by Linda Regan
“Are we suspects?” Millie asked, her nerves showing again.
Alison’s voice was flat. “We need to eliminate you.”
***
“Can you get me the details of a knife attack, Isabelle?” Banham stopped at her desk on the way to the front of the incident room for the briefing. “St Abbot’s school. Felix Greene, stabbed inside the school gate.”
Crowther stopped what he was doing. “Fifteen-year-old black kid, ten months ago,” he said. “Nearly fatal, but he survived. Hey, guv, cool coat.”
Banham ignored the comment. “You remember it?”
“I was on the case. Knife just missed the heart; kid was unconscious for ten days. It was touch and go. He said he remembered nothing. No evidence, case dropped.”
“Any suspects?” Banham tensed.
“One of his gang.”
“So someone he goes to school with?”
“It’s happening all over the place,” Crowther reminded him. “It’s only the fatalities that make the papers. It’s gang culture. They think their gangs will protect them, but that’s what’s killing them.”
“The kids are scared,” Alison said, aware of what was going through Banham’s mind. “Especially of the weapon carriers.”
“How do we protect him? Them?” Banham hastily corrected himself.
“There’s another gun and knife amnesty coming up,” Alison said. “Let’s hope people take notice. But more than that – we have to try to educate the younger kids.”
“So how do I protect Bobby?”
Her heart went out to him; he looked so sad and helpless. “All we can do is teach him to protect himself, and avoid trouble.”
“Felix Greene is fifteen,” Isabelle said. “Bobby is years younger than that.”
“But if we don’t do something, by the time Bobby gets to fifteen, everyone will be carrying guns.”
There was a silence, and Alison wished she’d kept her mouth shut. The colour had drained from Banham’s face.
“We can start by putting Eddie Chang away,” Crowther said decisively. “Imagine if those Mac 10s got into teenage hands.”
“I’d rather not,” Banham said. “Get me the paperwork on Felix Greene’s case, will you, Isabelle?”
He walked away, and it took all Alison’s resolve to wrench her attention back to the murder case. “Anything back from Forensics yet?” she asked Crowther.
“I’ve just spoken to Penny. Looks like she’s pulling another all-nighter after today.”
“So you’ll be working too.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m going to meet Ray Adams, our informant at Doubles. Then I’ll be chasing up Bruno Pelegino with Isabelle.”
“So that’s why you’re wearing a flashy tie?” Isabelle teased. “Because you’re coming out with me?”
The room was filling up for the meeting and the start of a new golden time, the first twenty-four hours after another murder case. Fresh pictures had appeared on the board next to the ones of Sadie Morgan: Lily Palmer, face down, similar bruising to Sadie, but her rear end in full view and a poker protruding from her rectum. There were also photos of both girls dressed as Marilyn Monroe, and it was hard to tell the difference between them.
Alison addressed the room. “As you see, we aren’t ruling out the possibility that these two murders are connected. Until an hour ago, our chief suspect was victim number one’s ex-husband, who we’re still trying to trace. But Lily Palmer worked at Doubles with Sadie Morgan, so that’s our main focus now. We need to interview everyone connected to that club, all the staff and the other Marilyn lookalikes.”
Crowther chipped in. “PCSO Payne knew her well, and was first on the scene again.”
Alison flicked an irritated glance at Crowther. “I’ll interview both the PCSOs. You concentrate on finding Bruno Pelegino.”
Ray Adams opened the door of the car and slid into the back seat of Crowther’s car. The tic under his eye was working overtime and his fingers tapped the back of Crowther’s seat, irritating him intensely.
“Had your fix, mate?” Crowther asked dryly.
He studied Adams in the mirror. Ray Adams’s eyes flicked and blinked, his pale, dry tongue wriggled around his mouth, his knees twitched from side to side. Even from the driver’s seat Crowther could smell the man’s rancid breath. And this junkie was his main source of information which would put away one of the biggest villains in the criminal world.
