Death's Jest-Book (36 page)

‘Despising himself, Wield
said reassuringly, 'Of course you didn't, Lee. Whatever happens, we'd
make that quite clear. We've known all along, you see. It's always
that way, we know a lot more than we ever let on.'

The upside of giving an
impression of omniscience, besides calming the boy's fears and making
him more malleable, was that it might make him start thinking of
Wield as a part of the huge legal machine rather than an individual.

'So you knew all this stuff I've
given you?'

'Most’ said Wield. 'But
what you told us was great for tying up loose ends. In fact, I don't
know what we'd have done without it. You've done really well.'

The boy looked so pleased that
Wield felt his old guilt well up. However this played, this was
definitely the last time, he assured himself.

But he was getting way ahead of
the game.

He said, 'So, no names, you say?
What about when they said cheerio?'

'The man in Sheffield just hung
up. Then Tobe got on the net..."

'Tobe? Who the hell's Tobe?'

'It's Belchy's web name, the one
he uses when he talks to his mates on the net.'

'How do you know that?'

'Sometimes he's been online while
we're . .. you know. Likes to send messages to say what's happening.'

Belchamber, you are a nasty piece
of shit! thought Wield.

He said, 'This is a chat room he
uses then?'

'Yeah, but it's real complicated
to get in, passwords, and all kinds of shit. You want me to find out
more about it?'

'No,' said Wield firmly. 'You
mustn't do anything that makes him suspicious. So when he went online
was this something to do with the call to the man in Sheffield?'

'I think so. I
saw this message he left on the noticeboard.
LB call Tobe.'

'LB?'

'Yeah, it's one of these pervs in
the chat room, but this one Belchy knows personal and sometimes he'll
just leave a message there.'

Someone whose line he doesn't
trust to be secure, thought Wield.

'And did this LB ring?'

'Yeah. A bit later. Didn't need
to make a note of that, it were really short. LB said what? And
Belchy said he'd told his mate the money was through and was it? And
LB said he always did what he said he'd do and mebbe Tobe should
remember that. End of call.'

'Doesn't sound very friendly.'

'No,' said the boy. 'Come to
think of it, when I've heard 'em before, Belchy and LB, I mean,
they've always sounded a lot more friendly.'

'And the man in Sheffield didn't
sound like a close friend either from what you say.'

'Him? No, definitely not.'

'But you said that Belchamber
talked about "his mate's money" when he was talking to LB.
Why should that be, do you think?'

'Don't know. Yeah, it is a bit
funny. I mean, old Belchy's really posh. Not the kind of guy goes
around calling people mate, know what I mean? But he did call the
Sheffield guy mate a couple of times. Mebbe he was trying to suck up
to him, do you think?'

'Yes,' said Wield softly. 'Maybe
he was. Lee, you've done well, picking all this up.'

The boy's face lit up.

'You reckon?

‘Well, you know. Keeps your
mind off the job, doesn't it?'

'And how long have you been
working for old Belchy?'

'Few weeks now. Real regular.
It's good money and no hassle.'

'You sound like you sort of like
him?'

Lee looked at Wield blankly and
said, 'Like him? He's a punter. I mean, someone like you I can like,
but not a punter . . . liking don't come into it ... and he treats me
like a kid

'Sorry?'

'Well, he goes
on like I'm just a kid, you know, ten or eleven or such. He's got
these clothes he likes me to put on, school uniform, green blazer
with yellow edging, grey shorts and
a
cap, all that crap, and
he gets narked if I say owt that a grown-up would say. Other times he
dresses up like them soldiers in that film
Gladiator
and I've
got to run around bare arse like I'm a slave or summat. Still, it's
his money and you gotta give what you get paid for, that's how things
work, right?'

'I'm afraid it is, Lee,' said
Wield with infinite sadness. 'I'm afraid it is.'

