The tide of grey-faced office workers eddied round them in King William Street. The half-day meant they had a great deal to do before they could take their positions on the pavement.
“I can’t keep the story going if you won’t tell me anything,” said Johnny. “What d’you want me to do? Make it up?” He stamped his feet. They’d turned to blocks of ice in the short time he’d been waiting. “Five minutes. That’s all I need.”
Adler didn’t break the silence until he’d reached the safety of his office. For someone who was about to become one of the most powerful figures in the City he didn’t appear to be on top of the world.
“Let’s talk numbers,” said Johnny. “Five hundred million. That’s some float. Do you think England is about to be invaded?”
Adler sat down at his desk. He ordered tea for them both.
“No, I don’t. No harm in taking precautions though.”
“Sure Canada is safe? The Czechs thought London was safe – and look what’s happened to their gold. Who’s to say the Canadians – especially the Québéçois – might not decide to confiscate the assets of their colonial rulers?”
“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I do know you’ll never be allowed to publish such information.”
“We’ll see. If push comes to shove I’ll give the story to one of my colleagues across the Atlantic.”
Adler made a steeple out of his fingers. Perhaps he was praying he could come up with the correct combination of words.
“The truth can be a dangerous thing. Especially to a reporter who won’t listen to advice.”
“Are you taking the advice of the police? Letting a bodyguard ride with you in the coach?”
“No. I’m not going to be the mayor who overturns centuries of tradition. The route will be lined with dozens of cops – in and out of uniform. I’m not afraid.”
“So you know best.”
“Indeed.” He sighed. “We got there in the end.”
“Do you want your parade overshadowed by the news that the City is in cahoots with the Nazis? That’s what will happen if you don’t come clean.”
“Come clean? I’m not dirty! You haven’t a shred of proof that any of your information is correct.”
“I’ll simply repeat your denials and the damage will be done. Look, we’re on the same side, aren’t we?”
Adler raised his eyebrows. Johnny pressed on.
“All right then. Let’s say the Germans are our common enemy. I’m not a traitor. I’ll keep quiet about the five hundred million if you fill me in on the Czech deal.”
“So you want to enter the trading floor, do you? Bargain with me? Exchange information? Watch out for the trapdoor.”
The tea arrived. Johnny sat down on the other side of the desk. He waited till the door was closed.
“I got the impression you don’t like Montagu Norman. What was it you said? He never tells the whole story. As Governor of the Bank of England he has to take responsibility for the deal. What was your role in it? Are you trying to protect the reputation of the BIS?”
Adler stared at the blotter in front of him, his mind elsewhere. He was making rapid calculations, adding up the pros and cons.
“Believe it or not, I like you, Steadman. What I’m about to tell you won’t do you any good though. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s entirely up to you what you do with this information but my advice would be to file it away for future use.”
“Go on.” He got out his notebook.
“There were two accounts. The National Bank of Czechoslovakia transferred fifty tons of gold to the Bank of England. The first account, in its own name, contained twenty-seven tons. The second, in the name of the Bank for International Settlements, contained twenty-three tons. They thought it would be safe there. However, when the Germans invaded Czechoslovakia they demanded that the gold be transferred to the Reichsbank account in London. Our government had already blocked Czech assets so the gold in the first account was protected, but Norman secretly took it upon himself to sanction the transfer of the gold in the second account. He insists that individual governments should not intervene in BIS business.”
“What a crook! How much of the twenty-three tons have the Nazis given him?”
“You’d have to ask him that.”
“Well, he’ll have to resign – immediately.”
“The BIS cannot be prosecuted under national laws. It’s immune.”
“Even so, Norman’s position will be untenable when the news gets out. Perhaps the Nazis will headhunt him – if he hasn’t already been lynched … Maybe you’d like his job?”
“How d’you think I became the new Lord Mayor?”
Johnny sat up. So that was how a Jew had got into the Mansion House. He was beginning to see the bigger picture.
“Silence is golden.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself. Of course your cooperation would not go unrewarded …”
Johnny, in spite of his anger, had to laugh. He’d come here to blackmail Adler into talking. Now Adler was bribing him to keep quiet.
Adler, to his credit, almost looked embarrassed. Almost.
“I’ll be able to achieve far more as Lord Mayor than in any other role – and I’ll be able to look over Norman’s shoulder. He’s already tarnished the reputation of the BIS – which is, whatever you say, a force for good – but I’m determined to see he doesn’t pull another stroke like this one.”
“Would it be such a bad thing if he were to fall on his sword?”
“The City is jittery enough. Any suggestion of financial malfeasance at the Bank of England would trigger a stock market crash. Neither it nor the country can afford for that to happen.”
Johnny knew Adler was right. This was the story of a lifetime. If he broke it he’d be able to walk into any job in Fleet Street – and he’d be able to name his price. On the other hand, the story would damage the City in the eyes of the world. Which was more important to him? Career or country? The idea that Norman could get away with collaborating with the Nazis made him see red.
