by Graham Ison
Bryce looked unhappily at the six Squad officers standing on his forecourt. He knew from past and bitter experience that they would find something with which they could charge him. And right now he knew what that was. In any event, his business was such that he could never put his hand on his heart and swear that it was all above board. The second-hand car business didn’t work like that. Not Bryce’s second-hand car business, anyway.
There was but a moment’s pause. ‘Right, lads,’ said Fox. ‘Go!’
‘Look, can we talk about this, guv?’ said Bryce apprehensively as he watched the group of detectives split up and start to maraud over his premises and his cars.
‘By all means,’ said Fox in a kindly way. ‘That’s what I’ve been hoping for all along.’
‘Well what about them?’ Bryce waved a hand towards the disappearing Flying Squad officers.
‘That’s all right,’ said Fox. ‘They can manage without me for a few minutes.’
‘Guv.’ Crozier strode out of Bryce’s office propelling Meek in front of him.
‘What?’
‘This finger was on the dog-and-bone, guv.’
‘Oh dear!’ Fox cast a censorious glance at Meek. ‘And to whom were you on the phone?’ he enquired loftily.
‘Our solicitor, that’s who.’ Meek spoke truculently.
‘Oh dear,’ said Fox. ‘How tiresome.’
‘What the bloody hell did you do that for, you berk?’ asked Bryce angrily.
‘Well they can’t just come in here and turn the place over —’
‘Yes they can. They’ve got a bloody warrant, you stupid bastard.’
‘Now, now, girls,’ said Fox and grinned. ‘Still the same mouthpiece is it, Ozzie?’
‘Yeah.’ Bryce spoke sullenly. ‘Sid goes off at half cock, guv. I’ve got nothing to hide here.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t, Ozzie. But we’ll just make sure.’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ DC Bellenger appeared from the rear of the premises.
Fox turned. ‘Yes, Joe?’
‘Found something out the back you might be interested in, sir.’
‘Really?’ said Fox. ‘Not a hearse, is it?’
‘No, sir. But I think he might be needing one.’ Bellenger cocked a thumb in Bryce’s direction and grinned.
Fox followed the detective through the office and out into the store-room.
‘I thought you might like to have a look at this little lot, sir.’ Bellenger pointed at about a dozen cardboard boxes stacked neatly in the corner. Next to them was a tarpaulin that Bellenger had just removed.
‘What have we got here?’ said Fox, a note of contrived incredulity in his voice. ‘Video recorders? Oh dear, Ozzie.’ He glanced at Bryce who had trailed along behind and now stood miserably in the doorway of the store-room.
‘I can explain, guv,’ said Bryce.
‘It had better be good.’ Fox spoke absently as he opened a cupboard. ‘And video cameras as well.’ He turned to Bryce. ‘You taking a coach party abroad or something, Ozzie?’ he asked.
‘Oh, Gawd,’ said Bryce. ‘Look, guv, can we have a talk about this hearse business. I mean, can we do a deal, like?’
Fox shook his head slowly and tutted. ‘Well, we can give it a try by all means, Ozzie. Never know your luck, do you?’ He turned to Bellenger. ‘Better start listing that stuff, Joe,’ he said. ‘And anything else you can find.’
Bryce led the way back to his office and slumped into his chair. He reached out and took a cigarette from the open packet on his desk and lit it, drawing hungrily. ‘Look, guv,’ he said wearily. ‘I did lend Jim Murchison a hearse. I owed him a favour, see. But I don’t know anything about a topping as God’s my witness, so help me.’
‘He’s not and he won’t,’ said Fox drily, ‘but do go on.’
‘Well I didn’t ask any questions. You don’t in this business. He said it was all a bit of a giggle. Something about a party he was going to, up west. He wanted a hearse so’s him and some of his mates — and their birds — could turn up in this thing for a bit of a laugh, see.’ Bryce looked imploringly at Fox, willing him to believe his story.
‘Is that what he told you? Or is that what you’re expecting me to believe?’
‘You can ask him if you like.’ Bryce sounded desperate.
‘Oh, I shall,’ said Fox. ‘I’ve got him banged up in Brixton.’
‘Christ! I never knew that,’ said Bryce.
