‘Won’t he be useful in this murder case?’ Kate asked. ‘Didn’t you say you thought it was a gangster killing?’
‘Maybe,’ Barnard said, moving his wine glass as the waiter arrived with two enormous pizzas which Kate gazed at in amazement.
‘We’ll be here all night,’ she said and ignored Barnard’s shake of the head. He had, she guessed, different plans. ‘So why only maybe?’ she asked.
‘I told you. It’s a long story, going back to Georgie Robertson’s case. I’ve got a nasty feeling about the body we found on the building site. I think it might be one of the witnesses who’s supposed to be kept safe for the trial. You remember the old tramp at the church? It’s almost impossible to be sure, the state the body’s in, but I think it could be him. In which case I’m worried about the rest of them, especially the young lad, Jimmy.’
‘Jimmy?’ Kate sighed. Even the mention of the boy’s name cast her back to some of her darkest days. She chewed thoughtfully on a slice of pizza.
‘What about your friend Ray?’ she asked. ‘Could he be trying to get his brother out?’
Barnard stared at her in disbelief. ‘Ray was very keen back then to get his brother inside,’ he said. ‘He reckoned he was a liability. But at the moment I need to keep away from Ray. With Copeland breathing down my neck he’s the last person I want to be seen with for a bit.’
‘Seems to me you’re in a bind,’ Kate said.
‘Seems to me, you’re probably right,’ Barnard said gloomily.
FIVE
Carter Price picked Kate up after work the next day, opening the door of a black Citroën DS with a flourish and ushering her inside.
‘Very nice,’ she said as she snuggled down as he got back into the driving seat.
‘Not mine,’ Price said dismissively. ‘It’s best if the bad guys don’t see my car too often.’
Kate raised an eyebrow at that and wondered just how bad these bad guys were. ‘Where are we going?’ Kate asked, as she settled herself into her seat. She knew very little about cars but knew that this one was something special.
‘Just a little recce south of the river,’ Price said, swinging the big car effortlessly around Piccadilly Circus and into the Strand with a motion Kate had not encountered before and was not sure she liked. ‘I know where Reg Smith and his mates drink regularly and I’d like to just watch and see who he’s talking to. We won’t go inside. If you take snaps of the people going in and out while Smith is inside we’ll get some idea of what’s going on. Surveillance, the cops call it, but I get the feeling that there’s not much of it going on in Bermondsey these days. I guess he’s got the local nick pretty well sewn up.’
‘Won’t anyone recognize you,’ Kate asked uneasily as they crossed Waterloo Bridge and headed south down heavily congested main roads.
‘They might but they won’t see us if we stay in the car, petal,’ Price said reassuringly.
‘Or could they recognize the car anyway? It’s not exactly anonymous, is it?’
‘I told you, it’s not mine. I borrowed it. If we come down here again we’ll use a different one. Bermondsey and Rotherhithe are funny old places. They’re cut off from the rest of south London by the railway going up to London Bridge. People don’t move in and out much, though it took a hammering during the war. Reg Smith was born there, I think, and must still have lots of friends round and about, though I hear he’s living in some big house near Blackheath now. Quite smart, that area. But I told you. This is just surveillance. We’ll slide in quietly and park outside his favourite pub for a while and then slide out again. I’m not stupid enough to go head to head with Reg Smith. That’s a sure way to end up at the bottom of the Thames.’
‘Or dumped on a building site,’ Kate said with a shudder, thinking of the body Harry Barnard was investigating.
‘Yeah,’ Price agreed. ‘According to the Yard they haven’t identified that poor beggar yet. You haven’t heard anything different from your buddy Sergeant Barnard have you?’ Kate shook her head. She knew that Harry would not thank her for passing anything on to Carter Price, especially fears that witnesses in a major case were being interfered with. And the same went for telling Harry what Price was up to. She was going to have to be very careful juggling these two men and she wondered whether this assignment had been a good idea.
