by Graham Ison
Hooper looked offended. ‘Like I said, blue uniforms are —’
Fox held up his hand. ‘Yes, all right, John, point taken. A personal computer that was nicked from a dwelling house in Sutton over Christmas was bought second-hand from one of your Freddie’s charity shops.’
Hooper shrugged. ‘People are always donating stuff to charity,’ he said. ‘Bring it in by the van-load sometimes. It’s inevitable that some of the gear’s nicked. But charities don’t look gift horses in the mouth.’
‘I know all that, John, but your guv’nor knew Dawn Sims. Dawn Sims’s body was found in Harry Dawes’s slaughter at Lambeth —’
‘Don’t tell me that Sliding Dawes is still at it,’ said Hooper.
‘And some,’ said Fox. ‘And that computer almost certainly came from a ram-raid in Kingston a couple of months ago, the proceeds of which were fenced by Dawes.’
‘Ah!’ said Hooper.
‘Beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel, John?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Have you made enquiries at the shop?’ Hooper paused. ‘Not that it would do any good. They don’t keep records of where the stuff comes from. They’ll take anything that’s brought in without even asking who you are. That afternoon it’s in the window, next day it’s gone.’
‘I know all about that,’ said Fox. ‘But I’m just wondering if it went direct from Dawes to the charity shop.’
‘Could’ve done, I suppose.’ Hooper was beginning to get confused by Fox, but he was not the first old policeman to whom it had happened. ‘What are you driving at?’
‘I don’t know really,’ said Fox with uncharacteristic candour, ‘but I’ve put Ron Crozier in, under cover.’
‘Who’s Ron Crozier?’
‘He’s a DS on the Squad.’
Hooper shook his head. ‘Know the name,’ he said, which is what most policemen say when they have never heard of someone. ‘What’s he doing anyway?’
‘Working at the Hayden Trust depot at Epsom.’
‘No, I mean what’s he hoping to find out?’
‘It’s just a hunch, John, but I’ve got a feeling about your Freddie Hayden.’
‘Soon to be “Sir” Freddie,’ said Hooper.
‘How did you know that?’ asked Fox. ‘I thought it was supposed to be Top Secret.’
‘It is,’ said Hooper, ‘but everyone in the organisation knows about it.’
Fox’s eyes narrowed. ‘You haven’t been giving his secretary a seeing-to, have you, John?’
‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ said Hooper. ‘Anyway, she’s being looked after by one of the directors.’ He grinned. ‘So, what d’you want me to do about your man Crozier?’
‘How close d’you get to Hayden?’
‘In and out of his office all the time,’ said Hooper. ‘He relies on me to keep him informed about whats going on in the organisation.’
‘Like what?’ asked Fox.
‘Like who’s fiddling their expenses. Like who’s got a new house with a bigger mortgage than his salary. Like who’s screwing whose wife.’
‘You’re the hatchet-man then?’
‘No, he doesn’t sack them,’ said Hooper. ‘Just threatens them and they work harder and become dedicated company men.’
Fox laughed. ‘And what’s he got on you, John?’
‘Leave it out,’ said Hooper. ‘You know me. Always played away from home.’
‘What I want you to do then, John, is to tell Hayden that you’ve done a bit of checking on this Ron Crozier down at the Epsom depot because you thought you recognised him. Something like that. Then tell him that he’s got form and that he’s only just come out from doing a five-stretch for thieving … and that’s why he can’t get a job. There’ll be papers in the Scrubs to back it up, just in case he knows someone and wants collateral.’
‘What’s the point of all that?’ asked Hooper.
‘It’s what I call beating on the ground,’ said Fox. ‘Sometimes, something comes up.’
SEVENTEEN
STILL READING THE FILE IN front of him, Denzil Evans lifted the receiver of the telephone. ‘DI Evans,’ he said absently. But suddenly he concentrated on what was being said to him by the detective chief inspector at Chelsea Police Station. ‘And when was this, guv?’ he asked, starting to scribble furiously on a notepad.
A few minutes later, Evans tapped on Fox’s door.
‘Ah, Denzil.’
‘Just had a call from the DCI at Chelsea, sir,’ said Evans. ‘Jason Hope-Smith has been arrested.’
