Gone Tomorrow

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘I never got as far as finding out,’ Garfield said with dignity.

  ‘I told him to shut up right away. But as to why he did it – I suppose it must have been the money. I guess he’d sell anything to anyone if the price was right.’

  Slider pondered a little. Lenny was a bad gambler and had been mixing up the money he collected, trying to pay his debts. Maybe he was desperate enough for money even to sell his girlfriend. But of course, he had sold her before, hadn’t he, to Ken Whalley in exchange for the park keys? And that hardly constituted grave need. Was there something else going on there?

  But at least now he knew where the leather jacket came from. Four of them, eh? Probably not important, but where did the others go? And he had confirmation that Lenny sold whaccy baccy, both in the park and elsewhere.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what did you think of Lenny Baxter? Apart from his attitude to his girlfriend.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Did you think he was a real hard man? A top-notch crook? The sort no-one could get one over on?’

  ‘He was a crook all right,’ Garfield said. He paused, looking back into memory. ‘He was a kind of good-looking bastard, the sort who gets women running after them and treats ’em badly. And he was tough all right. He could take care of himself. I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted to get into a fight with him.’

  ‘But?’

  Garfield hesitated. ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words, but there was a sort of—’ He paused again. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, shaking his head at the impossibility of explaining it. All I can say is that I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out he’d made a really stupid mistake. You got the feeling he had a bit missing, a common sense bit.’

  ‘You mean he was reckless?’

  ‘I don’t quite mean that. I don’t really know what I mean. It was just a feeling – that he’d trip up one day, and it would be something really stupid that tripped him. I wasn’t surprised to find out he’d been murdered.’

  Herbie Weedon’s house was a nightmare.

  ‘The old geezer must have lived there since Moses was at primary,’ McLaren said. And he never threw anything away.’

  ‘Papers everywhere,’ Mackay supported him. ‘It’s going to take for ever to sort through that lot. I mean, you never saw anything like it. It’s even stacked up the stairs. You can hardly see the carpet.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to,’ McLaren interpolated.

  ‘It was a death-trap, I tell you that, guv. He hadn’t had his wiring done since before the war—’

  ‘Hadn’t had anything done. Blimey, you should’ve seen the kitchen!’

  ‘—and with all that paper hanging around—’

  ‘The only clear space is a sort of track leading to the piano.’

  ‘Herbie Weedon played the piano?’ Slider said.

  ‘Half the stuff lying about everywhere’s piano music,’ Mackay said, ‘and old song sheets from God knows when, Queen Victoria’s time or something. You know, all curly writing and drawings on the front of geezers in penguin suits with big moustaches.’

  ‘A suit with a moustache? That’d save a lot of time,’ said Atherton.

  There was something faintly disturbing, Slider discovered, about the thought of that mountainous old villain going home at night and playing the piano to himself, all alone in his unreconstructed house with his one social grace.

  ‘Well, I suppose we’ll have to go through the motions,’ Slider said, ‘but I don’t believe there’ll be anything in the house to help us. These people knew what they were doing, and if Herbie had incriminating documents they’d have taken them away.’

  ‘More likely if he’d had something like that he’d’ve kept it at the office,’ Hollis said reasonably.

  ‘And we know they’ve been there,’ Atherton concluded.

  ‘So where are we going next, guv?’ McLaren asked.

  ‘Keep watching Eddie Cranston. I’m not convinced he knows anything – I think he knew Lenny Baxter as a freelance rather than as Mr Big’s runner – but you can’t be too careful. And keep watching Sonny Collins.’

  ‘If I have to drink any more of his pissy beer—’ Mackay began.

  ‘No, your face will be getting too well known by now,’ Slider said. ‘We’ll have to put someone else onto it.’

  ‘Why don’t we just do him for something?’ Anderson said. ‘We must have enough on him to nick him.’

  ‘Yes, but where would that get us? He won’t tell us the name of the big man.’

  ‘We could lean on him.’