Price took a right turn at a major junction and eventually crossed a bridge above multiple tracks where the rackety commuter trains which ran south of the river to the Kent suburbs were speeding in both directions. He then took a left, past a park and street after street of small brick houses, some of them still lying derelict as an obvious result of bombing.
‘East London took a hammering during the blitz, both banks of the Thames,’ Price said. ‘The Surrey docks are over that way.’ He waved a hand vaguely to the right. ‘And on the other bank is Wapping and the Isle of Dogs. I was in my teens and I can remember the fires burning day after day. But the docks are in big trouble these days. Shipping is moving out further down the river and the dockers are a bolshie lot. It’ll all be dead and gone soon.’
‘I know about dockers,’ Kate said, hackles rising. ‘Don’t forget I come from Liverpool. We got hammered by the Germans too, you know. It wasn’t just you lot in London.’ The car was stuffy and Kate opened a window. ‘What’s that awful smell?’ she asked.
Price sniffed. ‘Tannery,’ he said. ‘This was the leather district for years. They used to put the dirty stuff down here south of the river, away from the posher areas. But it’s all dying out now, just like the docks. There’s not much going on in that trade. I think there’s only one tannery left but it still makes a dreadful pong. There’s a biscuit factory down here too. You sometimes get a nicer class of whiff from that. But with the docks in trouble this whole area’s going to fall apart soon. Shipping will move to Tilbury and no one will know what to do with all the redundant water round here. It’s no wonder they put up with gangsters like Smith. If there’s not much else going on crime might look like a good bet.’
‘My grandfather came over from Ireland and worked in the docks,’ Kate said. ‘It doesn’t seem possible they could close.’
‘It’s more than possible, it’s highly likely,’ Price said dismissively. ‘Just look at this area and the things that have gone, and not just because of the Blitz.’ He waved at a substantial Victorian building on the right. ‘The Leather and Hide Exchange. How’s that for a Victorian relic. Dickens had Bill Sykes meet a nasty end round here, too. It was a notorious slum in his time.’
‘You know a lot about it,’ Kate said.
‘I was brought up not far away in Deptford. I’ve always been interested in local history.’
He turned into a short street at the end of which Kate could glimpse the river.
‘Here we are, the Angel,’ Price said, pulling into the kerb at a T junction and opposite a solid four-square London pub which appeared to back on to the river bank itself. ‘If we sit quietly here for a bit no one will notice us and we can see who comes and goes. Is the light good enough for you to take some snaps?’
‘I doubt it,’ Kate said, peering through the deepening evening gloom. ‘If you want good shots I need daylight. If I use flash someone will certainly notice.’
‘Of course they bloody will,’ Price said. ‘I should have thought of that. I tell you what. We’ll just wait a while to see who’s coming and going. Then you can have a wander round with your unobtrusive little camera. At least you’re not lumbered with one of those heavy beggars. You’ll just look like a visitor gazing at the river. You can get to the embankment down the side of the pub there, look. Take a few shots while there’s still a bit of light, and next time we’ll try it in daylight. I know for a fact that Reg Smith is a Millwall fanatic and the stadium’s just down the road. Just the right club for a bastard like him. The fans are all thugs. I reckon he’ll meet up with his mates here on Saturday for a few bevvies before the match and we can catch him then. Be interesting to see who he
goes to the match with. And we’ll mosey down to Blackheath in daylight too and see what he gets up to at home. I’ll check out his address.’
‘Someone’s coming,’ Kate said quietly pointing at a big car which nosed past them and parked immediately outside the pub’s main door. She felt rather than saw the tension as Price watched.
‘That’s Smith’s car,’ he said. ‘And there’s another Jag parked a bit further down, look. Something’s going on.’
They watched in silence but could not see who the new arrival was. Eventually Price leaned across Kate and opened the passenger door. ‘There you go. No one knows you, so you’ll be quite safe. Have a little mosey round the back. No one will think it odd if you take a few shots of the river. We’re not far from Tower Bridge. You’ll see it on your left.’
‘Can you get over the river from here?’ Kate asked.
