Gone Tomorrow

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘Did Bates get a tattoo himself?’

  ‘Oh, no. Squeamish about it, as far as his own white skin went. But couldn’t get enough of seeing it done to other people. Well, that’s what I heard. Anyway, I was telling you – one day, this is what I heard, he asked Collins, could he have a go using the machine. And Collins let him do one on him. That’s how far he’d let this bloke go, because it must’ve been a big risk, especially round his neck like that.’

  ‘Why that particular tattoo?’

  ‘I heard it was a kind of joke, that it was meant to be like Boris Karloff – you know, the stitches holding his head on?’

  ‘Frankenstein’s monster?’

  ‘That’s the one! Bates was all brain and Collins was all brawn, like I said, and, what with him only having one eye – well, Bates used to call him that, Frankenstein’s monster. Kind of affectionate, I suppose,’ he added, but doubtfully.

  Hollis thought that from what he had heard so far, it was evidence of Bates’s desire to live dangerously. ‘So when Collins went back to England, did Bates go too?’ he asked.

  ‘’Course he did! You couldn’t have one without the other. Gammon without spinach that’d be.’

  Perhaps, then, Hollis thought, that was where the stash went. Perhaps the faithful Collins used it to set Mr Bates up in business. A capital sum to buy the first old houses to be done up? It was possible – though why would Collins give it all away? Wasn’t that taking friendship too far? Most criminals displayed all the loyalty of a tart in a barracks. On the other hand, if they had made the money together, as a partnership, perhaps it was only nominally Collins’s, because he had the legitimate business to pass it through: he was the laundry for their joint efforts. And perhaps they shared the profits. There was nothing in Collins’s lifestyle to suggest he had money, but maybe that’s how he liked to live. It was not impossible that there was a big deposit somewhere they hadn’t discovered yet.

  Speedy Rice seemed to have come to an end of his recollections. Hollis looked over his notes, thanked him, and asked if he’d be willing to have a statement taken, if anything should come of it.

  ‘’Course I will,’ he said. ‘Got to do our duty, haven’t we?’

  ‘I wish everyone thought like that,’ Hollis said. He got up to go, thanking Mrs Rice for the coffee and biscuits, at which she beamed with pleasure and said he was welcome, it was nice to have company now and then, and come again.

  The company removed itself carefully, stepping over furniture and squeezing through the doorway. Hollis was a thin man and no more than average height, but this place made him feel like the jolly green giant.

  Mr Rice had leapt nimbly to his feet and said, ‘I’ll show him out, Mother, don’t you move.’ When they got out into the roaring, shuddering street – Hollis could swear the traffic bellow was bouncing off the pavement in lumps – it became clear this courtesy had an ulterior motive.

  ‘I didn’t like to say anything in front of the wife,’ he told Hollis in a confiding shout, ‘but there’s some other stuff I could tell you about Collins and Bates.’

  ‘Please do,’ Hollis shouted back.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Rice, ‘when I said it was like a kind of love, Mother thought I was suggesting they were queer. But it wasn’t that. They both had women – lots of ’em. They used to go hunting ’em together. Chinese women, mostly, o’ course. There wasn’t many of the other sort, and you could get into trouble chasing them.’

  ‘Prostitutes?’ Hollis asked.

  ‘I suppose so. There were lots of prostitutes, B-girls and dancers, and then all those massage parlours and places that were sort of on the brink.’ He made a rocking movement with his hand. ‘Could go either way, get me? But there were plenty of women available. I dare say some of them were just poor and needed the money. And maybe some were too scared to say no. They had some funny habits, those two.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Mr Rice looked up at him with a sort of stern reluctance. ‘It’s only hearsay. But there was a lot of talk about Collins and Bates – Collins having been one of ours, you know. The talk was that they liked to hurt women. I’d hesitate to believe that of anybody if I could help it, but I’ve knocked around the world a bit, and I know what men can be. Even some of the decent lads in our unit, well, they thought Chinese women didn’t count the same as white ones.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hollis. ‘I’ve known men like that.’

