we could insert someone,’ Yewdall suggested.

The room fell silent.

Yewdall shrugged. ‘Why not? A lassie is less likely to go undercover, and I come from Stoke-on-Trent — I have a genuine Potteries accent if I need to use it. . I’m a proper “Stoker”,’ she said, pronouncing ‘Stoke’ as ‘Stowk’.

Swannell held eye contact with Vicary. ‘It could work, sir. Penny is not known to the staff at WLM Rents. . she could walk in off the streets.’

Vicary turned to Yewdall. ‘You’ll be in real danger.’

‘I know, sir.’

‘This will certainly help your career if you do this, but do not let that be your motivation.’

‘I know that, sir, and I won’t.’

‘He’ll likely try and make you work King’s Cross.’

‘I won’t agree to that. He’ll need to use me as a gofer, if he wants one, which will be more useful to us anyway, I would have thought — carrying parcels from address to address, we could put his network together very well.’

‘OK. This will take a week or two to prepare. I’ll set the ball rolling. We’ll get you into deep cover. But only if you are sure. .’

‘I’m sure.’ Yewdall smiled. ‘Very, very sure. I want the king of Kilburn to take a great fall.’

‘Good.’ Vicary smiled approvingly. ‘Meanwhile, let’s bring in Clive “The Pox” Sherwin. He sounds a lot softer than “Rusher” Boyd. See what he can tell us.’

‘You either like it or you don’t,’ the ill-shaven man said. ‘The thrill is the motivation — it is for me anyway.’ He rolled a cigarette, taking the tobacco from a plastic pouch.

‘You’ve been doing this a long time?’ Yewdall asked, shivering in a yellow blouse, denim jacket and an old pair of jeans with holes in both knees. She wore an old pair of sports shoes and thin ankle socks.

‘Yeah. .’ he rolled the cigarette painfully thinly, as if it was more paper than tobacco. ‘You cold?’

‘Yes, but I was advised to get used to it.’

‘That’s good advice. If you show too much sensitivity to the cold you won’t come across as authentic. Do you smoke?’

‘No.’

‘Well start. Smoke roll-ups like this.’ He held up his cigarette.

‘I know what roll-ups are.’

‘No, I mean roll them like this, as thin as thin can be, that means you’ve been on the inside. Only a con who is used to trying to make his weekly one ounce ration of weed last a week will roll them as thin as this. It’s a good habit to get into. If you are not in the habit, I mean well in, you’ll forget yourself and roll a thick one, and your cover is blown.’

‘Understood.’

‘You’ll need to stop washing, maybe just your face now and again, but not a full body wash and don’t change your clothes too often.’

‘Alright.’

The man lit the cigarette with a blue disposable lighter. ‘I am going to be your contact, not your governor. Mr Vicary is it?’

‘Yes, Harry Vicary.’

‘Met him once, seems to know his stuff.’

‘I think he does.’

‘I’ll give you a phone number which you must memorize and use the continental method.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Break it down into two figure components. For some reason we Brits tend to remember numbers using the individual units, so we would remember a sequence as two, four, seven, eight, six, three, nine, for example.’

‘Yes, I would do that.’

‘Well, the continentals would remember that number as twenty-four, seventy-eight, sixty-three, nine. Use the continental method, it’s easier.’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘It’s a landline.’

‘OK.’

‘To an address above a travel agents in Finchley.’

‘Finchley?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bit posh.’

‘Yes. . posh addresses are very useful, makes it easier to spot nasties hanging around sighting up the joint.’

‘Of course.’

‘But you won’t be going there; the cover address is Lismore Photographic Studios. You can leave a message on the answering machine. We need a code name for you. Did you ever keep a pet?’

‘A cat once.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Spyder, with a “y”.’

‘Spyder with a “y”, that’s a good name. It has a certain ring to it. I can remember that.’ He drew on the thin cigarette. ‘So, you are from the five towns?’

‘Yes, Hanley.’

‘Your dad still lives there?’

‘No, he retired to the coast.’

‘Well, he’s moved back.’

‘He has?’

‘Yes, he has. He never left in fact.’ The man flicked the ash from his cigarette on to his jeans and rubbed it gently into the weave of the denim with his fingertips. ‘Get into habits like this, using your jeans as an ashtray.’