‘Oh yes. There’s a road tunnel just down the road in Rotherhithe and the first one which Brunel built is still there. It’s part of the underground now. It’s not completely cut off from the other side.’
Cautiously Kate got out of the car and walked down the side of the pub as Price had suggested and suddenly found herself facing a huge sweep of water which, even in the dusk, was still choppy with the wake from strings of barges chugging steadily in each direction. To the left she could make out the bright lights of Tower Bridge sweeping high over the water and opposite the much dimmer lights of Wapping and Shadwell. It was low tide and the unpleasant smell of Thames mud rose up from the beach beneath the embankment wall. The sight and smell of the working Thames made her catch her breath in a moment of nostalgia for her own home town. She hoped that Carter Price’s pessimism about the future of the Mersey as well as the Thames was ill-founded, but she guessed it wasn’t. She took several shots of the river and of the slightly decrepit old pub and then made her way back to the car.
‘He’s there,’ Price said as she got in. ‘It wasn’t him in that first car which pulled up. But I saw him quite clearly getting out of a Bentley. It’s parked over there, look.’ He waved in the direction of a couple of large cars at the far side of the pub. You see? I was right. There’s something big going on. We’ll hang on until they go and then meet up again in daylight – Saturday before the match would be ideal if you can make it. And get some snaps of whoever he meets then if we can. Did you get anything useful round the back?’
‘There’s a veranda sort of thing facing the river,’ Kate said. ‘There were some people out there with drinks even though it’s so cold. I thought that was a bit odd. I took some shots in that direction but I daren’t use the flash. They would have noticed. The pictures will be very dark but they might just show something with the pub lights behind. I’ll print them up tomorrow and you can have a look.’
‘Good girl,’ Price said, starting the engine and easing the car across the road and past the parked cars. ‘Whoever’s in there’s not your usual Bermondsey punter, that’s for sure. They don’t drive around in Jags and Bentleys. And they don’t hang about on chilly balconies unless they’ve something very private to discuss. Something’s going on and if Reg Smith is involved you can be bloody sure that it’s not going to be legal.’
Harry Barnard rang Kate at the office next morning and offered to take her for lunch.
‘I’m pretty busy,’ she said, looking at the contact prints from the previous night, which were on her desk. ‘I could do coffee and a quick sandwich at the Blue Lagoon.’
Barnard groaned at the thought but then agreed. ‘One o’clock then?’
‘See you later, alligator,’ Kate said absent-mindedly, but Barnard had already hung up. She turned back to her work, and when the rest of the staff went off for lunch at a pub, without inviting her to join them, she strolled through the crowds to the coffee bar where her aspiring actress friend Marie used to work. Barnard was there before her, his coat carefully hung with his hat nearby and a cup of steaming cappuccino in front of him.
‘I could have done with something a bit stronger than this,’ he said irritably as she slid into the seat opposite him. ‘What would you like?’
The black girl who had taken over Marie’s job when she decided to go back to Liverpool took their order and when she had finished Kate looked at Barnard quizzically.
‘You don’t look very pleased with life, la,’ she said.
‘I’m not,’ Barnard said. ‘I’ve got Vic Copeland dogging every step I take. And someone’s told the DCI that you’ve been seen snooping around with Carter Price. He wants to know what Price is up to and I have to tell him something convincing. What do you suggest?’
‘Just tell him the agency is doing some work for the Globe,’ Kate said. ‘It’s nothing to do with you lot what Carter’s investigating. I’m sure he’ll tell you when there’s anything to tell. Where am I supposed to have been snooping, anyway?’
‘Oh just around Soho,’ Barnard said, to Kate’s relief. ‘But someone recognized you both and thought it was odd even if Price does have a rep for liking women half his age. Are you sure it’s just pictures he’s after?’
Kate drew a sharp breath at that. ‘I’m sure he’d like to get into my knickers if he got half a chance, but he’s not going to get that is he,’ Kate said tartly, hugely relieved, at least, that no one had seen her with Price south of the river. ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Harry Barnard? I didn’t think we had that sort of relationship. Do we?’
