Ashes by Now (18 page)

I found the four cartridge cases that Toby's Browning had ejected and stuck them into the pocket of my jeans. Then I recovered my Colt Commando from Collier's pocket and stuck it into my belt in the small of my back. I put Collier's S&W in one pocket of my jacket and Millar's Colt in the other. Then I unscrewed the silencer from Toby's automatic, and put it in one pocket and the Browning in the other.

I had so many guns on me that I felt like a walking ordnance depot.

In the corridor outside the flat I found the three cartridge cases that had been used to blow away the lock, and I put them in my pocket with the rest.

Then I left.

45

I went downstairs, and ducked through the shadows to the edge of the estate. I hardly saw a soul as I went. The night air was cool and soothing on the skin of my face, and once I was on the main road I just kept walking. I'd considered taking Millar's Sierra, but I left it. The thought of driving a dead man's wheels wasn't very appealing. And besides, I'd have to lose it somewhere, and I didn't want it on my local ground.

As I walked, I wondered what I'd do if I got a pull from Old Bill. Run? Surrender? Shoot it out? But as it happened, I didn't see any trace of law at all.

I walked from New Cross, through Nunhead, taking a cut across the cemetery, then over Peckham Rye to Dulwich, and down to Herne Hill. The streets were practically empty, and the traffic lights reflected red and amber and green on to the hard, bare tarmac that was rainbowed blue and pink with petrol as I went. By that time it was almost four a.m., and my bad foot was killing me, so I caught a cruising cab to my place.

I knew I'd never be able to sleep, so I unplugged the phone and sat in the chair by the window, smoking cigarettes, drinking beer and waiting for it to get light. I wanted to give Toby and Jackie plenty of time to get out of the country. Around seven I went to my local greasy for breakfast.

I phoned Slade from the café.

‘Where the hell have you been?' he demanded.

‘Around and about,' I replied.

‘What's happening?'

‘We found Jacqueline Harvey. She's safe. You can print the story now.'

Not that it made all that much difference any more. Fate had intervened and taken two of the leading characters out of the game. But at least it would nail Byrne's stinking hide out to dry, and let the world know exactly what kind of man he really was. And, of course, there was Grisham. Another dirty copper. And it would clear Sailor Grant's name. Not that I thought there was anyone in the world who would care too much about that. But maybe, somewhere, Sailor's spirit could finally get some sort of rest.

‘What happened? Who took her, and where?' demanded Slade.

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘Yes it does.'

‘Not to me. It'll all come out sooner or later. I'm getting tired of the whole thing.'
And
I knew it wasn't finished yet.

‘I'm not.'

‘Mr Slade, I really couldn't care less.'

‘I want to know,' he insisted. ‘You owe me that.'

I knew he could smell more of a story, but I'd given him all I was going to. ‘Too bad. And I don't think I owe you anything.'

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation. Not so soon after nearly being killed, then seeing two men gunned down in front of my eyes. So close that I was spattered with blood still warm from Collier's body.

I started to get a late reaction then, and my body trembled from head to toe and I had to push the telephone receiver hard against my ear to keep it still.

‘You'll find out in time,' I said. ‘It'll make an interesting sidebar. Really interesting, believe me.'

He changed the subject suddenly. Maybe he realised that I wasn't going to cough any more right then. ‘Where is Jacqueline Harvey now?' he asked.

‘A long way from here, I hope,' I replied.

‘But where?'

‘I don't know.'

‘What do you mean, you don't know?'

‘Exactly what I say, for Chrissake. Do I have to spell everything out? I sent her away. She was on the first flight out of Heathrow this morning to anywhere but here.'

‘She's out of the country? What the hell did you tell her to leave the country for?'

‘You'll find out,' I said.

‘And where's Toby Gillis?'

‘He's with her.'

‘
What
?'

‘I told him to take care of her. He's using the paper's plastic. No one ever asked for money for this story, although I know there was cash available. Things have changed in a big way.' I didn't elaborate. All that would come out later, and I'd worry about it when it did. ‘And I told Toby to get her as far away as possible. You can find out easily where they've gone, but don't. Not for a few days. She's done her bit, and she deserves some peace.'

‘Gillis is no longer employed by this company,' Slade said stiffly. ‘He knew the consequences of not reporting to the office last night.'

‘Don't be such a prat, Slade,' I said. ‘Rehire him. Forget you fired him. Take my word that he earned his money last night. Do what has to be done, but keep Toby on.'

Slade didn't say anything.

‘Well?' I said into the silence at the other end of the line.

