Second Opinion

by Claire Rayner

  He actually looked as though he were about to blush. ‘Not a bit of it. There’s not a lot they can do this time o’ night on either of our cases, and by some bleedin’ miracle there’s nothin’ else urgent at present. I’ll get the adoption boys back to the grindstone tomorrow, just you see if I don’t, and there’s the business of that damned car still to sort out.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said and put down her chopsticks. ‘I might have an answer to the adoption matter.’ And she looked at him with her brows up and her lips a little pursed, the picture of innocence.

  ‘What did you say?’ He spluttered over a particularly hot prawn ball. ‘You’ve got what?’

  ‘I’ve got a list of names and addresses of people who might have some answers for us,’ she said. ‘I broke the code, you see.’ She smiled at him beatifically and reached again for her food and picked up, with considerable expertise, a pile of bean sprouts and chicken.

  ‘Get away!’ He was all attention. ‘So, give me the news! Don’t just sit there filling your face!’

  She shook her head, smiling sweetly. ‘I don’t like talking with my mouth full,’ she said indistinctly. ‘You tell me first what you got out of Goss, then I’ll tell you what I’ve got.’

  ‘Like hell I will! You tell me what you —’

  ‘I was first,’ she said and scooped up more chop suey. He stared at her with his face a picture of chagrin and then threw his hands up in the air and said, ‘The hell with it. I’ll eat too.’

  They did, in a greedy silence, until they’d cleared the little containers, and then he put down his chopsticks for the last time and quirked his head at her. ‘Right. Now start talking.’

  ‘But I haven’t finished,’ she said sweetly. ‘And you have. So you start, Gus dear, and then I’ll follow.’

  ‘You and I are going to have to do some serious talking one of these days,’ he said. ‘If it’s a fight for supremacy we’re going to have, then by God, I’ll give as good as I get.’

  ‘Goss,’ said George, making some play with her chopsticks as she chased the last mushroom round the little square dish. ‘What did he have to say? Could he talk at all?’

  Gus gave up. ‘He talked. A lot, in fact.’ He opened his notebook on his desk. ‘Some of it was unrepeatable. Filthy language. We can get him if we want to on any amount of stirring-up-racial-hatred charges. Like this, listen: “If I have to break a few white heads and get into bed with communists I’ll do it for the NHS. Show ‘em what’ll happen if they don’t stop recruiting these black bastards, ruining our hospital. Once they see that black people cause riots and trouble they’ll have the wit to stop taking on so many. So yeah, I’ll start a race riot if I can. I’ve done it a few times, working with the blacks, telling them the whites are after them. It always works, frightens the shit out of the Professor, it does.” Lovely stuff, isn’t it? There’s plenty more like it.’

  Any hint of laughter had left George now. She put down her chopsticks and stared at Gus. ‘That’s horrible.’

  ‘You don’t say. Of course it is. But it’s what the man’s been doing with a few others around here. I’ve got names and addresses — it’s not been a wasted experience, believe me. They were agents provocateurs — making it seem they were on the black side as activists while encouraging all the unrest they could. They were very active lately because of Choopani’s fundraising, of course.’

  ‘And Harry’s murder,’ she said, her eyes bright. ‘What about that?’

  He shook his head, closing his notebook and snapping the rubber band around it. ‘No joy, George. Sorry about that. Goss and his nasties were at a meeting that night. My lads collected statements from them all. Alibied to their ‘orrible eyebrows they are, the bleedin’ lot of ‘em. That’s a dead end. As dead as mutton. As dead as Harry.’

  She looked down at her hands. ‘As dead as Harry,’ she repeated softly. ‘Oh, hell!’

  ‘Yeah. I wanted it to be one of them, of course I did, in that I want to find whoever it was. But it wasn’t Goss or his mate Prior — there’s a nice specimen I don’t think. South Africa can have him back any time — nor is it any of his collection of British Patriots, either. We’re back at the opening of the same old cul de sac. Got to start again, unless …’ He brightened. ‘Now it’s your turn. What have you got?’

  ‘Goodies,’ she said crisply. ‘Isn’t that what you call it?