‘No, I don’t suppose you did. And I don’t believe that load of crap you’ve just trotted out, either.’
‘Stand on me, guv, I —’
‘Listen carefully, Ozzie,’ said Fox. ‘I’m about to read your fortune for you. On the nineteenth of July last, as it will say on the indictment, a coffin was conveyed, in your hearse, I suppose, to the churchyard of All Saints, Cray Magna, and bunged in a hole in the ground according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England. When we dug it up we found therein the body of the aforesaid Donald Dixon. But that’s not all we found. We also found a quantity of jewellery, the proceeds of an audacious theft with which James Murchison stands indicted. Oh, and I nearly forgot. We also found three bullets in Mr Dixon’s chest. A distinguished Home Office pathologist attributes Mr Dixon’s demise to the presence of those same three bullets. There, Ozzie, how’s that grab you?’
‘Christ!’ said Bryce, not for the first time. ‘That sounds serious.’
Fox grinned. ‘You’ve got it in one, Ozzie,’ he said and then looked up as the door of the office opened. A short, rotund man dressed in a dark suit and carrying a bulging briefcase stood surveying the scene. ‘And who might you be?’ asked Fox. But he knew.
‘I’m Mr Bryce’s solicitor.’ The man stepped forward and presented his card. ‘And you?’ he asked.
‘Thomas Fox … of the Flying Squad. As you well know.’
‘Of course.’ The solicitor smiled. ‘And what, might I enquire, is going on here?’
‘I am executing a search warrant … and having a little chat with Mr Bryce.’
‘Really?’ The solicitor stood his briefcase on the edge of the desk. ‘Well, perhaps you’d fill me in on what’s happened so far.’
Fox stared at the solicitor’s briefcase. ‘Now that you are within the ambit of the search warrant, perhaps you will show me the contents of that,’ he said, pointing at the briefcase.
‘What?’ The solicitor sounded horrified at Fox’s suggestion. ‘That would be most unethical,’ he spluttered.
‘And you certainly know all about unethical behaviour,’ said Fox, smiling. ‘But it’s not unlawful. On the other hand, you could go away and come back later.’
‘If I’m to leave, it will be at my client’s request and no one else’s,’ said the solicitor haughtily. He turned to Bryce. ‘What d’you have to say about this, Ozzie?’
‘Piss off,’ said Bryce.
The solicitor snatched up his briefcase and made towards the door. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ he said to Fox.
Fox nodded amiably and turned to Bryce. ‘I think he means he’ll be sending you a bill,’ he said. ‘Now, Ozzie, you were telling me all about this hearse.’
‘I told you, guv,’ said Bryce miserably. ‘That’s all there is. He brought it back a couple of days later and I knocked it out to a street-trader a week after that.’
‘Name?’
‘Bloody hell. I can’t remember.’
‘You are required by law to keep records of the acquisition and disposal of all vehicles coming into your possession, Ozzie. You know that, of course. I just hope that you’re not confessing to failing to keep such records.’ Fox waved a hand airily in the direction of Bryce’s filing cabinet. ‘Or shall I get one of my officers to give you a hand to go through your paperwork?’
‘I remember now,’ said Bryce hurriedly. ‘It was a geezer called Sykes —’
‘Oh no.’ Fox covered his face with his hands.
‘Straight up, guv.’ Bryce was starting to sweat. ‘But
I don’t know where you’ll find him. He was a pikey, see.’
‘I think, Ozzie,’ said Fox thoughtfully, ‘that you’re trying to tell me that your customer was a person of no fixed abode, and that I shall, therefore, have some difficulty in locating him.’
‘Well, it might be a problem.’
‘But not my problem, Ozzie. You see I’ve got you. And I shall hold on to you until I find Mr Sykes. If, in fact, he exists.’
‘Oh, he does, guv, he does.’
‘His first name’s not Bill by any chance, is it?’
‘Dunno,’ said Bryce, a vacant and distressed look on his face.
‘Well,’ said Fox, standing up, ‘it was a good try, Ozzie, but not good enough. You’re nicked.’
‘What for?’ Bryce put his cigarettes and lighter in his pocket. He knew the form.
