Over My Dead Body

Chapter 24

Although he hadn’t gone to bed until after two that morning, Ross was up again by five, as he had an appointment with Jimmy the dip. Not that the dip was aware that a police inspector from Scotland Yard would be joining him for breakfast.

Ross took a long, cold shower, washed his hair and, with the help of a razor, removed four days of non-designer stubble. He checked his watch, confident he could be at the Putney Bridge Café long before Jimmy turned up. Once he’d completed his business with the old lag, he would make his way back across the bridge to keep an even more important appointment in Chelsea.

The one thing Ross knew about the dip, other than that he was unrivalled in his profession, was that he didn’t like to go to work on an empty stomach. Jimmy had served a couple of terms in the nick, but had managed to charm more than one jury into believing he was a victim of a deprived upbringing who, if given a chance, would mend his ways and lead a new life. He would have spent far longer in prison had those same juries been made aware of his past criminal record, but the British have always believed in fair play, and giving a chap the benefit of the doubt.

Ross turned up at the café just before seven, ordered a black coffee and sat on a stool at the far end of the counter. The dip arrived just after seven thirty, took his usual place by the window and began to read the Sun.

Ross didn’t make his presence known until the waitress appeared carrying Jimmy’s daily plate of two fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes and hash browns. It was clear that Jimmy would have agreed with Somerset Maugham’s observation that ‘To eat well in England you should have breakfast three times a day.’ Not that Jimmy had ever heard of Somerset Maugham.

‘To what do I owe this honour, Inspector?’ asked Jimmy nervously, when Ross sat down opposite him. ‘You’re not going to find anything incriminating on me at this time in the morning.’

‘I need your help, Jimmy.’

‘I’m not an informer. Never have been, never will be. Not my style.’

‘I’m no longer in the force,’ said Ross. ‘I’ve quit.’

Jimmy still looked doubtful, until Ross took a roll of banknotes out of his pocket and placed them in the middle of the table.

‘What would I have to do to earn that much dosh?’ said the dip, looking at the notes longingly.

‘I need you to put something back for a change,’ said Ross, before explaining exactly what he had in mind.

By the time Jimmy had finished his breakfast, the two hundred pounds had also disappeared.

‘You’ll get another two hundred, but not before you’ve completed the job.’

‘Then all I need to know is when and where.’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Ross, ‘now I know where to find you.’ He got up, and was about to check the time to make sure he wouldn’t be late for his next appointment, only to find he no longer had a watch. He stretched out his hand and waited.

Jimmy the dip shrugged, handed him back his Rolex and said, ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I’d lost my touch, Inspector.’

‘Congratulations, Chief Inspector,’ said the commander, when William entered his office later that morning.

‘What for, sir?’

‘Finally cleaning up the Roach/Abbott problem.’

‘But did I?’ said William thoughtfully.

‘What do you mean? Your team rounded up fourteen gang members, and the two worst offenders conveniently ended up in the graveyard.’

‘A little too conveniently, perhaps?’

‘All the evidence tells us that Ron Abbott killed Terry Roach. We even have the rifle, the spent cartridges and the body. You don’t often get that lucky.’

‘Unless the odds are stacked in your favour before you turn up,’ said William.

‘By whom?’ said The Hawk.

‘Whoever it was who left the murder weapon and three spent cartridges on the roof of the building Abbott just happened to live in.’

‘But two of the Roach gang caught Abbott on the roof, and our lads got there just in time to see them throwing him off the top of the building.’

‘Just in time,’ repeated William. ‘Don’t you find it a bit of a coincidence that a member of the public just happened to phone 999 at one thirteen this morning, and our boys somehow got there in time to hear the third shot being fired? Roach was still alive when I turned up. So I suspect that phone call was made before the first shot was fired.’

‘What are you getting at?’ said the commander, his tone changing.

‘As the officer in charge of the investigation, I’m trying to get at the truth.’

‘And have you reached any conclusion?’

‘My gut feeling tells me it was someone who was on compassionate leave who fired all three shots, but was in no mood to be compassionate himself. However, I concede it was the two Roach gang members we found on the roof who threw Abbott off the building. But then I suspect that was all part of Ross’s plan.’

