Ashes by Now (12 page)

The bark dropped a decibel or ten and said, ‘Yes. What kind of friend?'

‘The friend who put him on to the story that might have put him where he is now.'

‘The detective?'

‘Correct.'

‘Was it you that took him up to the hospital?'

‘Right again.'

‘Well I'm glad you did. What can I do for you?'

‘Are you still investigating the story?'

‘Yes.'

I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Chas was going to interview the young woman who broke it to me.'

‘Yes.'

‘I take it someone still is.'

‘You take it right.'

‘She's vulnerable. I need to get her somewhere safe. I'm worried she's going to end up where Chas is. She can't stay at her place, or mine, and she won't go to her father's. Apparently there's nowhere else. I want to put her into a hotel or a safe house. I thought you might know somewhere. You must be used to this sort of thing.'

‘I am,' said Slade. ‘Whereabouts is she?'

‘London. She lives in Vauxhall, works in Gray's Inn.'

‘Give me your number, and five minutes, and I'll come back to you.'

I gave him my phone number, put down the receiver and lit a cigarette. Before it was finished the phone rang again. It was Slade.

‘The Fortescue in Bayswater,' he said. ‘It's not bad. Three star. She's booked in as Miss Clancey from any time today. Stay indefinite. We pick up the tab. Does that suit?'

‘Excellent,' I said. ‘I'll get her there this evening. And I think you and I should meet.'

‘I agree,' he said. ‘Wait one, I need to check my diary.' He was gone for less than half a minute. ‘I can't meet you before tomorrow noon. Is that all right?' he asked.

‘It's fine with me.'

‘Do you know the Crown & Sceptre in Titchfield Street?'

‘Great or Little?'

‘Great.'

‘I'll find it.'

‘Tomorrow at twelve then. Ask for me behind the bar.'

‘I'll do that,' I said, and pressed down the cut-off button on the phone and called Jacqueline Harvey straight off. I caught her as she was leaving for work.

‘I've got you a place to stay,' I said. ‘The paper's fixed it up. They're still checking out the story.'

‘Fine,' she said. ‘Where is it?' She didn't sound that bothered, and it rather pissed me off.

‘I'd rather not say,' I said.

‘Oh, Nick, aren't you rather over-dramatising all this?'

‘No, I'm not,' I said. ‘You didn't see Chas last night or, for that matter, me a couple of months ago. And remember what happened to Carol?'

I could have bitten my tongue out. That was taking things a little too far.

‘Jackie,' I said quickly, ‘I'm sorry. Really sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I'm just terribly concerned.'

Her voice was quieter when she answered. ‘I understand, Nick. But I would like to know. I won't tell anyone. I promise.'

So, against my better judgement, I told her.

‘I'll pick you up from your office tonight,' I said. ‘I'll run you home, wait while you pack a bag, and get you to the hotel. I'll see you snug in there, then I have an errand of my own to run.'

‘All right,' she said. ‘I'll see you at five-thirty, outside the office.'

‘Fine,' I said, and hung up.

Now all I needed was a gun and a burglar.

31

First the burglar. And I needed a good one. I knew just the man. Or the Mann as it happened. ‘Monkey' Mann to be precise. Cat burglar of this or any parish if not currently doing bird at Her Majesty's pleasure. A real pro. A peterman of the old school, who'd earned his nickname by climbing walls like a chimp on speed. I'd felt his collar a few times in the past, and now I used him if I ever needed a little second-storey work. He hung out at any one of twenty or so boozers in Beckenham, and I found him in the saloon bar of the Three Tuns, off the high street, just after opening, enjoying a large Irish whiskey and furrowing his forehead over the
Sun
crossword.

‘Don't strain your brain, Monkey,' I said as I arrived at his table.

He looked up, startled. ‘Blimey, Mr S,' he said. ‘You gave me quite a fright.'

‘You're getting old, Monkey,' I remarked, ‘if that's all it takes these days.'

He grinned. He
was
getting old. His dark hair was thinning over his scalp and there were deep crevices in his skin where once there had only been the suggestion of worry lines. ‘It comes to us all, don't it? You're looking a bit pale yourself. Been ill?'

‘Something like that. How's business?'

‘Not what it was. But what is?'

‘I might have something for you. Want a drink?'

‘Have I ever refused? Large Irish.'

I went to the bar and got Monkey his drink and a pint for myself. I took them back to the table and sat in the hard chair opposite his.

He sipped at the drink I'd bought him and asked, ‘So what's the deal?'

