Barnard shook his head almost imperceptibly, careful not to put too much on Copeland’s recorder, but his reticence did not seem to improve Robertson’s temper.
‘It was pure chance that this poor beggar didn’t disappear under concrete before anyone noticed he was there, Ray,’ Barnard put in, trying to get the temperature down. ‘Someone knew that was going to happen that morning and managed to get on to the site without security seeing anything amiss. Any ideas on that at all?’
Robertson focused again on Harry Barnard, but there was no warmth in his eyes now. ‘You know as well as I do that there are players who wouldn’t blink at murder if they were crossed,’ Robertson said. ‘You don’t need me to spell it out. And I won’t. Just leave me out of it. I don’t know who your effing victim is and I don’t know who might have killed him. I just want to make it very clear that it’s nothing to do with me. I’ve got another boxing gala at the planning stage and I don’t want my name dragged through the mud when I’m sending invitations out to my contacts in high places. I’ve a reputation to keep up.’
And that, Barnard thought with a faint smile, was what Ray Robertson truly believed.
‘You don’t think that the charges against your brother aren’t going to do that anyway?’ Copeland asked incredulously. ‘You reckon you can cut yourself off from all that? Pull the other one.’
Robertson’s face darkened again and he clenched his fists. ‘Get this right,’ he spat at Copeland. ‘I won’t be dragged into the mud by that bastard Georgie. Your job is to put him away for life. If I had my way I’d see him hang. It’s a great shame they aren’t going to do that any more. Now get out of here the pair of you before I really lose my temper.’
Barnard smiled again faintly as Copeland got reluctantly to his feet. ‘I reckon we’ll see you again, Mr Robertson,’ he said.
‘I bloody well hope not,’ Robertson said, pulling out another cigar from his desk drawer and making great play of lighting it as they made their way to the door.
‘Don’t go away without telling us,’ Copeland flung over his shoulder, as Robertson puffed a cloud of aromatic smoke in their direction. ‘We don’t want to have to track you down in Spain or anywhere like that. It’s becoming a favourite hidey-hole these days but I don’t think you’d like it. I don’t think the climate would suit.’
Robertson just scowled at that and said nothing.
Barnard was sure he would be hearing from Ray later and he would vent his spleen then. But, he thought, there was absolutely nothing he was going to be able to do to even slow Copeland down, let alone stop him in his tracks. That way lay professional suicide.
The two detectives walked slowly back to the nick together but said little.
‘He’s a bloody con man,’ Copeland offered as they walked past the desk sergeant and made their way back to CID. ‘Thinks he’s a bloody philanthropist of some sort with one hand while he rakes in protection money with the other. I’ll put him away for something while I’m here, you see if I don’t. If I get him in a cell he won’t be so cocky, you’ll see.’
And that, Barnard thought, sounded more like a promise than a threat.
DS Vic Copeland did not waste much time at his desk. Barnard watched with some anxiety as he marched out and headed in the direction of DCI Keith Jackson’s office. Copeland banged on the DCI’s door, putting his head around before being invited in.
‘Thought I’d better report back, guv,’ Copeland said, flinging himself into a chair, to the DCI’s obvious irritation.
‘On what exactly, sergeant?’ Jackson snapped.
‘I’ve just got back from a chat with Harry Barnard’s old mate Ray Robertson. Softly softly’s not in it with those two.’
‘That’s common knowledge,’ Jackson said. ‘Did you actually find out anything we didn’t know already? What’s Robertson got to say for himself?’
‘He swears he knows nothing about the body at Tottenham Court Road,’ Copeland said. ‘And so, incidentally, does Reg Smith. We did a quick trip to see him this morning. Anyway, Robertson swears he doesn’t know who it is or who might have dumped it there. Squeaky clean, he claims and Barnard did damn all to push him. I thought I might haul him in for a cosy chat here, without Flash Harry. What do you think, guv?’
‘I think it’s a bit early for that,’ Jackson said. ‘You said you were going to keep an eye on Barnard first anyway. Has that come to anything?’
