Policeman's Progress

by Bernard Knight

  Before the detective could begin to argue again, the sergeant came over. ‘Grainger is on the blower for you, sir – over there.’ He pointed to a coin box under a soundproof hood that was intended for the use of patrons.

  Alec went across and picked up the receiver.

  ‘That you, Jimmy … things are moving … yes, a bomb through the window … no kidding! Look, try to pick up Papagos and Casella. Just ask them if they’d like to answer a few questions. No, we can’t make them, but I’ll bet they’ve blown already, so it won’t arise. They’ll have an alibi like the Tower of London, but we’ve got to try. Where? … God knows, halfway back to Soho is my guess by now.’ He listened for a moment. ‘Then chase up any rogues who might have done this for Papagos – check stolen car lists after nine o’clock. No point in coming round here – Stott won’t cough and we can’t do much without a statement or a complaint from him … this will only be the start, I reckon.’

  He rang off just as more police and the photography and fingerprint men arrived. For a few minutes he talked with the staff and the few patrons that the uniformed men had managed to detain. No one knew any more than Bolam himself.

  The remains of the bomb were carefully collected for the forensic laboratory.

  A few minutes later, Joe Blunt blundered up the stairs. One of the croupiers had phoned him with the news of the firebomb and he had come back as fast as a taxi would bring him. Jackie came out of his worried paralysis at the bar and hustled him upstairs to the flat. Laura had disappeared and Thor Hansen was running the liaison with the police, such as it was.

  Upstairs, Jackie clutched the old pug’s arm as soon as the door of the flat closed behind them. ‘Joe, they’ve found Geordie’s body already. What the hell are we going to do?’

  Joe gaped uncomprehendingly. ‘They can’t have – we wired half a hundredweight of old iron on to him!’

  ‘Well, they bloody well have! It’s been on the news and the telly, so Herbert Lumley said just now. Half the coppers in Newcastle are on the job – and the other half are downstairs, by the looks of it.’ He shakily poured a couple of whiskies and swallowed one at a gulp. ‘Help yourself … the hell of it is, we can’t ask outright what’s going on. When’s the next news on the radio?’

  Joe shrugged. ‘Too late now for local news – hev te wait till papers in the morning.’

  He had too little imagination to realize what danger he was in. He sheltered mentally behind Jackie and, as long as his boss was around, that was enough to reassure him.

  Stott tore open his collar button and pulled the knot of his tie down for comfort.

  ‘Not knowing anything is what kills me. Can’t even ask Thor Hansen on this one. He’s the boy for problems, but not when it’s a murder.’

  Joe blinked his piggy eyes. ‘Reckon he’s got a big enough problem of his own downstairs – what’s bin happening?’

  Jackie looked at the old sparring partner gloomily and poured another drink. ‘Those London mobsters – quick off the mark. But we’ll fix them, if we can get round this other business all right … everything bloody well comes at once.’

  ‘What about the coppers … how they taking this?’

  ‘They know the score about Papagos – God knows how. They’d like to see him played off against me, so that we’d both go down. But they’re going to be unlucky. I’ll handle this myself!’

  Some of the old bravado began to return as the alcohol seeped through his system.

  There was a silence as Joe slowly digested the facts.

  ‘What we going to do about it all, then?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Where Geordie is concerned – sit tight. As far as I can see, they don’t know who he is yet, or they’d have been round here as fast as their little feet could carry them.’ He brightened up a little more. ‘Maybe they’ll never find out – perhaps the fish have eaten his face off or something.’

  Even Joe couldn’t take that one. ‘Hell, boss, he’s only bin in the bleeding river a coupla days … I seen stiffs pulled out of the water after three weeks and they were still in canny shape, especially in cold weather like this.’

  Jackie scowled. ‘Fine comfort you are! So why haven’t the police been round to see his employers – that’s us?’ He threw himself down on to the settee. ‘Better get downstairs and keep an eye on what’s happening. See if you can pick anything up about Geordie. And keep yer flaming mouth shut, right!’