  She told him, propping her elbows amid the wreckage of their supper, her chin on her hands. Told him about Cherry and the typewriter and the James Bond movie, all of it, and he listened in silence, never taking his eyes from her face.

  ‘So then,’ she went on, and leaned back to push her hands into the pockets of the baggy jacket she had thrown over her jeans and old shirt. ‘I went back to the lab and settled to it, picking out the words. It took ages.’ She grimaced. ‘Surprising really how long it did take, at first. But I speeded up as I got used to it and saw what it was whoever it was had done.’

  ‘So, am I going to be shown whatever it was?’ he said. ‘Or is there more teasing to come? I never thought you’d be that much of a tormentor, George.’

  For quite unexplained reasons her face flamed and he laughed at that, a soft little sound at the back of his throat.

  ‘Aha! I touch a raw nerve! Bliss. I like ‘em raw. The more raw the better. OK, ducks, do I get the transcript?’

  She pulled her hands out of her pockets and pushed the contents of the right one forward: a couple of folded sheets of paper. He took them with an odd little incline of his head, smoothed them on his desk and bent to look. She studied the way the light touched the rough dark curliness of his hair and wanted to reach out and touch it; but instead she got to her feet and walked round the desk to stand beside him.

  ‘As I see it,’ she said. ‘What this is —’

  ‘I can see it too,’ he said and was clearly absorbed. ‘Names, addresses, colour of hair, weight, DOB — date of birth. It’s clearly a description of a baby, that last, isn’t it? Another is the babies these people were given? Or the babies they produced themselves?’

  ‘You haven’t reached the end of the list yet, Gus,’ she said and reached forwards and pulled away the top sheet. ‘Look at that.’

  The two sheets lay side by side on his desk now and could be read easily.

  PAGE ONE

  Chester

  17 Tyndall Close

  Hatfield

  Bald

  Weight 4 kilos 600 grammes

  DOB 3. 4. 92

  Flaherty

  Market House

  Bishop’s Stortford

  Dark hair short

  Weight 5 kilos 10 grammes

  DOB 7. 7. 92

  Dickenson

  47 Lybrand Street

  Blackheath

  Bald

  Weight 4 kilos 750 grammes

  DOB 27. 4. 93

  Cranmer

  9 Oxford Terrace

  Wapping

  Red hair short

  Weight 4 kilos 75 grammes

  DOB 10. 6. 93

  Irwin

  11 Fife Street

  Kensington

  Black hair long

  Weight 5 kilos exact

  DOB 17. 8. 93

  Braham

  179 Applecroft Avenue

  Denham

  Black hair short

  Weight 4 Kilos 800 grammes DOB 23. 6. 93

  PAGE TWO

  Lennon

  Dark hair long

  Weight 3 kilos 105 grammes

  DOB 14. 7. 93

  Chowdary

  Dark hair short

  Weight 4 kilos 200 grammes

  DOB 27. 10. 93

  Popodopoulos

  Dark hair long

  Weight 5 kilos 75 grammes

  DOB 1. 12. 93

  ‘You see?’ she said softly. ‘The first six are names of people who either had or were given babies. The last three, though, we know had babies taken from them.’

  He frowned. ‘It’s hard to be sure
,’ he said. ‘Maybe these other six are people who had babies who died?’

  ‘That’s my point, Gus. These last three babies didn’t die, I’m sure of it. I think they had babies taken from them to give to other people who wanted to adopt. They were stolen, like the old gypsies.’

  He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense, George. Why have two kinds of people on one list? I mean people who adopt and also people who give birth but their babies die — or whatever it is that happens to them.’

  She stood there and thought for a moment or two and then slowly went back to her chair on the far side of his desk.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said flatly. ‘It doesn’t make sense, does it? Dammit! And I got so excited — I should have had more sense. Though if we find those other six people lost babies too …’

  ‘Ah, then indeed we might find out the how and why. But until we know just why all these people are together on this list we can’t make any judgements.’

  He looked up then and lifted his brows at her. ‘Who made the list, by the way? Any idea?’