‘All right. But I'll need to talk to him.'

‘Check his credit card bills. You'll find him. But I told him to get as far away from civilisation as possible, so it might take a few days.'

‘I should cancel the bloody card.'

‘Then you won't find him at all. Use your loaf.'

‘I suppose,' said Slade. ‘But I wish you'd tell me exactly what's going on.'

‘All in good time.'

‘You should have been a journalist,' said Slade. ‘You're close-mouthed enough. And persuasive enough.'

‘So, you'll go with the story?'

‘Of course – if what you're telling me, or rather what you're
not
telling me, is as hot as you say.'

‘It is.'

‘So I go with the story. But if you're lying…'

‘As if,' I said. As if I cared, I thought. There was nothing that he could do to me that was worse than had already been done.

‘Tell me something,' I said.

‘What?'

‘What time does the first edition of the paper hit the streets tonight?'

‘The first run comes off the presses at about nine.'

‘Fine.'

‘Why?'

‘Just interested.'

‘Read it in good health,' said Slade.

That was a joke. ‘I will,' I said. ‘And I'll be in touch.' I hung up.

All I could manage at the café was a cup of tea. Then I went home. On the way I dropped the seven cartridge cases and the silencer from Toby Gillis's Browning down the first drain I passed. When I got back, I stashed Collier and Millar's guns in my hiding place under the roof of the house, and sat at the table in my flat, where, after pulling on a pair of cotton gloves, I broke Toby's gun into its component parts and carefully cleaned each one. I reassembled it, and put it into a plastic bag which I hid under the mattress on my bed.

For the rest of the day I sat indoors listening to the news every hour on the radio to hear if Collier and Millar's bodies had been discovered.

They hadn't.

46

At seven-thirty that evening I phoned Doug Harvey, Jackie and Carol's father. I hadn't been looking forward to the call, but I'd promised Jackie. I left it as late as possible. He answered on the third ring. ‘Mr Harvey,' I said.

‘Who wants to know?'

‘My name is Nick Sharman. I don't know if you remember me. I was a DC at Brixton nick when your daughter Carol was murdered twelve years ago.'

There was nothing but silence at the end of the line. Then I heard him catch his breath. ‘So?'

‘We spoke a couple of times then. I was in on the arrest of the man Grant who went to prison for the murder. And I met you again at the trial.'

‘I remember.'

‘This is difficult,' I said. ‘But Grant came out of prison this summer and got in touch with me. Until he signed the confession that got him put away, he always protested his innocence. And I believed him. Well, I don't know, I wasn't sure… whatever. He
thought
I believed him.'

‘So?' said Harvey again.

‘Grant wanted me to help him prove he was innocent after all this time. I'm a private detective now. I refused. I didn't want to get involved. But two policemen, Collier and Millar – you must remember them; they were on the original case too – heard that Grant had got in touch with me when he got out, and they thought I was sticking my nose into their business, and they tried to dissuade me.'

‘How?'

‘They put me into hospital. It's a long story. It doesn't matter now. When I came out of hospital, I dug around a bit. I met your daughter Jackie. Jacqueline.'

He didn't say a word.

‘She told me certain things. Things about your brother-in-law, Alan Byrne.'

‘What kind of things?'

I didn't answer right away. It was almost too painful.

‘This is very hard for me to tell you, Mr Harvey. But she told me that, ever since your wife died, up until the time of the murder, Alan Byrne had been sexually assaulting Jacqueline and her sister.'

I heard him sob.

‘Do you want to meet me, Mr Harvey? We shouldn't discuss this on the phone.'

I heard him take in breath again. ‘Tell me,' he said.

‘Jacqueline also told me that Carol was going to tell you what had been happening. Alan Byrne got her to go to Brixton that afternoon and raped her for the last time. And killed her to keep her quiet.'

‘Oh Christ… No,' said Harvey.

‘Jacqueline told Detective Sergeant Collier what had really happened. Byrne denied it of course, and scared Jacqueline into changing her story. Collier didn't believe him, or her, when she
did
change her story. But instead of taking criminal proceedings against Byrne, he beat a confession out of Grant, who we had in for questioning. It was the day we talked at Brixton. Do you remember?'

If I'd expected a reaction, I was disappointed.