‘I followed him this morning as he was cruising around Soho. Nothing unusual. If he was on the take, which I guess he was, it was all very discreet. We’ll have to set some sort of a trap if we’re to catch him bang to rights. I’ll work something out on that. The only odd thing he got up to was a trip to the queer pub. He’s not that way inclined, is he?’
‘I think you can rule that out,’ Jackson said with distaste. ‘There’s not much doubt he’s a lady’s man.’
‘Is he on the square, by the way? If he and Robertson are in the same lodge that could explain a lot of what’s going on between those two. You know how it works.’
‘Barnard’s certainly not a mason,’ Jackson said. ‘I know exactly who is and who isn’t in my nick. Like you, most are, but not Harry Barnard.’
‘It was just another thought,’ Copeland said. ‘I like to know who I’m dealing with. I certainly saw him chatting up that old queen who flounces around like a pantomime dame. God knows what they were talking about. I only got a glimpse of them. I didn’t go in. They’d have spotted me. In any case the only way I like to go into that place is with a squad of uniforms ready to give them a good seeing to.’
‘I’ll think about that,’ Jackson said.
‘I could pull the old queer in by himself? Give his bollocks a twist and find out what Barnard was chatting him up for? We might get something out of it.’
‘Not yet, not yet,’ Jackson said. ‘You’ve only been here five minutes. Take it a step at a time and we’ve a much better chance of hanging Barnard out to dry. That’s what AC Amis wants, as I understand it. We know he’s been a mate of Robertson’s for years. There’s no way he hasn’t been involved in something and this murder gives us an opportunity to pin them both down. There are other fish in the sea Mr Amis wants hauled out but Robertson and Barnard are target number one. So take your time. You can suss out the queer pub yourself if you like, see what you can turn up there. But keep a cool head and clean hands for the moment. This is too important to rush. And don’t forget to have a look at the Maltese, just in case we can’t prove the man without his fingers and toes is one of Robertson’s.’
‘Right, guv,’ Copeland said, though he did not hide his disgruntlement. ‘But in my experience you can prove pretty well anything you want if you really try.’
Kate met Harry Barnard after work in the Blue Lagoon for a coffee and she could see the anxiety in his face.
‘You don’t look as if you’ve had a very good day,’ she said as he put a cappuccino in front of her.
He nodded bleakly. ‘It started off badly and got steadily worse,’ he said. ‘Vic Copeland is on some sort of mission and I’m damn sure he has me in his sights as well as Ray Robertson.’ He told her about the two sergeants’ uncomfortable interview with the club owner and then the newcomer’s threat to take Ray in for questioning. ‘As far as I can see there’s absolutely no evidence to link Ray with the murder victim but that doesn’t seem to bother Copeland one bit.’
‘Carter Price would be very interested in all this,’ Kate said. ‘Shall I tell him?’
Barnard shuddered slightly. ‘I think that would do more harm than good,’ he said. ‘How are you getting on with Price, anyway? I had a nosy around with some contacts in Fleet Street and I didn’t much like what I heard. He’s got a lot of enemies, even on his own paper. And the press office at the Yard hate his guts.’
‘If he’s doing his job properly you’d expect that,’ Kate said. ‘Ray’s not exactly an innocent is he? I know I’ve good reason to be grateful to him but he’s still a gangster.
If you did your job properly you’d probably want him in a cell too.’ It was as critical as she had ever been about his link to Ray Robertson and she knew she was taking a risk.
Barnard flushed and stirred his coffee hard but refused to respond. ‘Price has a reputation with the ladies,’ he said.
Kate flushed in her turn. ‘I’ve told you. I’m working with him. That’s all.’
‘OK, OK,’ Barnard said. ‘Just be careful, Kate, that’s all I’m really saying. Trouble seems to follow you around and Carter Price is a maverick. Why won’t the Globe provide him with a photographer if he’s working on a legitimate story for them? I don’t understand what’s going on there at all.’
‘He’s not very explicit, but I think he has some sort of feud with the picture editor. The picture man certainly wasn’t very friendly when Carter took me round the building. Not very friendly at all.’
‘Well, be careful, Kate. That’s all I’m saying.’ Barnard put a hand over hers. ‘I do care about you, you know.’