  ‘Not nearly as hard as the big man leans,’ Slider said. ‘You saw what happened to Herbie Weedon. Collins is tough, but he’s practical. He knows it’d be better to go down for a spell as a martyr than to end up dead. No, our only hope’s to watch him and pray he gives us a clue to follow up. Anybody who comes in looking like a courier, we put a tail on.’

  ‘It’s all long-term stuff,’ Swilley commented. ‘No quick result there.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and Mr Wetherspoon doesn’t want jam tomorrow. I want all of you to keep asking around. Try and find Lenny’s girlfriend, Tina. And look for Lenny’s ex-customers, both on the bookie side and the drugs side. I know,’ he added to their murmur of protest, ‘that it’s not easy to get people to incriminate themselves, but all we need is a hint, a start in the right direction. Use your powers of persuasion.’

  Atherton followed him back into his office. ‘That was it? That was your best Billy Graham-style rouser?’

  Slider turned in frustration. ‘What kind of a gang is it that no-one knows about? Tidy Barnett’s come up with nothing. He’s asked everywhere and no-one knows anything.’

  ‘Or they’re not saying.’

  ‘Tidy knows everything that happens on the manor, but he can’t get any handle on who the two heavies were that were seen talking to Lenny. All he gets from people is that there’s a big game going on, but they don’t know who’s running it. Whoever the top banana is, he seems to be well insulated from the underworld.’

  ‘Well, Lenny Baxter and Everet Boston can’t be the only runners. There must be more of them if the business is all that big, and if we pull them in one by one, someone’s bound to squeak sooner or later.’

  ‘I’d almost put a bet on Everet squeaking,’ Slider said, ‘if I could just get hold of him.’

  But Boston was not to be found. His address was a flat in Harlesden, but no-one had answered the door, and the locals who were watching it reported no movement in or out. And he had not been to any of his known haunts.

  ‘Maybe we should get a warrant and search Boston’s place,’ Atherton suggested.

  Slider rubbed distractedly at his hair. ‘Yes, maybe. I’m just worried that if we show too much interest in him, what happened to Herbie Weedon will happen again.’

  ‘You can’t proceed on that basis,’ Atherton said reasonably, ‘or you’ll never do anything. That would be letting them win.’

  ‘If Everet Boston gets offed, they win.’

  ‘Maybe they’ve done him already,’ said Atherton. ‘Maybe that’s why there’s no answer to his door.’

  ‘You’re such a comfort to me,’ Slider said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Not Buried But In Turd

  One-Eyed Billy was distinctly nervous. He had got himself right up the end of the bar in the British Queen where he could keep his back to the wall and watch the door.

  ‘I don’t like it, straight I don’t,’ he said, and tipped the rest of his pint down his throat in two swallows. Nerves seemed to make him extra thirsty.

  Slider nodded to George, the barman, who sidled up and refilled Billy’s glass, his eyes darting from face to face from under his Neanderthal brow. George was a short, long-armed, potato-faced bloke who looked as though his descent from the apes had been via a handy short cut. He had worked at the Queen just about for ever, and was invaluable to the management because most people were scared of him; though Slider knew him
well enough to know that he was really a gentle, inoffensive man who was very good to his mum and by no means as dumb as he looked.

  ‘Look, Mr Slider,’ Billy went on when George had moved away, ‘I want to help you. Me dad said I had to help you. But what’s going to happen to me? I mean, Ev said he couldn’t go home ’cos they were watching his drum. He’s frit for his life. I mean, what if they’re watching me? What if they see me talking to you?’

  ‘Do you know who they are, Billy?’ Slider asked patiently.

  ‘No! Course I don’t. I don’t work for ’em. I’m straight.’

  ‘Then why should they mind you talking to me?’

  ‘They killed old Herbie Weedon just for talking to you.’

  ‘Obviously Herbie knew something. And we suspect he’d done business with them. Like you said, you don’t work for them. Why should they kill you? These are professionals, and believe me, professionals don’t go round killing people unless there’s a really good reason – from their point of view.’

  Well, it sounded good, and Billy seemed to buy it. He lowered a quarter of his pint, wiped the foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand, and seemed a notch calmer.

