by Hania Allen
‘If there’s someone in here who shouldn’t be,’ Terry said loudly, ‘then I want to know about it.’ Without waiting for a reply, he marched down the corridor.
Brilliant, Terry. Anyone in the room would have heard that. She had no option but to follow him.
They reached the door in the far wall. Before she could stop him, he grasped the knob firmly.
Oh, just great. Bang go the prints. She turned away to hide her frustration.
He pushed against the door. It opened smoothly onto a corridor.
‘That’s not right,’ he muttered. ‘It’s meant to be locked.’ He glared at her, as if this were somehow her fault. ‘And how can I lock it without a key?’
‘Willy can make you a copy,’ she said, in exasperation.
His face brightened. ‘It must have been him, ma’am, doing his rounds. He sometimes inspects the building, checking doors. Must have forgotten to lock this one after him.’
‘It seems the most likely explanation.’
But, as she made her way towards the stairs, she knew it hadn’t been the janitor. She knew Willy, a kindly man almost as old as Terry. He didn’t wear pinstripe suits.
‘This is the proof we need that, in 1985, Max Quincey was distributing drugs at the Duke.’ Von was enjoying the expressions on their faces. ‘He transported the packets in one of these dolls, and exchanged it for an empty one. It’s probably how they all did it.’ She paused for effect. ‘And how they’re doing it again now.’
The detectives were crowded around her, staring at the doll.
‘We should have realised,’ Steve said.
‘It was the play. That’s where he must have got the idea.’
‘It would explain why no-one twigged. Everyone was carrying these dolls around.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Jack in the Box Fever.’
‘The rent boys could easily remove the packets without being seen,’ Zoë said thoughtfully. ‘In the loo at the Duke, for example, or they could go round the back alleys. It would be straightforward to set up a simple exchange system. Much safer than slipping packets back and forth by hand.’ She looked intently at Von. ‘So should we start hauling in the dolls? The drugs squad should really be doing that.’
Von almost gabbled the words. ‘I don’t want them alerted yet.’ She ignored the look of incomprehension on the girl’s face. ‘Let’s get to work. There are questions we need answers to. For one, how did Max distribute the stuff during the fifteen years he was on the road? Those payments into his bank account have been continuing.’
‘He must have had a partner, boss, one he knew well enough to entrust the business to. He may have double-crossed this guy and got killed for it. Those unidentified prints in the bathroom and that blond hair might be his.’
‘Okay, but the prints aren’t in the PNC, so it’s someone we’ve never hauled in.’ She pushed her hands through her hair. ‘I keep coming back to Chrissie. Dickie didn’t recognise her but it doesn’t rule out the possibility she was in on it. It would explain the phone calls. The problem is that the fingerprints and blond hairs weren’t hers.’
‘Then there must have been three people in this marriage.’
She felt sick. That phone number on The Guardian. She knew the blond hair wasn’t his. But could those prints be? Zoë was watching her carefully. She turned away, not wanting the girl to read her expression. If anyone could put two and two together, it was Zoë.
‘We need Forensics to confirm the stuff is heroin,’ Zoë said. ‘We’ll look like proper twats if it turns out to be talcum powder.’
That’ll buy me some time. ‘Get on to them. And, while you’re at it, have the packets checked for prints. Let’s pray that the dabs we find are Max’s.’
Steve was staring at the doll. ‘This is going to get the Chief Super into a bit of a lather.’
‘I don’t give a fuck about the Chief Super,’ she shouted. In the shocked silence, she said, ‘We’ll wait for the fingerprint analysis before telling him. Otherwise he could say the drugs were planted by his brother’s killer.’ They were staring at her with puzzled expressions. ‘I have to go. There’s something urgent I need to do.’ She almost ran out of the room.
In her office, she dialled his landline and his mobile, and left the same message. ‘Kenny, it’s vital I speak to you. Call me as soon as you get this.’
No apologies for their row. No entreaties. No endearments. Kenny had some serious explaining to do. He claimed he’d hardly known Max Quincey. So why had Max requested his landline number from Directory Enquiries on the day he’d been murdered?
