The Graveyard Shift

by Jack Higgins

  ‘How advanced is Lazer?’

  Das shrugged. ‘His daily intake is of the order of seven grains of heroin and six grains of cocaine a day. When you appreciate that the normal dose to relieve pain is one-twelfth of a grain of heroin, this indicates the extent of the problem.’

  ‘Can’t anything be done?’

  ‘For most patients, I’m afraid not. I have patients who’ve been “dried-out,” as they call it, as many as sixteen or seventeen times. They regress with astonishing ease. The trouble is that most of them have quite crippling personality defects which explains their initial need for drugs, of course.’

  ‘I find that hard to accept where Lazer’s concerned,’ Nick said. ‘I’ve seen his record. He did rather well with the RAF during the war.’

  ‘Charles Lazer is a particularly tragic case. He first took heroin and cocaine at a party something like three years ago. Apparently he was quite drunk at the time and didn’t know what he was doing.’

  ‘And after that he was hooked?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. He’s dried-out on two occasions, once for almost five months before regression set in and believe me, that’s really quite remarkable.’

  ‘So there’s still hope for him?’

  Dr Das smiled slightly. ‘You seem to have a personal interest here.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘I’ve seen his record, I like the sound of him – it’s as simple as that. He fought a good war, Dr Das. I’m still old-fashioned enough to think that should count for something. Isn’t there anything you can do for him – anything concrete?’

  The Indian nodded. ‘There is a new method which a colleague of mine in London has enjoyed remarkable success with during the past year. It involves the use of apomorphine and the actual withdrawal of drugs from the patient over a period of some months.’

  ‘And it really works?’

  ‘With co-operation from the patient. Apomor­phine is morphine minus a molecule of water. Injected into the patient, it cuts his craving for the drug and prevents the withdrawal symptoms usually associated with any attempt to cut down the daily intake. These can be extremely unpleasant.’

  ‘Have you mentioned this to Lazer yet?’

  ‘I was going to tonight, but he didn’t turn up for evening surgery.’

  ‘Isn’t it possible that he would come outside surgery hours if his need was urgent enough?’

  Das shook his head. ‘He’d be wasting his time. My first rule is that I never give prescriptions for drugs outside surgery hours. This may seem harsh to you, but I assure you that firmness and an insistence on some sort of discipline are absolutely essential in handling this type of patient.’

  ‘So Lazer would have to wait till morning surgery and get through the night the best way he could?’

  ‘Highly unlikely.’ Das shook his head. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, he’ll make straight for the all-night chemist’s in City Square. There are certain to be one or two addicts having their prescriptions for the following day filled and they all know each other in a town of this size. Lazer will borrow or buy a few pills to tide him over till morning.’

  ‘You think I’ll find him there?’

  ‘I’m certain of it.’

  ‘I’d better be moving then. I don’t want to miss him.’

  ‘I should warn you of one thing,’ the Indian said as they moved back along the corridor to the front door. ‘After Lazer’s first injection, you will notice something of a change in him. Sometimes the subject becomes paranoic with a particular fear where the police are concerned. More often than not, his tongue will simply run away from him or he’ll have temporary aural or visual hallucinations. All quite harmless, but disturbing if you aren’t used to this sort of thing.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Nick held out his hand.

  ‘Any time I can help, Sergeant.’ The Indian’s grip was surprisingly strong. ‘Don’t hesitate to call.’

  The door closed behind him and Nick went down the steps, got into the car quickly and drove away through the heavy rain.

  Chapter 8

  Chuck Lazer held on grimly as the beetles started to crawl across his flesh with infinite slowness, setting up a muscular reaction he found impossible to control. He stepped out of the entrance of the all-night chemist’s and turned his face to the night sky, the stinging lances of rain giving him some kind of temporary relief.

  Behind him, a small wizened man in an old beret and raincoat moved out, unwrapping the package he held in his hands.

  Lazer turned quickly. ‘Hurry it up, Darko, for Christ’s sake. I can’t take much more of this.’