‘Good gracious,’ said Fox. ‘What’s he been up to?’
‘There’s been an allegation of rape made against him, sir.’
‘That’s very interesting, Denzil. What are the ins and outs?’ Fox grinned. ‘If you’ll excuse an apt phrase. You’d better sit down,’ he added, ‘before you get too excited.’
Evans perched on the edge of the chair in front of Fox’s desk and consulted his notes. ‘The alleged victim is a girl called Trixie Harper, sir. A single woman, aged twenty-nine. She lives in the flat above Hope-Smith. Seems that they had become friendly since he moved in and last night he took her out to dinner at some Chelsea restaurant. When they got back, he invited her in for coffee. Miss Harper alleges that Hope-Smith then attacked her and raped her.’
‘Early complaint?’ asked Fox, using policeman’s shorthand to query whether the girl had reported the matter immediately.
‘Instant, sir, so it seems. Miss Harper fled screaming into the street wearing nothing more than a towel. She was taken care of by the driver of a passing bus who probably thought his luck had changed.’
‘And when was Hope-Smith arrested, Denzil?’
‘Two o’clock this morning, sir. Denies the allegation, naturally —’
‘Naturally,’ murmured Fox.
‘And was bailed to reappear at Chelsea nick thirty days hence, or sooner if required.’
‘Bailed?’ said Fox angrily. ‘Why wasn’t the little bastard charged?’
‘Conflict of evidence, guv.’ Evans looked at his notes again. ‘Appears that when Miss Harper was examined by the divisional surgeon, he only found evidence of rather vigorous sexual intercourse. There were no signs of scratches or bruising to her body that would indicate an assault or a struggle and her clothes were not damaged at all. The implication is that she undressed voluntarily and —’
‘And then changed her mind when it was too late,’ said Fox with a sigh. ‘Well, Denzil, that’s a woman’s prerogative, but it’s going to make it bloody difficult to get him down. Just have to hope that he gets an all-woman jury,’ he added, ‘if the bloody Crown Prosecution Service deigns to charge him.’
‘Think that puts him any nearer the Dawn Sims topping, guv?’
‘I’d like to think so, Denzil,’ said Fox. ‘From what the people in Kuwait said, he’s certainly a bloke who likes his crumpet, but then so do a lot of other men.’
‘Are you going to interview him again, sir?’
Fox pondered that problem for a moment. ‘Not until I’ve spoken to the DCI at Chelsea,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to bugger up his job for him but I think that I’ll get Henry Findlater to keep an eye on Hope-Smith so long as the DCI at Chelsea doesn’t object. Have his passport off him, did they?’
‘Yes, sir, they did,’ said Evans.
*
‘I’ve done the enquiry on Lady Jane Sims’s ex, sir,’ said Rosie Webster, laying the search form on Fox’s desk.
Fox glanced at it. ‘Piers!’ he said. ‘What sort of first name’s that?’ He tossed the form to one side. ‘Anything of interest, Rosie?’
‘More or less as she said, sir.’
‘Reckons,’ said Fox and sniffed.
‘They were married fifteen years ago and divorced seven years later on the grounds of having lived apart for more than three years.’
‘Yes,’ said Fox, ‘that’s what she said.’
‘He was five years older than Lady Jane, sir, and was an officer in
the Guards at the time. Shortly after they were married, he left the army. Apparently, his colonel advised him against pursuing a military career on the grounds that he was bloody useless.’ Rosie looked up and smiled. ‘So he became a futures-broker or something of the sort, but went bankrupt at about the time they split up.’
‘How the hell did you find all that out, Rosie?’ asked Fox. ‘That wasn’t in the records at St Catherine’s House.’
‘No, sir,’ said Rosie and smiled again. ‘But I’m friendly with a major in his old regiment and I wheedled it out of him.’
‘Always did think you’d got influential friends,’ said Fox. Certainly Rosie Webster’s clothes and her expensive perfume implied that there were one or two wealthy men among her coterie of admirers. But that came as no surprise to Fox. Nor to anyone else.
‘D’you want this information filed in the incident room, sir?’
