It was about thirty minutes after morning briefing. Even though Lucy and Brooks had travelled to work together, they had hardly said a word since their argument the previous evening. However, Lucy knew that once they were over the threshold of Peckham nick, they were in work mode.
Glancing around, Lucy made sure that Gaughran wasn’t about. She could see that Hassan was at his desk, but it was far enough away to be out of earshot. ‘What are we going to do about Arthur Gaughran, guv?’
There had been no mention at the briefing of Ruth and Lucy’s meeting with Arthur the previous day. They were still processing what Charlie had told them about a young DC.
Brooks swept his hand through this hair as he perched on a table. ‘Check his service records for starters. We don’t know it’s him yet.’
At that moment, Gaughran came sweeping into CID. He was holding a folder as he looked over. ‘Never asked you how you got on with my old man yesterday?’
Lucy and Ruth exchanged a look as he approached.
Lucy forced a smile. ‘Very useful, thanks Tim. What a nice man, which was surprising as he’s your dad.’
Gaughran laughed sarcastically. ‘Funny. What did he say?’
Lucy gestured to Brooks. ‘I was just getting the guv up to speed.’ That was bullshit. Lucy and Ruth had talked to Brooks about it before the briefing. ‘He thinks the Fishers were involved. Either that, or Alfie threatened to go to the police and Charlie killed him.’
Gaughran gestured to the piece of paper in his hand. ‘I did some digging around. The only member of the Fisher family who’s still alive from that time is Declan’s uncle. Paddy Fisher. It turns out he’s in an OAP home in Streatham. He’s kicking on a bit, but I thought me and Syed should have a chat?’
Brooks nodded. ‘Good idea. He’s not likely to tell you that his family killed Alfie Wise. But what he might do is clarify Declan Fisher’s relationship with Charlie Wise and the 211 Club.’
Hassan approached, looking at his notebook. ‘Guv, I’m not sure if it’s anything, but I did a quick search on Frank Weller on the PNC. There was nothing on there, but there was a hit for his sister?’
‘Jackie Weller has a criminal record?’ Lucy asked in disbelief.
‘Convictions for theft, assault and GBH. She served time in Holloway in the 1960s.’
Ruth’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same Jackie Weller?’
‘It’s on the PNC,’ said Hassan.
The phone rang on a nearby desk and Gaughran went over to answer it.
Lucy frowned. ‘It’s a bit of a stretch to think that Jackie Weller shot Alfie Wise and then buried him.’
Hassan shrugged. ‘Unless someone helped her?’
Ruth’s forehead creased. ‘She must have been very young in November 1956?’
Hassan checked his notebook and nodded. ‘She was fifteen, nearly sixteen.’
Brooks looked from Ruth to Lucy. ‘Have another chat with her.’
Gaughran put down the phone, picked up a piece of paper he had scribbled on and approached. ‘Guv, report from uniform of a possible suspicious death. They think the victim was strangled and there are signs of a struggle.’
‘Got an address?’ Brooks asked.
Gaughran looked down at the piece of paper. ‘A flat in Catford. 68 Doggett Road.’
Lucy knew the address as she looked over at Ruth. ‘Shit! Did you say 68 Doggett Road?’
Gaughran nodded. ‘Yeah, why?’
‘That’s where Trevor Walsh lives.’
CHAPTER 23
‘Thank you, Constable,’ Ruth said as she put her warrant card away.
Ducking under the tape, she could see that the front of 68 Doggett Road was already sealed off with blue and white evidence tape. A young, uniformed officer stood by the open front door. He stood up straight as they approached.
It’s all right, mate. We’re not royalty, Ruth thought. There were some uniformed officers that acted like that when CID arrived, especially the young ones. Ruth suspected it was because they had ambitions to join CID themselves and wanted to make a good impression.
Lucy stopped by the front door. ‘Were you first on the scene, Constable?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Neighbour said she hadn’t seen Mr Walsh last night or this morning and she was worried about him. When she mentioned she had heard raised voices late last night, we used her spare key to go in. Victim was lying on the floor.’
