Corpse in Waiting

by Margaret Duffy

  ‘Of course not! Nor did Imelda. They never even met him. I can’t believe she’s dead. She was a good person. Always helping people. She worked with old folk. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Are you sure Martino, or someone connected with him, didn’t know about Imelda?’

  ‘Positive. Anyway, why would Martino want to hurt my sister? I know he’s a crook but he used to be fond of me before he went inside and Italians love their families. God, I’ve been a fool, haven’t I? So that little shit Tony’s got a wife.’

  That made two of us who thought so then. ‘When did he come on the scene?’ I asked.

  ‘Only a couple of months ago. He was all smiles and charm and seemed an escape out of the dead-end life I’ve got. He bought me presents . . .’ She broke off and her face twisted angrily as she realized how he had used her.

  ‘Is he going to kill Martino?’

  ‘He told me Martino was going to kick me out of the flat. He pays the rent, after all. And that they had a feud that went back years and years. I don’t know really. Sometimes men are all talk.’

  ‘And you’re quite happy for him to kill him?’

  ‘No, not really. Despite what I said the other day. I’d quite like Martino to kill Tony now. It would serve the bugger right.’

  ‘The trouble with guns is that sometimes innocent people are hurt.’

  ‘I know. Perhaps we could fix up one of the dragons to get him.’ She smiled to herself broadly.

  ‘Or you could turn Queen’s evidence and Tony’ll end up behind bars.’

  ‘He’d get me when he was let out though, wouldn’t he? Or pay someone else to.’

  ‘You’d get police protection. You will now. You don’t think you’ll be allowed to walk back in there without the weapons, do you?’

  She sighed. ‘I’m in a real bloody mess, aren’t I?’

  Patrick returned with two teas for the females and reseated himself.

  ‘Come to think of it, I met Dave’s Aunt once,’ Irma said, not thanking him and in a world of her own. ‘It was before Imelda worked in the same nursing home as Miss Bennett was in. You had to call her Miss Bennett, never Hilda. If you ask me she was going a bit potty already.’

  I said, ‘You mean this was before she went into care? Where was she living then?’

  ‘In a little flat in one of those warden-assisted developments. Her own house was too damp and dirty to live in apparently. Imelda said it was only because she’d been too mean to spend any money on it. She didn’t like the woman at all.’

  ‘Did Miss Bennett dislike her?’

  ‘She hated everybody. Bonkers normally, if you ask me.’

  ‘But not her nephew.’

  ‘Yes, according to Imelda, she hated him too.’

  Patrick cleared his throat. ‘Shall we continue?’

  ‘Oh, yes all right. But I’m still not going to tell you anything.’

  ‘This raid that’s been planned,’ Patrick said slowly. ‘Is it tomorrow?’

  ‘How many more times do I have to tell you that I’m not saying nothing?’

  I was expecting the pressure to go up a notch, when he would suddenly cease to be friendly and there would somehow, inexplicably, be a veiled threat. But he merely smiled and asked, ‘How’s Tony’s minder?’

  Irma laughed. ‘Julio? He had to be carted off to A and E and of course they wanted to know how he’d done it. Tony pretended Julio couldn’t speak English and couldn’t say someone had knifed him as the police would’ve had to be informed so he made up some story about him being drunk and spiking himself on an iron railing. They were there for nearly five hours. Talk about hopping mad! I didn’t find it funny then but I do now.’

  ‘Good,’ Patrick said absent-mindedly, apparently finding something of interest to look at on the wall behind her.

  ‘For a policeman you’re very good at knife throwing.’

  ‘Thank you – but I wasn’t always a policeman.’

  ‘I didn’t think you was. You said you’d killed Tony’s Luigi. Is that true?’

  ‘All the main points of what I said the other day are true.’

  ‘Tony’s even madder about that. I think he said he was another cousin.’

  What I had been waiting for happened. Patrick slammed his hand down on the table, making the cups and saucers bounce and Irma jump out of her skin.