  The little man opened a pillbox and shook some heroin tablets into Lazer’s palm. ‘Don’t forget where they came from,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in the Red Lizard for coffee around eleven in the morning. You can pay me back then.’

  He moved away quickly and Lazer walked to the kerb. At the same moment, a green Mini-Cooper pulled in beside him. The door swung open and a young man in a spectacular blue raincoat got out.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Miller, Central CID, Lazer. I’d like a word with you. Where can we talk?’

  Lazer took in the coat, the strange dark eyes, the military style cap and laughed wildly. ‘General, you could be Alexander the Great and Napoleon rolled into one for all I care. Right now, you’ll have to take your place in the queue.’

  He dodged across the road between two cars, reached the centre island and disappeared down the steps of the public lavatory. Nick judged his moment and went after him.

  At the bottom of the steps, the attendant’s little office was dark and empty and when he turned the corner into the vast tiled lavatory, he found it deserted except for Lazer who was feverishly ­wrestling with the handle of one of the stalls at the far end.

  As Nick reached him, the American got the door open and lurched inside. He pulled down the seat, ignoring Nick and dropped to one knee, taking several items from his pocket and laying them out.

  He took off his raincoat and jacket, pulled back his sleeve and knotted a brown lace around his upper arm in a rough tourniquet to make the veins stand out. He filled a small bottle with water from the pan, dropped in a couple of tablets, struck a match feverishly and held it underneath.

  He turned his head, teeth bared in a savage grin, all the agony of existence at this level spilling from his eyes. ‘It’s a great life if you don’t weaken, General.’

  He reached for another match, knocked the box to the floor, spilling its contents, and moaned like an animal. Nick took a lighter from his pocket, flicked it into life and held it out without speaking.

  Lazer held the flame under the bottle for another couple of minutes and then dropped it quickly and filled his hypodermic.

  Four years as a policeman in one of the largest industrial cities in the North of England had hardened Nick Miller to most things, but when that filthy, blunted needle went into Lazer, it went into him also. Blood spurted, Lazer loosened his crude tourniquet and his head went back, eyes closed.

  He stayed that way for only a second or two and then his whole body was convulsed. He grabbed at the wall with an exclamation and lurched into Nick who crouched in front of him.

  The American stayed that way for a while, head down and then he looked up slowly and managed a ghastly smile. ‘The moment of truth, General. Now what was it you wanted?’

  Chapter 9

  The club was just around the corner in a side street, the sort of place that had mushroomed by the dozen during the past few years, and Nick remembered it well from his days on the pavement in Central Division.

  The big West Indian on the door grinned as they came down the narrow stairs. ‘Hi, there, Chuck! How’s every little thing? You going to play for us tonight?’

  ‘No can do, Charlie,’ Lazer said as he scrawled his name in the book. ‘I got a gig someplace later on when I can remember where it is.’

  The Negro turned to Nick and immediately something moved in his eyes. Nick held up a hand quickly. ‘St
rictly pleasure, Charlie. How’s business?’

  ‘Fine, Mr Miller. Just fine. Ain’t seen you around. I heard you’d left the Force.’

  ‘Just a nasty rumour, Charlie. I’m a sergeant with the Crime Squad now. You’ll be seeing a lot of me.’

  Charlie grinned, exposing his excellent teeth. ‘Not if I can help it, I won’t.’

  There were no more than half a dozen people in the main bar, all coloured. Lazer raised a hand to the barman and sat down at a mini piano on a dais against the wall. Nick lit a cigarette, pulled forward a chair and sat beside him.

  The American’s hands crawled across the keys, searching for something in a minor key, finding it after a moment or two, a pulsating, off-beat rhythm that had something of the night and the city mixed in with it.

  Nick waited his chance, then moved in with the right hand, blending in expertly. The American turned and grinned his appreciation.

  ‘You’ve bin there, General. You’ve bin there.’