‘And there are definitely signs of a struggle?’ Ruth asked.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Can we get some preliminary witness statements from everyone in this property and next door?’ Lucy asked. ‘See if anyone else saw or heard anything suspicious last night.’
The Constable nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Ruth and Lucy went up the stairs to the first-floor flat where they had visited Trevor Walsh only a few days before. A couple of other residents were standing on the stairs, trying to see what was going on as they talked in hushed voices.
Ruth flashed her warrant card at them and said in an authoritative tone, ‘If you can go back inside, please? An officer will come and take a statement from you and explain what’s going on.’
A large woman in a floral housecoat frowned. ‘I need to do my shopping this morning, dear.’
Ruth smiled at her. ‘Once you’ve spoken to our officer and given a statement, you can leave the building. Until then, I would ask if you could go back inside and wait. Thank you for your patience.’
There were some disgruntled mutterings as the residents dispersed.
Ruth and Lucy proceeded to the first floor landing. Ruth could see a female uniformed officer standing outside Trevor Walsh’s flat. Flashing their warrant cards, they went in.
There was an eerie stillness and silence inside the flat as Ruth snapped on her blue latex gloves. The flat smelled musty and damp and the air was filled with stale cigarette smoke. Lucy turned right into the living room and Ruth followed. It had been totally ransacked. Trevor Walsh’s body lay at a strange angle on the floor by the window, his legs splayed.
‘Bloody hell! There wasn’t just a struggle in here. Someone smashed the place to pieces,’ Lucy said, looking around at the mess.
‘Maybe they were searching for something?’
Approaching the body, Ruth could see that Walsh’s eyes were still open. The life had now gone, and they were opaque like soft stones. Ruth felt the disturbing chill that she always got in the presence of death. She looked at Walsh, who had so recently been sitting in this room chatting to them. The life had been taken from his body and it was unsettling to see.
As she crouched down, Ruth noticed that Walsh’s eyes had tiny red dots on them. She knew it might be petechiae, which was one sign of strangulation. She could also see that a thick purple line of bruising was developing around his throat.
Ruth looked up at Lucy. ‘He’s been strangled. Looks like some kind of ligature was used.’
Lucy squatted down next to her. She took a pen from her pocket and pushed it against Walsh’s skin. The pressure blanched the skin, making it appear whitish. They both knew that after about twelve hours, the blood no longer blanched as rigor mortis set in.
Turning her wrist, Lucy glanced at her watch. ‘My guess is that he was killed within the last twelve hours.’
‘And the neighbour mentioned raised voices late at night which would fit that timeline,’ Ruth added.
Lucy stood up and inspected the room again. ‘I’m guessing our killer took the ligature with them.’
‘Not to speak ill of the dead, but I don’t think they would be searching for cash or valuables.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘No. We’d better have a look around the rest of the flat.’
‘I’ll get onto SOCO and get this flat established as a major crime scene.’
Glancing down at the floor, Ruth noticed a smashed photo frame. The photograph inside was of Walsh and another man with blonde hair and a moustache. They were sitting on a sun lounger togethe
r, smiling at the camera with lurid coloured cocktails in their hands. Ruth slipped the photo out from the cracked frame and turned it over. There was some scribbled writing on the back – Me and Steve, Menorca August 1981 x.
Lucy looked over her shoulder. ‘Found something?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘Not really.’ She showed Lucy the photograph and the writing.
‘They look so happy,’ Lucy said sadly.
‘I wonder what happened to Steve.’
The constable from outside entered and looked at them. ‘Ma’am, neighbour from the ground-floor flat confirmed that she heard raised voices just before midnight last night. She then heard the front door close and looked out. A man came out, got into a car and drove away.’
‘Can she give us a description of him?’ Ruth asked.
The constable shook his head. ‘She said he was big and wearing a hat or hood. But there’s a streetlight outside, so she got a good look at the car. And she managed to scribble down the licence plate.’
Ruth looked over at Lucy. ‘Nice one.’
IT WAS LATE MORNING by the time Gaughran and Hassan tracked down Eileen Walters, the eyewitness who had seen Alfie and Charlie Wise in a car late on the day that he was supposed to have disappeared. Eileen, now in her late 50s, worked in the Cancer Research shop on Peckham High Street.
