Monk and Jessett were not confused: Paynter was their target. Recovering swiftly, they set off after him, scattering pedestrians as they charged along the narrow pavement. Monk produced a police whistle, and was blowing it with all the breath he could muster.
Piccadilly Circus was still shrouded in wartime gloom, with Eros boarded up for the duration. No one was sure why. The planking would offer no protection against bombs. The popular view was that the boards were there to protect the statue from revellers when Victory Night finally arrived. But that still seemed a long way off, as Paynter ran down Great Windmill Street and into the darkened Circus. The neon lights which once lit up the hub of the British Empire were still extinguished. There was some traffic but it moved cautiously.
Cursing the moonlight, Paynter sprinted on. His first instinct had been to dash into the tube station and get on a train. But then he realized that could be a trap. Waiting for a train that didn’t come, he’d have nowhere to run when the police caught up with him. He decided to charge on, down Lower Regent Street, and lose himself in pitch-dark St James’s Park.
Walking up Lower Regent Street, in the opposite direction, was Police Constable Henry Day, coming to the end of his evening patrol. He’d had two lights put out that were contravening the blackout, and he’d cautioned three courting couples in the park. Otherwise, it had been an uneventful spell of duty. But now, as he approached Charles the Second Street, he heard shrill blasts from a police whistle and saw a man hurtling towards him. He read the situation instantly, stood in the middle of the path, and raised one hand, in the way he did when stopping traffic.
Reggie Paynter saw this uniformed figure blocking his way, and knew what he had to do. Adding pugilistic skill to the momentum of his run, he swung a huge round-arm punch at the constable’s head. This was a misjudgment. Constable Day was at that time a Southern Area Amateur Boxing Champion. He easily ducked the swinging fist, and then felled Paynter with one mighty blow. As Paynter hit the pavement, Jessett and Monk came puffing towards them, the latter gratefully taking the whistle from his lips.
Back in Archer Street, Vic Dudley and Jane Hart were about to pass through the stage-door. They’d heard the police whistle.
‘What’s up out there?’ asked Vic.
‘Bit of aggro,’ said Bert. ‘Couple of heavies been hanging round for half an hour. They got into a punch-up with some other blokes, then they all ran off.’
‘Oh well, that’s Soho for you,’ said Vic. And with that, Vic Dudley and Jane Hart walked to Rupert Street and hailed a taxi.
Unlike Maggie, Vic Dudley liked to eat in the morning. Before going off to work, he always required a large brunch, and this he now shared with his guests. At heart, Vic was an egg-and-bacon man, but wartime rationing limited that to Sundays. Happily, baked beans were still plentiful and played a large part in Vic’s diet. For brunch, they were always preceded by porridge. Vic was now eating a large bowl of what he called Tartan Tack. This meant that, before tipping milk and sugar onto his porridge, he’d stirred in a measure of whisky. ‘A mark of respect for our Scottish friends,’ he maintained.
He savoured his first spoonful, swallowed it, and said, ‘I’ve been thinking about last night.’
Adam and Jane were eating cereals and drinking large quantities of tea.
‘What about last night?’ asked Adam.
‘Bert said there were two heavies hanging round the stage door. I reckon they might have been coppers. Someone out there was blowing a police whistle, right?’
‘Why would police be watching our stage door?’ asked Jane.
‘They could have been waiting for you.’
‘Me?’
‘Listen, they want to nick Adam here, right? They might have guessed he’s likely to be with you. No use asking, you wouldn’t let on. But they could have sussed that if they followed you home from the ’Mill, they might get lucky.’
‘But no one did follow us, did they?’ said Jane.
‘Apparently not,’ said Vic. ‘Or they’d have been knocking on the door by now. But Bert said these geezers got in a punch-up. Maybe they were going to follow you and that stopped them.’
‘In which case we’ve got a problem,’ said Adam. ‘If Vic’s right, they’ll follow you another night. What can we do about that?’
‘I can’t stop going to work, can I?’