  They finished with a complex run of chords that had the other people in the bar applauding. The American’s eyes glittered excitedly and his face was flushed. When the barman brought two whiskies on a tray with the compliments of the house, he swallowed one down quickly and laughed.

  ‘You’ve got a soul, General, a golden, shining soul. I can see it drifting around you in a cloud of glory. You’re Tatum and Garner rolled into one. If Brubeck heard you, he’d turn his face to the wall and weep tears of pure joy, General. Tears of pure joy.’

  ‘Garvald,’ Nick said. ‘Ben Garvald.’

  Lazer faltered, the spate of words drying momentarily. ‘Ben?’ he said. ‘My old buddy Ben? Sure, I know Ben. He was around my place earlier tonight.’ He paused, a worried frown on his face. ‘Or was it tonight? Maybe it was some other time.’

  ‘What did he want?’ Nick said patiently.

  ‘What did he want? What did old Ben want?’ Lazer’s mood changed suddenly. He reached for Nick’s glass, emptied it, then started to play a Bach prelude with exquisite skill. ‘Well, I’ll tell you, General. Old Ben wanted to know about his wife, what her new name was and where she lived.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Then he wanted to know where he could find Sammy.’

  ‘Sammy?’

  ‘Sammy Rosco. He’s the strong-arm man at Club Eleven. Lives in Carver Street.’

  ‘Why did Garvald want to see him?’

  Lazer changed to a Strauss waltz. ‘He didn’t mean him any good, General, that’s for sure. The Angel of Death walked at his side. The Lord have mercy on the soul of Samuel Rosco, miserable sinner.’ He laughed wildly. ‘Heh, you know what that creep did, General? Sicked a couple of cheap punks on to Ben in the fog outside Wandsworth. Did he make a mistake.’

  He was at the high point of his ecstasy, knowing and yet not knowing what he was saying and Nick pushed his advantage.

  ‘What did he want Bella for, Chuck? Was he angry with her?’

  ‘With Bella? Why should he be angry?’ The waltz changed into a slow, dragging blues that brought a Negro couple in the corner to their feet to dance. ‘He loved that woman, General. He loved her and she threw him overboard and married another man.’

  ‘So maybe he wants to even the score a little.’

  ‘You mean cut her up or something?’ The fingers faltered, the melody drifted into silence. ‘General, you don’t know Ben Garvald. You sure as hell don’t know Ben Garvald.’ He leaned forward and laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. ‘Where women are concerned, he’s the softest touch in town.’

  ‘You’ve made your point.’ Nick started to his feet.

  Lazer held on tight. ‘Why all the interest? You think he’s going to have a go at Bella?’

  ‘She does.’

  ‘She’s made an official complaint?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘The lousy bitch. After all he did for her. Nine stinking years, then she divorces him and marries an old man with a bag of gold.’

  ‘Life can be hell,’ Nick said.

  He moved away quickly, aware of Lazer’s quick cry, went straight up the stairs without looking back and went along the alley into City Square. Carver Street and Sammy Rosco were obviously next on the agenda and he got behind the wheel of the Mini-Cooper and moved away quickly. Behind him in the entrance to the alley, Lazer paused, a hand raised in a futile gesture as Miller drove off. A match flared in a doorway beside him and Ben Garvald moved out, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Who’s your friend, Chuck?’

  Lazer swung round in surprise. Already, the initial jolt of the drug was wearing thin and he was dropping fast towards a level more consistent with normal behaviour.

  ‘Where in the hell did you spring from?’

  ‘I wanted to see you again. Remembered what you said about the all-night chemist’s in City Square. You and the character in the blue coat and fancy cap were standing at the kerb when I came round the corner. Who is he?’

  ‘A copper, Ben. Detective Sergeant.’ Lazer searched his memory. ‘Miller. That’s it – Miller.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ Garvald said. ‘I’ve never seen a peeler that looked like him before. What did he want?’

  ‘You, Ben,’ Lazer said. ‘He wanted to know if I knew where you were.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  Lazer tried again. ‘Bella, that’s it, Bella. She doesn’t want you around.’