Von was sitting with her head in her hands when there was a knock at the door.
‘You all right, boss?’ There was anxiety in Steve’s voice. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘I’m fine. Just tired.’ She smiled weakly. ‘We’ve made a breakthrough today. We’re back on track for finding who killed the rent boys.’
He pulled out a chair. ‘You mean, for finding who killed Max Quincey, don’t you?’ He searched her face. ‘Sometimes I think the murder of the rent boys is the only case that interests you.’
Before she could reply, there was a quick knock and a detective poked his head round the door.
‘We’ve brought in Zack Lazarus, ma’am. Shall we put him in one of the interview rooms?’
‘Bring him here.’
Steve raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘We’re seeing Lazarus again?’
‘I’d like you to stay for this.’
Lazarus entered, bringing with him a whiff of sweat and machine oil. He looked bewildered.
‘Please take a seat, Mr Lazarus,’ she said, smiling kindly.
‘What’s this about?’ He lowered his bulk into the chair. ‘I’m not being charged, am I?’
‘No, nothing like that. You might help me clear up something, that’s all. I’d like you to cast your mind back to 1985, specifically the time of the Jack in the Box murders.’
He unbuttoned his jacket. ‘You’ve asked me that before.’
‘You’ve a good memory, Mr Lazarus. But so have I.’ She motioned to her papers. ‘And I have my notes to back it up. You told me you’d never been to the Iron Duke. But I have a witness who identified you.’
‘He couldn’t have.’
‘He said you came to see one of the boys.’ She watched his reaction closely. ‘You paid for his food and drink. Sat with him, talked to him. Nothing wrong with that. I just want to know what it was all about.’
He clenched his fists, saying nothing. From across the desk she could feel the white heat of his anger.
‘We’ve been speaking with Rose Manning. She’s made a full confession.’ She paused. ‘About everything.’
His eyes bored into hers.
‘We know that Max Quincey brought boys back to the Garrimont,’ she continued. ‘And we know about your intervention. Can you tell us about it?’
When he finally spoke, it was in a halting monotone. He seemed to be forcing the words out as though speaking were painful. ‘When I was very young, my Dad left us. Mum married again. A man called Newman. Came with a kid of his own.’ He shifted in the chair. ‘Emmanuel. But everyone called him Manny.’
She felt Steve look at her, but she kept her eyes on Lazarus.
‘I had no brothers or sisters. Neither did Manny. We hit it off from day one. Could say we became inseparable. And his dad was okay with me. Good to my Mum as well.’ He picked at his nails. ‘Thought we could be a proper family. But we never had any money and eventually my new dad did a runner. Didn’t take Manny with him. Things went downhill after that. Mum couldn’t cope, went on the vallies.’ He stopped abruptly, as though he’d said too much.
‘And Manny?’
‘Heartbroken.’ His voice caught on the word. ‘Although she wasn’t his real mum, I think he loved her more than I did. When he saw what she was doing to herself, he changed. Became bitter. Started to hate her. As if it were all her fault, which of course it wasn’t. Anyway, it was just a
matter of time before he left too.’
‘How old would he have been?’
‘About fourteen.’ He ran a hand over his stubble. ‘We lost touch. I left school as soon as I could. Helped a mate out with lighting work for some rock band’s gig. Picked up more work and eventually moved to theatre lighting.’ He shrugged. ‘Been there ever since.’
‘So how did you meet Manny again?’ she said, when the silence had gone on too long.
‘The play was running. It was my night off and I was out with some mates. We decided to go to the Duke for a drink. Come and look at the queens and bumboys, one of them said.’ His voice grew hard. ‘My mates went there a lot, for a lark. I wasn’t too keen but I tagged along. Ignored them and sat quietly with my pint. And then he walked in. Hadn’t changed. Except he was thinner, a lot thinner. But the eyes were the same. Eyes never change.’
