Gideon's River

by John Creasey

  He turned into Savile Row Police Station five minutes late, at twenty past three. Almost immediately a sergeant accosted him.

  ‘Excuse me, Commander.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re asked to contact your office at once, sir.’

  ‘Right, thanks,’ Gideon said. ‘Where’s the nearest phone?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, sir, I saw you pass the window, the Yard’s on the line now.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Gideon glanced keenly at the sergeant, an eager-faced man in his thirties obviously out to make a good impression. Well, he had.

  The telephone was in the charge room, and as Gideon lifted the receiver he heard Hobbs’ voice. ‘Is Mr. Gideon there?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gideon said. ‘What’s on?’

  ‘Hellier wants to use frogmen to drag the river for the Pierce girl,’ Hobbs told him, almost too abruptly. ‘Her school satchel was found washed up on the bank near Teddington weir.’

  Gideon pondered, his spirits suddenly cast down.

  Hobbs would have given authority had he felt it justified; the very fact that he raised the query meant that he was doubtful. And he was right to be doubtful. Once frogmen were used the case would become a major newspaper sensation, and that would tear the hearts out of the parents and could put ideas into the heads of men already teetering on the brink of that half-world of lust and lunacy which made them long sexually for a little girl. If one traced the incidents of this kind of crime, one found that they came in cycles. There might be months without a single one, then a sensational case, and half-a-dozen would follow.

  Gideon pulled himself up short; there was no certainty, yet, that a crime had been committed.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Only if Hellier’s virtually certain he’ll find the body in the river.’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ said Hobbs.

  Gideon rang off, the sergeant with his eye on the main chance was entering notes in the duty ledger. As Gideon nodded to him and went out, a neatly-dressed, nicely made-up young woman came in, nervousness and anxiety clear on her face.

  ‘Good afternoon, Madam.’

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you but I think someone’s broken into my house …’

  So it went on, day in, day out, crime following crime in a shapeless pattern, playing on human fears and emotions, harassing and harrowing. It had given Gideon his livelihood, he was dedicated to its service; but why did it happen with such remorseless, unending regularity?

  The two divisional men and the insurance broker were waiting in a smoke-filled office overlooking the street, and a fur salon with a single sable on display was immediately across the road. The broker was Jewish, bright-eyed and alert, with a soft, attractive voice; the two senior policemen obviously had a great respect for him. They were big men of the same type, difficult to distinguish one from the other.

  ‘Very glad to meet you, Commander … As I’ve told these gentlemen, nine out of eleven fur robberies in the West End area in the past three months have been from stores whose insurance goes through my hands. If it happens much more I shan’t get any business, everyone will think I’m responsible.’

  ‘Are you?’ asked Gideon, with heavy humour.

  ‘No, I am not, and it is no joking matter,’ said the insurance broker. ‘But as many of the robberies take place when new stocks have just been delivered and in some cases are still in transit, I think it possible that a member of my staff might be involved. What I should like to do, sir, is to have one of your detectives on my staff for a while.’

  ‘A woman?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘Oh, a woman, of course.’

  ‘Be much less noticeable,’ The Divisional Superintendent remarked. ‘But it has to be someone knowledgeable about furs, and we haven’t anyone here.’

  ‘I’ll see what we can produce at the Yard,’ Gideon promised. ‘And we’ll watch all the shops and the warehouses as new stocks go in and out. What’s worrying you in particular, Mr. Morris?’

  The broker leaned forward in his chair. ‘As a matter of fact, Commander, a very large collection of Russian sable and Russian and Canadian mink is due tomorrow. It’s for a special mannequin parade to be held next Monday and Tuesday on the river between Chelsea and Tower Bridge. It’s going to be a very big show, Commander.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard of it,’ Gideon said, suddenly interested.

  ‘It’s been widely advertised by word of mouth in the trade and in society,’ said the broker, ‘but no one will know where it’s to be held until the last minute. The furs will be transferred to the boat from Chelsea Pier, I’m told.’ Morris was obviously taking this very seriously indeed. ‘I am responsible only for the insurance of the furs, but there will also be displays of jewellery, and of course the guests will be very wealthy people. I’m very troubled about it, Commander.’

  ‘Have we been officially notified?’ Gideon demanded.

  ‘Not to my knowledge, sir, but I am not the organiser.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Sir Jeremy Pilkington. He’s hiring the River Belle, I believe, and several other boats besides. The proceeds will be for charity, Sir Jeremy is a very prominent gentleman in organising such affairs. One of the features of this one is the mystery – on the other hand, I feel so strongly that these furs should be fully protected that I felt I should tell you – in strict confidence, of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gideon said. ‘We appreciate it. Monday and Tuesday, you say?’

  ‘Yes, in five days’ time.’

  ‘We’ll keep an eye on things,’ Gideon promised, ‘and I’ll see whom we can find to join your staff for a longer term purpose.’

  ‘I’m very grateful, Commander.’