‘Don’t worry, darling, Uncle Vic’s got it all worked out. There’s a fire door on the other side of the theatre, opens onto the mews, where VD parks his car.’
‘I didn’t know about that.’
‘Not many people do, that’s the idea. There’s room for two cars by that door. I’ll square VD to leave my car there and let us use that exit. No one will be watching there. I can have you out of the building and on your way home quicker than a rat up a drainpipe.’
Jane gave him a big smile. ‘Vic, you’re an angel. I’ve never been compared to a rat before, but it’s a great idea. But will VD agree?’
‘Yes. He wants me to sign a new contract.’
Adam drained his tea mug. ‘I don’t know about angels, Vic, but you’re a hell of a good friend.’
‘Can’t help it, chum. My mum was bitten by a nun.’ Vic poured more whisky on his porridge and offered some to Jane and Adam, who declined. ‘Right, that’s that problem settled. What plans have you two got?’
‘I’m working today,’ said Jane.
‘You worked yesterday, you should be off today.’
‘I agreed to swap with Annie Baker. She has to go to the dentist.’
‘Oh well, that’ll be more fun than listening to the Accordion Aces. So we’ll go in together again, OK? And for the next few weeks I’ll use the car.’
‘Thanks. Have you got enough petrol?’
‘Gallons. Alfie Allen sold me his coupons.’ Vic finished his porridge and turned to Adam. ‘Sorry, mate. You’ve got another day indoors on your own.’
‘Until this evening,’ said Adam. ‘Then I’m going to a pub.’
‘Hey! Is that wise? I thought you were lying low?’
‘Can’t lie low for ever, can I? Jane and I have talked it over. The best way to prove I didn’t kill that bastard Cooper is to find out who did.’
‘Come off it – you’ve seen too many Hollywood movies. You’re not Alan Ladd. How are you going to start? You’ve got nothing to go on.’
‘Yes, I have. Cooper was up to his neck in the Tilfleet black market, involved with some very rough characters. We reckon he may have got himself killed by crossing the local gangsters. Anyway, it’s a starting point.’
‘And if they’re as rough as you say, it could be a finishing point. You’ll have to be careful.’
‘I’ll be careful. Jane’s discovered the Tilfleet villains hang around a pub called The Bull. That’s where I’m going. I’ll say I was a friend of Maurice Cooper, and I’m after some black market booze. See who reacts.’
‘Just a minute. If you go to a pub, someone’s likely to recognize you. Your picture’s in all the papers.’
‘Not any more, Vic, haven’t you noticed? I’ve been pushed out by the Cleft Chin Murder.’
The police were currently searching for an American army deserter and his girlfriend, who’d robbed and killed a London cab driver. The victim had a cleft chin, which enabled the newspapers to pin a label on the case. Pictures of the cabbie and the American had largely replaced Adam’s on the front pages.
‘I’m getting to be old news,’ said Adam. ‘Also, I hope this face fungus is starting to hide my natural good looks. And I’ll be travelling in the dark.’
‘Do you approve of this, Jane?’
‘Not much. But we have to do something. I just wish Adam would wait till tomorrow, so I could go with him.’
‘Now that would be daft, wouldn’t it?’ Adam protested. ‘The two of us would be far more likely to be spotted than me on my own.’
Vic had to agree. ‘I’m afraid he’s right, Janie. A man can sometimes be overlooked. But a girl lik
e you is always going to be looked over.’ A thought struck him. ‘Listen, if someone comes up with some naughty liquor, what are you going to use for money?’
‘This wonderful girl’s been subbing me. I’ve got about ten quid.’
‘Which won’t go very far. Dodgy Scotch is costing more than five a bottle these days. Besides, you’re going to need that cash to carry on living.’
Vic got up, opened a drawer, and took out a wad of notes in a rubber band. ‘I did a gig at Benny’s Club last week. Got paid in readies. Here’s twenty.’
‘Vic, you’re amazing. That must have been a very generous nun.’
‘It’s only money,’ said Vic. ‘Money doesn’t buy friends. But it does give you a better class of enemy. Take it.’