She smiled faintly. ‘What you really mean is don’t go to bed with Carter Price,’ she said. ‘I think I can guarantee you that I won’t do that. I find him faintly repulsive in that way.’ She got a faint smile in response to that unequivocal declaration but Barnard still looked strained. ‘That’s not all that’s worrying you, is it?’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I’m still not convinced the murder is gang related at all,’ he said.
She took a deep breath. ‘Carter Price took me down to Blackheath this morning to keep an eye on Reg Smith’s place,’ she said. ‘Surveillance, he called it. He reckons Smith is planning something big … I shouldn’t even be telling you this.’ She hesitated and Barnard looked at her in astonishment.
‘You saw me there, I take it?’
‘You with someone else in your car.’
‘Bloody hell, Kate. What did you think was going on? Or more to the point, what did Price think was going on? The worst I expect.’
‘So what was going on?’ Kate asked, her mouth dry.
‘Sergeant Vic Copeland and I made a quick call on Reg Smith to ask him if he knew anything about the body that was found on the building site. Copeland is sure that it’s a gangland killing, but of course Smith denied all knowledge of it. Nothing to do with him, he said. We weren’t there more than fifteen minutes, I don’t think. We had to get back for an interview with Ray Robertson to ask him the same question. You’d better put Price right on that.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Kate said quietly. ‘He thinks the worst every time, of course. I suppose it’s his job. What did Ray say to Copeland.’
‘Get lost, more or less. It’s nothing to do with him either. Which leaves the Maltese to be tackled and they don’t tell anyone anything if they can help it. So we’re still left with no ID for the body. Nothing at all. I still think it could be the old tramp you met at the church that time.’
Kate shuddered slightly. ‘In which case it could be more to do with Georgie Robertson than Ray?’
‘And in which case the other witnesses could be at risk too. Especially Jimmy Earnshaw. He’s only a kid and he must be worried about giving evidence, however well he’s being looked after by the witness team. I had a quiet word with a mate of mine at the Yard who knows about protecting witnesses and he reckons he knows where Jimmy is. He gave me an address. Strictly out of order but he owed me a favour. I thought I might go down there and have a chat with him, see how he’s bearing up. His evidence is absolutely crucial and I’d really like to know that he understands that and he’s still up for the Old Bailey.’
‘That he isn’t getting cold feet, you mean,’ Kate said.
‘Will you come with me?’ Barnard asked quietly. ‘It might reassure him if he knew that there were people who were rooting for him.’
‘When?’
‘Now, if you’re not doing anything this evening. It’s not far to drive. We could be there in three quarters of an hour. I can drop you off at Shepherd’s Bush on the way back. Or we could go out for a meal. What do you think?’
Kate hesitated for a moment but she could see that Barnard was wound up in a way that she had never experienced before. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Stop at a phone box and I’ll tell Tess that I won’t be in for supper.’
The drive down the A40 took slightly longer than Barnard had promised in spite of his expert weaving through the rush-hour traffic and Kate found herself becoming as anxious as Barnard evidently was about Jimmy Earnshaw’s safety. Just beyond RAF Northolt, where fighters had taken off during the war, they took a right turn at traffic lights and made their way through a suburban landscape of tree-lined roads and semi-detached houses.
‘Where are we?’ Kate asked.
Barnard pulled into the kerb and consulted a map. ‘This is Ruislip,’ he said. ‘Commuter-land. The tube comes right out here so people can use it to get to work in the centre of London. Now if we take a left here we’re almost there.’
Within minutes he pulled up outside one of the many identical pebble-dashed semis, and switched off the engine. He looked at Kate, his face sombre.
‘I think it would make sense if you knocked at the door,’ he said. ‘It won’t do me any good at all if I’m recognized out here. The Yard will be furious. You can say you’re a friend of Jimmy’s and you’ve got permission to pay him a visit. Give them any name you like, so long as it’s not your real name. And just see if you can be sure he’s there and safe. That’s enough for now. It’s number twenty-two, just a few houses back.’
Kate sighed. ‘Are you sure I won’t get into trouble doing this?’