  Gideon left the office just after four o’clock, this time stepping into a car which the divisional men had laid on. Traffic was so thick that it took him almost as long to reach the Yard as if he had walked. He was very much more thoughtful, quite able to understand why Morris had preferred not to come to the Yard and realising that the implications of the insurance man’s story could be very widespread. He turned into his own office and opened the door to Hobbs’s.

  Hobbs wasn’t there.

  Gideon went to his own desk and picked up the telephone.

  ‘Get me Mr. Prescott, of AB Division,’ he ordered. ‘And when I’m finished get Mr. Worby of Thames.’ He put down the receiver, then lifted another telephone which was direct to Information. A man answered: ‘Info’.’

  ‘This is Commander Gideon,’ Gideon said heavily. ‘Is there any news from Richmond about the missing girl?’

  ‘No, sir, nothing fresh. Mr. Hobbs was just inquiring about it.’

  ‘Is he still with you?’

  ‘Left a minute ago, sir.’

  Gideon grunted and rang off as the other telephone rang.

  ‘Mr. Prescott, sir.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Commander.’ Prescott was bright, brisk, breezy, a man in his middle fifties who never seemed to grow older.

  ‘Hallo, Lance. Have you had any request for special parking near Chelsea Bridge next week?’

  ‘No? Should I have?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Has Lex, do you know?’

  Lex was the Superintendent in charge of ST Division, which controlled the riverbank on the Surrey side.

  ‘Nothing big, anyhow – I had lunch with him today, and he would have said if there had been.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Gideon rang off, pressed the bell for Hobbs, and stood up, going to the window and staring at the shimmering surface of the river. With the huge Shell buildings on the other side, as well as the Festival Hall, the South Bank really had a massive and impressive skyline.

  Hobbs came in, almost at once.

  ‘You heard what Sir Jeremy Pilkington’s up to?’ asked Gideon abruptly.

/>   Hobbs, unexpectedly, gave a quick smile.

  ‘Not lately!’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes. Not well, but I know him.’

  ‘According to some news I picked up …’ Gideon broke off, leaned towards the telephone and lifted it, adding: ‘Listen to this … Hallo, Warbler … Anything from Micklewright and Van Hoorn? … Well, it can wait … Have you heard of a special River Parade due to take place next week? Sir Jeremy Pilkington’s said to have hired the River Belle and is having a flotilla or something between Chelsea and Tower Bridge? … Yes, I’ll hold on.’ Gideon kept the receiver at his ear and spoke to Hobbs. ‘I got this from Morris, the insurance chap, he’s worried about it. Hello? … Yes, Warbler … yes … let me make sure I have it straight. You’ve been told that the River Belle has been chartered for a special party and that there will be some small boats with her but you haven’t been told what it’s about. Right … Does the Port of London Authority know any more? … Find out, will you? … I’m checking but I think you may have to make special arrangements for those evenings. I’ll let you know. Thanks.’

  He rang off, hardly aware that he had said so much in few words, and completely unaware of the fact that Hobbs was looking at him with a kind of amused admiration.

  ‘We could be making a fuss about nothing,’ he remarked to Hobbs, ‘but I don’t want to be caught napping. Can you find out unofficially what Pilkington has in mind?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hobbs said promptly.

  ‘Good. Things still quiet generally?’

  ‘Fairly quiet,’ Hobbs answered. ‘It must be summer sloth!’ He was beginning to show much more of his human side. ‘A nice time for a river trip,’ he added dryly.

  ‘Now what are you getting at?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘You mentioned a week or so ago that you haven’t been on the river for a year or more, and suddenly there’s a crop of river investigations. It might be a good idea if you had a day on the river tomorrow.’ Hobbs was obviously serious.

  Slowly, thoughtfully, Gideon remarked: ‘Not a bad idea at all. I might do it, if the weather’s right.’ It passed through his mind that it was a long time since anyone at the Yard had suggested anything he should do, it was usually the other way round. Was it really possible that Hobbs was going to share his burden, the very real burden, of the Commander’s job?’

  It was a funny thought, which made Gideon feel a little rueful, even a little old. But it did not stop him from hoping that it would be a nice day tomorrow.

  Chapter Five

  NICE DAY

  Gideon woke soon after seven o’clock the next morning, to bright sunlight. Kate, his wife, lying next to him, was also beginning to stir; suddenly her eyes opened and stayed open with that half puzzled, half comprehending expression which often comes on the moment of waking. Her eyes, even though her back was to the windows, were very clear, bright blue.

  ‘Good morning, love.’

  ‘Hello, George,’ Kate said. ‘What’s the weather like?’

  ‘Sunny.’

  ‘The television said it would be,’ Kate said. She stretched, luxuriously, with a hint of sensuousness, and Gideon was acutely aware of her. Their bodies were close. ‘Didn’t you say you might go on the river today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going over to see Pru,’ Kate said. ‘She might like a day by the river, too.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye open for you.’

  ‘I don’t know that I like the idea of the police looking out for me.’ Kate gave a little smile which screwed her mouth up in a way which had attracted him for nearly thirty years. Quite suddenly, he kissed her; and for a few moments his arms were very tight around her. It was early. Gideon glanced at the window again – then heard a chink of cups at the door, breaking the spell.