  ‘Why are you protecting these bastards when one or both are planning to rob, kill and maim?’

  ‘I knew Martino had this big job planned but didn’t know about shooting up a police station,’ Irma shrilled.

  ‘What on earth did you think they were going to do with all those guns?’

  ‘Well, frighten people, I suppose.’

  ‘I don’t think you cared a damn as long as you got to Italy with Tony.’

  ‘OK, I didn’t!’

  ‘Then you’re just as bad as they are, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I just want a new start in life.’

  ‘Paid for with other people’s blood.’

  ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’

  He bared his teeth at her in a ghastly smile.

  ‘You’re horrible too.’ Irma dragged her gaze from him to me. ‘You said he wouldn’t hurt me.’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ I said but knowing perfectly well what she meant. The look in his eyes was scaring her silly.

  She leaned on the table with both arms, braced herself and spoke directly to him. ‘Look Mr Horrible, you’re sitting there not saying so but I know something nasty’s going to happen to me if I don’t tell you everything because you’re running out of patience even though this is supposed to be some kind of police outfit. But if I grass on them they’ll get me sooner or later. So both ways I’m as good as dead, aren’t I?’ Her voice started to break.

  I said, ‘No, Irma, you aren’t. As I told you just now you’ll be protected, given a new identity. They won’t be able to find you.’

  Patrick shot to his feet, making her jump again. ‘She’s wasting my time,’ he rapped out. ‘Time for a change of tactics.’

  ‘No!’ Irma cried. ‘No, look, stop it! You’ve got me really scared now.’

  He made for the door.

  ‘Don’t go!’ she pleaded. ‘Please. Tell me how I’ll be looked after and then I might—’

  Patrick went out of the door, banging it resoundingly behind him, that and his footfalls echoing away down the corridor.

  Irma burst into noisy tears. ‘Please get him back,’ she sobbed, hands over her face. ‘I hate him but I’m so frightened and—’ The rest was lost in sobbing.

  I drew my chair closer. ‘We don’t have to get him back,’ I said quietly. ‘Tell me.’

  She peered through her fingers at me, her eye make-up all runny. ‘You won’t let him . . . ?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I solemnly promised.

  Completely oblivious to the fact that he had made her tell the truth by upsetting her far more than she had been already Irma gave me absolutely everything we needed to know.

  Charm, retreat and then pounce. I sat mulling over this interrogation technique in Greenway’s office just under three-quarters of an hour later. He had sent somebody to fetch fish and chips, the three of us having discovered that we were ravenously hungry. The other trio had disappeared – I would love to say ‘scuttled off’ but it was not true – presumably to brief their respective teams.

  ‘I reckon they’ll risk going ahead with it,’ Greenway said through coping with a hot chip in his mouth.

  ‘They might,’ Patrick said, ‘Especially as she reckons she only brought about half the weapons that were originally there, having helped Martino’s second-in-command stow them away in the first place. What’s been put out to the media?’

  ‘That a woman driving that car was involved in an accident at a road junction and was very seriously injured, no actual time or location mentioned. Her identity isn’t yet known as the vehicle burst into flames just after she was pulled from it by passer
s-by, destroying her personal belongings. The police think weapons or ammunition had been carried in the car as several minor explosions were heard. D’you think that’ll fool them?’

  ‘If it doesn’t I don’t know what else could have been said. Whatever happens, the woman has to disappear for her own good.’

  ‘The price for her story being that we can’t charge her with anything,’ Greenway said. ‘Turning Queen’s evidence and getting a lesser charge isn’t any good, not with people like the Capellis’ mob. They might even try to get her before it came to court. Someone’d just wait until she’s freed from prison and then gun her down.’

  ‘They may change the time of the raid,’ I said. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’

  According to Irma one thirty the following afternoon had been chosen as it was reckoned that most shoppers would be at lunch, this not because of less risk to people round and about but in the hope that not many hale and hearty folk would be present who might be tempted to ‘have a go’.

