Jack in the Box

by Hania Allen

  The technicians were giving the bugs a final check.

  Von studied the layout of the room. Was it the one they’d used last week? All the rooms looked the same. All hotel rooms everywhere looked the same. She was conscious she was visibly nervous, and that it was affecting the others. She hadn’t smoked for years but, God, she wished she had a cigarette.

  ‘Let me go through it again,’ she said. ‘Under the food trolley, inside the phone in case he uses it, and under the lamps.’

  ‘And behind the headboard,’ said Steve. He was deliberately looking at Larry.

  ‘It won’t get that far.’ She ran her hands down the sides of her jeans. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘One forty. We’d better make ourselves scarce.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the bed. ‘Remember, we’re behind that wall.’

  She tried not to look at him. When it was clear he wasn’t leaving, she lifted her eyes to his. ‘Steve—’

  ‘If it looks as though you’re getting nowhere, Von, don’t take any risks. Pull him in. We can continue questioning him at the nick.’ With a final glance around, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  She stood at the bathroom mirror, smoothing down her hair. She ran her hands lightly over her skin. Although she’d applied concealer, the bruise was still visible, and there were dark circles under her eyes. He might comment, she thought cynically, but once his face was buried in her breasts he’d soon forget what she looked like.

  There was a firm knock at the door. This is it. Time to rock and roll. Blood pounded in her ears and, for a second, she felt faint.

  ‘Simon,’ she said, as he entered the room. ‘Excellent timing. Lunch has just arrived.’

  He smiled, his eyes moving over her face. ‘Business first, is that it?’

  ‘I thought it might be wiser.’ She turned away.

  ‘Not so quickly, Von.’ He caught her by the arm. ‘We’ve plenty of time. Let me look at you.’

  The expression in his eyes softened, and she felt the familiar rush of warmth between her legs. But this was the man who’d killed Tubby. She had to keep that in mind at all times.

  ‘Shall we eat, sir?’ she said lightly.

  A look of bafflement crossed his face. Careful. She’d need to be on her guard, or he’d become suspicious.

  She slid her arms round his waist and kissed his neck. Praying the bugs wouldn’t pick it up, she whispered into his ear, ‘I’m really no good on an empty stomach.’

  He extricated himself, laughing, and threw his coat over a chair. ‘And we don’t want that, now, do we?’ He opened the bottle of champagne. ‘So how is the investigation going? Have you got a prime suspect?’

  ‘We did, but he was murdered.’

  ‘And who was he?’ he said, in a bored voice.

  ‘Michael Gillanders. One of the cast at the Garrimont.’ She piled chicken salad onto a plate. ‘He stood to gain on Max Quincey’s death.’

  ‘Max had money? You do surprise me.’

  ‘The Quincey Players is worth a small fortune.’ She paused. ‘But I’ve discounted Gillanders. I don’t think Max was murdered for money. The investigation’s stalled, which is why I wanted this chat.’

  He forked smoked trout into his mouth. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘I’ve been back to the Duke.’

  ‘And what did you uncover?’

  ‘A hornets’ nest,’ she said softly.

  His head jerked up.

  ‘The more I delved into the goings-on at the Duke,’ she said, ‘the more suspicious I became. I discovered that DCI Harrower didn’t ignore the drug-related evidence because he’d followed a false trail before. He was warned off. His daughter was threatened. She was expecting a baby.’ She sipped at her champagne. ‘I thought you should know, sir, as his governor.’

  His face betrayed no emotion. ‘Tom told me nothing of this.’ He set down his plate and walked to the window. ‘So how long has this been going on?’ He glanced briefly at her. ‘The drugs at the Duke.’

  ‘At least twenty years.’

  He returned to top up their glasses.

  She watched him pour. God, he’s good. His hand isn’t even shaking.

  ‘You’re sure of your intelligence?’ he said.

  ‘It came from my snout.’ She was watching him closely. ‘He’s never wrong.’

  ‘Did Tubby say how he came by this information?’

  She hesitated. If this was a question Simon had asked Tubby while beating his brains out, then he’d know that Tubby had told her. It would be fatal to lie.

  ‘He got it from someone at the Duke. A man called Malkie. And there’s another regular whose name we don’t know.’