  ‘Anyone awake?’ It was Malcolm, their youngest son, who was not usually up so early.

  Gideon eased himself away from Kate and over on to his back.

  ‘Come in, Malcolm.’

  The door turned, the youth entered with the tray balanced precariously on one hand; he was beaming, obviously very pleased with himself. At sixteen, he showed some signs of being as big as his father, but his features were narrower and more like Kate’s.

  ‘Just to show you that I can wake by myself,’ Malcolm said.

  ‘Mal, be careful.’

  ‘Pooh, I won’t drop it.’

  ‘Where are you going today?’ demanded Gideon. ‘Not having a day by the river, too, are you?’

  ‘No, worse luck. Victoria and Albert Museum. Art,’ added Malcolm with a grimace; he was the least artistic of all their children. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve got a game of tennis before school, I’ll get my own brekker, Mum.’

  ‘Knew there was some reason for you waking up,’ Gideon remarked. His mood was so good that he had almost forgotten that he had been interrupted.

  An hour later, bacon and eggs, coffee and toast inside him, he started off to the Yard, choosing to drive along by the Embankment. Traffic was already heavy, and diesel fumes from a petroleum carrier nearly choked him. Through the fumes he could see white smoke billowing majestically from the four chimneys of the Battersea Power Station. The sun, coming across the river but already fairly high, misted the graceful span of the Albert and the more prosaic stretch of Battersea Bridge. There was faint mist over the pleasure gardens, too.

  As he passed the lorry he drove faster until, at the new, square Millbank ministry building, he slowed down, affected as always by this view of London, the Houses of Parliament, the Abbey, the wide grandeur of Whitehall beyond Parliament Square. The same man who had taken his car yesterday sprang forward.

  ‘Nice morning, sir. Just right for a day on the river.’

  Gideon looked at him sharply but forbore to ask whether the remark was a coincidence, or whether rumour had spread. If Hobbs had told Worby of Thames Division then it might well have leaked out and the whole of the Yard would know it now. It was still very much a village in these days of radio and swift communication. As he turned towards his office, Micklewright appeared.

  ‘’Morning, Commander.’

  ‘’Morning. How are things?’

  ‘Going very well, very well indeed,’ Micklewright reported. ‘Van Hoorn thinks we have a police force after all.’ He followed Gideon into his office. ‘There isn’t much doubt that that package came from a ship fairly recently, although it could have been in one of the barrels Carter and his friend pushed down Fiddler’s Steps. In which case someone could have been planning to collect it from the barrel. Only certain thing is that it was meant to stay in the water – the water-proofing was perfect. Someone hides packets like it in the water, a colleague on land picks them up. Or vice versa.’

  Gideon said: ‘Yes. It certainly looks like it. Any specific ideas?’

  ‘I’ve asked the Warbler to let us have a crew to show us all the places where small packets could be hidden easily.’

  ‘H’mm,’ Gideon said. ‘Going on the river today?’

  ‘Yes. Picked the right day for it, haven’t I?’

  Gideon frowned. ‘I’m not sure you should go, Mick,’ he said slowly. Pressing the bell for Hobbs, he watched Micklewright’s face, realising that it made no difference at all to the man whether he had his day out or not. Hobbs came in. ‘Alec, the Superintendent was planning to go on the river with Van Hoorn today. Van Hoorn’s known to Customs, to the P.L.A. people, and to anyone who uses the docks regularly; if they see him on the river they’ll know we’ve special reason to search there and may guess that we’ve found the packet of diamonds. I think the search should be left to the Thames Division.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Hobbs.

  Micklewright glanced from one to the other. ‘While Van Hoorn and I try the airport and the diamond merchants, as if we haven’t
a clue?’ he suggested.

  ‘That’s what I think,’ said Gideon.

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Micklewright. ‘Why don’t I think the way you do? I’ll tell you one thing. This job could be very big.’

  ‘How big?’

  ‘Van Hoorn estimates that the diamonds stolen in the past year are worth considerably more than a hundred thousand pounds.’

  ‘Does he indeed,’ said Gideon. ‘How long is he staying?’

  ‘As long as it seems worthwhile.’

  ‘Have him come here and see me tomorrow,’ Gideon said, adding without pause: ‘Might as well make it lunch – you come too, Mick.’

  ‘Be delighted!’

  ‘Any other clues at all?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Micklewright said. ‘It’s early days, though.’

  When he had gone out, Gideon pondered for a few minutes. Micklewright’s manner was brittle and bright, but even at this hour there was the smell of whisky on his breath. Preoccupation about this was driven from Gideon’s mind as two telephones rang at once. Hobbs picked up one, Gideon the other.

  ‘Deputy Commander speaking.’

  ‘This is Gideon.’

  ‘Commander,’ Hellier of Richmond said in an uncompromising way, ‘there’s still no trace of Geraldine Pierce, and I really think it’s time we searched the river. I don’t want to be stubborn, but we shouldn’t leave it too long.’

  ‘Get the Thames Division to start dragging,’ Gideon agreed. ‘I’ll see you some time late this morning and if we have to call the frogmen out, we will then.’