‘Anyway, Arnie Rainbird got himself banged up.’
‘Yes, someone grassed on him.’
‘Who would do that,’ Brunnie asked, ‘to a nice bloke like Arnie?’
‘Dunno.’ Herron sat back in the chair. ‘Don’t think anyone ever knew.’
‘Well, we’ll leave that on one side but when Arnie came out – served only ten of his twenty stretch – you threw a party for him here . . . in this house . . . and out there in the garden.’
‘I did?’
‘Yes,’ Swannell replied coldly. ‘You did.’
‘All right, so I did.’ Herron shrugged. ‘So what? When a top blagger is released he always gets a party thrown for him. It’s the way of it. I swear I never knew that was against the law.’
‘We have only just heard about the party,’ Swannell explained, ‘seven years ago this summer. Word has just reached our little shell-likes and what we heard in our little shell-likes doth interest us.’
‘Muchly,’ Brunnie added. ‘It doth muchly, muchly interest us.’
‘Oh yes?’ Herron replied, defensively.
‘Yes,’ Swannell continued, ‘because it was about that time that Convers and Tyrell disappeared. They went missing a few weeks beforehand.’
‘Coincidence.’
‘Possibly.’ Swannell smiled. ‘Possibly.’
‘Has to be,’ Herron persisted.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Victor Swannell replied. ‘You see, the clever old medics can tell us a thing or two. And in the case of Convers and Tyrell they can tell us that those two boys were well smashed up. All the bones were broken, some maybe before death, some after. They were definitely sawn in places but that would have been after death to make them fit neatly into a container, I would think, but all were charred.’
‘Charred?’ Herron queried.
‘Burnt,’ Brunnie explained. ‘They had been burnt on a fire. Did you have a bonfire at the party you threw for Arnie Rainbird seven years ago, here in this house and in the garden out there?’
‘Just a barbecue.’ Herron nodded to the barbecue area.
‘So no big bonfire at all?’ Swannell clarified.
‘No.’
‘And you’ll give us a statement, a signed statement to that effect?’ Swannell asked.
‘Possibly. I’m a bit wary of giving statements. I’ll need my solicitor present before I do that, so I won’t be signing anything today.’
‘OK, but you’re certain there was no fire during the party, just a barbecue?’ Swannell asked.
‘Certain,’ Herron replied with finality. ‘Definitely no other fire.’
‘All right, we’ll see what Arnie Rainbird says.’
‘You’ll be visiting him?’ Herron seemed alarmed.
‘Yes, of course.’ Swannell glanced round the room, so very garish, he thought. ‘If it was his party he’ll know what went down.’
‘He’ll say the same as me,’ Herron insisted.
‘Possibly.’ Brunnie nodded gently. ‘But see it from our point of view, Johnnie, two gofers got well served up right about the time that Arnie Rainbird gets out after a ten year stretch, they were battered and their bones were burnt.’
‘Not here they weren’t.’
‘Well, you say that.’ Victor Swannell shifted his feet a little. ‘But we have people who say different.’
‘Who?’
‘Ah . . .’ Swannell smiled. ‘That is something we have to keep quiet about.’
‘But people,’ Brunnie added, also smiling, ‘note the plural, more than one person . . . we mean people . . . two or more.’
Herron scowled at Brunnie.
‘Do you live here alone, Johnnie?’ Victor Swannell asked. ‘I mean just you and the trouble and strife?’
‘Yes,’ Herron replied in a muted manner, ‘just me and her.’
‘Your wife is much younger than you?’ Brunnie studied Herron’s facial expressions. He had to concede that the man wasn’t giving much away, but he was displaying a little emotion and what he did display was, thought Brunnie, very interesting.
‘Yes, she’s younger. I like it that way,’ Herron explained. ‘It makes me feel young. None of us get any younger and I like slowing that bit up if I can. But technically speaking we are not married. I only married once, technically speaking.’
‘So we understand.’ Swannell smiled. ‘I told you we paid a courtesy call on the Bedfordshire force in Luton. They have a keen interest in you, Johnnie, a very keen interest.’