I explained that I wanted to break into a bent copper's gaff. I told him that I didn't know what I was looking for exactly, and that it might not even exist. But if it did exist, and it wasn't in a safe-deposit box in a bank somewhere, then it was in the house.

‘A safe, Mr S,' said Monkey wisely. ‘That's what we're looking for.'

I also told him that Collier mustn't know he'd been paid a visit, which didn't worry Monkey one iota. He didn't even ask why, which was good. Because I didn't want to tell him that Collier would kill us if he ever found out.

‘A bent copper's house,' he said. ‘That sounds like a lark. Serves him right. Bastard.' Monkey thought all coppers were bent. It went with his territory. ‘All belled up is it? The drum?'

I described Collier's little end-of-terrace house, and what I'd seen when I'd checked out the place on one of my visits. A Telecom alarm box over the door, complete with blue light.

‘Ground-floor entry,' he said. ‘That's good. But I'll have to go and have a squint meself, Mr S. I'll use the old window-cleaner trick. I expect the alarm will go through to the local nick, if it's Telecom like you said. His nick is it?'

I nodded.

‘He'll be popular with the woodentops. They'll be missing their tea, having to go out to his gaff and answer a false alarm.'

‘You're going to set it off?'

‘Best thing. Alarms are notorious for being faulty. And the more hi-tech they are, the more faulty they tend to be.'

‘But it won't be faulty, will it?'

‘They'll think it is. Leave it to me, Mr S.'

I almost expected him to tell me not to worry my pretty little head about it, but he didn't dare. ‘So we can get in and out, and no one any the wiser? Not even the engineer who comes to look for the non-existent fault?' I said, to be sure.

‘
Mr S
.' He sounded offended that I might question his expertise.

‘Sorry, Monkey,' I said. ‘I was forgetting how good you are.'

‘So what's in it for me?'

‘A grand for a night's work.'

He didn't argue. He knew me better. ‘Sounds all right. Any chance of a sub?'

I could read him like a book. Before I'd left home I'd put two hundred and fifty nicker into an envelope. I took it out and slid it across the table. He counted the money without looking, and grinned again. ‘It has to be night-time,' he said. ‘For maximum annoyance to the neighbours. What night suits you?'

‘It's got to be soon.'

‘First night he's out then. I'll check the place out today. Does he work nights, your copper mate?'

‘Bound to.'

‘Can you find out when he's next liable to be out all night?'

‘Sure.'

‘Give me his address, and I'll get back to you pronto,' he said.

I had the information on a separate sheet of paper, which I gave to Monkey, told him to ring me before five, bought him another Irish and left.

I called Peckham nick as soon as I got in and asked for Collier. I laid on the cockney accent to the max. I did the same when I got through to CID. The copper who answered didn't bother asking my name. He smelled fresh-cut grass, just like I wanted him to. ‘He's not in today,' he said.

‘How about tonight?' I grunted.

‘Yeah. He's on nights this week.'

‘T'riffic,' I said. ‘I'll catch him later.' Literally, I hoped.

I smiled as I put down the phone. Perfect, I thought. Now it was down to Monkey.

He belled me at four. ‘No probs, Mr S,' he said. ‘It's just like I thought it would be. The locks on the front door are the business. Round the back they're a piece of shit. And the back door's sheltered by the walls of the garden. You could have a bunk-up round there and no one could see. And he
has
got a safe in there. I could smell it.'

‘Terrific.' If Monkey said there was a safe inside the house, there was. The man's instinct was phenomenal. ‘Can we get past the alarm?'

‘A piece of piss. It'll take a while, but we'll get it sorted.'

‘How?'

‘You'll see.'

‘And no one sussed you?'

‘Get out of it.' Once again he sounded offended. ‘I even earned a tenner on the windows. When can we do it? Tonight? Tomorrow?'

‘I've got another errand to run tonight,' I said. ‘Don't know how long it'll take. Tomorrow's good. He's working nights this week.'

‘Tomorrow it is then. By the way, the cash is COD, ain't it?'

‘Don't worry, Monkey. You'll get your money.'

‘I know I will, Mr S. I trust you. Always have. It's just that I fancy a couple of days with the gee-gees next week and the rest of the dosh would come in handy.'

‘It's as good as in your hand.'

‘Right, I'll borrow a motor and pick you up about half-twelve tomorrow night. Sound all right?'

‘Suits me. And
borrow
a motor?'

‘It's kosher, Mr S. Don't fret. All being well it'll be back before the owner knows it's gone. I'll even stick some petrol in.'

‘You're a good neighbour, Monkey.'

‘Too right I am. Be at your window. I'll flash me lights. I don't want to knock on your door when I arrive.'