Adams scratched his ear, then his head, then his ear again. “Mr Chang’s on the warpath. He’s got men waiting for Pelegino, and he’s gonna have his balls cut off and drive him out of town.”
“Is that right?” Crowther left a short pause. “So why would Pelegino want to kill Lily Palmer?”
“Chang reckons she knew Pelegino threatened to kill Sadie.”
“If Chang is gonna take his balls off, he must know where to find him.”
“I know where to find him,” Adams said.
“You’d better tell me, then, hadn’t you?”
“It’ll cost a bit.” His eyelids flapped wildly.
Crowther sharpened his tone. “You’re already on the payroll; you need to start earning your keep. Else I might have to bring you in and have you searched.”
Adams didn’t answer.
Crowther took a roll of money from his pocket and peeled off a twenty. “Don’t you fuck me about. Where’s Pelegino?”
“He’s at Angelino’s.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I followed him there, bit more than half an hour ago. For Mr Chang. He’s there now, eating supper.”
Crowther grabbed his radio and called it in, keeping his eyes on Adams. The man certainly needed his fix; he was getting more jittery by the second. “What about the girls?” he asked, switching the radio off. “The Ukrainians. When are they coming?”
Adams scratched at the back of his neck. “They’re here.”
“What?”
“They’re in the country, but I don’t know where. Mr Chang won’t bring them up here yet. He says it’s too dangerous with you lot crawling all over him.”
“So what’s he gonna do?”
“He is sending me and Gladman down to Dover in a van to get them. Wednesday, he said. They’ll be in the cottage at the back with Gladman till he sells them on. The Mac 10s are coming in from Serbia the same day, and there’s a delivery of crystal meth as well.”
“Is that all definite?”
“Depends if the pressure is off from you lot. He’s going after Pelegino – he thinks that’ll get you lot off his back.”
“So if we arrest Pelegino, and back off from the club, it’ll all go down on Wednesday? “
Ray Adams nodded. “That’s the plan. I’ll let you know for definite.”
Crowther handed him the twenty. “I want to know the second they are on Chang’s property.” Adams’s cheek began to twitch again. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you well out of it.”
Ray took the note. “Can I go now?”
“No.” Crowther examined his fingernails. “Who killed Lily Palmer?”
“I told you. Pelegino.”
“No way. Have you been at the club all day?”
“Since lunchtime.”
“Who was missing this afternoon?”
Ray became still. “All of them on and off. Terry went out with Mr Chang, and Gladman went off for a while. Then Terry and Mr Chang came back and Terry went off on its own.”
“My money’s not on Pelegino killing Lily.”
“Mr Chang thinks he did.”
Banham had spent half his career talking Alison’s way out of fines for motoring offences. Today she was driving as erratically ever.
“I was going to pay for you to have some more advanced driving lessons,” he said, “but since you didn’t do too well with the last lot, I thought you’d rather go to Venice.”
“You’re such a romantic,” Alison replied flippantly.
She wished he’d shut up about Venice; she w
as still blaming herself for not doing enough to prevent Lily Palmer’s murder. She still wasn’t sure that she should have started the affair with Banham at all, but right now all her own problems were on hold.
“It’s nothing to do with romance. It’s because they haven’t got roads in Venice.”
That made her smile. He was her best friend and she didn’t want to lose that; she just didn’t think he was ready for a relationship. She wondered if he ever would be, after what happened to his wife and baby.
“Have I offended you? I was only teasing.”
“No, of course not. It’s just – the case. These two women. Do you think it’s the same killer?”
He rubbed a hand across his mouth thoughtfully. “Let’s reserve judgement until after the post-mortem tomorrow.”
“I’ll report back to you.”
“No need. I’m coming.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. I said I’d support you through this case. I’m coming to the post-mortem. End of.”
His eyes were burning into her.
“Your squirrelly eyes have got those black flecks in them,” he said.