  ‘Just tell me what Everet said,’ Slider urged.

  ‘I told you, he said he couldn’t go home ’cos they were watching.’

  ‘Yes, and what else? Did he say where he was? Any clue at all?’

  ‘No, he just said he was laying low for a bit.’

  ‘What could you hear in the background?’ Billy looked blank. ‘When Ev was talking on the phone, what was going on in the background? People talking? Music? The sound of urinals flushing?’

  A long gawp ensued. ‘Nah, none of them. Maybe – traffic. No, I’m not sure.’

  ‘All right.’ Slider cancelled that line of enquiry. ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘Like I told you, he said to tell you to lay off him, ’cos otherwise the Man’d have him rubbed out, an’ that he didn’t know nothing about Lenny being offed so there was no point in trying to find him. And he said to tell you to find Tina. That’s Lenny’s bird.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘“Find Tina,” he said, like that, all urgent. And he said he’d ring me again when he could and see if I’d heard anything from you.’

  ‘Why is he so keen on this Tina?’ Slider asked.

  ‘I dunno. He knew her from before, that’s all I know. Maybe he fancied her.’

  ‘All right, Billy. Look, if Everet phones you again, tell him to phone me. Take this number, and give it to him, and tell him he must phone me, all right? It’s really important.’

  As Slider got up to leave, George caught his eye with a look of significance. Slider raised an eyebrow and was given an infinitesimal nod, and a flickering glance sideways. Slider left the pub and loitered casually round the corner into Thorpebank Road, and in a moment or two George appeared at the staff entrance.

  ‘You got something for me, George?’ Slider asked.

  ‘Billy’s mate Ev Boston,’ George said without preamble. He had the enviable ability to speak without moving his lips at all, and the rest of his face was so inexpressive it was like sound issuing from a stone.

  ‘You know him?’

  George shrugged, indicating that this was not a deep and abiding friendship. ‘I play snooker up the Snookerama in Harlesden High Street. Well, I live up Craven Park, don’ I? So I seen him there. He used to come in with this bird Billy’s talking about. Tina.’

  ‘When?’ Slider asked.

  ‘Not recently. A while back. Couple years.’

  ‘Girlfriend?’

  ‘Nah. She was a lot younger than him.’

  ‘Was Ev working her?’

  ‘Nah, I don’t think she was a tom. I think maybe she was a relative. Cousin or something. From the way they talked to each other. That’s all I know. Any good?’

  ‘Thanks, George. That is a help.’ He slipped a note across to George’s ready fingers under cover of the drying-cloth he was holding. As an afterthought he said, ‘You don’t know anything about this man Ev was working for?’

  ‘Nah. Sorry. I know you got the word out. Whoever he is, he keeps himself private. All I’ve heard is it’s big business.’

  ‘Yes, well, I guessed that. If you do hear anything—’

  George gave a curt nod and sidled away. He was not one of Slider’s regular informants, but Slider had known him a long time and did not underestimate him, for which George was in a quiet way grateful. This was not the first piece of information George had given him.

  Slider called Swilley in. ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

  ‘Now or tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh Nora, is that the time? Well, it’s going to take a while. You’d better start in the morning.’

  ‘Okay. D’you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a long shot anyway,’ Slider sighed, and told her about Everet Boston’s putative relationship with the missing Tina. ‘I want you to go through the records. Start with the toms register, but don’t restrict yourself to that if nothing comes up. Try the name Boston. Of course, cousins don’t always have the same surname, but it’s a chance. And if that doesn’t work, just look for any possible connection with Everet. Tina’s probably not her real name, which adds to the fun for you. Get onto Everet’s old school, get them to look up what his address was when he was there, see if that yields anything. A lot of these Harlesden families live close together. I know it’s a tenuous brief, but that’s why I want you to do it. Use your intelligence.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Swilley; and then, ‘It’s that bad, is it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Slider said. ‘We’re bound to get a handle on them sooner or later. I’d just prefer it was sooner.’