  Speedy nodded, man of the world to man of the world. ‘And if you start thinking like that, it’s not a big step to thinking no women count.’

  ‘Did both of them get their pleasure that way?’ Hollis asked.

  ‘The way I heard it, it was Bates liked to do the hurting, and Collins liked to watch, but he must have been part of it, mustn’t he? I dare say he held ’em down or something. Nasty, I call it. People like that – well, I don’t know what they deserve.’ He paused and then added reflectively, ‘So Crafty Collins is dead, is he? There’s a lot of ’em gawn, from back then. I go to the reunions, and every time there’s another one gawn. The old man with the scythe, you know. And what about afterwards? Collins’ll be finding out about that. If there is an afterlife, your sins’ll all be looked at pretty bloody close, I reckon. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hollis gravely, ‘it makes you think.’

  Before Slider could get out of the office, his mobile rang. It was Pauline Smithers, so he sat down again to talk to her.

  ‘Blimey, that’s quick,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you for a day or two.’

  ‘Yes, well what I found out I thought you’d better know ASAP,’ she said. ‘You do like to shove your hand into hornets’ nests, don’t you, old pal of mine?’

  ‘What have I done now?’

  ‘I hope you haven’t done anything. That’s why I’m calling you on a Sunday morning when I should be in a deep bath with a glass of Chardonnay.’

  ‘Stop it, you’re making me dribble.’

  ‘I’m not fooling, Bill,’ she said sternly. ‘Do you know what this cultural legation is?’

  ‘Not what it seems?’ he hazarded.

  ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, and the person who told me shouldn’t have told me, but it’s one of those secrets that aren’t so secret any more since the end of the Cold War, and in any case I want to stop you hurting yourself.’

  ‘Oh, it’s like that, is it?’ Slider said, enlightened. Atherton half thought it might be. He’s been chumming up to one of the employees and found her exposition of what the cultural legation did less than convincing.’

  ‘Yes, well, apparently that particular branch specialises in listening, and given that they’re willing to share what they hear – or some of it, at any rate – with us, it’s one of those situations it’s worth turning a blind eye to, as long as no-one does anything that has to be noticed.’

  ‘Like someone drawing attention to himself?’ Slider said.

  ‘Never mind himself,’ Pauline said. ‘I’m thinking of you. If everyone’s ignoring everything like billy-oh in the national interest, how grateful do you think they’ll be to someone who asks so many questions some of them have to be answered?’

  ‘Oh, Pauly, been there, done that,’ he said. ‘If I were to tell you how many times I’ve been threatened—’

  ‘Not by this lot,’ she said shortly. ‘I know you have to do what you have to do, and in any case, I’m not speaking to you now and this conversation never happened. But for God’s sake be careful.’

  ‘I will. I promise. But what about Bates? Did you find out anything about him?’

  He almost heard her wince. ‘Must you name names? How secure do you think this telephone is? All I know about him is that he supplies some systems and hardware, again with tacit consent – which makes it even more dangerous to mess with him. But I can tell you that according to my source they’ve got their doubts about him. He’s been under investigation for some time. He’s got his finger into too many pies
, and they think he may be a security risk.’

  ‘Because of the pies, or for some other reason?’

  ‘I don’t know specifics. Is there another reason?’

  ‘There may be. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Any particular flavour pies mentioned?’

  ‘She didn’t say, but I’d guess they were criminal or at least questionable, or why the worry?’

  ‘And are they doing anything about him?’

  ‘Yes, they’re going the Al Capone route. The Inland Revenue has got a special investigation team liaising with one of our squads, trying to find out where his money comes from and where it goes to.’

  ‘Ah, yes, softly softly findee monkey,’ Slider said bitterly. And we’ve got four corpses and counting.’

  ‘It’s no use complaining to me. If you’re so keen on him, get some evidence the CPS can’t ignore. All I’m saying is be sure you know what you’re doing. He doesn’t exactly have friends in high places, but high places eat up little chaps like you and me.’

  ‘Yes, okay. I understand. Thanks, Pauly.’