‘Did he recognise you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d put on some beef, and my face had filled out. Used to wear glasses but my rock-band friend suggested I try contacts. I thought Manny would recognise me on account of this’ – he indicated the scarring on his face – ‘but he didn’t. Maybe he never noticed it when we were younger. Kids don’t always see that sort of thing.’
‘What was your reaction when he walked in?’
‘Horrified. Could tell by the way he acted that he was on the game. My mates were nudging each other and giggling. I couldn’t stand it. Made some excuse and left.’
‘But you came back.’
He hesitated. ‘The next morning. He wasn’t there. The landlord said nights were best. Evening after, he came in again. I got him a drink.’ He snorted. ‘He thought I wanted sex. To keep him there, I gave him money. Bought him a burger. Don’t know what he thought about it all, but he was happy just to talk.’ He looked at his hands. ‘I tried to persuade him to give it up. He just stared at me. We met a lot after that, but he always left to find someone.’
‘Why didn’t you tell him who you were?’
‘I was afraid to. Thought he might be so ashamed, he’d run off and I’d never see him again.’
‘Did he tell you about his clients?’
‘I didn’t ask. He knew I didn’t approve.’
‘And did you see Max Quincey at the Duke during that period?’ she said, watching him closely.
‘Many times. He just nodded at me and carried on doing whatever he was doing.’
‘What was that?’
Lazarus scratched behind his ear. ‘Depends. Sometimes he sat and drank. Sometimes he talked with people.’
‘The regulars?’
‘Regulars, the landlord. And the boys.’
‘Did you ever see him with a Jack in the Box doll?’
He seemed surprised by the question. ‘Hard to remember. But everyone had them. They were all over town.’
‘And in the Duke?’
‘Always a couple of dolls on the bar.’
‘And after Manny was attacked, did you carry on going to the Duke?’
‘Why would I?’ He lowered his head. ‘Never saw him again. The landlord told me he was taken into care.’ He spoke slowly, an appeal in his voice. ‘That’s something, isn’t it? He’s being looked after.’
‘Would you see him again if you knew where he was?’ she said gently.
‘Don’t know. Doubt he’d want me to, I’d be a reminder of his old life.’ He seemed to need confirmation, his eyes pleading with hers. ‘He wouldn’t want that, would he?’
Pity surged into her throat as she recalled the blind boy, and his pride in his new life. She remembered his words: It’s only now I’ve come to realise he was probably my only friend. Maybe Zack was wrong.
‘I hear Rose Manning is going to be charged with murder,’ he was saying.
‘She’s confessed to killing Michael Gillanders.’
‘No love lost between Rose and me, but you should know she’s not had an easy life. Her parents live near my mother in Camden. Her mum’s getting on and Rose is worried she’ll have to give up work to look after her. Life’s not given Rose anything.’ He nodded. ‘But she’s tough.’
She’s going to have to be, to survive in prison.
‘Just wanted to put in a word for her, that’s all.’ He hesitated. ‘Is there anything else? Or can I go?’
‘There’s nothing else. I’ll have someone drive you back to the theatre.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘The show must go on, eh?’
She held his gaze for a moment. ‘Yes, Zack. The show must go on.’
Chapter 26
There was a crush at the Drunken Duck, and it was clear they weren’t going to be served.
Von rarely waited more than five minutes for anything. She tugged at Steve’s arm. ‘Let’s get a sandwich at the deli next door, and take it back to the nick.’
While Steve was ordering, her thoughts turned again to the dark-suited man in the storeroom. She’d checked the desk sergeant’s log but, unsurprisingly for such an early hour, no-one had visited the station. It meant that the man she’d heard in the storeroom must work at Clerkenwell. Not only that, he had a key to the room’s back door.
She checked her mobile for messages. Kenny hadn’t tried to contact her. Damn. Where the hell is he? She could guess. With Georgie.
She was putting the phone away when it rang. ‘DCI Valenti,’ she said quickly.
The fear in Tubby’s voice was unmistakeable. ‘Von?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Not far from Euston. Can we meet in the caff?’