‘For the unlawful possession of a quantity of video recorders and video cameras for a start. Plus anything else my officers have found in the meantime. We’ll take it from there.’
‘They’re down to Sid,’ said Bryce hurriedly.
‘Oh, good,’ said Fox. ‘Then we’ll nick him too. You’d better lock up, Ozzie. It’ll be a while before you’re trading again. Still,’ he added, ‘I’ve no doubt that you’ll get a rebate on your VAT.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘Possibly even on your business rate.’
*
The interview room at Lewisham police station was a depressing place, but Bryce would have been depressed anyway. He looked round and sighed. He was more than familiar with such places.
‘Well, Ozzie, shall we start again, now that you’ve had time to think things over?’
‘All right,’ said Bryce. ‘But is there any chance that you can row me out of the video job? They’re definitely down to Sid, God’s honest truth.’
‘Maybe,’ said Fox doubtfully, ‘but with the shtook you’re in, they’d probably only be taken into consideration anyway.’
Bryce looked unhappy and gratefully accepted one of Fox’s cigarettes. ‘I’ll lay it on the line for you, guv,’ he began. ‘Jim Murchison came to see me and asked if I could get hold of a hearse —’
‘Did he say what for?’
‘Not straight off, and you don’t ask questions in this game. But it seemed kosher, once we got going.’
‘Explain.’
‘He said he’d got a funeral job to do. And could I get a hearse and give him a hand.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Fox mildly. ‘You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’
Bryce looked hurt. ‘It happens a lot these days, doing funerals cheap for friends. You’ve no idea how much it costs. It’s a bloody rip-off. I can remember when I buried my dear old mum —’
‘Just stick to the point, Ozzie.’
‘Yeah, well, we took this coffin — it was a proper job, nothing cheapjack. Jim’s got this mate in the trade and —’
‘Ozzie!’
‘Yeah, well, we took this coffin down to …’ Bryce paused in thought.
‘Cray Magna.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. So, like I said, we took it down to this place and gave him a hand lifting it out and doing the carrying bit. Jim told us to wear dark suits and that, so’s we’d look the part —’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Me and Sid Meek.’
‘There was just the three of you, then? You, Meek and Murchison?’
Bryce hesitated. ‘No, there was another bloke. Never seen him before.’
‘Name?’ barked Fox.
‘Barber, I think.’
‘You don’t mean Ali Barber … across in Catford, do you?’
Bryce looked vaguely puzzled. ‘Don’t know who he was,’ he said. ‘But even the four of us wasn’t enough. Bloody heavy this bloke was. The verger had to give us a hand. Anyway, it all seemed above board. I mean there was a vicar there and everything. And the geezer’s widow. I never thought nothing more about it. I drove the hearse back here and, like I said, knocked it out to this Sykes bloke about a week later. End of story.’
‘Not quite,’ said Fox. He turned to Gilroy. ‘Give me the photograph, Jack, will you.’
Gilroy extracted the photograph of Harley and the blonde taken at the golf club cocktail party and handed it to Fox. ‘Have a look at that, Ozzie,’ said Fox. ‘See if you recognise anyone there.’
Bryce studied the photograph for a second or two and then glanced up at Fox. ‘I don’t know the bloke,’ he said. ‘But the bird is the one who was at the funeral. Susan something she was called. Got it. Harley. Susan Harley.’
‘What else can you tell me about her?’
‘She didn’t seem too upset,’ said Bryce. ‘She done the right thing at the burying, like. Crying and mopping her mascara with a handkerchief. All that. But once it was over we drove for a bit and then stopped at a boozer for a few drinks. Well, I tell you, you’d never have thought she’d just planted her old man. Life and soul of the party, she was. It was almost as if she was celebrating, not mourning.’
‘Did she travel in the hearse, then?’
‘No, she had her own motor, but she met up with us later … at the boozer.’
‘And how much did you get for this little enterprise, Ozzie?’
‘Five hundred notes. But that included the use of the hearse.’
‘Naturally,’ said Fox. ‘Business is business. One other question. Where did you pick this coffin up from?’
‘Kingston,’ said Bryce without hesitation. ‘A big drum just off Kingston Hill.’
‘I presume you know the precise address.’