As they parked up, Gaughran took his sunglasses from his shirt pocket. There was blazing sunshine outside. On the journey from Peckham nick, he had felt an element of pride that his dad had helped out with the investigation. Even though he had taken early retirement, Gaughran knew that his dad still missed the cut and thrust of daily police work. In fact, since the discovery of Alfie Wise’s remains, he had seemed rejuvenated, asking him detailed questions about the case on a daily basis. Gaughran knew it must be difficult to know that your best years were behind you, so maybe a case from forty years ago was allowing his dad to relive his youth.
Hassan puffed out his cheeks. ‘Bloody hell, Sarge, I swear it’s getting hotter.’
‘Hot, damn hot. That’s nice if you’re with a lady, but it ain’t no good if you’re in the jungle,’ Gaughran said in an American accent, doing his best Robin Williams impersonation.
‘Sorry, Sarge?’ Hassan said blankly.
‘Good Morning Vietnam?’ Gaughran said in disbelief.
‘No, Sarge. Never seen it.’
Gaughran shook his head and said with a wry smile, ‘I don’t know why I bother, Syed.’
They got out of the car, walked across the pavement and entered the Cancer Research shop. The walls were lined with second-hand clothes, books, VHS cassettes and ornaments. Gaughran could instantly smell the aroma of mothballs, which reminded him of his grandmother Flora. She was ninety-seven and lived in a home close by. He made a mental note to visit her at the weekend.
He took out his warrant card and looked at the woman behind the till, whom they assumed was Eileen. ‘We’re looking for Eileen Walters?’
She looked instantly flustered. ‘Yes.’
Bloody hell, she looks terrified, he thought.
Gaughran gave her a reassuring smile. ‘It’s all right. We’re investigating a historical crime and just wanted to ask you a few questions to help with our enquiries.’
Eileen nodded but the blood had drained from her face. ‘Right, erm, okay.’
Hassan looked around the shop and said in a virtual whisper, ‘Is there somewhere we could go and talk for a couple of minutes?’
Eileen gestured towards the door to a small office. ‘Oh yes. We can go in there if you like?’
Gaughran and Hassan followed her inside. There was a low table with a few plastic chairs scattered around. On the far side, there were mountains of clothes and boxes of books that obviously still needed to be sorted.
Sitting down, Eileen forced a smile but still looked anxious.
Hassan took out his notebook and pen. ‘We’re investigating something that took place over forty years ago in November 1956.’
Eileen pulled a face. ‘Oh right. That’s many years ago. It was the only time I’ve ever really spoken to a policeman.’
Gaughran looked at her. ‘So, you remember talking to a police officer about what you had seen on the evening of the 27th November 1956?’
‘Oh yes. I had to give a statement and then sign it.’
Gaughran exchanged a look with Hassan. There had been no statement in the file on Alfie Wise’s disappearance, just a note to say that Eileen had seen him.
Hassan frowned. ‘You definitely gave a statement?’
‘Oh yes. Definitely. I asked the policeman if I needed my father to come along as I was only seventeen. But he said I didn’t.’
Gaughran gave her a kind smile. ‘Could you tell us what was in that statement and what you saw that night?’
Eileen looked away as she thought back. ‘I’d been out with a friend of mine. Sally, although everyone called her Sal. There had been a skiffle band playing in The Royal Oak pub. You know, all those Lonnie Donegan songs?’
Gaughran didn’t really know what she was talking about.
‘I don’t suppose you can remember the name of the band, can you?’ Hassan asked.
‘I’m pretty sure they were called The Rattlesnakes. I remember thinking it was a weird name for a group. This was a few years before The Beatles, you see.’
‘And when you left the pub?’
‘We had a few drinks and left at closing time. We were going to get some chips on the way home,’ Eileen explained. ‘We waited to cross the road by the lights on Bridge Street. I saw this big American car pull up. I’d seen it before. You didn’t get cars like that in Peckham.’
Hassan looked up from his notebook. ‘Did you get a look at who was inside the car?’