‘Now?’
‘Now.’ He sounded desperate. ‘Please come.’
‘Hold on, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ She snapped the phone shut. ‘Change of plan, Steve. It’s my snout. I’ll see you at the nick.’ She nodded at the sandwiches. ‘You can have mine.’
He stared at the package. ‘If I’d known, I’d have got beef.’ Tubby was sipping from a mug, his back to the wall, in the corner of the caff where he wasn’t visible but could see anyone who came in. Von recognised this behaviour from his years with the gangs. Poor tyke. He must really be frightened.
She ordered tea but, when she started to choose the cakes, he waved her over.
‘I can’t eat, Von.’ His hands were trembling. ‘My nerves are shot.’
‘What’s happened?’ she said, taking the seat opposite.
His eyes darted to the door. ‘I’m being tailed.’
She frowned. If this were true, by meeting her here he was taking a huge risk. For them both.
‘I’ve shaken him off for now.’ He clutched at her arm. ‘But he knows where I live.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Pretty sure.’
She murmured, ‘Then we’ll make this quick, and you can come back with me. So what have you got?’
‘That name you were after. The Cutter.’
The Cutter! Her heart hammered in her chest. ‘Who is he, Tubby?’
He tightened the grip on her arm. ‘If I give you the name, will you make sure I get out of London? Permanently? It’ll cost you, and you know how much.’
‘I don’t have that much on me, but I can get it,’ she said quickly. It was a lie. She’d never get a large sum of money authorised at short notice. But she daren’t say no, she was too close. If Tubby was this scared, he’d find some way to leg it to Spain where he’d disappear permanently, and she’d have lost everything.
‘Meet me in our special place tonight, Von. 10.00pm. You can give me the money then.’
10.00pm. It would give her time to think up something. She got to her feet but he pulled her down.
‘Don’t you want to know who it is?’ he said in astonishment.
‘I thought you’d need the money first.’
‘I trust you. You’ve always been more than fair with me. I know you’ll get the cash.’ He brought his face close to hers. People turned to look at them, unlikely lovers meeting for a cup of tea and a quick snog in a greasy spoon. ‘Max Quincey,’ he brea
thed, so softly that at first she thought she’d said it herself.
She sat back, stunned. So, not only had Max been distributing, he’d been cutting the stuff as well. They’d been wrong about him. He must have laundered the big money and hidden it offshore, leaving just the pin money to go into his account. He’d outsmarted them. She stirred her tea, staring straight ahead. Other pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. The Cutter had threatened Harrower. As his prime suspect, Max would have known Harrower had turned his attention to the Duke as part of his investigation. Could Max have left word with someone there to contact him if the coppers came sniffing around? Could he have received the call, phoned Harrower, and threatened his family unless he backed off?
Tubby was looking at her strangely. ‘Von?’
She switched her gaze back to him. ‘Sorry, I was thinking.’
‘You look weird when you’re thinking.’
‘So how did you get his name?’
‘Told Malkie I wanted to know more before I agreed to come in, didn’t I? He wouldn’t say anything, he was too scared, but one of the other regulars must have overheard. Followed me out. Said he could tell me everything I wanted to know if I made it worth his while. I gave him what was left of your money.’ Tubby gulped down his tea. ‘He was the one told me who the Cutter was.’
‘Did you get this regular’s name?’
‘Course not. And I wasn’t going to ask him, neither. He looks like Rocky Balboa.’
This was par for the course. In Tubby’s world, people rarely told each other their real names. Malkie would have been baptised as someone else, if he’d been baptised at all.
‘And no mention of who Mr Big might be?’ she said, sifting the sugar in the bowl.
‘Believe me, Von, no-one knows.’
Max would have known. As the person who cut the stuff, he would have got it from Mr Big. But Max was dead. The trail had come to an end.
Tubby picked up his copy of The News of the World. ‘I have to go. You won’t forget? Our special place, at ten?’
‘I’ll be there.’ She hesitated. ‘After tonight, we won’t be meeting again. I just want to say—’