‘No, it’s not relevant to the enquiry. You can leave it with me.’ Later, Fox took the results of Rosie’s enquiry into the incident room and put it through the shredder.
*
The Hayden Trust Charity depot at Epsom was like a huge Aladdin’s Cave. Great wooden racks groaned under the weight of clothing, medical supplies, dried food and tents. In fact, everything that could be used for the relief of suffering, famine and sickness in far-off countries was there.
The supervisor of this vast emporium was a man called Alec Tinsley. Now into his fifties, he had spent most of his life in the army as a quartermaster. But none of his military mannerisms had been left behind with his uniform. ‘My name’s Mr Tinsley,’ he said, ‘and I’m in charge of this lot. What I say goes. Get that into your head and we’ll get on famously. Understood, Crozier?’ His attitude was not influenced by the fact that Crozier was an unpaid volunteer.
‘Yes, Mr Tinsley.’
‘Right, now what d’you know about stores? Anything?’
‘Not a lot, no.’
‘Right, then we’ll have to teach you, I suppose.’ Tinsley sighed at the unfairness of a world that, all his life it seemed, had foisted people upon him who knew nothing about their jobs. ‘I’m going to put you in the section that handles dried foods. I know exactly what’s there, so don’t go nicking nothing. There’s no perks here, my lad. Understood?’
‘Yes, Mr Tinsley,’ said Crozier once more.
‘Right then. When we get supplies coming in —’
‘Where do they come from, Mr Tinsley?’
Tinsley gazed reflectively at Crozier. ‘I don’t see as how it’s got anything to do with you,’ he said, ‘but various public-spirited commercial organisations around the country donate supplies and deliver them here. Some sort of tax fiddle, I suppose.’ Tinsley was unwilling to accept that some people did things out of the goodness of their heart. ‘Other stuff’s bought with the donations what people make to the Hayden Trust.’ He sniffed and fingered his moustache. ‘And that’s all you need to know, cocky.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘When this gear arrives, your job is to check it in and make sure it gets put in the right place. Then when we makes up loads, ready for air-lifting to some distant shore, you puts it together. Understood?’
‘Yes, Mr Tinsley.’
‘Right then.’ Tinsley slipped his pen into the top pocket of his grey warehouse coat and marched back to his office in the corner of the huge warehouse.
*
Freddie Hayden’s secretary, Toni, replaced the receiver and glanced up at John Hooper. ‘He’s on the phone to New York,’ she said curtly. She didn’t like the chief security officer and, although in her privileged position, she could afford to be a little frosty towards him, there was a limit to how far she could go. The indirect cause of her animosity — and her caution — was the affair that she was having with one of the married directors. She was convinced that Hooper had learned of it and had passed the information on to Freddie Hayden. What was not in doubt, was the change in Hayden’s attitude towards her. Over the last six months or so, he had been hinting that she should be more than just his secretary, and occasionally put his hand on her breast or her bottom and made indecent suggestions. She did not relish the idea of going to bed with Hayden, but that, she thought, would probably be the price she would have to pay to safeguard her own and her lover’s job. She glanced at the indicator panel on her desk and saw that the light had gone out. ‘He’s finished,’ she said.
‘Morning, sir,’ said Hooper breezily as he closed Hayden’s office door.
‘Good morning, John. And how are you this morning?’
‘Fine, sir, thank you.’ Hooper had no time whatsoever for Hayden. He had met too many men of his type during his police service, but Hooper needed the job. In addition to a good salary, he had a company car, free medical insurance and a free pension to add to his police pension when he eventually retired. ‘I’ve come across a disturbing bit of news, sir.’
‘Oh dear. You’d better come and sit down, John. Help yourself to some coffee.’ Hayden waved a hand towards the sideboard and sat down on one of the two settees. ‘And what is this distressing intelligence?’
‘I was having a look round down at Epsom, sir —’
‘Oh?’ Hayden tensed slightly. ‘Is there some trouble down there?’
‘Well, no, not as such, sir, but I came across a face.’
‘Aha! Did you now? A tea-leaf?’ Hayden enjoyed listening to Hooper’s criminal slang and attempted to emulate it, though usually without much success.
