Deep and Crisp and Even

by Peter Turnbull

'Is that all!'

  'We've just got here, sir, I thought the first call should be to yourself.'

  'Very well. Get the photographers and Forensic down, call the station and leave word for Ray Sussock to come over if he comes in and then call King at his home and have him come over to give you a hand.'

  'I don't need King's help.'

  'We both need all the help we can get, Montgomerie. Just get him there. I'll be with you in an hour.'

  Montgomerie pulled the jack-plug out of the switchboard. 'See that guy,' he said loudly, but to nobody in particular. He replaced the jack-plug and called Forensic and the police photographers, and then Richard King.

  King was the first of the three to arrive, he was there less than half an hour after receiving Montgomerie's call. Montgomerie showed him the corpse; it was the body of a middle-aged female dressed in tweeds with an expensive hairdo. She had a good bone structure and was a handsome woman who, in her youth, both police officers thought, would have been something of a beauty. She was lying at the side of her desk in a pool of blood. She had been stabbed in the stomach and neck and had sustained a deep gash down her left cheek. On the blotting-pad on her desk was written 'This is for Lissu'. It had been written in a felt-tip and the ink had feathered into the blotting paper, making the tiny scrawl barely legible. The filing cabinet in the room was four-doored dove-grey metal. It was unlocked and all files had been removed, leaving only a pair of soft indoor shoes, a jar of coffee, two tins of beans and a half-empty quarter-bottle of gin.

  'Definitely the work of our friend,' said Montgomerie.

  'No doubt about it,' King glanced at the open filing cabinet. 'You say she was seen talking with someone last night?'

  'Not exactly. Her door was shut and the cleaner, Mrs McCafferty, heard her talking with someone. She was still talking at 6 p.m. when Mrs McCafferty left the building.'

  'She didn't see this person arrive?'

  'No such luck. Mrs McCafferty got here just at the back of five and she heard this lady talking with someone. They were still talking when she left. She came in this morning and found the body and made a three nines call.'

  'That explains the ambulance outside.'

  'Aye, she called them, but we got automatic notification and one of our cars got here first.'

  'I wonder,' said King. 'I wonder. Have you called Fabian, Mai?'

  'Aye. What do you wonder?'

  'Well, let's toss this about with you. If the person was talking to this lady; what's her name?'

  'Mrs Sommer.'

  'OK If the person whom Mrs Sommer was talking to late yesterday afternoon was known to her, I mean previously known to her, then he was known in one of two capacities, personal or professional. Right?'

  'Right.'

  'So if she was engaged in professional work then she had some information on this guy.'

  'Right, the empty filing cabinet, he took his file.'

  'And all the others to hide his ID.'

  'There must be some sort of central index.'

  'Wouldn't bank on it, Mai, these Welfare types wouldn't know efficient administration if it got up and smacked them in the jaw. What time do the staff come on duty?'

  'Dunno. Start drifting in at around eight-thirty, I reckon. What does her diary say?'

  'That's a good idea,' said King, and turned towards the desk. The page of the previous day had been torn from the diary. King knelt and looked from a low angle across the page, there was a series of indentations. 'Lady used a ball-point,' he said. 'Obliging of her.' He searched the desk drawers for a fine pencil, and, finding one, began to draw the point lightly across the page, skimming over the indentations. Holding the page open against the light from the table lamp he made out Mrs Sommer's diary entries on the day she died.

  a.m.—duty 12.00—hairdresser Write up Maxwell file

  2.00—Mrs Kennedy write Young report

  5.3 0— B. close Donison

  'I think it's a reasonable assumption, Watson,' said King, 'That our friend has a name beginning with B.'

  Montgomerie said, 'By Jove, Holmes.'

  There was a knock at the door. The constable who had been standing outside the room opened the door and said, 'Forensic and photography here, sir.'

  King and Montgomerie left the room. Bothwell was in the corridor, he looked tired and confused. Behind him there were two men carrying photographic equipment.

  'Check the diary and the filing cabinet for fingerprints,' said King. 'We know they've been touched.'

  Tine,' said Both well.

  'Any people outside?'

  'A few, and Mr Donoghue's just arriving. He was parking his car as we came in.'