  ‘You think this Tina’s in danger?’

  Slider met her eyes. ‘Everet thinks she is. And he knows them better than we do.’

  Passing the door of Porson’s office, Slider saw to his surprise that Porson was there, standing by his desk, reading.

  ‘Sir,’ he said.

  Porson turned. He looked worn out. ‘Just looked in,’ he said hoarsely, cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Make sure everything’s all right. I’ve been on the dog to Mr Palfreyman, so he’s filled me in vis-à-vis the status quo. But you don’t always hear everything when it’s coming down from above rather than up from below.’

  And with Palfreyman it had a long way to fall, Slider thought. Porson met his eyes and there was a sudden sympathy between them.

  ‘I expect you’ve come in for a bit of the brown shower,’ Porson said. ‘That’s usually my job, to intersect it. Act as a sort of umbrella for the pony. Otherwise you lot’d be buried up to your navels and never get anything done.’

  ‘We do appreciate it, sir,’ Slider said. Porson looked bleak, and he added, ‘It’s a lonely job.’

  That was going too far. Porson’s face tightened and he said briskly, ‘So what leads are you following as of this instance?’

  Slider gave him a précis. ‘It seems at the moment that Everet Boston is our one hope, and he’s disappeared. We’re watching his house but I can’t see him going back there in his present state. What we have got is his mobile number. It’s switched off at the moment—’

  ‘He is being careful,’ Porson remarked.

  ‘Yes, sir. But he has said he’ll phone Billy Cheeseman again and he may phone me. What I’d like is a warrant for the mobile service provider so that if he does use his mobile again they’ll pinpoint where he is, and we can pick him up.’

  Porson considered a moment, and then said, ‘Well, it’s a long shot, but this is a bastard of a case. I’ll authorise it. Get it typed up and I’ll sign it.’

  ‘I’ve got it here,’ Slider said. ‘I was going to send it over to Hammersmith, but—’

  ‘Glad I’m useful for something,’ Porson barked. He fumbled at his pocket for a pen, then went behind his desk to get one out of a drawer. As he bent over to sign, his rug slipped forwa
rd, and he pushed it back with a careless hand. Was it possible to lose weight on your actual skull? Porson straightened up and Slider moved his eyes hastily.

  Porson passed over the warrant. He fixed Slider with a steely gaze. ‘We haven’t got long on this one. It’s going to turn into a political problem if we don’t break through and they’ll have to bring in an SCG from another borough.’

  ‘I’ve half expected it before now, sir.’

  ‘All right, it’s no shame to us. Normally they’d have had it off us from the start. We’ve only been left holding the bathtub this long because of the manpower situation. But they’ll bring in people who don’t know the ground, and I’d as soon not have ’em treading mud over my carpet. Mud or worse. Capisky?’

  Slider nodded. ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

  ‘I know, laddie, I know. You always do. I’m not just breathing down your parade to annoy you. You’ve got my full support. Any warrants you want, as much overtime as it takes. Whatever you need.’

  Slider thanked him. ‘Does that mean you’re back, sir?’

  The old granite face seemed to harden a fraction more. ‘No, laddie, I’m not back. I just popped in, like I said. I’ve got to get back to the hospital.’

  Hospital? Slider started to say, ‘I hope—’ and then realised there was no way to finish that sentence. I hope it’s nothing serious? But he wouldn’t be away from work if it weren’t.

  Porson seemed to appreciate the reticence. He nodded. ‘If you need anything, call me on my mobile. And you can send someone over with anything that wants signing. Come to me, not Mr P.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And keep leaning on every bit of lowlife in the borough. This lot may be well organised, but somewhere out there there’s a weak link, and I want us to put our foot through it before they do.’

  Joanna opened the door of Atherton’s house to him, with a cross-eyed teenage Siamese clinging to her scalp.

  ‘Gosh, you’re late,’ she said.

  ‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ Slider asked.

  ‘Like hell,’ she assured him mildly. ‘I can’t detach it until you’re inside.’

  ‘Sorry. Shall I do the honours?’