‘They have?’ Herron growled. ‘I don’t ever see much evidence of them.’
‘Yes, they’re still interested in the whereabouts of wife one and wife two.’
Herron remained silent.
‘They disappeared, apparently,’ Brunnie added.
‘Yes, people do . . . always tragic.’
‘Agreed, but ninety-five percent are located one way or another within twenty-four hours. But when the wife of a wealthy man disappears and is not found, that is a little suspicious. And when wife number two of that selfsame man also vanishes, that becomes very iffy and –’ Swannell held up his index finger – ‘when the man is known to the police as a career criminal then, well, then we understand the interest the Bedfordshire boys and girls have in you, we understand it very well.’
‘They’ve had me in for questioning a few times but they’ve always let me go, and it’s been a few years since I was last questioned.’ Herron shrugged. ‘I reckon we have to wait until they turn up, then we’ll see what they have to say for themselves after walking out on me like that.’
‘Unless . . . unless . . . you know it is possible for there to be murder convictions without a corpse.’
Herron shrugged. ‘So the Bedfordshire Police told me but they could only tell me of two such convictions.’
‘But it can happen.’ Brunnie glanced out of the window at the vast flat lawn at the rear of Herron’s house. ‘Nice and convenient,’ he added, turning to Herron.
‘What is?’
‘Wife number one and wife number two disappearing like they did,’ Brunnie explained. ‘I mean, with a house like this, a divorce would be very costly . . . but I dare say that is a matter for the Bedfordshire Police.’
‘I’m glad you see it that way.’ Herron braved a wink at Brunnie.
‘So tell us a bit more about the party,’ Victor Swannell asked.
‘More? Thought you’d got off that and were on to my missing wife and girlfriend.’ Herron let a note of alarm creep into his voice.
‘Hardly started,’ Brunnie smiled. ‘Hardly started.’
‘Nothing more to tell. We all had a good time when Arnie came out.’
‘Are you still in touch with the guests?’ Swannell asked.
‘One or two . . . a card at Christmas, you know how it is.’ Again Herron shrugged.
‘What about the girls?’ Brunnie probed.
‘What about them?’
‘Still in touch with them?’
‘Naw.’ Herron smirked.
‘They were promised two hundred smackers for a night’s work. They got fifty quid for nine days’ work.’
‘They wouldn’t have come otherwise, but I don’t know the details; I just allowed my house to be used. The catering was done by someone else and the girls came under catering.’ Herron smirked.
‘So who did the catering?’ Swannell snarled.
‘Do you know, I can’t remember. It’s been a long time and anyway none of them complained.’
‘No, they didn’t; that’s because they were terrified into silence.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Herron leered.
‘We are hearing reports, Johnnie; something really very heavy went down at that party, something which terrified a bus load of streetwise women.’
‘So sorry to hear that.’
‘But that’s a real weakness, Johnnie, it has a flaw.’
‘A flaw?’
‘Yes,’ Swannell explained, ‘time, Johnnie, that’s the flaw. It’s l
ike that saying about fooling people, “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and you can fool all of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time”. Abraham Lincoln said that.’
‘Yeah.’ Herron looked at Swannell. ‘I heard that somewhere.’
‘So, it’s just like that. You can scare some of the people all of the time, and you can scare all of the people some of the time, but you can’t scare all of the people all of the time.’
‘So those working girls, those brasses, they were well scared after the party.’ Brunnie held eye contact with Herron. ‘But that was seven years ago.’
‘And in those seven years their circumstances change,’ Swannell explained. ‘They can get so they are not frightened any more, not frightened at all.’
‘That’s right,’ Brunnie added as he watched colour begin to drain from Herron’s pinched face. ‘I’ll tell you a story, Johnnie,’ Brunnie continued. ‘There was once an old blagger who was dying, and he knew he was dying – not old, only in his fifties, but he was definitely on the way out – he only walks into a police station and provides information and details about a murder that took place years earlier. He was part of the team that did it and he wanted peace of mind when he was dying. We dig up the body, and his two partners, who also did the business on their victim, well they’re still in good health and they go down for life. And the first boy, he gives evidence in court; he lives just long enough to do that.’