‘No, but I’m sure I would if they found out. Come on, Kate. We need to know he’s safe.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’d be devastated if anything happened to that boy.’ She got out of the car and walked slowly back to the gate with twenty-two on it, and went up the short garden path to the door and rang the bell. There was silence inside and Kate was about to ring again when the door was opened quite suddenly by a man in jeans and shirtsleeves who looked half asleep and unshaven.
‘Yes?’ he said, his eyes unfriendly and the door held firmly only a quarter ajar.
‘I think you have a friend of mine staying here,’ Kate said. ‘Jimmy Earnshaw. Can I see him?’
‘Who told you that?’ the man asked in even more unfriendly tones. ‘Who the hell told you that?’
‘I asked if I could see him and they said yes. Didn’t they tell you?’ Kate improvised. ‘It’s very important. I’ve got a message from his mother.’
‘I don’t care what you’ve got, miss. Nobody’s told me to let anyone in.’
‘He is here, then? Surely I can see him for just five minutes. That won’t do any harm,’ Kate insisted.
‘Who are you?’ the man asked, angry now and reaching out for Kate’s arm.
She dodged back down the path slightly but still stood there, her arms folded. ‘Jimmy,’ she shouted, hoping her voice would carry through the half-open door. ‘Jimmy, are you there?’
‘Shut up, you little cow,’ the man yelled back. ‘Half the street will hear you.’
‘Good,’ Kate said and yelled again, taking care to back towards the gate where she knew Harry Barnard would be able to see her.
There was no response from the house and the man advanced threateningly down the path. ‘He’s not here, you stupid bitch. He’s gone. Now bugger off. I’m in enough bother already without you blowing my cover completely. Scarper!’
Back in the car, feeling hot and breathless, Kate told Barnard what had happened. ‘He lost his rag,’ she said. ‘Told me more than he should have done, I guess. Jimmy’s not there, though obviously he has been. He knew exactly who I was talking about and that I really shouldn’t have tracked Jimmy down.’
Barnard nodded. ‘We’d better go,’ Barnard said. ‘If he reports back to the Yard they’ll send all the hounds of hell to track you down.’ He started the car and drove back to the A40 without passing in front of the
house Kate had visited. As they joined the main road a police car with lights flashing turned towards Ruislip at speed.
‘Maybe nothing to do with us,’ Barnard said as he accelerated towards Northolt. ‘But it could be.’
‘So what do you think has happened to Jimmy?’ Kate asked, feeling slightly sick.
‘What did the bloke say exactly?’
‘He just said he’s gone. But he certainly didn’t seem pleased about it. He said he was in bother himself, whatever that means.’
‘It probably means that Jimmy’s either run off by himself or someone’s taken him,’ Barnard said.
Kate felt tears behind her eyes. ‘That’s not good, is it, either way?’
‘No,’ Barnard said. ‘It’s not good at all.’
EIGHT
Kate had spent an almost sleepless night in her own narrow bed after beginning to tell her flatmate Tess Farrell about her trip to Ruislip the previous day. She had rejected Harry Barnard’s invitation to a meal and a night at his place out of hand, made tetchy by her anxiety for the boy. Yet she began to regret her decision as she saw her best friend becoming more and more anxious as she went on, until she stopped herself from spelling out her worst fears for Jimmy Earnshaw who had disappeared from supposedly safe police custody.
‘You can’t be sure he’s run away, can you, la?’ Tess asked, twisting her hands together in anxiety.
‘It looked pretty certain to me,’ Kate said quietly. ‘And Harry’s very worried.’
Tess hesitated and Kate decided she would not spell out for Tess all the details she knew about exactly why Harry was so worried.
‘Is Harry dragging you into another adventure which could turn out badly?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ Kate had reassured her. ‘He just needed someone with him to knock at the door. But it’s very odd that if the boy really has gone the police themselves don’t seem to be trying very hard to find him. Harry says there’s been no word from Scotland Yard asking the local police to look in his old haunts in Soho. He’s asked around himself but no one seems to have seen him or heard from him or even knows he’s missing. He’s only a kid, Tess, and he’s fallen into a river full of crocodiles as far as I can see. Something very strange seems to be going on.’
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