Barnard glanced away and Kate grinned.
‘It’s a job,’ she said. ‘Nothing more or less. Tell me how, in my trade, I’m going to work at all if I don’t work with blokes? There aren’t any other women around. Nor likely to be any time soon, as far as I can see.’
‘OK, OK, I get the message,’ Barnard said. ‘I suppose I’m a bit twitchy since this nasty murder.’
‘Do they know who it was yet?’ Kate asked.
‘They say not,’ Barnard said. ‘And who am I to contradict in present circumstances. I’m trying to keep a low profile. And surely a whisper would have leaked from the Yard if one of their key witnesses had really gone missing. There’d be a row of mammoth proportions if it looked as if Georgie Robertson was going to get off the hook.’
‘What worries me is that if one’s gone there may be more,’ Kate said. ‘What about the young lad Jimmy? And the rest? If one of them has been killed surely someone will be trying to get them too.’
‘They may be, but no one’s going to tell me,’ Barnard said gloomily. ‘The Yard play this sort of thing very close to their chest. If I started asking questions they’d have me down as trying to get them out rather than making sure they’re safe. That’s just the sort of accusation they’re looking to pin on me. I can’t get involved.’
Kate took a bite of her somewhat limp and soggy egg sandwich and sighed.
‘There is one thing you could do for me, sweetie,’ Barnard said. ‘Just a small favour. I daren’t go anywhere near Ray Robertson at the moment, for obvious reasons, or even phone him. If the body really is who I think it is, they may have Ray’s phone tapped. They still have him down as likely to try to try to get Georgie off somehow because he’s his brother. They don’t seem to realize the brothers are not exactly devoted, and haven’t been for years. In fact they hate each other’s guts. Do you think you could track Ray down at the Delilah – very discreetly – and ask him to call me at home from a number he’s not connected with? I really need to suss out what he thinks is going on. And with Vic Copeland sitting on my tail it’s almost impossible.’
‘He’s not following you now, is he?’ Kate asked, glancing out of the steamy window anxiously.
‘No, he went with the boss to some meeting at the Yard about the murder case. I wasn’t invited. I’m seeing them when they get back.’ It was obvious from his expression that this was not a prospect he was looking forward to.
‘I’m not booked for anything special this afternoon,’ Kate said. ‘I could drop into the Delilah on my way home.’
‘Gre
at,’ Barnard said. ‘And not a word to that weasel from the Globe you’re working with.’
‘Of course not,’ Kate said. ‘Trust me.’
‘When are you seeing him again?’
‘Saturday,’ Kate said. ‘He wants some pictures of football fans.’
‘Chelsea, I hope,’ Barnard said with a grin. ‘Though they’re a dead loss this season.’
Kate finished her sandwich, feeling uneasy at the subterfuge she was being pushed into. ‘I’ll pass on your message to Ray,’ she said.
Barnard pushed his chair away from the table explosively. ‘Thanks, Katie. You’re a doll.’
‘Maybe,’ she said.
It was mid-afternoon before DS Harry Barnard was summoned to the DCI’s office, where he found Keith Jackson ramrod straight behind his immaculate desk as usual and DS Vic Copeland lounging in a chair opposite with a satisfied look on his heavy features. The DCI waved Barnard into another chair and steepled his hands in front of his face, his pale blue eyes more than usually chilly.
‘We had a very productive meeting at the Yard,’ he said. ‘Information has come to hand that the liaison we suspected between Ray Robertson and Reg Smith is developing rapidly and that major criminal activity is planned. It seems that the murder we are investigating at Tottenham Court Road is intimately linked to what is going on between these criminal gangs, which is what I suspected all along. We don’t have a formal identification yet but I am anticipating that very soon we’ll pin down who that poor devil is and which of the gangs he either belonged to or annoyed in some way. But as another line of investigation AC Amis feels that it would be fruitful to use your long-standing relationship with Robertson, Sergeant Barnard, to uncover something of what he is planning with the south London gang.’
Blood Brothers Page 6