‘So people’s circumstances change,’ Swannell added. ‘They can sometimes lose their fear, you see, and you somehow put the frighteners on about thirty women, but that was just a short-term solution which could backfire on you because it’s also given us thirty potential witnesses. We just need two or three to give evidence.’
Herron remained silent but he could not conceal the worried look in his eyes.
‘And we are tracing them,’ Brunnie added. ‘We have officers tracking them down now, and if they’re brasses they’ll very likely be on the PNC database.’
‘PNC?’
‘The Police National Computer,’ Swannell explained, ‘recorded by their real names and any alias or nickname, and these girls network, remember, they know each other. We trace one, we’ll get the name of another and we trace her . . . we’ll get the name of another and quite soon we’ll have the names of all the girls who were at Arnie Rainbird’s coming home party.’
‘That’s how it works, Johnnie,’ Brunnie said. ‘The law can reach a long way back in time to get information to convict somebody in the present, and right now one of our colleagues is chasing up a girl, a girl who was at the party.’
‘Which one?’ Herron was clearly alarmed.
Swannell tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘You know better than to ask that question, Johnnie, but take it from me, that girl will be chatting to one of our colleagues right now.’
‘And you know the real encouragement we can offer, Johnnie?’ Brunnie added with a smile.
‘What?’
‘Witness protection, Johnnie.’ Brunnie continued to smile. ‘Witness protection.’
‘That’s it.’ Swannell nodded gently. ‘That’s the big invitation. Some people can’t go into witness protection because of their wider circumstances: children in school, need to be close to a relative, in a good, well-paid job and other such considerations.’
‘For others,’ Brunnie added, ‘it comes like a Godsend; it comes to them like a mother. Their lives are in such a mess that they can only dream about starting a new life with a new identity, new National Insurance Number, a new address, a new town, a whole clean slate, and helped with a little learning from past mistakes. People used to do it all the time in Victorian times, Johnnie, sneak out of the house with the family silver, pawn it and buy a railway ticket to a new life. Can’t do that today, not now we are all on some computer or other, but . . . but . . .’ Brunnie paused, ‘if one or two or three of those thirty girls are now in such a mess that the offer of witness protection would be like manna from heaven to them . . .’
Herron continued to pale.
‘It’s often the way of if, Johnnie.’ Swannell shrugged. ‘You see some people will agree to go into witness protection because they want to see justice done, but others, well others don’t care much about justice, but they see witness protection as a way out of it all and a whole new start, and that can be a very powerful motivation. It’s very inviting. And either reason suits us, so long as we get evidence.’
‘We can trace people very easily, Johnnie,’ Brunnie added. ‘A name, a nickname, an approximate age and we can begin to knock on doors, and, like I said, we are already talking to one of the girls who was at the party. But if you’re telling the truth and nothing heavy happened at the party in question, then you’ve got nothing to worry about, but if something did happen to interest the Murder and Serious Crime Squad . . .’
‘That’s us,’ Swannell added with a smile.
‘Then,’ Brunnie continued, ‘well, then we have up to thirty potential witnesses to tell us what happened, and it only needs just one or two to climb into the witness box in exchange for a new life somewhere. Don’t get up, Johnnie.’ Brunnie smiled gently. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’
That evening Frankie Brunnie stood at the window of his flat overlooking Walthamstow High Street, staring with awe at the vast crimson sunset that was the sky over London Town. Below him the pedestrianized street was empty save for a few solitary foot passengers, the market traders who occupy the area during the working day having long departed for home. The shops also were locked and shuttered.
Frankie Brunnie’s lover, the nurse, who had just a few days previously told him of the ‘puffy ankle test’, the failure of which being an indication of a weak heart, approached him from behind and placed his hand on Brunnie’s shoulder. Frankie Brunnie smiled and placed his own hand upon that of his lover, and then turned and kissed him.