  ‘When then?’ Greenway said, fixing me with his green stare. He does sometimes seem to think I’m psychic.

  ‘Opening time might give the same street conditions,’ I replied. ‘But surely there’ll be police on site all day anyway.’

  ‘Yes, several as shoppers, two in the jewellery shop pretending to be assistants – they’re there now getting a crash course so they look as though they know what they’re doing – others in the office upstairs whose job it’ll be to protect the shop staff if and when the raid happens. What more can we do?’

  ‘Have any blokes who might be mobsters called at Irma’s place in a car and the registration’s been noted?’ Patrick asked.

  ‘At least a dozen different men have been observed going in and out of the flat in groups of three or more. I believe her when she said she doesn’t know their names because, as she told Ingrid, Tony Capelli nearly always got rid of her by telling her to make everyone tea or coffee. Some arrived in an old van, others on foot. But they’ll steal one or two vehicles for the actual job.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ Patrick said. ‘But who was the old van registered to?’

  ‘A builder who had part-exchanged it three years ago for a new one. It had a cloned tax disc too.’

  ‘So we’ll just have to wait for them to mobilize,’ Patrick muttered. ‘I wish you’d allow me to be one of those hanging around in the arcade.’

  ‘As I said before it’s too risky. Capelli knows you. Besides, that part of it’s not really my responsibility.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know him,’ I said. ‘Promise.’

  Greenway’s chin jutted. ‘I suppose you want to be in on it as well.’

  ‘It’s safe to assume that the gang’ll have done a little homework and made a mental note of those who normally hang around the area; Big Issue sellers, traffic wardens and people like that. They’ll be jittery and keeping an eye open for strangers who could be undercover cops so lone men poking around with brooms or leaning on walls reading newspapers will be treated with suspicion. A couple is always easier to blend into a public place. Besides, Patrick would probably be a better shot than anyone else present if the gang opened fire.’

  The Commander thought about it. Then he said, ‘Richard Daws said it would take fifteen years off my life just to have the pair of you around.’

  ‘Did he really?’ Patrick said eagerly.

  ‘Go on, sod off. Get some sleep. Do what you want but for God’s sake don’t tell the Met I sent you.’

  I was wondering if Martino Capelli was right in there somewhere and his cousin was now so much carrion with his throat cut for real this time.

  ‘You don’t have to take me along,’ I said to Patrick a little later in our hotel room. ‘I was just flying the flag.’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ he responded. ‘And there’s no time to plan anything elaborate.’

  ‘We could really do with having a look at the arcade now.’

  ‘You’re right. But isn’t it one of those places that have gates that are locked at night?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He exploded out of his chair. ‘God, talk about losing my edge! I’ve lost it! Who would know?’

  ‘Either of those two guys at the meeting whose responsibility that part of it was surely.’

  ‘I didn’t take their mobile numbers.’ Patrick undertook some inventive swearing.

  ‘Leyland will have them,’ I broke in with. ‘Did you get his?’

  ‘There seemed little point seeing he hated my guts.’ He took his invective off into the bathroom.

  Apologetically, I rang Greenway.

  ‘DCI John Murphy’s the one you want,’ he told me. ‘The one with red hair. He’ll know. Good idea to go and have a recce if the place is open at this time of night. Hang on and I’ll give you his number.’

  I soon had my answer.

  ‘There are gates which are opened at eight a.m. and closed at midnight,’ I reported. ‘It’s on two police beats and a security company keeps a watch on several of the shops. DCI Murphy, who’s in charge of the operation, tells me he’ll be on standby locally tonight to supervise surveillance but refused to go into details. He has no objection if you want to have a look round now but doesn’t want to see our faces there tomorrow.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Patrick said. ‘Coming?’

  I was never quite sure why I took the Smith and Wesson out of the room safe and put it in my jacket pocket.