  Joe trundled off, looking sour. As he got to the door, Jackie stopped him. ‘If I know these protection bastards, they’ll try to stir up more trouble pretty soon. So get hold of a few heavy lads – fellers like Paddy Flynn and Bert Howard. Tell them there’s a fiver a night and free booze if they hang around and be ready for a punch-up … OK?’

  Joe grinned, his good humour restored. A free fight was something that he did understand. He loped off, rubbing his hands, not caring about the possible life sentence that hung over him and Jackie.

  Chapter Eight

  Next afternoon, Alec Bolam sat in his room waiting for a call to MacDonald’s room.

  His sergeant waited, too. Jimmy was sprawled in his favourite position near the window, where he could look across at the office girls in the Civic Centre opposite.

  There was silence as Jimmy watched the girls and Alec studied that morning’s newspaper.

  ‘The Journal’s done a good spread on the Bigg Market affair,’ he said suddenly. ‘They’ve never had it so good, a murder and a clubland feud all in the same issue.’

  ‘Poor old Mac must be doing his nut,’ cackled Grainger, irreverently. ‘He was paddling about the Tyne till God knows what time, then he gets our little lot thrown at him!’

  Alec nodded and folded up the paper. ‘What goes on with this killing, I wonder? Had any news from your low friends in Photography?’

  ‘Stumped, so I hear. The dredger took half his head off, so they haven’t a clue who he is. Young bloke, apparently – beaten to death. No missing persons to tally with him.’

  ‘Maybe a protection job from Bradford or Leeds – or perhaps Papagos and Casella brought him up with them from the Smoke!’ said Bolam facetiously.

  Neither of them knew how near to the truth they were when they jokingly coupled the murder with the clubs, but Geordie Armstrong was miles from their thoughts, especially since the previous night’s trouble at the club had monopolized their attention.

  ‘What happened to those characters, anyway?’ asked Bolam.

  ‘Left on the ten fifteen for King’s Cross … quite openly.’

  Alec smiled cynically. ‘I’ll bet they were more than open. They’d have taken bloody good care to have been noticed by as many people as possible, knowing that their boys were going to lob a bomb through Jackie’s window an hour after the train left!’

  ‘What d’you think the next move will be?’ asked Jimmy Grainger.

  ‘Jackie won’t squeal to us, that’s for sure. And he’s too stubborn to pay up protection money without a fight, so it looks like a war, unless the Greek and his pal decide to try an easier victim.’

  The sergeant rose from his window ledge and stretched. ‘Are we going to keep tabs on the Bigg Market all the time now?’

  Bolam frowned. ‘Difficult … there’s only thee and me, unless Uncle Mac decides to give us some more men on attachment. We’ll have to try and keep a watch on the Rising Sun at least once a night between us.’

  The phone rang to call them to MacDonald’s office.

  As they walked along the corridor, Alec passed on a bit more news. ‘I’ve heard from the Interpol Office at The Yard … the Danish police have got nothing on Hansen – Jackie’s manager.’

  ‘Is it his real name?’ asked Grainger.

  ‘Yes, they’ve checked his antecedents. He’s got no form in London, either. Was in the clubs there but, as far as we know, he’s clean right through.’

  They reached the superintendent’s door and went in. MacDonald was looking even more haggard than usual.

&nbs
p; ‘What do you want to do about these yobs from London?’ he asked without any preamble. When things were pressing, Mac cut out all the frills.

  ‘Nothing we can do, unless they come back for more, sir. Or if we could get someone to “cough” … Stott won’t, that’s for sure,’ said Bolam with feeling.

  ‘Not turned up anybody who could have thrown that bomb?’

  ‘No, not a sniff. Anyone with a record of violence like Papagos and Casella can get mouths to shut and stay shut. The local rogues would rather do a stretch than squeal on them.’

  ‘Any lead from the forensic lab on that bomb?’

  ‘No, not so far. They must have brought it from London with them – chucking incendiaries isn’t an old Tyneside tradition. Any progress on your big job from last night, sir?’

  MacDonald began stoking his pipe with tobacco.