FIVE
Harry Vicary breathed deeply, slowly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desktop, and clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers as he did so. Sitting in front of his desk was his team, Victor Swannell, Frankie Brunnie, Penny Yewdall and Tom Ainsclough, all remaining silent, waiting for him to speak. Vicary glanced to his left and pondered the buildings on the south side of the river, which then, strong and solid, were glowing becomingly. He turned and addressed his team. ‘A lot of smoke,’ he said softly, ‘in more ways than one, but nonetheless an awful lot of smoke without any fire, no substance. We seem to be edging closer to Arnie Rainbird; we’re crowding him and his crew very nicely, very handsomely indeed. Herron we have visited, Charlie Magg is inside already looking at a murder charge if they pull the plug on his wretched victim. Do we know if he is still on life support? The victim, I mean.’
‘We don’t know, sir,’ Tom Ainsclough replied promptly. ‘It’s not our investigation so we won’t be notified as a matter of routine, but we can find out easily enough.’
‘Do that will you, Tom? If Charlie Magg knows he’s looking at a murder charge . . . looking at a conviction for murder, in fact, not just a charge of murder . . .’ Vicary unlaced his fingers, ‘then he might, just might, be willing to lubricate the machinery of justice and begin to work his way to an early parole. Even if he serves ten to fifteen years it means he is unlikely to die in prison and that can help persuade him to be of assistance to us.’ Vicary paused. ‘Did we find out anything about the two murders he mentioned when you two visited him?’ he asked looking at Penny Yewdall and then at Tom Ainsclough. ‘I mean the ones where he definitely wasn’t present and it was all down to Arnie Rainbird trying to make the right sort of impression upon the right sort of person.’
‘I tracked them both down, sir.’ Penny Yewdall sat up in the chair. ‘They are both cold cases but the murders were exactly as Charlie Magg described. He really had to have been there. One poor bloke trussed up and rolled off the roof of a block of flats, another tied across the railway
line in front of the Harwich to London boat train express; both about twenty years ago when Rainbird was a rising star, a man in the ascendant. I have asked the collator to cross-reference both those cases to Charlie Magg and have Charlie Magg recorded as a principal/major suspect. I imagine he’ll be visited by the Cold Case Review Team, once he is convicted, be it for manslaughter or murder, unless you wish . . .’
‘No, no.’ Vicary held up his hand. ‘We won’t muddy our waters, leave both cases to the CCRT, but ensure he is cross-referenced to this case –’ Vicary patted the thickening file to the right-hand side of his desktop – ‘the Convers and Tyrell murders.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Yewdall scribbled a note on her to-do list, which she drew up at the back of each notebook she kept, transferring any undone tasks to each new notebook.
‘So, smoke, but, as I said, still short of an arrest.’ Vicary leaned back in his chair. ‘So, solutions team, ideas, suggestions . . .’
‘I would like to trace Elizabeth Petty,’ Yewdall said. ‘It’s . . . well, hers is the only other name we have for any of the women at the party, so-called, and she would have seen what happened. Sandra Barnes’ description of her running down the inclined path to the platform at High Barnet tube station stays with me. She was clearly a very shaken girl. She might be willing to talk now. She sounds like she has a bit of previous, some small-scale stuff, so we’ll have a record of her. I mean, if nothing else, she might be able to give other names of women who were at that . . . event, and one by one we might trace the women who were there, until we find one or two who will talk, sign a statement and get into the witness box.’
‘Yes,’ Vicary murmured, ‘it won’t be easy but it’s worth a shot. Ideally we need at least two witnesses, but Elizabeth Petty sounds like a good place to start, in fact she sounds like the only place to start. Do you want someone with you on that, Penny?’ Vicary scribbled on his notepad.
‘I don’t think so, sir, thank you.’ Penny Yewdall smiled confidently. ‘It’s another one-hander. It sounds a bit like yesterday’s trip to Chesterfield; sometimes it’s just better to leave the girls alone to talk girl talk.’
The Garden Party Page 16