‘OK.’ Penny Yewdall glanced around her. The lovingly landscaped grounds of Hither Green Crematorium seemed indeed a perfect place to meet her contact. They seemed to be the only two people in the grounds that were separated from the cemetery by a line of tall poplar trees. They sat on a bench close to the trees on a pathway which formed a U-shape adjoining the main driveway to the crematorium building. SE6 was a long way from Kilburn and a long way from the East End. She had travelled to central London on the suburban overground service, changing trains to ensure she was not being followed. ‘You won’t be being followed anyway, not on this trip, but it’s a good discipline to get into,’ was the advice given by the unidentified voice on the phone.

‘That’s undercover work,’ the man who approached her in the grounds had said after they sat down. ‘You’ll dress like this, you’ll be smelly and you’ll be uncomfortable, and you’ll be looking over your shoulder all the time. . and learn not to stare; only cops stare. You’ll either like it or you won’t.’

‘I see.’

‘It’s all for authenticity. Your old man still lives where you grew up, 214 Rutland Street, Hanley, right in the middle of the five towns.’

‘Six.’ Yewdall smiled. ‘There are six towns; Tunstall, Burslem, Hanley, Stoke, Fenton and Longton. It was Arnold Bennett who wrote a book called Anna of the Five Towns, which gave rise to the belief that there are five towns in the Potteries.’

‘But there’s six?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Well, I have learned something, and that sort of thing will help your credibility. The address I gave you exists. You’ll be going back to your roots.’

‘How did you find out? Why did you choose it?’

‘It chose us in a sense. It was up for sale, so we rented it from the outgoing owner for a few weeks. It wasn’t selling so it gave him a bit of money. It is his late mother’s house so no one is living there. We put some furnishings in. . and your dad is a retired detective sergeant from the Staffordshire constabulary.’

‘You don’t miss a trick.’

‘Can’t afford to, Curtis Yates is no fool; he won’t take you on as even a gofer unless you’re fully vetted by his heavies, or his gofers, or his females. You left home some years ago and he won’t have a good word to say about you. He’ll say, “I don’t know where the devil she is. . broke her mother’s heart leaving like that”. .’

‘Wow.’

‘Do you have a photograph of yourself about five years old? I mean taken five years ago?’

‘I could dig one out.’

‘Do so, today. Post it to the Finchley address.’

‘The photo studios?’

‘Yes. Address it to the manager, and write “Penny” on the rear.’

‘I keep my name?’

‘Your Christian name, yes. What is your grandmother’s name?’

‘Which one?’

‘Maternal.’

‘Smith.’

‘Paternal?’

‘Lawrence.’

‘OK, we’ll use that, it’s more obscure. Pleased to meet you, Penny Lawrence. We’ll get a DSS signing card in that name. Tomorrow you go up to Staffordshire.’

‘I do?’

‘You do.’

‘Walk around the area of your “dad’s” house, get to know Rutland Street, the bus routes that service it, the pubs, the schools, the shops.’

‘Understood.’

‘And polish up your Staffordshire accent. Spend two days up there. . live rough. . buy an old coat from a charity shop, leave all police ID and any jewellery behind in London — carry anything like that and it will be fatal. . and I don’t mean fatal. . I mean. .’

‘You mean fatal. I get the message.’

‘Return to the Smoke three days from now and start panhandling in Piccadilly.’

‘How will I contact you?’

‘I will give you some coins now and also some coins will be given to you by a passing stranger. . he’ll be a cop. It’s to ensure you have enough money to make a phone call to the photographic studio. You can also write.’

‘Write?’

‘Why not? Just a postcard with a cryptic message sent to the photographic studio, but it is essential that you write the card and address it the instant before you post it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Carry around one or two pre-stamped postcards but don’t pre-address them.’

‘Alright.’

‘It’s another means of contacting us if all else fails. . but we won’t receive the card for twenty-four hours.’

‘I realize that.’

‘Forty-eight hours if you post it on Saturday.’

‘Got you.’

‘If you sense that you are in even the slightest danger then come in, find a phone box and dial three nines, or walk into a police station. . or stop a police car or a foot patrol.’

‘Alright.’