  Donoghue entered the building, went straight to Mrs Sommer's office, and then joined King and Montgomerie in the main office of the building, where the switchboard was, where the desks and typewriters stood, where the walls were lined with banks of filing cabinets, and there was an IN/OUT board and a blackboard with 'J.P. not back—26/1' chalked on it. King told Donoghue what he and Montgomerie had found in Mrs Sommer's office.

  'So we need someone to show us around this maze,' said Donoghue, putting his pipe in his mouth. 'Constable!'

  The officer walked into the room from the corridor. He stood reverently with his hands clasped behind his back.

  'There are some people outside, Constable,' Donoghue said to him. 'Most work here. Please find out if anyone works in the administrative section of this office, and if so ask them to come in.'

  The constable said, 'Yes, sir,' and threw an unnecessarily smart salute and left the room. Donoghue took his coat off, King and Montgomerie followed suit. King noticed a poster on the wall; it showed a group of office workers falling about, and it had the caption 'You want it by when?!' King smiled and caught Montgomerie's eye and nodded towards the poster. Montgomerie laughed. Donoghue turned and saw the poster. He allowed himself a barely suppressed smile.

  'Wonder if we could take a quick photocopy?' suggested Montgomerie.

  'Wouldn't recommend you to,' said Donoghue drily.

  The constable returned. Behind him was a young girl with glasses, who carried herself with a poor posture. 'Miss McGarvey, sir,' said the constable, and withdrew into the corridor.

  'Thank you,' said Donoghue, lighting his pipe. 'Miss McGarvey, do you know what's happened here?'

  'No. No, sir,' she was trembling slightly. 'Is it something to do with Mrs McCafferty, we saw her crying when they drove her away in a police car?'

  'No. It's something to do with Mrs Sommer. I'm afraid she's dead.'

  The girl looked unsteady. Donoghue yelled, 'Chair!' Montgomerie grabbed a chair and placed it behind the girl, who sank into it. She said, 'Dead?'

  'Yes I'm afraid so. All her case files seem to have been taken away. I presume she did keep her case records in the filing cabinet in her room?'

  'Yes, sir.' The girl looked very pale.

  'We need to know the names and addresses of the people she was working with. Can you help us?'

  'Let me see.' Her voice was still shaky. 'Yes, it'll be in Mr Harley's room. He keeps a list, just names; if I can get Mrs Sommer's list I can get the addresses from the central card index.'

  'How long will that take?'

  'Once I have the names, fifteen minutes, a bit longer.' She got up from the chair and left the room, still unsteady on her feet.

  There were footsteps in the corridor. The constable said, 'Good morning, sir,' and Ray Sussock bustled into the room, holding a handkerchief against a streaming nose. He said, 'I heard the flap, so I came round.'

  'Well, just get back, Sussock.' Donoghue turned on him with a venom neither King nor Montgomerie had seen before. 'Your bloody grass phoned in last night, said he knew the address of the killer, name too, but wouldn't give it, would only talk to you. Find him, get the information and then arrest him.'

  'Arrest him!'

  'Withholding information. If he had told me we might have prevented this.'

  'What time did he
phone?'

  'Five thirty, five forty-five. It doesn't make any difference, I'll prosecute him for everything I can.'

  'What time was the murder committed?'

  'Some time after six,' said King, hoping to defuse the situation. 'But the murderer was already here by five o'clock.' Donoghue glanced at King.

  'Wouldn't have made any difference, then,' said Sussock. 'By the time Sam Alphonso phoned in he was already here.'

  'But he hadn't killed her, Ray, we might have got here in time.'

  'We'll never know. I'll find him, but I'm not arresting him.'

  'That's an order, Ray.'

  'I'm disobeying it, sir.'

  'Rayl'

  'You'll look foolish in court. You'll never make the charge stick. He wasn't withholding information, he was selective about who he told.'

  'You don't know what you're saying. This will finish you, Sussock.'

  'You're losing credibility, sir,' said Sussock flatly. Then he blew his nose.

  Donoghue fell silent. Montgomerie and King looked at him. Sussock sniffed.