‘It was a beating that I witnessed,' I went on. ‘Or at least most of it. That night Grant signed his confession. Then, after Carol died and the charge became murder, Collier got your brother-in-law to sign a confession of his own. A confession that Collier kept ever since. And as far as I can make out, when Grant was safely away inside, Collier used that confession to blackmail Alan Byrne. A little bit of promotion for him, Millar and a DI named Grisham – you probably remember him too; he was on the case with the rest of us – and
carte blanche
for the three of them to do virtually as they pleased. It hasn't all come out yet. Byrne was a high flyer. With him in their pocket…' I didn't bother to finish. Doug Harvey knew what his brother-in-law was.

‘What about you?' asked Harvey. His voice was hoarse and guttural.

‘I wasn't included. I'd already rocked the boat too much, telling people I thought Grant was innocent. In
that
case at least. Collier and Millar and Grisham didn't want to know about me after that. Eventually I transferred away, then came back to Brixton, and got involved in some dodgy business of my own. I took early retirement on medical grounds.'

‘So why are you telling me all this now? And where's Jacqueline?'

‘I'm telling you now, because Grant killed himself a while back. The same day Collier and Millar gave me the beating that put me into hospital. They nearly killed me. And to be frank, I could never consider myself safe from them until the truth was known. I introduced Jacqueline to a journalist who freelances for a Sunday paper.' I told him which one. ‘Tomorrow, the story comes out. They're not naming names. Not at first. There's already been an injunction threatened by your brother-in-law's lawyers. The paper's ignoring the threat. And later tonight, the news editor of the paper is passing the file of evidence that's been gathered to the police for them to take further action. There's a straight copper's been interested in the case since I was beaten. A bloke called Robber, an inspector at Gipsy Hill. I told Slade, that's the news editor, to give the stuff straight to him.'

‘
What
?' said Harvey in amazement.

‘It's true I'm afraid.'

‘And where's Jacqueline now? Why isn't she telling me all this?'

‘There was some trouble. What isn't important. It's over now. I sent Jacqueline away with a friend of hers. I don't know where they've gone. Somewhere far away. Somewhere she can get some peace. She couldn't find it in herself to tell you.'

‘And the paper's coming out tomorrow?' was all he said.

‘That's right.'

‘Jesus. And you say that this Inspector Robber gets the information later tonight.'

‘Correct. After the first edition's out on the street.'

The line was silent for a moment.

‘Are you still there?' I asked.

‘I'm here.'

‘Do you want me to come over, Mr Harvey? We could talk.'

‘
You?
No, you stay away. You started all this. I need time to think.' And he put the phone down.

I
started all this. Well isn't that always the way?

The receiver I was holding was slick with sweat, and I could feel rivers of it running down my side. I didn't ever want to make another call like that in my life.

I drank some water and lit a cigarette, then drove up to the print works in Wapping. I took the Colt Commando and Toby's Browning for company.

I arrived about half past eight, and got stopped by two heavy-duty security goons at the barbed-wire-covered front gate.

They both came out of their hut and walked over to the driver's side of my car. I could tell they didn't like me from the off.

‘Is Tom Slade about?' I asked.

One of the goons looked at the other, then back at me, and said, ‘Do what?'

Typical.

‘Tom Slade,' I said. ‘News editor.'

‘Who are you?'

‘Nick Sharman.'

‘Got an appointment?'

I shook my head. ‘But I think he'll want to see me, so why don't you run along and find out,' I said.

I suppose I could have pulled out my gun and shot my way in, but I thought that a more low-key approach might be better.

‘Wait here,' said one of the goons and went back into his box and made a call.

When he came out he didn't look too happy, but swallowed it, and said, ‘Drive on through. There's a car park about five hundred yards on your left. Park in one of the spaces marked “Visitor”. You'll be met.'

‘I know where the car park is,' I said. ‘I've been here before.' If I thought that would give me some cachet, I was wrong. They didn't seem very impressed at the information, and both went back into the hut; the gate opened slowly in front of me, and I did as I was told.

I found the car park and made for the door I'd entered the last time. Just as I reached it, the same young woman I'd met before opened it and said, ‘Hello. Tom's with the rest of the editorial team.' She led me through a maze of corridors and left me in an empty office with only a coffee machine for company. ‘He won't be a minute,' she said.

And he wasn't. He appeared about thirty seconds later carrying a pile of newspapers.

‘This is why you're here, I suppose?' he said, holding up the papers.

I took one of them from him, and said, ‘That's right.'