  ‘She’s got her nerve,’ Garvald said. ‘What did you tell this peeler, then?’

  And Lazer, his mind chilling as the ecstasy ebbed away, couldn’t remember. Garvald saw the situation for what it was and nodded quickly.

  ‘Forget it, Chuck. It doesn’t matter. I’m clean as a whistle and those sods up there at the Town Hall know it. In any case, I’ve more important things to think about. Where would I find Fred Manton round about now?’

  ‘The Flamingo for sure.’

  ‘Can you get me in the back way? I’d like to give him a surprise.’

  ‘Nothing simpler,’ Lazer said. ‘He has a private service stair with a door to the alley at the side. You wait there and I can go in the front way and open it for you.’

  ‘Then let’s get moving, I’m running out of time,’ Garvald said and somewhere in the distance, muffled by the rain and fog, the Town Hall clock sounded the first stroke of midnight.

  Chapter 10

  At forty-five, Jack Brady had been a policeman for nearly a quarter of a century. Twenty-five years of working a three-shift system, of being disliked by his neighbours, of being able to spend only one weekend in seven at home with his family and the consequent effect upon his relationship with his son and daughter.

  He was not a clever man, but he was patient and possessed the kind of intelligence that can slowly but surely cut through to the heart of things and this, coupled with an extensive knowledge of human nature gained from a thousand long hard Saturday nights on the town and numerous times like them, made him a good policeman.

  He had no conscious thought, or even desire, to help society. Society consisted of the civilians who sometimes got mixed up in the constant state of guerrilla warfare that existed between the police and the criminal and, if anything, he preferred the criminal. At least you knew where you were with him.

  But he was no sentimentalist. A villain was a villain and there was no such thing as a good thief. One corruption was all corruption. He’d read that somewhere and as he walked through the streets, head down against the rain, he remembered it and thought of Ben Garvald.

  From the way he had discussed the case with Grant, Miller had seemed to take a fancy to Garvald. If that was his attitude, then the sooner he fell flat on his face and got the boot, the better. A copper’s job was to catch thieves and all the education in the world couldn’t teach a man to do that – only experience.

  Brady sighed morosely and paused to light a cigarette. The strange thing was that now that his initial anger had evaporated, he found to his surprise that he had been more impre
ssed with Miller than he had thought possible. On the other hand, that was no reason for not teaching him a lesson. It would sharpen the lad up for next time.

  Gascoigne Square was a quiet backwater no more than a quarter of a mile from the Town Hall. Its gracious Georgian town houses were still in excellent condition and occupied mainly as offices by solicitors and other professional men, but one or two of the larger houses had proved ideal for conversion into the kind of night club-cum-gaming houses that had mushroomed all over the country since the change in the law.

  And some of them also provided for more elemental needs. Brady smiled sardonically as he passed Club Eleven and a taxi unloaded half a dozen middle-aged business men who jostled each other excitedly as they went up the steps to the narrow entrance.

  They’d get everything they needed in that hole. Molly Ryan would see to that and one or two of them might even pick up a little more than they’d bargained for. But that was life and you took a chance with each new day that dawned.

  The Flamingo certainly had more class, but still looked a little out of character in the old Square with its striped awning and garish neon lighting. A few yards from the entrance, a small wizened man in tweed cap and army greatcoat sat on an orange box, a pile of Sunday newspapers spread out beside him.

  The old man knew Brady and Brady knew the old man, but no sign of recognition passed between them. The policeman mounted the steps to the entrance and passed through the glass door that a commissionaire in red uniform held open for him.

  A dark haired Italian in a white dinner jacket moved forward at once, an expression of consternation on his face. He tried to conceal it with a brave smile, but failed miserably.

  ‘Mr Brady. What a pleasure. There is something I can do for you?’

  Brady stood there, hands in the pockets of his cheap raincoat, ignoring the man, distaste on his face as he took in the thick carpets, the cream and gold décor and the cloakroom girl in her fishnet stockings.