  ‘Have you pulled them in?’ he said warily.

  ‘We’ve been unable to find them. I’ve come to a stop, sir. A full stop.’

  ‘And how can I help?’ he said, smiling suddenly.

  ‘I wondered if you could tell me what you discussed with DCI Harrower.’

  ‘It’s all in the case file, Von. You know that.’

  ‘Come on, sir, we both know that detectives discuss things that don’t go into the file.’ She tried to control her nervousness. ‘Did DCI Harrower tell you he’d been warned off, for example?’

  ‘If he had, then I would have taken the threat seriously and torn the place apart. That’s a strange question, especially as I told you before that Tom said nothing to me about drug dealing.’

  His memory’s better than mine. I’ll have to tread more carefully. ‘I’d forgotten, sir,’ she said, trying to look foolish.

  ‘It’s of no consequence. Tom and I discussed nothing that didn’t go into the file, he really was a by-the-book man.’ He turned the glass in his hand. ‘How extensive is the drug dealing? I take it these boys who were murdered were in on it?’

  ‘Not just the boys.’

  ‘Who else?’ he said, not looking at her.

  This was the point of no return. She didn’t hesitate. ‘Max Quincey.’

  His head shot up. ‘Max?’

  She was having difficulty holding his piercing gaze. ‘He packaged the stuff and gave it to the boys to sell to their clients.’

  ‘You have evidence for this statement?’ he said coldly.

  ‘We found packets of heroin in the base of his doll.’

  For the first time, she saw his resolve waver. It was no more than a shadow across his eyes, but it gave her the confidence to proceed. ‘Why do you find it so hard to believe, sir?’

  ‘I’ve known Max for many years, and he’s simply not capable of it.’

  ‘How many years have you known him?’

  He didn’t reply, using the time to bring the mask back down. She could almost hear his thought processes. He’d know she had no tangible evidence to link him to Max. He’d tell her their friendship was the innocent consequence of his friendship with the Chief Super. She was never going to break him here, she might as well pull him in. But something made her go on.

  ‘You knew Max well, didn’t you, Simon?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you interrogating me, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘It’s a simple question. Would you mind answering it?’

  His eyes held hers. ‘Richard introduced us years ago. I can’t remember when exactly.’

  ‘Fifteen years ago? Twenty?’

  ‘I said I can’t remember exactly.’ He fumbled in his pocket. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Not at all. Hoyo de Monterrey, is it?’

  He stiffened, his hand still in his jacket.

  ‘The same brand that Max smoked,’ she said quietly.

  He relaxed visibly and pulled out the pack. ‘What of it? We all smoke Hoyo, even his brother.’

  She saw it then, as he lifted the cigarillo to his lips. She couldn’t tear her eyes from it, the evidence that, in another age, would have hanged him.

  ‘You’ve gone pale, Von.’ His voice was steady. ‘Are you unwell?’

  She dragged her gaze back to his. ‘Simon
Hensbury, I am arresting you for—’

  He leapt to his feet, pushing the food trolley aside with such force that it toppled over. For an instant she thought he was going to hit her. She made to step back but he gripped her by the neck and pulled down the zip of her shirt. ‘Are you wearing a wire?’ he hissed, tearing the shirt open.

  Both hands were on her throat now. She clawed frantically, but his fingers were like iron.

  Lights were popping in her head when she heard the door burst open, followed by the drumming of running feet.

  Steve and Larry seized Hensbury and began to prise his hands away. He released his hold on her neck, and rammed his elbow into Steve’s throat. Turning quickly, he lashed out at Larry. But he’d made an error of judgement. Larry, young and agile, ducked smartly, simultaneously landing Hensbury a blow in the solar plexus that made his legs buckle.

  ‘I wouldn’t try that again, sir,’ Larry said. He forced Hensbury’s hands behind his back. ‘It could seriously damage your health.’

  Steve helped her to her feet. Her throat was on fire and she was having difficulty standing. Larry held Hensbury’s arms as Steve snapped on the handcuffs.

  Hensbury stared at her, his mouth working. ‘You’re finished, Von.’

  ‘You first, sir,’ she croaked.

  Larry began to lead him away.