“I’m edgy, that’s all. I want this killer.”
“We all do.”
She spotted a parking space just too late and reversed back down the road, narrowly missing a passing chauffeur-driven six-row limousine. The driver wound down the window and gave her the finger.
She to-ed and fro-ed into the space, tapping bumpers in front and behind. Banham’s eyes never left her. “What?”
“I think I love you,” he said quietly.
Before she had properly registered the words his phone chirped.
“Crowther, yes, what have you got?” He listened for a moment. “Crowther’s brought Pelegino in,” he said to Alison. “He’s ballistic, ranting and raving.”
“Lock him in a cell,” Alison retorted.
“Better let Isabelle in on the interview,” Banham told Crowther. “Italians respond to pretty women.”
Alison nodded agreement. “Has Isabelle got the details I asked for? The knife attack at St Abbot’s?” His eyebrows moved towards each other as he listened to Crowther’s response. “The kid said he remembered nothing, but his best friend was suspected,” he repeated. “But no evidence, so no case.”
Alison gave him her full attention.
“The friend’s name is Otis Gladman!” He turned to Alison as he repeated Crowther’s words. “His brother, and next of kin, is Johnny Gladman.”
Bruno Pelegino’s body language spoke volumes. He strutted into the interview room in a pair of jeans a size too small and tastelessly snug around the crotch. He was no taller than Crowther, but the black t-shirt clinging to his well toned pectoral muscles made him look more like a smaller version of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.
Isabelle told him to sit down and turned on the recording machine.
She opened her mouth to cue up the recording, but Bruno slapped his hands down hard on the table and stood up to face her.
“You have no right to do this,” he shouted. “You have bullied and frightened my mama, and now you are accusing me of killing my wife.”
His breath had a pungent reek of garlic and onions. His eyes and hair were dark, and his olive-toned skin less than perfect. Isabelle found him laughably sexless.
“Not accusing,” Crowther corrected. “Asking. Did you? Did you kill your wife?”
“No, I did not kill my wife. Is that it? Can I leave now? This place makes me claustrophobic.”
“If you stop shouting,” Isabelle told him unsympathetically, “I’ll explain why we need to eliminate you from our enquiries.”
She began to cue up the recording again, but before she had finished the sentence Bruno started shouting again. “You think I would kill my own wife? She left me, but I always want her back. I done nothing. Why you accuse me?”
“Shut up,” Crowther snapped. “We ask the questions.”
“I have rights!”
“So do we. If you don’t shut up, I’ll stick you in a cell until tomorrow.”
Bruno sat down, leaned back and folded his arms. His dark fringe fell over his eyes, and he stared belligerently at Isabelle.
“You refused a solicitor,” she pointed out calmly.
“I don’t need solicitor, I done nothing.”
Crowther was bored with his theatricals. “How long since you last saw your wife?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s not a difficult question.”
“She threw me out. I had to go back to live with my mama.” His voice dropped. “But I still loved her and wanted her back.”
“You thought knocking her about would help, did you?” Crowther stabbed at him. Crowther loved women and abhorred wife beaters. Isabelle knew he would be on a short fuse, and it was up to her to keep the interview moving in case he lost it. It wouldn’t be the first time he had hit a wife-beater.
Bruno thumped the desk. “I slapped her, yes, but I didn’t kill her. Don’t you dare say I killed her. I will kill anyone that says I did.”
Crowther leaned across the desk. “I will dare. And I’ll dare lock you up and throw away the key if you don’t keep it together.” He moved back. “We found your wife’s diary. There are entries describing how you hit her – not slapped her, hit her hard – and tried to smother her. Did you know she kept a diary?”
Bruno crossed his arms but said nothing.
“I bet you bloody didn’t.” Crowther was a rough diamond himself; he’d witnessed a few domestics when he was growing up. “There are lots of references to your brutality in your wife’s diary. It says you tried to smother her.”