  Miss McGarvey entered the room holding a piece of paper. She sensed the atmosphere and stopped in the doorway. Donoghue said, 'Just go and find him, Ray.' Sussock left the room. Donoghue turned to the girl, 'Well, Miss McGarvey, shall we get to work?' He smiled, but his pulse was racing.

  Ray Sussock walked outside, pushed through the crowd and climbed into his car. He turned the key and gunned the engine. 'God in Heaven,' he said.

  He drove through the city, making poor time in the traffic queues, and with the slush and snow keeping his speed down whenever he met a clear stretch of the road. He had the heater on full and was wearing a heavy woollen overcoat. He still shivered. Sussock drove to Maryhill and ran up a stair to a single end. On the wall by the door someone had scribbled WOPS OUT. Sussock hammered on the door. When there was no answer he hammered again and kicked it sharply. From inside he heard a woman wail. Then came a torrent of words which Sussock didn't understand but which were obviously abusive. The door opened and a woman stood in the doorway. She had dark skin and black hair, she was in her forties and very round. She ranted at Sussock.

  'Sam?' said Sussock.

  The woman tossed her head back and made a sharp sucking sound. Then she shut the door. Sussock knew that Sam Alphonso had phoned in and therefore that he wanted to talk. He also knew that Sam ruled his wife with a capital R. She wasn't disobeying him. He went back down the stair.

  It was snowing hard. Lumps of slush floated in the gutter like icebergs. Sussock knew that Sam Alphonso knew this city like an ant knows its nest. There were a thousand places between Bearsden and Bailliesten where Sam Alphonso might be, merging with the scenery, antennae twitching. Sussock stepped into a deep puddle and felt the whole world was against him.

  He sat in his car. It was a Wednesday. Wednesdays and Thursdays are Giro days, lots of punters with money to spend. Sam Alphonso would go where the groups gather. Sam Alphonso makes a bit on the side selling pornography. He's small-fry and makes pocket money. He works from El Greco's, interesting goings-on in the back room of El Greco's. The front room of El Greco's would be full of punters because it was Wednesday and the Giros had come with the morning post. Sussock drove to El Greco's.

  The front room of El Greco's was steamy with drying raincoats. There were men sitting round some of the tables and women sitting round some of the others; round some of the tables both men and women were sitting. The tables had yellow formica tops. All the men had stubble on their chins and some of the women had bruises on their faces which they wore like medals. They were in El Greco's to drink pale tea and eat stale buns. Babies were screaming.

  Sussock walked up to the counter. El Greco pulled a lever on the geyser and boiling water poured into the outsize teapot. His arms were brown and hairy, they had veins which ran down the outside and were as thick as telegraph poles. He had once left three Highland Light Infantry boys senseless on the floor of a cafe in Nicosia and felt confident enough to settle in Glasgow and brag about it. He eyed Sussock with deepset eyes under dark hairy eyebrows.

  'Sam Alphonso,' said Sussock.

  'Polis?'

  Sussock nodded. El Greco shrugged his shoulders.

  'He's in the back room, is he?'

  'No. He's not in the back room. Nobody's in the back room.'

  'I want to check it out.'

  'No need for you to check nothing out, polis. Nobody's in the back room. I told you.'

  'Listen, this isn't a raid, I need to talk to Sam Alphonso, and I don't mean in a week's time. Right now I don't care what's going on in the back room, but I can make it a raid if you want me to. Between the Vice Squad and the Public Health Department we'd put you out of business tomorrow. So let's do it the easy way.'

  El Greco snapped the lid on the teapot. 'OK' he said. He walked to the end of the counter and through some swinging beads. Sussock followed him.

  'No need for you to come.' El Greco turned and barred his way.

  'I'm coming anyway.'

  'It's not a raid?'

  'It's not a raid.'

  El Greco led the way down a dark stairway, lit only by a single bulb. At the bottom of the stairs was a white painted door. El Greco tapped on the door, Sussock pushed past him and opened the door. A projector was flickering and on the screen two men were making love to a woman, one at either end. Sussock switched the light on. A group of men were sitting round the table. One man pulled his hat down over his face.

  'You said it wasn't a raid,' said El Greco.

  'It's not. I haven't seen a thing.'

  'Ray!' Sam Alphonso was sitting next to the projector. He smiled at Sussock.