  ‘Wait.’ She motioned to her bag.

  Steve brought it over. Seeing how unsteady she was, he opened it and held it out. She rummaged inside and brought out latex gloves and a plastic bag. With shaking hands, she pulled on the gloves. ‘Turn him round,’ she said hoarsely.

  Steve and Larry exchanged glances. Larry pushed Hensbury so he was facing the door.

  She knelt and eased the signet ring from his left hand, then dropped it into the bag and sealed it. ‘Get this to Sir Bernard,’ she said, thrusting it at Larry. ‘I don’t care how you do it, but have him start on it immediately.’

  ‘What should he be looking for, ma’am?’

  ‘He needs to cross-match with Tubby’s DNA. That ring will contain traces of his blood and tissue.’

  She motioned to him to turn Hensbury back round. ‘And that will be enough to bring you down, you bastard.’ She steadied herself and delivered a vicious kick to his groin. He dropped to the floor, and lay writhing and moaning softly.

  ‘Get him out of my sight,’ she spat.

  Larry hauled Hensbury to his feet and dragged him from the room.

  Steve took her arm. ‘You need to get to a hospital and have yourself checked out.’ He indicated her throat. ‘You can hardly talk.’

  ‘No time. Who knows how quickly we’ll get the forensics back?’ She massaged her neck. ‘We may get Simon for Tubby’s murder, but he’ll deny killing Max or running the drugs ring. We need to break him, and we need to do it within the next twenty-four hours. Or let him go.’ Steve seemed to be having difficulty keeping his eyes on her face. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said. ‘Do I look frightful?’

  ‘Not at all, boss,’ he said quietly. He lifted his gaze to hers.

  Then she had it. With as much dignity as she could muster, she wrapped her shirt over her breasts and pulled the zip up over her plum-coloured satin-lace bra.

  Chapter 32

  Simon Hensbury threw his head back and blew smoke up to the ceiling. ‘And that’s the best you’ve got?’

  They were in the main interview room. Von and Steve were sitting facing Hensbury. His solicitor, a rangy man who was balding prematurely, was sprawled in the chair next to him, a bored expression on his face.

  Von had finished outlining the case against Hensbury. She’d put every fact before him save one: sleeving her aces was something she’d learnt, not from her old governor, but from her brothers. ‘You’re absolutely sure you never visited Max Quincey at Mrs Deacon’s?’ she said.

  Hensbury looked as though he’d been waiting for the question. He lifted the cigarillo to his lips. ‘I’d never even heard of the place, Chief Inspector, until Max Quincey’s death was reported in the papers.’

  She pushed the plastic bag towards him. ‘Recognise this?’ she said softly.

  He glanced at it, and his expression changed.

  ‘You left a perfect set of prints on the taps in Max Quincey’s bathroom, Simon. They place you in his room on the day he died.’

  He stared at the toothbrush. ‘Impossible.’

  ‘The jury won’t think so.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Why did you kill Max? Did he get greedy? Did he threaten to expose you?’

  He puffed at the cigarillo. ‘Circumstantial evidence. You know it, and I know it. Even if I admit I visited him there, those prints could have been deposited at any time.’

  ‘Max’s room was cleaned the morning of the day he died. The landlady will testify to polishing the taps.’ She brought her face close to his. ‘You went to see him, Simon, and you wore a wig because you didn’t want to be identified.’

  ‘A wig?’

  She waited till he’d stopped laughing. ‘You left hairs from that wig in Max’s room. We’re going to find it, and when we do, you’ll be up for double murder. You’ll be in prison for a long, long time.’

  He glared at her, hatred in his eyes.

  ‘How many distributors were there, Simon? Max was one, but there were others.’

  He drew on the cigarillo, his eyes half closed.

  ‘Kenny Downley was another.’ She paused just long enough to get his interest. ‘And then there’s Jonathan Moudry.’

  For an instant, he froze. The mask came down quickly, but not before she’d seen the alarm in his eyes. It told her what she wanted to know, that Jonathan Moudry could identify him.

  He stubbed out the cigarillo, smiling faintly. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Tell us how it works, Simon. Start at the beginning. Where do you source the heroin?’