  ‘No sweat. Or not much, anyway. So now you owe me – again!’

  ‘When all this is over I’ll take you out for a meal. A real blow-out, okay?’

  ‘When’s this lady of yours coming back?’

  ‘Why d’you ask?’

  ‘I’m wondering how she’ll feel about you and me and the candlelit dinner.’

  ‘She can come too.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  He hesitated, and added, ‘She may not be coming back at all. This job – she’s been trying to tell me something for the last week and not managing it.’

  ‘You think she’s found someone else?’ Pauline asked with gruff sympathy.

  ‘It’s possible,’ he admitted painfully. ‘I mean, what have I got to offer her?’

  ‘Don’t trail your coat. You know what I think of you.’ Before Slider, startled, could say ‘No, what?’ and embarrass them both, she went on quickly, ‘If she says she’s found someone she prefers, have her certified, that’s my advice. And now I’ve got to go. Take care, Bill.’

  ‘You too,’ he said, but he was talking to the air. He sat a moment lost in thought, trying to sort out the strands, to put the personal things aside where they wouldn’t interrupt him. Pauline – Joanna – his future, possibly alone. Work was nearly everything, but not quite. It took it out of you – put it back in, too, of course: the pleasure of getting a result; the intellectual satisfaction of sorting out tangles and finding where the truth had been buried, usually at the bottom of a festering pile of profiteroles. But you needed more, you needed the human dimension too, otherwise you became lop-sided. You could end up as twisted as the people you investigated. That was it, wasn’t it? Crime was a lop-sidedness They talked about a person being well-balanced, didn’t they? Well, how well-balanced could you be doing a thirteen-hour shift and going home to a take-away and a cold bed, day after day? He wanted Joanna, but he needed her too. If she didn’t come back – if what she had been trying to tell him was that it was just too hard and she was going to let him go and look elsewhere – could he do the Job without her? Could he ever, now, care for anyone else? He thought he knew the answer to that one, helped to it by kind Pauline. The answer was, not enough.

  Forget it for now, he told himself firmly, knotting the whole bundle together and putting it aside. Right now he had more immediate things to think about. And if he didn’t get out of the office toot sweet, the phone would ring again and he’d be here all day.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Déjà Vous

  Slider had to knock and ring at the door of the flat just off Portobello Road for a good long time before it opened. Sassy Palmer, in a cotton dressing-gown that was not really man enough for the job, looked at him blankly, then said, ‘Oh, fuck me! You again!’ and tried to shut the door.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Sassy,’ Slider said, stopping it with his foot. ‘I just want to talk to you.’

  ‘I ain’t Sassy to you,’ she said irritably. ‘Show some respec’, for Chrissake. And whut make you think I want to talk to you?’

  ‘Miss Palmer, then,’ Slider said placatingly. ‘Come on, let me in. You know I’m one of the good guys.’

  ‘You a honky bastard, like all the rest,’ she said, but with less heat.

  ‘Better to talk to me than someone else, isn’t it? I do respect you, Miss Palmer, I really do. And I’m on your side. I just want some information.’

  ‘Yeah, like that all you want!’ she said, but she stopped pushing at the door, though she didn’t yet abandon it. She seemed to be considering.

  He pushed again his main credential. ‘If you don’t talk to me someone else will come. You don’t want a squad of heavy-handed coppers pounding at your door, do you?’

  At last she said, ‘I ain’t alone.’

  ‘You’ve got a customer with you?’

  ‘At this time o’ day?’ she said scornfully. ‘No, I got my sister stayin’ over.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’

  ‘There a lot you don’t know ’bout me. Hanyway, she asleep. Don’t you make a noise an’ wake her.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Slider said. Taking this for an invitation he pushed the door again, gently, and she yielded and let him in.