  She bit her lip and then shook her head. ‘No,’ she said unwillingly. ‘There’s no hint or clue to that there, is there? We only know that Harry had the original coded lists — the ones we made that one from.’ She lifted her chin at the two sheets of paper on his desk.

  ‘Then I think we may assume at this stage it was Harry who made it,’ Gus said briskly. ‘The pages were in his effects, right? That child Cherry found them?’

  ‘That’s right. She did. But …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘He couldn’t type,’ George said. ‘Cherry was adamant about that. He was as awkward around machinery as — as — well, he couldn’t cope with a typewriter.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Gus looked sceptical. ‘Anyone can make a stab at it. There are the letters, you just have to hit them.’

  ‘There were no mistakes on that list,’ George said slowly. ‘I asked Cherry. She said whoever typed it knew what they were doing, because when you can’t see the letters coming up properly, as you can’t when you use this PS key, then you’re more likely to make errors. There wasn’t one.’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t Harry’s list. I’m sure of that. I think he found it, and worked out who did make it, and let whoever that was know it. And that was why he was killed, maybe.’

  He grinned a little crookedly. ‘Hey, you’ve replaced young Goss as chief suspect without too much difficulty!’

  She grimaced. ‘Well, there it is. It isn’t Goss, so I have to think again. And the more I think about it, the more I think Harry must have died because he found out something someone didn’t want known. It sounds corny, I know, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?’

  Gus was silent for a while and then nodded. ‘You could be right. But I need more evidence than that. All these —’

  ‘Yeah, I know. All these maybes,’ George said. ‘You say that to me all the time.’

  ‘Then it’s time you learned from what I tell you,’ he said sententiously, but spoiled the effect by laughing at her expression. ‘Oh, don’t look like that, ducks. You’ve done a smashin’ job! I could never have broken that code in a month of Sundays. It’s a fabulous contribution. You’ve given us a whole lot of new leads we can work on. You’re so much a part of the team, we’d be lost without you.’

  ‘Oh, goddamn it!’ she wailed. ‘You make me feel a right heel! It wasn’t I who worked it out, was it? It was Cherry.’

  ‘Without you she’d never have done it,’ he said. Now it was his turn to get to his feet and come round the desk. ‘You’re the one who pushed and shoved and tweaked to make it happen. I want you to know how much you’re appreciated.’

  She managed a grin. ‘OK, I realize.’ He was standing very close now and that made her feel rather odd; like a schoolgirl again, shaky and a little sweaty. Delicious. He seemed unaware of it, for he simply bent his head, kissed her cheek and with one hand squeezed her shoulder. Then he went back to his chair.

  ‘OK,’ he said from the other side of the desk. ‘What next? I’ll tell you what next. Tomorrow, I send my lads out to see these people to find out what they have in common. They’re a mixed bunch in terms of addresses. A couple of locals, but the others are all over the place. Denham and Blackheath and Kensington and Bishop’s Stortford …’ He frowned. ‘I’ll make you a forecast, though. They’ll all turn out to be well heeled. These are pricy addresses. I smell money.’

  ‘You could be right. I imagine buying babies for adoption is expensive.’

  ‘Still on that? But we agreed that —’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I know. We agreed that this list couldn’t be such people because of the last three names. But I’m still convinced that that’s what it was all about. Do you doubt it?’

  He was considering. ‘I can’t say,’ he said after a long pause. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. It’s an intriguing hypothesis, but we don’t have enough evidence to put in the cat’s saucer for her supper, do we? Not a bleedin’ smidgeon of it. Just an idea.’

  ‘It’s a bloody good one,’ she snapped.

  ‘I don’t deny that,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I’m very intrigued, I think you might be right. But might won’t do for me or the courts. I have to have facts. Nasty things, facts are. Hard and bumpy with rough corners. But I have to have ‘em. Addicted, you might say.’ He produced one of his leers, but it was a half-hearted one.

  She sighed. ‘Well, there’s not a lot else we can do, I suppose.’ She tried to sound very casual but wasn’t sure she managed it. ‘Time I headed home, I guess. Ma and Bridget’ll be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said and got to his feet. ‘I can finish all this in the morning. On our way then.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, pretending surprise. ‘You’re coming with me?’