‘No, there’s no thieving going on, sir, but I saw this fellow who’s been taken on as storeman. Name of Crozier.’
‘What about him, John?’
‘Just came out of the Scrubs. Did a handful.’
‘A handful?’ Hayden leaned forward eagerly.
‘Five years, sir. Aggravated burglary.’ Hooper leaned back nonchalantly. ‘I have my sources, of course, sir, and I learn that he’s got a string of previous convictions for dishonesty.’
‘What’s he doing at Epsom then?’ Hayden frowned. ‘Who took him on? What are we paying him?’
‘Apparently he wandered into the Trust’s head office and volunteered his services,’ said Hooper. ‘Reckoned he couldn’t get a job and wanted something to occupy his mind while he was on the dole.’
‘A burglar, you say?’ Hayden looked reflectively at the glass sculpture on the coffee table.
‘That’s right, sir,’ said Hooper. He could see that any minute now, Fox’s under-cover man was going to be dismissed, but he couldn’t work out the detective chief superintendent’s ploy. Nevertheless, Hooper had his own position to think about. ‘Want me to give him the big E, sir?’ he asked tentatively.
‘No, leave it with me. Some heads are going to roll over this one, John.’ Hayden stood up, a frown on his face. ‘Don’t these people ever check with you before they take on staff?’
‘Usually, sir,’ said Hooper. ‘Especially since that last memo you sent out.’
*
‘Oh, Tommy!’ Lady Jane Sims pushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘How good to see you. Come in. I was just getting myself some supper. Will you join me?’ As usual, she was dressed in jeans and an old rugby shirt.
‘No thanks,’ said Fox. ‘I grabbed a quick sandwich earlier on.’
Jane tutted as she led Fox into the sitting-room. ‘You single men are all the same,’ she said. ‘You should take more care of yourself. Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’
‘Don’t let your supper spoil. In fact, I won’t stay, but I was passing and I thought I’d just drop in to see how you were.’
‘Of course you’ll stay … if you don’t mind watching me eat, that is.’ Jane handed him a tumbler of whisky and walked through into the kitchen.
‘I saw your brother the other day,’ said Fox.
‘Oh, what about?’ shouted Jane from the kitchen.
‘Just to put him in the picture. He rang me at the Yard and we went for a drink at his club.’
&nbs
p; ‘How boring. I hate gentlemen’s clubs. Is he all right?’
‘Yes.’ Fox was surprised that the new Earl Sims appeared not to have been in touch with his sister.
‘He rings me from time to time, but I’m never quite sure where he’s ringing from.’ Jane came back into the sitting-room with a plate of pasta and a glass of wine. ‘Be a dear and push one of those tables over, Tommy.’ She nodded towards a nest of occasional tables. ‘How did he take the news of Dawn’s behaviour?’ She glanced quickly at Fox, wondering whether he had told her brother more than he had told her.
‘He was a bit upset by it, naturally,’ said Fox. ‘But fairly phlegmatic.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘That there was nothing that could be done now. But I got the impression that he wished that he had kept a closer eye on her when she was alive. Apparently, he didn’t know anything about her allowance having been cut off by your father.’
‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ said Jane, ‘but if he stayed in one place for five minutes, I’d’ve known how to get in touch with him.’ And then, seeming to realise that it was not the done thing to criticise her brother to a comparative stranger she changed the subject. ‘Are you any nearer finding her killer?’ She took a forkful of pasta as though not really interested in the answer.
‘Still got a lot of irons in the fire,’ said Fox. The law regarding sexual offences prevented him from telling the girl about Hope-Smith’s arrest.
‘You’re keeping something from me,’ said Jane, looking up with a wry smile.
‘No I’m not. It’s just that there are so many things going on, that to tell you about them would merely confuse you.’
Jane stared at Fox for a moment or two and then took a sip of wine. ‘What’s that lovely expression you policemen use? You are hopeful of an early arrest?’
Fox grinned. ‘Yes, something like that.’ He wished it were true. ‘By the way, Jane, I’ve got a couple of tickets for Starlight Express. I don’t know if you’re interested, but you did say you liked Lloyd Webber’s stuff …’
‘Oh, how super.’ Jane’s face lit up. ‘You shouldn’t have.’