  The narrow hall, hardly more than one human wide, had been painted purple by an amateur hand, and an ugly cast-iron chandelier much encrusted with candle wax made the headroom hazardous. Sassy, walking away before him, seemed to fill the space. She was a tall woman, taller than Slider, well-bosomed and slim-hipped, though with a fleshy behind that twitched in what might have been an inviting way under the thin cotton, except that Slider knew she was dog-tired and invitation was the last thing on her mind. Her feet were bare except for toe-rings, and silver anklets that clinked at every step. Her hair was grown long and stood out in a great mass round her head and shoulders, too wiry to do anything as pedestrian as hang down.

  She led him into the sitting room and flung herself down on the sofa, one foot tucked under her, giving the cotton wrap even more pressing problems to solve. Her eyes were bleared with her interrupted sleep, and one of her long talon fingernails was missing. They were falsies, he supposed, since they were painted black and the short nail on the odd finger was a natural pink. She seemed to like black. One of the walls was painted black – the other three were red, a depressing combination, he thought – and there was a black ‘throw’ over one of the armchairs. Chairs and sofa were old, probably bought second-hand, and renovated in the cheapest way by hanging a piece of cloth over and tucking the slack into the creases. There were a lot of candles around, and paper flowers, and objects that had been painted with silver paint, or decorated with stuck-on sequins or squares cut from mirror-flex. Everything in the room was cheap and the decoration was home-made, but it was certainly individual. There was a smell in the air which he thought at first was joss-sticks, but realised after a moment was old perfume – hers, presumably – whose brand he knew but couldn’t for the moment place.

  Sassy yawned mightily, showing the gold cap on one of her front teeth. ‘So whut you want, anyhow?’ she said uninvitingly. She went to pull her robe together at the front, and noticed the missing nail. ‘Shit! How’d I do that?’ She pronounced the expletive with extra vowels, like an American. Her accent wandered quite a bit, from Harlesden to Harlem, but leaning more towards the latter. When Slider had first known her she had been pretending to be American (that’s where she had got the nickname) on the grounds that it was good for trade, and old habits died hard.

  ‘I want to talk to you—’ Slider began, then snapped, ‘Sassy, pay attention! This is important.’

  She looked up resentfully from examination of her fingernail. ‘I listening. I don’t have to look at you as well.’

  ‘Yes you do. I want to see your face.’

  ‘’F you think I gonna lie to you, why you botherin’ t’ ask me?’

  He didn’t answ
er that. ‘Until three months ago you used to work in the house run by Susie Mabbot.’

  Now he had her attention. ‘Shit! Not that again,’ she said. Now in her apprehension her accent had come home to London. ‘I told ’em everyfing I knew. It’s ancient history. What’re you draggin’ it all up again for?’

  ‘Not that ancient. And I don’t think you told quite everything. I don’t think any of you girls told quite everything.’

  ‘Listen, Susie was good to us! We was all heart-broken over what happened to her! What d’you think?’

  ‘I know you were. I think you were also scared to death that what happened to her might happen to you. So you did the sensible thing and kept your mouths shut.’

  ‘Yeah, well if we did, we had good reason, didn’t we? So what makes it any different now?’

  ‘Like you said, it’s ancient history. Over and done with. You’re out of the loop, aren’t you? So you can talk to me quite safely.’

  ‘I don’t want nuffin’ to do with it,’ she said with finality. And then she added, bethinking herself, ‘I don’t know nuffin’, anyway. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, you do, Sass, don’t say that. This is heavy stuff, and I need your help. You working girls have got enough to worry about without creeps like him. Look what he did to Susie! Don’t you want to get revenge for that?’

  ‘I hate him for that,’ she said with low anger.

  ‘And now there’s another girl in danger. I’ve got to get him put away.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Sassy said. ‘He’s untouchable.’

  ‘No, he’s not. We’ve got his DNA profile. If we can arrest him for anything, we can match it and prove he killed Susie.’

  ‘How d’you get that?’ Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared with distaste or distress. ‘Not from her?’ He nodded. ‘After all that time in the water?’

  ‘He miscalculated,’ Slider said. ‘The river cheated him. The way the tide was she oughtn’t to have been found for days, even weeks. She might have gone right down to the sea and never been found. But just by chance she got washed up within hours.’