“She has exaggerated.” Bruno kept his arms folded – to stop himself lashing out at Crowther, Isabelle thought.
“I slapped her.” He shrugged. “What man wouldn’t slap his wife when she steps out of line?” He glared at Isabelle as if she was dirt.
“Where were you on Friday night?” Isabelle asked quickly, in case Crowther was about to show him what a slapping felt like.
“At work. Then I went home to my mama.”
Crowther blew out a breath. “Did you go anywhere, after work, before you went home?”
“No.”
“Funny that,” Isabelle said. “We’ve got your mother’s car on CCTV, near Doubles club. She says you were driving it on Friday evening.”
There was a pause. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I worked near there on Friday. I might have parked it near the club.”
“What time do you finish work?” Crowther asked.
“About eleven, maybe a bit later. It was Friday.”
“It was there at three o’clock on Saturday morning.”
Bruno flung his hands in the air. “I did not kill her. Why you keep asking me?”
Isabelle and Crowther waited.
“OK. I waited for Sadie on Friday. I was in the car near the club. I saw her come out.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I love her. I wanted to see her. I had to know if she left the club alone. She did, so I drove off. That was it.”
Crowther sniffed. “Do you know a Lily Palmer?”
“No, I don’t.”
“She worked at Doubles. She was your ex-wife’s friend.” Isabelle leaned on the ex.
Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. “Wife. Not ex. Catholics marry for life.”
“She was divorcing you.”
“It takes two,” Bruno said. “If I no sign papers, she can’t get fucking divorce.”
“Are Catholics allowed to swear?”
Crowther was clearly trying to wind him up. Isabelle changed the subject. “Where have you been all day today?”
“At Angelino’s, my cousin’s restaurant. I drank too much last night and fell asleep there. When I woke up it was nearly time to start work, so I had a shower there and started at five o’clock.”
“Who else was there?” Crowther asked.
“Nobody. I have a ke
y to the restaurant. My cousin was there last night, but he left me to sleep. He has a family.”
“So you were alone today?”
“I slept all day.” He became aggressive again. “My cousin will tell you I drank a lot last night.”
“I bet he will,” Crowther said. “Question is, will we believe him?”
Chapter Ten
Beside the life-size cardboard Marilyn Monroe in front of Doubles’ front door, a small board advertised an Elvis Presley lookalike evening. Banham and Alison flashed their warrant cards at the Marilyn lookalike on reception; she picked up the phone to warn Eddie Chang.
Banham recognised the song playing in the background as the major Elvis hit Are you Lonesome Tonight?. It was only ten o’clock, too early for a club to get lively. A few customers, all dressed as Elvis, propped up the bar. One was rehearsing on stage, alongside a pianist whose playing struggled to match the impersonator’s tuneless singing. Banham caught the pained expression on Alison’s face and they both stifled a giggle.
Cocktail waitresses wandered around, dressed in long red skirts split higher than the prices of the cocktails they served. Banham’s mother had worked at the famous Park Lane Bunny Club as a cocktail bunny girl when he and Lottie were babies; he suspected this was nothing like that.
Eddie Chang walked out of his office, narrowing his snakelike eyes and twisting his thin mouth into a sneer when he saw Alison. He was as impeccably dressed as ever, in a dark blue Italian silk suit over a pink shirt, with a tie and matching handkerchief in a brighter shade of the pink. Heavy gold cuff-links peeped through the edge of the sleeve, and a Rolex diamond watch adorned one wrist.
“I didn’t have you down as Elvis fans.” He clicked his fingers to attract a waitress, the oversized diamond ring on his perfectly manicured little finger glinting in the lights. “First drink’s on the house.”
“It’s not a social call,” Alison answered.
His eyes moved north. He stepped back towards the office and opened the door.
“What can I do for you?” He spoke to Banham, ignoring Alison.
Alison answered. “Lily Palmer was found dead this afternoon.”
Chang looked surprised.
“Where were you between four and seven p m?” she asked.