‘Do I bring anything?'

‘Just yourself,' he said. ‘And the seven hundred and fifty nicker.' And he hung up.

32

Jackie Harvey was waiting on the pavement outside her office when I arrived to collect her, and I drove to Vauxhall and then on to Bayswater through a fine drizzle. The hotel was off Queensway and not difficult to find. We went into reception and checked in. The receptionist told us there was someone waiting for Miss Clancey, and indicated a straight-looking geezer with a beautiful head of blond hair, wearing a neat blue suit, sitting in an armchair by the door to the bar. I told Jackie to wait, and walked over to him not knowing what to expect. He came to his feet at my approach in the way that athletes do when they don't want to appear too athletic, and I wished that I was armed. At times like this I felt almost naked without a gun. I stopped just out of his reach, and he said, ‘Mr Sharman?'

I didn't reply, but he must have seen my look.

He put out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘Don't worry, sir,' he said politely, in an accent that was pure Eton and Oxford. ‘Mr Slade sent me. I'm with the firm. I'm just going to reach into my side jacket pocket for my credentials.'

He did exactly that and passed me a leather wallet. Inside was a plastic laminate with his photograph, his name, which was Toby Gillis, and his job description. ‘Security', it read. Nothing else, except that he had access to all areas inside any building within the publishing group.

‘Sorry to give you a jolt,' he said. ‘Mr Slade thought it might be a good idea for me to be around, just in case. Is that the young lady?' He indicated Jackie with his eyes.

‘That's her,' I said. ‘You don't mind if I ring Slade just to confirm?'

‘I'd be disappointed if you didn't. There's a public phone over there.' This time his eyes moved round to my left. ‘You do have the number?'

‘I can remember it, thanks,' I said, and went over and quickly dialled the paper. I saw Jackie looking at me, and put up my hand to forestall her. I got put straight through to Slade's extension.

‘Sharman,' I said. ‘Toby Gillis. One of yours?'

‘Hello, Sharman,' Slade said. ‘Certainly. I meant to tell you I'd put one of our boys in. He's got the next room to Miss Harvey. I didn't know if you'd be staying.'

‘I'm not,' I said. ‘I have a few things of my own to sort out. It's a good idea.'

‘He'll be there as long as she is. He's very discreet.'

‘So I noticed,' I said. ‘I hope he's as good.'

‘He is. Take my word.'

‘I've got no choice. But I'm glad he's here. She's checked in, and I'm leaving now.'

‘Fine. I'll see you tomorrow then.'

‘I'll be there,' I said, and hung up.

I went over to Jackie and explained who Toby Gillis was, then beckoned him over and introduced him to her. He was very polite.

Jackie asked me to stay for dinner, but I begged another appointment, and agreed to take a raincheck on dinner until the following evening. Gillis said that it would be his pleasure to keep her company. She shrugged, and said it was OK with her.

I wished them both a goodnight, and went back to the car and drove off in search of something to make me feel a little less naked.

33

Buying a gun in south London is not difficult. You just need to know where to go and who to see. And of course you need cash.

I went to a pub off the Falcon Road in Clapham Junction. I arrived at about eight on that miserable rainy evening and the pub was almost deserted.

I took a grand with me, split into ten bundles of a hundred pounds each, and stashed away separately in the pockets of my jeans, shirt and leather jacket. It was risky, but so was being unarmed.

I went into the saloon bar, and there was a geezer with a beard and a beer gut propping up one end of the counter next to a fruit machine.

I went up and stood about a yard from him, and ordered a lager top from the barmaid. I took out my cigarettes, extracted one from the packet, put it in my mouth and tapped my pockets.

‘Got a light, mate?' I said to Beer Gut, and he obliged with a gold Dunhill.

I went over to the CD jukebox and chose a selection of records. First up was Madness. The music was loud in the empty room, but that suited me fine.

I went back and took a mouthful of sweet beer, and I sensed Beer Gut was giving me the once over.

I looked at him and said, ‘Poxy night.'

He nodded.

‘Drink?' I asked.

‘Don't mind if I do. Sam Smith's.'

I caught the barmaid's eye and ordered a pint of bitter for him, and a Scotch for myself.

The first record ended and the second one I'd chosen started. ‘My Girl' by the Temptations. I love that song.

‘You might be able to help me,' I said.

‘How's that?'

‘I'm looking for a new hat.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you think you'll get one here? This is a pub.'

‘I asked around. A friend told me.'

‘What friend?'

‘His name's Tony. Don't know the other. He works the markets. Knock-off kids' clothes mainly.'