Adler was watching him closely. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
The empty house hadn’t surprised Lizzie. Like most men, Matt couldn’t cope on his own. He’d probably gone to his parents – or stayed over with Johnny. Now there was a thought …
She was glad to be home. Even before Commander Inskip had warned her about the kidnapping threat – and the need for silence – she’d needed to get away. Her disappearance had been for all their sakes. She had done a lot of thinking – and some weeping – but she could see clearly now. She knew exactly what she was going to do.
Lila Mae, sensing her mother’s improved mood, gurgled happily as she was laid in her new American pushchair, a present from her grandparents.
“We’re off to see the Lord Mayor of London, aren’t we, lambkin? Perhaps he’ll have a pussycat like Dick Whittington.”
If there were no good vantage points in Fleet Street she could take refuge at the News. Johnny would look after them.
She slid the envelope containing the photograph behind the baby’s back.
Johnny found himself following the planned route of the procession: Poultry, Cheapside, St Paul’s Churchyard, Ludgate Hill. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. He’d simply decided to walk back to the office. It wasn’t far and would only take fifteen minutes. Everything – apart from the traffic – moved faster in London.
He had other matters to think about. Solvitur ambulando: walk about to work it out.
It was too cold to dawdle. Shafts of sunlight, breaking out from angry clouds, raked the City. His mother had called them angel’s torches. He very much doubted that Jesus would want him for a sunbeam. He searched for a more mundane image. That was it: the floodlights of Twentieth Century Fox. The show was about to begin.
Why did Adler say that he wasn’t afraid? He’d been too complacent all along. He’d accused Johnny of creating a moun
tain out of a molehill. Far more important matters required his attention. What was more important than saving your own skin?
Adler knew more than he was letting on. That was a given. He’d come clean about the Czech deal more readily than expected. Why? England’s gold reserves were more important, of course, but that didn’t explain the wealth of detail that he’d provided. It was as if he knew it would never be seen in print.
Perhaps it wasn’t Adler’s life that was in the sights but his own.
However, Johnny wouldn’t have lasted this long without a keen survival instinct. He was no fall-guy. Something else was going on. Why had Adler wanted him rather than the police to investigate the attacks? Was he concerned they might find a skeleton in his closet? Adler must be using the Czech deal to distract him. Once again the country was being sacrificed to protect people in power. If such dirty business were a sideshow, what was the main feature?
A few spectators had already staked out their claim on the pavement outside Hereflete House. A bobby who tried to move them on was shouted down as a spoilsport. They celebrated their victory with cups of hot tea poured from Dewar flasks. The constable grinned when he tasted the Scotch.
Johnny told the liftboy to take him straight up to the seventh floor. He waited impatiently for the red light to go out.
“No word from Whitehall yet,” said Stone. “Probably got other things to worry about. Still, it’s a good sign.”
He put down the Financial Times. Johnny sometimes thought Captain Vic spent more time reading his competitors’ pages than those of his own newspaper. Know your enemies was another of his catchphrases.
“You’re looking a lot better this morning, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Not at all, sir. I’m about to make you feel better as well.”
“Out with it then.”
The more he heard the angrier his editor became.
“Write it up. Don’t make any calls – we don’t want to alert the authorities. There’ll be plenty of time for them to express their outrage and issue categorical denials – which will keep the story alive. There’s no point giving them the chance to bury the story before it’s even seen the light of day. I’ll speak to Patsel.”
Johnny didn’t envy him.
“There’s something else, sir.”
“Go on.”
“The government is about to send five hundred million pounds in gold to Canada to keep it out of German hands. As Lord Vivis is already in the country …”
“I’ll speak to him – but don’t tell anyone else about this until I say so. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get a move on then. There’s still time to get it into the first edition – if you’re quick.”
Patsel’s throne was unoccupied. PDQ and Soppy were poring over some photographs, of what Johnny couldn’t see. Dimeo was arguing the toss with an Australian colleague who wouldn’t let him forget his country had retained the Ashes in July.
Johnny dumped his mail on the desk. He had no intention of dealing with it now. He ignored the ringing telephone. He had to place himself in the mental bubble that allowed him to work amid the din and distractions of the newsroom.
Tanfield looked as if he were fit to burst. The boy’s eagerness brought out the paternal side of Johnny. His eyes shone with excitement. At least he hoped that’s what it was.
“I can’t talk, Timmy. They’re holding the front page.”
“I know,” said his sidekick. “The police have found another body.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The dirty money was still in his locker. He’d half-hoped someone would have swiped it. Personal property was always going missing.
Lizzie must have been determined to punish him for his selfish behaviour. Why else would she keep secret her whereabouts? She knew how protective he was – and how to hurt him. Zick’s abduction of her two years ago had made him more fearful of her safety. And now there was Lila Mae too. He hadn’t realized she could be so cruel.