‘Yeah, course I do. I drove the bloody hearse there, didn’t I?’
Chapter Eleven
‘It seems to me, Jack,’ said Fox, carefully placing a copy of The Times on his coffee table, and then putting his feet on top of it, ‘that we are getting nowhere fast with this damned enquiry.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. All we’ve got to do is find Thomas Harley and Jane Meadows and I reckon we’ve cracked it, sir,’ said Gilroy.
Fox gave his detective inspector a withering glance. ‘Have you ever thought of applying to go to the Police College, Jack? If you’ll forgive me for saying so they’re very impressed by such blinding flashes of the bloody obvious down there.’
Gilroy looked hurt. ‘Well, guv. What else can we do? All we’ve got so far are two bodies. One dead and one alive. Messrs Dixon and Murchison respectively. Apart, that is, from a brace of slag in the shape of Bryce and Meek.’
‘Yes,’ said Fox reflectively. ‘And Harley is presumed dead … if only by himself. So wherever he is he’ll be using another name.’
‘I reckon he would be anyway, guv’nor. Particularly as it’s a racing certainty he’s getting his leg over the gorgeous Jane Meadows somewhere. Probably in the South of France.’
‘Can’t blame him for that, Jack. Not when he’s got a wife with all the sex appeal of a London cab. But why the South of France?’
‘Well that’s where some of the jewellery turned up.’
‘Indeed it did, Jack, but don’t forget that we found most of the tomfoolery down a hole in Cray Magna. Now they weren’t planting it there in the hope that it might grow. They will return … sooner rather than later.’
‘Might have abandoned it altogether, guv,’ said Gilroy. ‘Once they’d got stuck with Dixon’s topping, they might have decided it was too hot to knock out.’
Fox pondered that. ‘Maybe,’ he said slowly, ‘but they did knock some of it out, didn’t they? In France.’
‘Could put an obo on the churchyard then, sir,’ said Gilroy and immediately regretted it.
‘Well if you feel like doing that, Jack …’ Fox grinned. ‘No,’ he said, ‘That could be weeks, even months. My reckoning is that they’ll be working on another job back here.’ Fox leaned forward and picked up his cigarette case from the table. ‘They can’t resist it, you see, Jack,’ he continued loftily. ‘It’s in the blood.’ He thumbed his lighter. ‘Just as it’s in my blood to have the bastards off.’
‘Well I reckon we can risk circulating him in Police Gazette now, sir,’ said Gilroy.
‘A leopard does not change its spots, Jack,’ said Fox profoundly.
‘Yes, guv, I had heard that.’
‘Then we’ll apply it, Jack. If our friend Harley’s good at screwing hotels he’s going to do it again. Particularly as it’s his trade … and has been for at least a couple of years. So, circulate details in PG together with a request that CID officers warn local hotels — worthwhile ones, not these bed and breakfast hovels that one finds in places like Blackpool — so that if our friend turns up anywhere we might just have a chance of laying hands on his collar. And don’t forget to put it on the computer, either. I’d hate for this clown to get stopped for speeding then drive off again because our uniformed colleagues hadn’t read Police Gazette.’
‘And what about Jane Meadows, sir? Include her in the circulation?’
‘Yes, why not? Give it a run, Jack.’
*
It was a long shot and even Fox did not expect immediate results. Which was just as well, because he didn’t get them. What he did get was a surprise call at the Yard.
‘There’s a Mr Jeremy Benson at Back Hall asking to see you, sir,’ said DS Crozier.
‘Is there now? Well, well,’ said Fox. ‘Fetch him up.’
Crozier descended to Back Hall, as the front entrance to New Scotland Yard is perversely called, and conducted Benson to Fox’s office.
‘Well, Mr Benson, grown tired of the delights of Nice, have you?’ Fox stood up and shook hands.
‘Not exactly,’ said Benson hesitantly, looking round Fox’s office with the curious gaze that newcomers to the headquarters of the world’s greatest police force so often display before they realise that it is just another office block. ‘I’ve been mulling things over and I thought I’d better come and tell you the full story about Jane.’
‘Sit down.’ Fox indicated one of the easy chairs in the corner of his office. ‘Coffee?’