‘Always remember just who it is that you are dealing with.’ The man paused as a heavily laden goods train rumbled along the railway line that ran behind the crematorium. ‘These people don’t need proof beyond a reasonable doubt to off you. All they need is the slightest whiff of suspicion. For them life is cheap anyway, unless it’s their own, in which case they all start to scream about their rights.’

‘Yes, I’ve met that type before.’

‘Bet you have. . and often. Anyway, here’s a couple of hundred quid.’ He handed her an envelope. ‘Buy a train ticket to Stoke-on-Trent. . go and familiarize yourself with the locality. Remember to get a coat from a charity shop and rough it up, tear a button off and roll it in the gutter a bit.’ The man stood, and looked to Penny Yewdall to be every inch an ex-con, a real hard nose; someone you didn’t want to give grief to.

‘Understood, sir.’

‘And get out of police-speak.’

‘Sorry, chief, mate, darlin’. .’

‘Better. Be like a good actor, don’t just go through the motion and say the lines, think yourself into the part. Be the character in question, don’t pretend to be a young female dosser. . actually become one.’

‘Understood.’

‘And it starts now. When you get to Hanley, walk round all night, stay up all night, huddle in a doorway if you get really tired.’

‘Yes, mate.’

‘Get real. Stay out two nights running, get to be that no one wants to sit next to you on the bus or train back to London. . but it’s all grist to the mill. Get an early bus or train back. . bus is better, it’s cheaper, but get rid of the ticket as soon as. Short of money, coming to London, you’ll take the bus.’ He handed her a coin-bag containing twenty pence pieces. ‘That’s for the phone calls to the photographic studio. Keep it separate from any other cash you have. If you’re asked about it, say you nipped a geezer for change who was screwing parking meters.’

‘If I say that, they’ll want me to work King’s Cross.’

‘So say the geezer was a personal friend, so you didn’t sell yourself to a stranger.’

‘Good idea.’

‘So we’ll have to hope Yates will take you as a gofer.’

‘Yes, mate.’

The man grinned. ‘Don’t ask questions. Very important. Remember — be the part, don’t pretend, and a dosser who accepts a roof in return for gofering does not ask questions.’

‘Got you.’

‘Start smoking roll-ups and roll them thin. And look at the ground when you walk down the street.’

‘The ground.’

‘Yes, scan it, the ground is where you find half-smoked fags and dropped coins, half-eaten sandwiches. . especially round bus stops. If you ask questions and walk looking around you like a cop on the beat, you’ll be clocked as an undercover officer and then. . well, then it’s goodnight Vienna for you, princess. Frightened?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, that’ll keep you on your toes. Get light-fingered, and if you are invited to take part in petty crime, go along with it, and get used to calling the police “pigs”, “filth”, etc.’

‘OK.’

‘You won’t be staying there long enough to get confused about your identity, which can happen if you stay undercover for long enough.’

‘So I have heard. Have you been under long?’

‘Don’t ask questions,’ the man growled.

‘Sorry.’

‘When you return to London find a pitch in the Dilly Lady subway. I’ll find you. Don’t show any sign of recognition. Spend any money you collect on food. Find a doss and pick up dirty habits.’

‘Like rubbing fag ash into my jeans?’

‘Yes, like that. . and use bad language, all you can muster, but let it be natural. People can tell when it’s forced.’

‘How long do I keep it up?’

‘A few days; someone will tell you when to walk into WLM Rents saying that you heard they had drums in return for work.’

‘We can’t find Rusher — he’s gone to ground.’

‘He does that,’ Clive Sherwin replied casually. ‘He plays the mole when he wants to play the mole. If he don’t want to be found, he won’t be found.’ Sherwin glanced to his left at the tape recording machine. The light was off, the spools stationary. ‘This is not being recorded?’

‘No.’ Brunnie smiled. ‘This is unofficial, just a casual chat, all nice and cosy.’

‘There’s nothing cosy about a police station,’ Sherwin replied sourly. He was a well-built, muscular man — pleasant, easy on the eye, Brunnie thought; a comfortable six-footer; a man whom women would find attractive, and very tidy indeed. . decorative. . edible in the extreme.

‘Dare say that depends upon your situation — you realize you are looking at life if we can convict you of the murder of Dunwoodie?’

‘If. .’ Sherwin sneered.