‘If Abbott didn’t kill Roach, how come they found him on the roof?’

‘I think he heard the shots from his flat, and went up to see what was going on. Don’t you find it strange that we later found an identical rifle to the murder weapon in his flat? Why would he have two, I ask myself.’

‘Do you have anything more to go on than your gut feeling?’

‘An empty Marlboro packet was also found on the roof.’

‘A lot of people smoke Marlboros, me included. You’ll have to do better than that, Chief Inspector.’

‘While the lads were rounding up the other gang members, Ross walked straight past me, disguised as a tramp and pushing an old pram.’

‘Why didn’t you ask him what the hell he was doing there?’

‘I was trying to question Roach at the time before the medics put him in the ambulance.’

‘He was still alive?’ said The Hawk, in disbelief.

‘He survived for another twenty minutes, which I suspect was all part of Ross’s plan.’

‘But you can’t prove the tramp you saw was Ross.’

‘He was wearing four combat medals.’

‘Then you’ll only need to interview about ten thousand possible suspects.’

‘I could eliminate the 9,999 of them who haven’t been awarded the Queen’s Gallantry Medal.’

‘Ross wouldn’t make a mistake like that.’

‘I don’t think it was a mistake. I think he wanted me to see it.’

‘Then why didn’t you arrest him?’

‘Because at that moment Abbott’s body landed on the pavement just a few feet away, which I confess distracted me.’

‘Will you call him in for questioning?’ asked The Hawk.

‘What’s the point? He’ll have all his answers off pat, and will be well aware we don’t have anything that would stand up in court.’

‘Do you still want him to be a member of your team when you go after Faulkner?’

‘We wouldn’t get as far as the front door without him,’ said William, ‘let alone beyond Faulkner’s study.’

‘If you’re right and he did murder Roach, you’d better make sure he isn’t carrying a gun when you enter the house, because he won’t give a damn who sees him kill Faulkner.’

The door was opened by a man who towered over him, arms folded, fists clenched, ‘HATE’ tattooed on the knuckles of both hands.

‘What can I do for you?’ said a voice.

He looked past the doorkeeper to see a wizened old man who was seated behind an oak desk in a large leather chair that seemed to gobble him up.

‘I need to borrow a grand, Mr Sleeman,’ he said anxiously, as he stared at the diminutive figure, who looked even more odious than his gormless bodyguard.

‘Why?’ demanded Sleeman, his thin lips hardly moving.

‘I need to buy a car.’

‘Why?’ he repeated.

‘I’ve been offered a job as a sales rep with a pharmaceutical company and I told them I had my own car.’

‘Do you have any form of security?’

‘The car, and I’ll be earning two hundred quid a week, plus commission.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘I have a small mews house in Chelsea.’

‘Do you own the house?’

‘No, I have a short lease.’

‘How short?’

‘It’s still got sixteen years left on it.’

‘I’ll need the car’s log book and the lease, which my man will collect this evening,’ said Sleeman, nodding to the giant by the door. ‘Both will be returned to you, but not before I get every penny of my money back. Plus the usual interest, of course.’

‘What are your terms?’

‘You’ll get your grand,’ said Sleeman, ‘and in return you’ll pay me six hundred pounds a month for the next three months.’

‘But that’s nearly a hundred per cent interest,’ he protested.

‘If you want the car, those are my terms. Take it or leave it.’

He hesitated long enough for Sleeman to unlock the drawer of his desk, take out a wad of fifty-pound notes and push them across the table without bothering to count them.

The man stared at the money. His hand shaking, he hesitated before he finally picked up the cash and turned to leave.

‘Before you go,’ said Sleeman, ‘let me warn you that my collector will be calling on the first day of the month, for the next three months. If you fail to pay up on time, I don’t send out written reminders, but he will leave you with something to remember.’

The man shuddered and dropped one of the fifty-pound notes on the floor, which landed at the feet of the doorkeeper who bent down, picked it up and handed it back. ‘I look forward to seeing you on the first of the month,’ he grunted, as he opened the door. ‘Make sure you’re there.’

‘I’ll be there,’ promised Ross.