  ‘As unpromising as your Rising Sun, Alec. We’re afraid he might be a complete outsider, from Yorkshire or even Glasgow, perhaps. With all the ships in and out of that part of the river, he may even have been slung overboard.’

  Potts cut in for the first time. ‘In the three to six days that he might have been in the river, there have been thirty-one vessels on the move. Some of them on their way to the Persian Gulf and even Hong Kong now. Bloody hopeless job trying to trace them all.’

  ‘We’re in the doldrums on both jobs, then,’ commented Bolam. ‘I think we’ll have to ask for Press and TV assistance on trying to trace any car rushing through the Bigg Market at eleven twenty last night. Some unsuspecting citizen who doesn’t know that Casella might carve him up, may come forward and give us a lead.’

  ‘What about stolen vehicles last night?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Seven altogether, not accounted for at the time of the incident,’ put in Grainger. ‘Four of them recovered, nothing to connect them with the Bigg Market.’

  MacDonald now had his pipe going like the funnel of the Shields’ ferry. ‘Who have we got on Tyneside who could pull a bomb job like this?’

  Bolam shrugged. ‘As I said, sir, chucking paraffin bombs isn’t really the done thing in the North-East – so far, thank God. I’ve got a sneaky feeling that Papagos and friend may have imported somebody, car and all. In fact, how else could they have arranged a thing like that in an hour? They were in the Rising Sun until nine thirty, according to Herbert Lumley – then they left on the ten fifteen train, and the bomb was thrown at eleven twenty. They must have had the whole thing set up beforehand. When Jackie Stott gave them the bum’s rush, they just lifted a finger to their boys and that was that!’

  Potts nodded. ‘The fire-raisers could have been over the High Level Bridge less than a minute after it went off and through Gateshead five minutes later.’

  ‘And back in London by four this morning,’ completed MacDonald. ‘Just have to wait and see. Keep the routine stuff going, Alec. Might happen across some little thing.’

  Just then an urgent rapping came at the door and a sergeant from the Fingerprint department almost fell inside, in his eagerness.

  He waved a message form and planted it in front of the detective chief superintendent.

  ‘Reply from NECRO, sir. I shrunk those fingertips down last night and got a fair set of prints off this morning. Sent ’em down to Aycliffe with a car – they just telexed through … they’ve got him, sir!’

  MacDonald grabbed the flimsy and devoured it with his eyes.

  ‘Well, I’m damned … here, Alec, be my guest!’

  He poked the form across at the end of a long arm.

  The chief inspector read the message almost incredulously.

  ‘Geordie!’ he whispered. ‘Geordie Armstrong!’

  Thor Hansen had arranged some days earlier to go down to Middlesbrough to deal with more matters concerning the opening of the new club there.

  He left Newcastle in his new Rover 2000 just before noon, taking Laura with him. They stopped for lunch at the Bridge Hotel, on the A1 just outside Durham and over coffee in the elegant dining room, the Dane allowed himself to be drawn into discussing his plans.

  ‘I didn’t expect Papagos to get so violent last night. I thought he would give Jackie a day or two to change his mind.’

  Laura lit a cigarette with nervous hands. ‘You didn’t expect it! I was scared rotten when that thing went off! What if I’d been standing near it – I could a’ been killed or scarred for life.’

  Thor slipped a hand over hers. ‘I know. It was a damn fool thing to do without warning … and I’ll tell Papagos when I see him today.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, those fellows aren’t people you can tell off very easily.’

  She frowned at him. ‘Thor, you’re going to be right under their thumb if this goes through.’

  He nodded. ‘For a little time … but I have to accept that, it’s a stepping stone to a lot of money, then we’ll get out.’

  Laura looked at him with curiosity. ‘I’d match your brain against any ten of them, pet. You’ve had this thing worked out a long time, eh?’

  ‘Ever since I came up north. I knew Papagos in Soho. Then a few months ago I ran into him again. At first he just wanted to start running protection up here, but there was nothing in that for me. So we agreed to chase Jackie out – the Greek would buy the business and put me in as manager.’

  ‘But where’s it going to end? You can’t take over from the Papagos crowd; they’d kill you without thinking twice,’ said Laura.