‘We have a witness. How do you think we found you? He heard you address the other geezer as Rusher. A record check — only one felon in the Smoke known as Rusher, and you get flagged up as an associate.’

‘So I heard. . that photofit you showed at the removals depot looked nothing like me. Your witness was way off.’

‘Oh, that wasn’t an E-FIT of you or Rusher, that was just an old E-FIT from an unrelated case — my governor just handed it round to collect a few fingerprints.’

Clive Sherwin’s jaw sagged. ‘You can do that?’

‘Oh yes, we do it all the time, believe me. We can’t use any fingerprints gathered in that manner to aid the prosecution’s case, but it helps us to let us know who we are dealing with. We like to know who we are up against. E-FITs are useful that way — lovely glossy surface, ideal for gathering fingerprints. Tell me about Gail Bowling.’

‘Nothing to tell.’

‘She seemed to be in charge of the import/export depot.’

‘Did she?’

‘Is she linked to Yates in any other way. . other than business?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘You would. You’re just not saying. OK, probably safer to say nothing. So what will you tell them?’

‘Them?’

‘Yates, Bowling, Rusher. . they will know you’ve been lifted — they’ll want to know everything that was said.’

Sherwin looked at Brunnie with wide appealing eyes, like a salesman desperate to make a sale. ‘You’re in deep, Clive. Very deep. Too deep.’

Sherwin remained silent but Brunnie knew that he had the man’s attention.

‘You see, Clive. . you don’t mind if I call you Clive? You’re not a bad lad, not really. OK, so you could be looking at life for the murder of J.J. Dunwoodie, but that doesn’t mean you’re bad. . not. . evil bad, just easily led. You met Rusher in the army, I believe?’

‘Yes. He stood up for me.’

‘Did he?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you feel you owe him?’

‘Yes. . there were some heavy boys in the army. A lot of money lending went on, Rusher looked after me.’

‘I see. . hence the feeling of owing him something?’

‘Yes, reckon you could put it like that. . reckon you could.’

‘Or did he just want to put some sense of debt and loyalty into you so you’d be useful to him one day? Geezers do that you know.’

‘Do they?’

‘Yes. . yes, they do, happens all the time. So did you and Rusher do any more jobs for Yates?’

‘This is off the record?’

‘It isn’t happening at all, my good mate, we are not even here.’

‘OK, well a few. We got teamed up. We worked well together.’

‘With Rusher the wheel man?’

‘Wheel man?’

‘In the lead.’

‘Oh, yes, Rusher always decided what we’d do and how we’d do it.’

‘Always you two?’

‘No, usually but not always. “Mongoose Charlie” was there as well sometimes, if it was a three-hander. Rusher liked Mongoose because he was handy if you got into a proper skirmish, or if the mark was putting up resistance — but Mongoose and Rusher, they’d argue, and I never argued with Rusher because he knew best.’

‘And he’d looked after you when you were in the forces?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ve heard of Mongoose. .’

‘So why talk to me?’

Brunnie paused. ‘Look, Clive. .’ He glanced up at the opaque panes of glass set high in the walls of the interview room, then down at the orange hessian carpet. ‘I’ll be straight with you.’

‘OK.’

‘We are closing in on Yates. We are closing in and we are going to close him down. For good. We have been interested in him for a long time, a lot of summers. . the Murder Squad, the Drug Squad, and we want as many of his lieutenants as we can get as well. He’s not hiding behind the likes of Michael Dalkeith any more; he’s going to eat porridge, mucho, mucho porridge. He’s going down big time.’

‘His lieutenants? He’s not in the army.’

Brunnie smiled, ‘Just an expression. We want his right-hand men, the top fitters.’

‘Like “Mongoose Charlie”. . like Gail Bowling, you mean?’

‘Yes, like them.’

‘I knew it had to come.’

‘It had to come?’

‘The end.’

‘It’s been a long time coming, but it’s now just round the corner.’

‘So soon?’

Brunnie smiled and nodded. ‘We can work something out for you.’

‘Work something out?’

‘You’re talking to me. If you carry on talking like this, you could talk yourself into a new life.’

‘I heard. . new name?’

‘New place to live. . it’s called witness protection.’

‘Like I said, I’ve heard of it. They say it doesn’t work.’