  THIRTEEN

  The arcade was not what I had expected and obviously fairly newly redeveloped, the elaborate Victorian wrought iron pillars and supports in the roof restored and painted dark blue, the stonework cleaned and repaired. There was a wide entrance and as one went farther in everything became very modern and was on three levels with a below ground level courtyard furnished with tables and chairs where customers could choose between an Italian restaurant, a wine bar and a café, the first two of which were still open. The whole place was strongly reminiscent of Shires Yard in Bath.

  Hinchcliffe and Atterberry’s – established, according to ye olde sign over the door, in 1799 – was on a corner site almost facing, and not far from, the entrance where another corridor with smaller shops crossed it at right angles. There were steel roller shutters on the large windows, as there were also on several of the high-class fashion and leather goods outlets. Another restaurant, Les Fleurs, was, judging by the chatter and clatter, doing a good trade on the upper, terraced, level. Otherwise, only a few people were around, window shopping, probably mostly coming in to shelter from the drizzly night.

  ‘I suppose we could have a snack while we’re here,’ Patrick said when we had drifted from one end to the other checking where other access points and fire exits were while playing the game of trying to spot the undercover cops. My money was all on a Chinese man and his girlfriend who were wandering around and Patrick was sure they were a man making a call on his mobile in the courtyard and another, a chef, who was at present standing outside the restaurant having a break to cool off.

  ‘Are you hungry then?’

  ‘I’m always hungry when I’m working.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked, having left my watch behind.

  ‘Ten fifty-five.’

  ‘If you’re right about Murphy’s people they’re nowhere near the raid’s target – which could be under surveillance from Martino’s lot right now.’

  ‘Probably not, but you have to move around, behave normally in case, as you say, there’s someone keeping a watch out for you. And don’t forget, there’ll be unmarked police cars cruising around.’

  I wandered back towards the main entrance, Patrick staying where he was, and took several deep breaths of damp, exhaust-tainted air, fine rain on my face. Traffic lights were reflected in the wet, greasy-looking roads with scarcely any vehicles to obey them: Londoners seemed to be staying indoors because of the weather. Odd then to see someone go through a red light.

  I turned and called, ‘If this mob’s going
to shoot up West End Central afterwards then presumably they’re hoping to disappear somewhere instantly, preferably going abroad.’

  ‘No doubt something like that’s on the cards.’

  ‘Then they’ll need instant funds, not a pile of jewellery they can only get rid of through a fence.’

  ‘Diamonds are the international currency.’

  ‘Point taken, but we passed a cash machine on our way from the tube station – about five minutes from here. How many JCBs do you normally see belting along around here at night jumping the lights?’

  He came at the run. ‘No harm in checking.’

  We heard the huge impact when we were still about a hundred yards away. An alarm bell pealed followed by the wail of a siren but this appeared not to signify a police car as it was stationary, merely another bank security device. Above the racket there was the distinct sound of a couple of shots and as we reached a street corner two terrified women ran virtually into our arms. Patrick unceremoniously gathered them up and bundled them through the doors of a fast food eatery we had just gone by. A man and a young boy were just behind them and were similarly dealt with, Patrick shouting at them all to stay inside.

  We took quick peeps around the corner. It was a weird scene, such traffic as there was had stopped, the bucket of the JCB being used to smash and crunch its way into the wall of the bank with the ATM in it like some crazed prehistoric monster. Then, a small flat-bed truck of some kind came speeding up, travelling the last fifty yards or so half on the pavement, battering into a car that was in the way, knocking over street signs and scattering litter bins. It was spun round and reversed until it was quite close to the main entrance of the bank. All this activity was being guarded by four men, three seemingly carrying hand guns, another with a sub-machine gun. They had had to move aside for the arrival of the truck, the one with the machine gun firing a burst at a motorist who had left his car and was running away. The shots smashed into everything; vehicles, road signs, shop windows, all the while people screaming as they stampeded away. The man escaped uninjured.

  ‘Where’s bloody Murphy’s law?’ Patrick bellowed, the Glock pistol in his hand. ‘Stay here!’