Eileen nodded. ‘There was a bloke driving who was probably in his twenties. Someone told me later that he was Charlie Wise. And this boy sitting in the passenger seat. He looked out at me. He had this black quiff. He was nice looking. Bit like Billy Fury.’
‘So, you got a good look at him?’ Gaughran asked.
‘Oh yeah. That’s why when some missing posters went up, I recognised him straight away. His name was Alfie Wise. That’s when I went to the police and told them what I’d seen.’
‘What about your friend, Sal? Did she talk to the police?’ Hassan asked.
Eileen shook her head. ‘The policeman said just one of us was enough.’
Gaughran exchanged a look with Hassan – that wasn’t the correct procedure for any kind of police investigation.
Hassan tapped his pen on his notebook. ‘Are you still in touch with your friend, Sal?’
‘Not anymore. We lost her to cancer quite a few years ago now,’ Eileen explained sadly.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. But she saw exactly what you’ve described to us?’
Eileen shrugged. ‘Actually, I think she was looking at the boy in the back of the car.’
What boy? Gaughran’s jaw dropped. ‘There was someone else in the car?’
Eileen nodded. ‘Oh yeah. There was a boy in the back about the same age as the one in the front. Had this big curly red quiff that came down onto his forehead.’
‘Red? Do you mean he had ginger hair?’ Hassan asked.
Eileen smiled. ‘Yeah, ginger. I think Sal thought he was dishy ’cos he smiled at her.’
Gaughran glanced at Hassan. They were thinking the same thing – it was Trevor Walsh.
CHAPTER 24
‘Are you sure I can’t get you some water?’ Jackie Weller asked as Lucy and Ruth sat down in the living room, just as they had done a few days earlier.
Lucy gave her a kind smile. ‘We’re fine thanks.’
Ruth got out her notebook and made eye contact with Jackie. ‘Last time we spoke, you told us that Terry Droy and Eddie Bannerman said they were going to find Alfie Wise. Is that correct?’
Jackie nodded. As she placed her hands in her lap, Lucy noticed a large circular bruise on the back of her right hand. It
was about the size of a cricket ball and was a mixture of dark blue and purple. Lucy couldn’t remember, but she was relatively certain that she or Ruth would have noticed it the last time they had visited. And that would mean it had appeared in the last couple of days.
Ruth flicked over the notepad. ‘I know this is a very long time ago Jackie, but can you remember where you were on Tuesday 27th November 1956? It was the night that Alfie Wise went missing.’
Jackie pulled a face. ‘No ... How am I meant to remember a thing like that?’
‘I know. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast sometimes,’ Ruth said with a smile. ‘Could you tell us where you were when you found out that Alfie was missing?’
‘No. It was a long time ago.’
‘But you did know around that time that he had gone missing?’ Lucy asked.
‘Of course. It was probably Terry or Eddie that told me.’
Ruth gave her a quizzical look. ‘I know it’s a long time ago, but you knew that Alfie had probably killed your brother Frank. I’m guessing it would have been quite an emotional thing when you found out that Alfie had gone missing.’
Jackie moved uncomfortably in her chair. Lucy could sense that she was not telling them something, and her manner was decidedly different from their last visit.
Lucy looked at her and said gently, ‘I think I would have remembered something like that.’
Jackie glared at Lucy and snapped. ‘Well, I can’t bloody remember! I just told you that!’
For a second or two, Lucy glimpsed a very different side to Jackie’s personality. There was an underlying aggression that contradicted the persona that she had been projecting.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that you were lying,’ Lucy said calmly.
Jackie’s chest was visibly rising and falling quickly. She had clearly been rattled by something they had said.
Ruth leant forward. ‘You were very close to your brother Frank, weren’t you, Jackie?’
Jackie’s frown was now bordering on a sneer. ‘Of course. He was my brother. That’s a stupid question.’
As she glanced up, Lucy spotted two teacups sitting on the mantelpiece over the empty fireplace. They stood out in a room that was so tidy and clutter free. Someone had been for a friendly cup of tea, and probably earlier that day.
The Razor Gang Murder Page 13