Beer Gut took a sip of his drink and said, ‘Cost ya.'

I took out my cigarettes again and offered him one, which he accepted, then took one for myself. As he leaned over to give me a light I gave him one of the bundles of bank notes. It vanished like smoke in the air conditioning.

He finished his pint with a gargantuan swallow. ‘Wait here,' he said, and left the pub.

As the last record I'd selected came on, I bought a box of matches and another pint of lager, this time without the lemonade, pulled up a stool and sat down.

I'd finished my third pint and smoked another four cigarettes, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd been mugged off, before Beer Gut returned.

‘The cab outside,' he said.

I went to the door and out into the rain that had thickened to a slate-grey downpour, and saw a black cab parked at the kerb with its ‘For Hire' sign switched off. I went to the back door and got inside. In the far corner was a large figure muffled up against the weather.

I sat next to him and the cab pulled away with a jerk. The driver was similarly muffled up, and wore a cap pulled low over his eyes.

‘Come here, dear,' said the figure next to me, and I felt his hands all over my body as he frisked me down. ‘Sorry,' the figure said, ‘but I'd hate for our conversation to be broadcast.'

‘I'm not wired,' I said.

‘I certainly hope not. You'd be dead if you were.'

I believed he meant it.

The cab's tyres sizzled along the wet streets as the driver took us through the back doubles until I was totally lost. I didn't say a word as we went. When my companion wanted to talk to me, I reckoned that he would. Eventually we pulled up under a railway bridge and the driver switched off the engine.

‘You need a new hat, I believe,' said the figure.

‘That's right.'

‘Any particular style?'

‘A revolver. Small.'

‘Magnum?'

‘Not necessarily. What have you got?'

The figure reached under the seat and brought out a box which he placed on his knee and opened. Then he reached up and switched on the dim courtesy light in the back of the cab.

‘I have three here that might suit.'

He put his hand into the box and it emerged holding the dark shape of a gun.

‘This is a Charter Arms Bulldog Pug,' he said. ‘.357 Magnum. Five-shot, two-and-a-half-inch barrel with a hammer shroud. Stainless steel. Nice gun.'

He passed it over. It felt good in my hand, but I wasn't keen on the stainless-steel finish.

‘How much?' I asked.

‘A monkey. Ammunition extra.'

I handed it back. ‘What else?'

In went the hand again, and out came another revolver.

‘A Smith & Wesson model 624. Fires S&W .44 ammunition.' He gave it to me.

‘Too big,' I said, and passed it back to him.

I saw him shrug. Then he stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum. He handed me a matt black gun with shiny black rubber grips.

‘A Colt Commando,' he said. ‘.38. A very rare gun. Factory fresh.'

I hefted it in my hand. It fitted perfectly. It was small and stubby with a two-inch barrel. And with the black finish, it was almost invisible in the gloom where we were sitting.

‘How much?' I asked.

‘Six hundred.'

‘Pretty steep.'

‘Like I said, a rare gun.'

‘Ammunition?'

‘A box of fifty shells, a century.'

‘Don't mess about,' I said.

‘Take it or leave it.'

‘It's dear.'

‘Overheads,' he replied.

I looked round the interior of the vehicle. ‘The cost of cab fares
is
prohibitive these days. Five hundred for the Colt and the ammo.'

I heard him laugh.

‘Try again,' he said.

‘Six hundred. You give me the shells, and pay for the cab.'

He hesitated. ‘Done,' he said, after a minute.

I have been, I thought.

I went through my pockets and gave him six packets of one hundred pounds. He counted each one carefully.

When he was satisfied, he reached into the box and took out a box of fifty .38 special ammunition and gave it to me.

‘Put it away, dear,' he said. ‘I'm the only person who carries loaded firearms in this car,' and I heard the deadly click as he cocked a pistol he produced from somewhere about his person.

‘Be cool,' I said. ‘I just want a gun, not a gunfight.' I put the Colt into one pocket of my leather jacket, and the box of bullets into another.

‘I'm glad we understand each other,' the figure said, and leaned over and tapped on the partition of the cab with the barrel of his gun.

The driver switched on and pulled away again, and took me back as far as Arding & Hobbs.

‘You don't mind if I drop you off here, dear, do you?' asked the figure. ‘The pub's just up the road. I'm sure you've got a car near it, and I don't want you to follow me or anything silly like that. If you want to sell the gun back, I'll give you twenty-five per cent of what you paid, anytime. Just see my friend who you saw before. He's in most evenings. It's been a pleasure.'

‘Thanks,' I said, and got out of the cab at the lights, and walked back to the Jag in the driving rain.