  He looked calmly at her. ‘I know that – but in two, maybe three years I can milk enough from the business to clear out and go back to Copenhagen to start my own club … a real high-class place, with you as the star attraction.’

  He squeezed her hand again and pushed his chair back. ‘We’d better be getting on, if I’m to see Papagos in Darlington before we go on to Middlesbrough.’

  He paid the cheque and they went out to the Rover.

  In Darlington, Thor dropped Laura to look around the shops for half an hour while he went for a conference with the Greek and his Sicilian knife man.

  They had climbed aboard the London train quite openly on the previous evening, but had got off at the second stop forty minutes later, taking care not to advertise themselves too much. Now they were staying in the guest room of a well-respected public house in the town centre, keeping to their bedrooms until the evening, when they were due to go on a round of the clubs on Teesside with the object of selling a little more ‘insurance’.

  At a less salubrious lodging, three streets away, two large men with Birmingham accents were also lying low. At the back of their digs a large Ford was parked, the boot smelling strongly of paraffin. Although a good thirty-five miles from Newcastle, they felt it wise to lie very low. They respected the reputation of the Durham Constabulary as being amongst the hottest coppers in the country.

  In Casella’s bedroom, the two protection men held an audience with Hansen.

  ‘How did Stott take last night’s little warning?’ asked Papagos with a leer.

  ‘Nearly blew his top. I don’t know the details, but I think he’s got his bodyguard, Joe Blunt, to organize some sort of defence force – a few local thugs from the town.’

  Casella sneered. ‘Our boys will eat ’em alive. We’ll be too busy tonight with these clubs down here, but tomorrow, we can let ’em loose on Stott again – he got a lesson coming for messing my knife arm around!’

  The viciousness in his voice chilled even the experienced Dane.

  Kostas Papagos frowned at Thor as Casella went across to pour the inevitable whiskies that always fuelled conferences like this. ‘Let’s get down to the real business. When are we going to slap him down with the news that this is a takeover, not just us selling protection? And what’s this hot news you were on about on the phone this morning?’

  Thor took his drink and sat on the edge of an armchair.

  ‘The two things are connected – very much so. If you saw the papers this morning, you saw that your little bomb incident was almost pushed off the front pa
ge by a murder.’

  Casella had a professional interest in murder – it was a thing near his heart. ‘What’s the tie-up?’ he snapped.

  ‘Jackie Stott did the killing – and I can prove it.’

  The London crooks looked at each other with raised eyebrows. ‘If that’s on the level, we can put the black on him,’ said Papagos. ‘Are you sure about being able to prove it?’

  Hansen wagged a finger in the general direction of his car. ‘The proof is in the boot of my Rover down there.’

  He told the story as fully as he knew it himself.

  Papagos stalked up and down the room in triumph. ‘We’ve got him over a barrel! The club is as good as ours, and at our price. What are the chances of squeezing him for a few thousand cash as well?’

  Thor looked dubious. ‘He’s got very little – most of the capital is sunk in the business. He spends like water. Any cash goes through his fingers straight away. Spends a lot on his girl and only last month he bought a new Mercedes. I don’t think you’d be able to blackmail him for much, except the transfer of the business.’

  Thor was desperately trying to stop his schemes being wrecked by the extortions of these over-greedy racketeers.

  Casella looked disappointed. Though not a Mafioso himself, he had been brought up in the slums of Palermo and took every opportunity to practise extortion.

  ‘What’s the next move? We intend livening things up at this Rising Sun again tomorrow night.’

  Hansen considered this. ‘Best carry on – show Jackie that you really mean business. Then I’ll get him to a meeting with you and you can pop the question about the takeover.’

  Kostas Papagos nodded sagely. ‘We got the money ready for a cash transaction. If he won’t play, then let him know you’ll drop him in it right up to the neck over this murder.’

  Casella was quick to spot a possible complication. ‘What happens if the bobbies pick him up for the killing, before we get to him? We’ll be up the creek, then.’

  ‘We’ve gotta get moving, that’s all. Once it’s signed and sealed, they can hang, draw and quarter him for all I care.’