  ‘This is preposterous,’ snapped the solicitor. ‘My client has dealt with your questions. I see no point in your asking them again.’ He picked up his briefcase. ‘Either charge my client, Chief Inspector, or release him.’

  ‘I have till tomorrow afternoon before I need to make that decision.’

  ‘Very well. We’ll meet then. This interview is over.’ He got to his feet. ‘Good afternoon.’ With a nod at Hensbury, he left the room.

  ‘Where did you get the heroin, Simon?’ she said, her eyes on his.

  ‘You can switch that machine off, Von. I’m saying nothing without my solicitor present.’ He looked at her breasts. ‘So are you going to accompany me to my cell and tuck me in?’

  Von watched Simon leave with the constable.

  ‘Doesn’t look as though we’re going to break him, Steve. Without the forensics, we’ll be playing “Simon Says” all evening. Let’s pray we get an answer from Sir Bernard before tomorrow afternoon.’

  Steve scratched the back of his neck. ‘There’s an outside chance he’s innocent of Max’s murder. He was pally with both him and the Chief Super. He might have visited Max purely socially.’

  ‘Not Simon. He’d have met him in a wine bar, or a hotel.’ She frowned. ‘But did you see his reaction when I mentioned Jonathan Moudry?’

  ‘Aye, that got a rise. The only thing that did, in fact. I’m betting Jonathan saw him in daylight.’

  ‘In daylight, and undisguised. Maybe Moudry walked in on them. Simon would have removed the wig in Max’s room. If Moudry can identify him as the Cutter, we’ve got him.’

  ‘Time’s not on our side.’

  She leant against the wall and closed her eyes. ‘We’ve got to find him. We’re so close, Steve. Can’t you feel it?’

  He was looking at her steadily. ‘Aye, boss.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said wearily. ‘Time to visit Jonathan’s mother.’ They were leaving the police station when Larry caught them up.

  ‘Something’s arrived from Sir Bernard, ma’am,’ he said, out of breath.

  ‘The analysis on Simon’s ring?’

  ‘A package, the con
tents of Max Quincey’s doll. You need to sign off on it before it’s sent to the storeroom.’

  ‘Leave it on my desk,’ she said, disappointed.

  An hour later, they were outside Janet Moudry’s house.

  ‘You ever been in this part of London, boss?’

  ‘Sedate upper-class Hampstead?’ Von said scornfully. ‘Sorry, I don’t rub shoulders with millionaires.’

  ‘I think this area is more middle-class.’ He indicated the front door, painted in royal-blue gloss, its burnished brass knocker in the shape of a bowl of flowers. ‘The millionaires must live elsewhere.’ He rang the bell.

  A minute later, the door was opened by a stick-thin woman in a flowery skirt and hand-knitted jumper. She smiled nervously as she looked from Von to Steve.

  ‘Mrs Moudry?’ Von said brightly. ‘Mrs Janet Moudry?’

  ‘That’s right, I’m Janet Moudry,’ came the polite reply. She spoke in a north-east accent, her voice low. Her eyes rested on the bruises on Von’s neck.

  ‘We’re police officers.’ Von held out her warrant card. ‘May we come in?’

  Most people were anxious when police called, but what Von saw in Janet Moudry’s eyes was an expression bordering on pure panic. She’s got something to hide.

  ‘Very well,’ Janet Moudry said in a resigned tone. She stepped back, almost wincing as they brushed past. ‘The lounge is to your right.’

  The large low-ceilinged room was over-furnished with heavy mahogany pieces, its surfaces polished to a high shine. A lacquered grandfather clock ticked loudly, the sound mingling with the song of blackbirds drifting in through the open windows. Traces of pot pourri lingered in the air. On the floor was a bundle of Fair Isle knitting. The all-pervading atmosphere was that of sadness for something long gone, and it washed over Von like a wave.

  The woman motioned to the armchairs. ‘Some tea?’ she said faintly.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Von.

  She smiled then. It was a smile which transformed her face. There was a softness in the wide hazel-coloured eyes which suggested that, in her youth, Janet Moudry had been a great beauty. Von had seen that smile before. She couldn’t yet say where.

  ‘Mrs Moudry, we’re trying to track down the whereabouts of your son.’