  ‘Be your age, ducks. Didn’t I tell you before I was comin’? I miss your nice old ladies if I don’t see them. Anyway, we got other fish to fry.’ He slapped her rump as she stood up and then, his jacket now on, reached for his overcoat and for hers, and switched off the light on his desk, plunging them into almost total blackness.

  ‘Just think,’ he said, and his voice was warm and amused in the darkness. ‘I could ravish you here and now, and no one’d know.’

  ‘I would,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light and not sure if she managed it.

  ‘I’d see to it you would. But not here, sweetheart. Let’s go to your place. It beats here on account of it doesn’t smell of disinfectant and the stuff they use to keep the cockroaches out.’ And he put his arm round her shoulder to lead her out.

  She went without any demur. She now knew, to her chagrin and with somewhere deep inside a sort of shame, that she, a strong woman, was so willing that she would go with him anywhere he wanted her to, for any purpose.

  30

  ‘I think it would work,’ George said stubbornly. ‘It did last time. I mean, if I hadn’t done what I did, we’d never have found out who killed Richard Oxford, would we? You were livid then because I didn’t tell you I was going to do it, and I suppose it was dangerous too. Well, this time I’m telling you. And how can there be any danger in it? No one’d even know it was me. That’s terrible grammar, but you know what I mean.’

  He was silent, sitting hunched up on the rug, his arms round his knees, staring into the flames of her fire.

  ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you,’ he said almost dreamily after a while, ‘that seein’ they’re not actually burnin’ anything there’d be a sort of pattern to the flames. But they look just like they’re real.’

  ‘They are real, dummy,’ she snapped. ‘They’re burning gas, is all. And stop being so — so — Oh, will you listen to what I’m saying? Why can’t I try it? I think it’d work.’

  ‘I thought it’d work to come home with you tonight. I thought we’d have a nice cuddle on your nice sofa,’ he said plaintively. ‘And what happens? Your old ladies go all sprightly on me and sit up and chatter for hours an’ then when we
are left alone at last an’ the lechery can begin, bugger me if you don’t go and start playin’ detective all over again! I’ve got better things for you to think about than solvin’ crimes.’

  ‘Oh, Gus, do stop it. It’s not exactly a turn-on to — You’re too premeditated about it,’ she said, and shook her head more at herself than at him. When he’d brought her home the thought of spending an hour or two rolling on the rug by the gas fire with him had been chokingly exciting, but by the time Vanny and Bridget had at last wandered off to bed, each clutching their cups of malted milk (they’d developed a passion for bedtime Horlicks since coming to London) much of the excitement had gone, converted into a sort of edgy irritation. It was like being desperately hungry but having to wait so long to get food that by the time it arrived any appetite had completely foundered. She had started talking about the murders as a sort of diversionary tactic, thinking it would help her relax, maybe allow the sense of urgent need that had been so very warm in her belly as he drove her home to come back again, but as she talked, so the idea she had had for solving the adoption scam had grown and stretched itself and she had become more and more absorbed in it, the result being that any remnants of sexual feeling had vanished completely.

  ‘I’d hoped I was enough of a turn-on in my own right,’ he said quietly. ‘That you were — oh, not the sort of silly woman who needed a special line of chat.’

  ‘I don’t!’ She said it almost despairingly. ‘But I do need to get my head together. And Ma and Bridget being here and sitting up so late and all, it sort of …’

  He turned his head and looked at her. ‘Turned you off?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Just like your pretty fire,’ he said. He reached forward and tweaked the tap at the side. The flames sighed and died down and the room darkened a little.

  She was silent for a while and then sighed herself. ‘I suppose so. Does that upset you?’

  ‘Course it does!’ He looked at her with wide cow-eyes, mocking his own disappointment. ‘I was all set for a bit o’ nookie. But there it is. You’re a captious creature, all woman.’ Again one of his leers, with which she was becoming familiar. ‘I’ll have to convince myself that it just adds to your feminine charms in my macho eyes.’