  'A bit early in the day for this, isn't it, Sam?'

  'You know this yin?' asked one of the men.

  'He's an OK polis. Anytime's OK for me especially when you got a wifie like I got a wifie.'

  'Let's have a chat outside, Sam. Sorry about ruining the show, boys.'

  One or two men grunted. Sam Alphonso got out of his seat and followed Sussock outside. They sat in the car.

  'You phoned in last night,' said Sussock. 'He struck last night, just after you phoned. It'll be on the lunch time news.'

  'Sure I phoned in.' Sam lit a cigarette.

  'You should've talked to my governor. He's set to carry your head off for withholding information and I don't know if I can stop him.'

  'So don't try. Anyway, who was holding information back? I had a contact with a policeman and he wasn't in so I rang off.'

  'OK, Sam, let's have it. What do you know?'

  'Everything.'

  'I'll have to owe it to you, Sam. I don't have any ready on me, but I'll see you all right.'

  'Ray, there's no charge for this yin.' He waved the cigarette in the air. 'You know the Glasgow scene, Ray, what the papers call the underworld, well, you just wouldn't believe the wheels that have been turning for to catch the headbanger.'

  'So spill.' Sussock was genuinely amazed. He'd heard of the police and the underworld acting towards the same end, but he'd never experienced it. But then, he'd never hunted a psychopath before.

  'I told you the stiletto was the key. Stiletto's harder to get than a chieftain tank, only a couple of guys in Big G would deal with a stiletto. So I put the word out, said it was for to get the headbanger, Slow Tom we called him then. What did you do with the hoaxer, Raymond, string him by his balls? So one guy tells me two years ago he imports a stiletto from the Smoke to fulfil an order. Anyway, the guy never collects, so he's left with twelve inches of bad news. You with me, Ray?'

  'All the way.'

  'So he stashes it under a junk heap. Leaves it there. Anyway, a weirdo has a shop down by the Barrows, he sells mili something.'

  'Militaria.'

  'Right. Anyway, the mili thing is all Nazi daggers and stuff and spiked balls on the end of a length of chain, and stilettos. Now he is a headbanger. First I think he is the headbanger when I visit. He's a bruiser with greased-down
black hair and I ask him if he'd co-operate with the polis and tell me has he sold that stiletto yet? He says which stiletto and kicks me out. I mean kicks. So I see this guy I know and go back to the shop, only this time I don't go by myself. Anyway, on the second visit the headbanger with the black hair very suddenly remembers which stiletto. He also remembers selling it. Not many people in Big G would fit the description he gave.'

  'So give it. C'mon, Sam, we're in a hurry.'

  'Wait. This is for free so I'm telling the story. So again the word is out. Yesterday he was seen in a bar and followed home. I got his address and phoned in last night for to give you the address and the name on the door.'

  Sam Alphonso gave Sussock an address in G40. Sussock scribbled it on his pad.

  'Listen, Ray, you didn't see nothing in there, you said?'

  'I didn't see nothing,' said Sussock firmly.

  Sam Alphonso stepped out of the car and stood in the snow. 'I hope you saw nothing, Ray. Because if you saw something you'll lose a good grass.' He shut the car door and walked back to El Greco's.

  Sussock's arm shot forward as he snatched for the radio.

  Marjorie Sommer had recorded her casework in files, one file for each person or family, and each file had a corresponding card in the central index. Anita McGarvey took the cards out of the index and laid them on a table top. There were 63. Printed on the cards were name and address of the person concerned, plus some coding which Donoghue did not understand.

  'Anything with a B,' he said, and King and Mont-gomerie sifted through the cards. They extracted sixteen. 'What else could "B" mean?' asked Donoghue, pulling on his pipe.

  'William,' said King. He took two more cards from the remaining forty-seven.

  'So,' said Donoghue. 'Our man is recorded somewhere among these eighteen cards. Miss McGarvey, what do these codings mean?'

  'Well, sir,' her voice had calmed. 'Part 3 is old people wanting into a home.'

  Donoghue took away four cards from the eighteen.

  '44-1A and 44-IB, they're children under supervision.'

  Ten more cards were removed.

  'Section 12, well, that means working with a family where there's children.'

  'A family! There's only one name on the card.'