Adam took it. ‘All right. Thanks. Just a loan, of course.’
‘We’ll see. If you come back with some Scotch, I’ll take that instead. Just make sure you come back.’
7
AT THE JOINT Services Supply Depot in Leatherhead, Staff Sergeant Whittaker was puzzled. He put down the sheaf of papers, scratched his head, and looked across at the adjutant, sitting at the opposite desk.
‘Excuse me, sir, have you seen these latest orders from HQ?’
Captain Hazell looked up from The Times crossword puzzle. ‘You mean the Home Guard requisitions?’
‘Yes, sir. It doesn’t make sense. Why do these toy soldiers suddenly need all this extra ammunition? They’re not doing any fighting.’
‘They say they need it for their exercises. And it seems there’s a big one coming up.’
‘They don’t use live ammo for exercises, do they?’
‘Apparently, sometimes they do. That’s how that poor devil in Bristol bought it. And, of course, they need live stuff on the firing ranges.’
‘Beats me why they haven’t been disbanded yet. Jerry’s not going to invade now, is he?’
‘Quite a lot of people share your view, Sergeant. But it seems somebody up there likes them. And I suppose they could still be useful if these damned V2s started causing civil unrest.’
‘Well, I hope they wouldn’t be using live ammo for crowd control!’
Hazell’s brain delivered the word he’d been searching for, and he wrote it into his crossword puzzle. Then he sat back. ‘Actually, Sergeant, I did query those orders when they came through. I had a word with the colonel, and he took it up with the top brass.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, sir. Puts us in the clear.’
‘The answer came back, yes, the stuff had to be despatched. And quick. It seems to have been decided at government level. So we’d better get on with it.’
‘Very good, sir, I’ll start things moving at once. “Theirs not to reason why”, as Shakespeare put it.’
‘Tennyson, Sergeant. Any chance of a coffee?’
Reggie Paynter was not inclined to be co-operative. He glared across the table and snarled, ‘You’re wasting your time. You got no evidence.’
Jessett stared back. ‘Evidence of what?’ he asked innocently.
The question threw Paynter. He hesitated before saying, ‘The post office job. That’s what you pulled me for, innit? You haven’t got me here for fun.’
‘That’s true,’ said Jessett. ‘Nobody’s laughing. But I’m glad you want to talk about the post office job. Get it off your chest, eh?’
‘What’s your game? It isn’t on my chest. I didn’t do it!’
‘So it’s funny you led off about it. I was going to talk about resisting arrest. Obstructing the police. Assaulting a constable.’
‘I never touched him!’
‘Only because you weren’t good enough. You threw a pretty hefty punch. Just a bit too slow.’
‘Sod off,’ said Paynter. He folded his arms across his chest.
‘Last night’s caper’s enough to lock you up for a bit,’ said Jessett cheerfully. ‘So let’s move on to this post office raid you were so anxious to discuss. Fifteenth of February. Tilfleet High Street.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ Paynter reiterated.
‘We’ve got a statement from a witness who heard you admit the crime.’
‘Rubbish! Why would I do that?’
‘Because you can’t resist bragging when you’ve had a few jars. We’ve also got a bookie who says you suddenly had a great deal of cash.’
‘A present from a friend.’
‘You haven’t got any friends, Reggie. And, if you had, they wouldn’t be the sort to give away money. Best of all, you were picked out by both witnesses at the identity parade.’
‘That was rigged. How could they know me, we was wearing … the blokes who done that job was wearing masks.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I read it in the papers.’
‘That’ll be the day. Anyway, witnesses saw your eyes and hair, and those bloody great cauliflower ears. Face it, we’ve got you bang to rights.’
‘My brief doesn’t think so.’
‘He’s paid to bring hope to the desperate.’
‘And he told me not to answer any more questions.’
‘You don’t have to, Reggie. I’m just trying to help you, that’s all.’
‘Help me? You’re joking!’
‘No, I’m not. Like I said, we’ve got you fair and square. Robbery with violence, GBH. With your record, that’s eight years, maybe ten.’