Watkiss stuck his head round the door.
“Tyser requests the pleasure of your company in the murder room. There’s been another one.”
“Male?”
“Of course.” He frowned. “Why? Expecting a dead female to turn up?”
“No,” said Matt. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if some firebrand flung themselves in front of the Lord Mayor’s coach. Peace not war! Save the Jews! Protect our jobs! The whole world wants more than they’ve got.”
“Don’t be such a damper. It’s going to be a great show.”
Herbie’s enthusiasm was almost touching. He was enjoying his secondment to the Detective Squad. Matt suddenly felt old.
Tanfield grinned at the surprised expression on Johnny’s face. He thought he’d got one over on him. So be it. He’d let him labour under the misapprehension.
“Where?”
“Waithman Street. Alongside Ludgate Hill Station.”
“Who told you?”
“No one. It came in over the wire.”
“You better get over there then.”
Tanfield grabbed his hat and coat. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Need me to hold your hand?”
“No – but this has been your story so far.”
“And it still is. It’s only round the corner. I’ll be with you shortly. Must get a couple of paras off first.”
“About what?”
“Adler. It’s his big day. We ought to mark the occasion. You know: point out the police have yet to arrest the ringleader. Ask what precautions have been taken. Raise the question of public safety.”
“Quite right. I’ll see you there.”
The young pretender ran towards the lifts.
“That’s not like you – letting someone else chase a corpse.”
Dimeo, knowing full well that Johnny didn’t like it, perched on the corner of his desk.
“I’m going after live prey this morning.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I doubt it. He’s our new Lord Mayor.”
“Ow!” The point of a pencil penetrated one of Dimeo’s buttocks. The sports reporter stood up. “That hurt.”
“It was meant to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline. Remember what one of those is?”
“I remember you asking for my help last week.” He rubbed his behind. “It feels like you broke the skin.”
“You’ve had worse injuries.”
Johnny was referring to the time he’d knocked Louis out in the showers.
“I haven’t forgotten,” said Dimeo. They both knew he’d deserved it. “Did you ever find your treasure?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Well, leave my arse alone then.”
He limped away.
Tesoro. Johnny repeated the word in his head. He’d found Hollom – but he’d never asked him what he’d been talking about in the backroom of Otarelli’s. He was Anglo-Italian too … First things first. He’d think about it later.
Alexander Vanneck’s eyes were open but he was blind to what was going on around him. He was still bound to the bed in Bateman’s Buildings, spread-eagled and stark naked.
He’d had the time of his life.
She must have left him alone for at least a couple of hours but she’d made it up to him when she returned, even more excited than before. It had been well worth the wait.
She said she couldn’t bear to let him go yet. She’d been searching for a man like him for so long. It felt as if they had met in a past life. She’d done things to him that no woman had ever done before. He would die if there were no encore.
And yet she refused to tell him where she’d been. The wait – his waiting for her – was what counted. The hopes and fears coursing through his body. The frantic machinations of his brain.
He daren’t tell her that he’d fallen asleep soon after she’d left. That he’d only woken up when he heard the bedroom door creak open. That had been a tricky moment. If someone else had
come in, he would have screamed.
He knew it was too good to be true. He didn’t usually have this effect on women. He must be missing something. Something didn’t fit. He didn’t claim to know the workings of a woman’s mind – perhaps that was why he’d never had a fiancée – but he suspected this waitress had a screw loose. God, though, she knew how to screw! She was cock-mad.
She said she was lonely. That she had lost someone close to her – she’d tell him the full story one day – and that she missed him with her heart and soul. That she often woke up crying. Dreaming about him, then realizing that it had only been a dream, was like losing him all over again.
There was no end to her grief. Sometimes she could taste her loneliness. Base metals. Bitter herbs. She had tried to bottle it. Would he care to smell it? He’d politely declined.
He’d lost count of the number of times she’d collected his essence. She said only sex silenced the silent scream in her head.
He was utterly drained when, an hour before dawn, she’d finally set him free – on the promise that he return that evening. They were made for each other. Wild horses wouldn’t stop him …
A sheaf of rolled-up papers brought him back to reality. Wilderspin – what was he doing down here? – had struck him in the face.
“I telephoned three times. Where’ve you been?”
His bloodshot eyes scoured the cubbyhole. There was nowhere to hide.
“I’ve been at my desk since eight thirty, sir.”
“You’re a damned liar – if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I do, sir.”
“What’s that?”
“I do mind. Very much so, in fact. Would you mind if I hit you in the mush? Give me those papers. Let’s find out.”
“Are you insane?”
“Quite possibly.”
“Well, you can forget about the Lord Mayor’s show. I want every one of these letters typed three times.”
Vanneck shot to his feet. Wilderspin stepped back.
“That’s right,” said Vanneck, waving a fist. “Get out of my way, you pompous prick. Find someone else to correct your mistakes.”
Robin Hood Yard Page 18