‘Well, they’re bound to say that; they don’t want you squealing like a stuck pig, telling us where the bodies are buried, but witness protection works. If anyone in witness protection gets chilled, it’s always because they blew their own cover. Believe me, it’s the real deal. . the full monty. . new identity, new place to live, new National Insurance number, new passport. How old are you now Clive?’

‘Thirty-two.’

‘Still a youth — time to start again, settle in a new city, forget all this.’

‘How far away? I don’t want to be too far from London.’

‘To be safe, it has to be north of Watford and west of Swindon. We avoid the south coast — too many blaggers take their girls to Brighton for a weekend — you run the risk of being bumped into and then bumped off.’

‘Plymouth?’

‘Yes, possible. . so’s Portsmouth and Southampton, but avoid the holiday resorts.’

‘You’ve set me to thinking.’

‘You won’t do well in the pokey, Clive. You’re a big lad but you’re too soft inside. So I am glad I’ve got you thinking, it’s what I intended to do.’

‘I’ll have to give evidence?’

‘Possibly.’ Brunnie opened his right hand. ‘But if you tell us where we can find evidence that will convict Yates. . a smoking gun with his prints on it.’

‘He doesn’t like shooters, too messy, he says.’

‘It was just an expression. . just another expression.’

‘Yates once told me that only cowboys use shooters — you don’t need shooters to off some old geezer.’

‘It’s really time to start working for yourself, Clive. . help us get Yates off the street, help us seize his assets.’

‘Assets?’

‘Possessions. . like his house in Virginia Water.’

‘He won’t be happy about losing that.’

‘If he can’t prove he bought it with honest cash. .’ Brunnie shrugged. ‘That’s what really hurts them — loss of their houses, all the money they’ve got stashed away. We put the forensic accountants to work under the proceeds of crime legislation. . and they do fifteen to twenty years, and come out to the queue at the Sally Army soup kitchen. That’s some drop.’

Sherwin gasped. ‘I’ve seen what happens to grasses. If I grass Yates up, I know what will happen to me. I need to think.’

‘No worries, think all you like, but if we arrest him without your help, you go down with him. . the clock’s ticking, Clive. If you want to turn Queen’s evidence, all you need to do is to walk into a police station, any police station.’

‘They watch police stations. They’ll have seen me being brought in.’

‘So take a train to somewhere outside the smoke.’

‘I need to think.’

‘So think, Clive. I’d like to say take your time, but I can’t. . because you can’t.’

Penny Yewdall had survived for forty-eight hours, and sat on the steps of the underground at Piccadilly Circus with a small white plastic beaker resting on the ground in front of her. An occasional coin was dropped therein, but for the most part, almost the whole part, people passed her in their hundreds, if not thousands, and spared her not a glance. She slept in doorways and spent what money she had on fast food from street vendors. On the morning of the third day she walked from Piccadilly Circus to Kilburn and entered the premises of WLM Rents. She approached the man at the desk hesitantly; she felt unkempt, unwashed. ‘Posh in here,’ she said looking about her.

‘Too posh for you, darling.’ The man in his thirties behind the desk avoided eye contact.

‘Well they say out there that you have rooms for dossers. . just askin’. .’

The man sat back in his chair and looked at her. He had a hard face, the face of an ex-con. If he did posses a sense of humour, Yewdall felt that it must live deep within his psyche.

‘Is that what is said?’

‘Yes.’

‘Word gets round.’ He paused. ‘What else is said?’

‘That it’s not free. You have to work.’

The hard man gave a very slight nod of his head. ‘How old are you?’

‘Old enough.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Twenty-four. . but I’m not working the street. Not for anything, not for anyone.’

‘What’s the accent?’

‘Potteries. . Stoke-on-Trent way.’

‘Got a name and an address up there?’

‘Penelope Lawrence, Two-one-four Rutland Street, Hanley.’

‘I’ll make a phone call. Come back in a couple of days Penelope Lawrence, but you’ll have to work. We don’t carry passengers.’

‘Two days?’

‘Two days.’ He lowered his head and wrote her name and address on his notepad.

The man and the woman sat contentedly side by side in the living room of their house in east London. The man turned to the woman and asked, ‘Cocoa?’

Kathleen Vicary smiled. ‘Yes, please. . it will help us sleep.’