Paynter pondered for a moment. ‘So how are you going to help?’
‘We can’t stop you going down, Reggie. But I could get you a shorter sentence.’
‘What? Fix the judge, you mean?’
‘No, that’s something we can’t do. But there’s something I can do. I can get them to reduce the charge from GBH to common assault, go easy on the gory details. I can say you’ve been co-operative. That way you might get off with a couple of years. If you smile nicely at the judge.’
Paynter thought it over. A six-year difference. That was a lot of living time. Eventually he spoke, with slightly less arrogance.
‘So what do I have to do? I ain’t going to grass on anyone.’
‘I wouldn’t expect it, Reggie. We’ll get your mates in our own good time. What I want from you is information.’
‘Information … grassing … same thing. I don’t do it.’
‘Not the same thing. I’m not asking you for names. You don’t have to put anyone in the frame. I just want a rough idea of what’s been going on.’
‘Going on?’
‘You were a friend of Frank Cregan, right?’
‘Yeah. We used to train together.’
‘And I bet you knew Dave Clark too. So you should be able to tell me what the hell they were doing, roughing up a bloke on Southend Pier.’
‘Oh. That.’
‘Yes. That. Spilling the beans on the pier shambles can’t hurt Clark or Cregan now, can it? In fact, if you tell me about it, you’ll be doing them a favour. We want to find out who topped them.’
‘I don’t know who topped them. If I did, I’d be after the bastards myself.’
‘Just tell me what they were doing.’
Paynter pondered again. As the man said, telling what he knew couldn’t do his mates any harm.
‘So if I tell you that, you’ll do what you said?’
‘If you tell me the truth about the pier, I’ll go easy on your previous. I’ll want to know a few other things before I reduce the charge.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like why you and your pal were waiting outside the Windmill stage door.’
‘That’s easy. We seen the show, and we was waiting to see if we could chat up a couple of the girls. That’s not illegal, is it?’
‘Were you waiting to see Jane Hart?’
Paynter’s reply was not quite quick enough, but eventually it came. ‘Who?’
‘Jane Hart. The girl from the boarding house where Maurice Cooper had his head bashed in.’
‘I don’t know their names. I took a fancy to a redhead, and my mate would have settled
for anyone.’
‘What do you know about the Cooper murder?’
‘Only what I hear in the pub. That bloke on the pier done it, right?’
‘He’s the one we’re looking for. And that brings us back to the pier, doesn’t it? So what were Cregan and Clark up to?’
Paynter sighed. ‘Yeah, well, I do know a bit about that, cos I was due to meet Frank that evening. We was going to the dogs.’
‘And he cried off?’
‘Yeah. Rang me in the afternoon, said he’d got a job. Him and Dave had to nab this bloke on the pier. They was to take him somewhere quiet and lean on him till he coughed up. About some notebook he’d nicked.’
‘A notebook? Are you sure?’
‘That’s what Frank said.’
‘And who’d given them this job?’
‘I dunno.’
‘I think you do, Reggie. The word is, someone round here is paying good money to the local villains to do naughty things. Who is it?’
‘I told you, I dunno. None of it’s come my way.’
‘What about the ten fivers in your pocket when we nicked you?’
‘I’d like them back.’
‘You’ll get them back, if they’re legit. Where did they come from?’
‘The dogs. I had a couple of wins. Listen, you said you’d go easy if I told you about Frank and Dave on the pier. I done that.’
‘And I’ve said I’ll knock a couple of blots off your record. Before I talk about reducing the charge, I’ll want to know a lot more.’
‘Well, I ain’t saying nothing more.’
‘Ah, but you will. All in good time. Just go away and think about it.’ Jessett nodded to the constable. ‘All right, Thompson, take him back to his cell. Have a good night’s sleep, Reggie. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’
‘Sod you,’ said Paynter. He got up and Thompson led him away.
Sergeant Monk came in.
‘Any luck, sir?’
The Shadow of Treason Page 12