I scoped the front page. It held a massive banner headline: ‘
ex-top cop in murder scandal
'. Beneath it, in slightly smaller type, was printed: ‘Metropolitan Police officers covered up his guilt. Innocent man jailed for twelve years.' I read the story quickly. It was continued on pages two and three. Like Slade had said, no names were mentioned. But the places and dates were correct. Nice touch that. Anyone who wanted to check old newspaper files could come up with the facts in a minute. There was one photo of Jacqueline Harvey, taken at the Fortescue, with her eyes blocked out in black.

‘Did you get in touch with Jack Robber?' I asked.

Slade nodded. ‘He's meeting with our legal people in an hour or so. They have all the information that we do, and will give it to him then.'

‘Good,' I said. ‘Old Jack will have a field day.'

He nodded.

‘Can I have those?' I said, indicating the rest of the papers he was holding.

Slade shrugged and handed them over. ‘Are you happy with it?' he asked.

I shook my head. ‘What's there to be happy about?' I didn't know if I meant the story, or something bigger. Life maybe. But that was too big a ball of wax to think about right then.

‘Do you want to tell me the rest now?'

I shook my head. The bastard never gave up.

‘We've located Jacqueline Harvey and Toby Gillis,' said Slade, after a moment when I didn't answer. ‘They flew to Nassau, then rented a car and booked into a hotel.'

‘And?' I asked.

‘I'm sending someone over to talk to them tomorrow. I thought I'd give them some time alone.'

‘How magnanimous of you.'

‘I don't think I like your tone.'

‘Jesus,' I said. ‘I'm crushed.' And without another word, I left.

I drove across to Dulwich. It didn't take long. The lights were on in Detective Inspector Paul Grisham's house, and I saw him behind undrawn curtains in the living room. I took one of the papers off the seat beside me and walked up the drive, where a new Saab was parked facing the garage doors. I rang the bell at the front door and he answered. He looked at me standing there, and he didn't know who the hell I was. It had been a long time – a long time for both of us.

‘Hello, Paul,' I said. ‘Remember me?'

He sort of shook his head like people do, then I saw recognition behind his eyes. ‘Sharman?' he said.

‘Right first time.'

‘What do you want?'

‘I wanted to show you this,' I said, and handed him the paper I was holding. He squinted at the front page in the hall light. ‘Christ,' he said, then turned to pages two and three and said ‘Christ' again, then looked up at me.

‘What the fuck is all this about?'

‘Isn't it obvious?' I asked. ‘The skeletons have started rattling in the cupboard.'

‘Someone said a reporter tried to get me on the phone…'

‘You should have called back,' I said.

He held the paper in one hand and said, ‘But what does it all mean?' He looked as if he'd aged ten years since answering the door.

‘It means it's all up, Paul,' I said. ‘They know everything.'

‘No one knows
everything
,' he replied.

Pretty profound for someone looking ruin in the face, I thought.

‘Aren't you going to invite me in?' I asked.

After a heartbeat or two, he stepped back to allow me entry.

I followed him into the living room. He walked over to the windows, and drew the curtains tightly.

There was a quarter-empty bottle of Scotch on the table, and a single glass next to it, half full.

‘Want a drink?' he asked.

‘I'm choosy who I drink with,' I said.

‘You never used to be.' He picked up the glass and took a sip.

‘I never used to be lots of things.'

‘Collier should have killed you when he had a chance,' he said.

‘You know about that?'

He nodded. ‘I know. Collier always kept me informed about what was going on.'

‘That was good of him.'

‘He liked to keep in touch. Liked to make sure that I never forgot what we did together. As if I would.'

‘Did you ever have a reunion? I believe there's a nice little boozer next to the cemetery where Carol Harvey is buried.'

‘You bastard.' He took another swallow from his glass. ‘Yes. He should have killed you when he had a chance.'

‘We all make mistakes,' I said.

He nodded. I think he knew that very well.

‘So why don't you tell me about everything, Paul?' I asked. ‘Before we decide what to do with you.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You said just now that no one knows everything. Cast your mind back twelve years or so and tell me your version. Why you let the bastard that raped and murdered that girl go free, and helped bang up the poor pathetic sod who didn't.'

He licked his lips. ‘It all happened so quickly. Collier made it sound easy.'

‘You were his superior officer,' I said. ‘You could have stopped him in a second. I always wondered why you let him take over that night.'

‘It was Byrne. He made me. He knew some things about me.'

‘Jesus Christ!' I exploded. ‘Was everyone in that nick bent in those days?'

Grisham took another mouthful of Scotch. ‘It was something and nothing. A misunderstanding. I thought it had all been forgotten. But Byrne kept the paperwork. I doubt if I would even have been reprimanded if it had come out. But it could have held up my promotion.'