‘Let
me get this straight,' said Dalziel. 'While this lad's under the
table chewing his dick, Belchamber's chatting away with his dodgy
clients on the phone? Or else he's on his computer giving a running
commentary to some other sad shirt-lifters? God, that makes the
bastard thick and sick!'

'Wouldn't call him thick,' said
Wield. 'It's a power thing. The lad doing this to him is a Roman
slave. Or else he's a ten-year-old schoolboy. That uniform Lee
mentioned sounds like Thistle Hall Prep School to me. I checked.
That's where Belchamber went. Mebbe something bad happened to him
there.'

'Not bad enough. He's a
disgusting excuse for a human being,' said Pascoe fervently. 'I've
never liked him. It will be a pleasure to send him down.'

'Hang about’ said Dalziel.
'Let's not get ahead of ourselves. OK, one reading of this is that
Belchamber's put a toe over the line and may be acting as a bagman
for one of his dodgy clients, though I can't for the life of me
understand why he should. In fact it seems so unlikely that I reckon
we take a long cold look at things afore we go steaming in on the
basis of some scribbles that a rent boy has given to Quentin Crisp
here.'

One thing about the Fat Man, he
didn't wrap things up in fancy paper.

Or perhaps (mind-boggling
thought!) he believed he did.

Pascoe said, 'Let's wire Lubanski
up, get something we can produce in evidence. In any case it'll be
better if we can assess what's being said for ourselves.'

'No,' said Wield very
firmly.’I’ll not have that.'

'Oh?' said Pascoe, taken aback.
'Do you intend arguing that or merely asserting it?'

Dalziel looked from his sergeant
to his chief inspector and for a moment thought about settling back
to enjoy a rare public confrontation between them.

Then both personal regard and
professional responsibility kicked in and he said dismissively,
'Doesn't need arguing. Lad's got to strip off to change into his
school uniform. I bet the Belch watches, so while he's running around
in the buff, where's he going to keep a wire hidden? Could try for a
phone tap, but doubt we'd get it. Things go wrong, no one's going to
fancy having Belchamber shitting on us from a great height. No, we'll
have to stick with the lad. What's his motive giving you this stuff
anyway, Wieldy?'

It was with great reluctance that
Wield had let Lee get into the Fat Man's rattle-bag. Though even
Dalziel probably found the notion of sex slavery abhorrent, he drew
the line at human rights for snouts. Belchamber's involvement plus
his sense that this latest bit of info related to something really
big had made it impossible to preserve the boy's anonymity. But no
way was he going to discuss the true nature of Lee's motivation. He
tried to imagine the landslip of emotion running down that Beachy
Head of a face if he replied now, 'He wants me for his dad.' Almost
worth it just to see. Almost. He said, 'He hates Belchamber's guts.'

It wasn't true. In fact Lee
seemed almost as indifferent to Belchamber as a human being as the
lawyer was to him. But it would do for the Fat Man.

'Does he now?' Dalziel shuddered.
'Jesus! If you ever get a notion that I'm letting some bugger who
hates my guts get his teeth anywhere near my dick, be sure to let me
know! So let's see what we've got. Mate. You think this guy in
Sheffield could be Mate Polchard. Rings a bell, we were talking about
him just the other day, weren't we?'

'Was in the Syke with Roote. They
played chess together,' said Pascoe, who suspected the Fat Man
remembered full well and was merely testing his reaction.

'That's it. Don't think young
Franny could be masterminding this job, whatever it is, do you,
Pete?' said Dalziel with heavy jocularity. 'Fits your Mr Big profile
to a T.' .

‘I’ll wait till we're
certain that it is Polchard who's involved before making up my mind,
sir,' said Pascoe, po-faced.

'Good thinking. Wieldy, you've
checked Polchard out?'

'Christmas at his cottage in
Wales. Left on Boxing Day. Spotted in Sheffield the week before
Christmas.'

'Spotted where? Doing what?'

'The shops,' said Wield.
'Christmas stuff. Nothing furtive. Looked like he was shopping till
he dropped, then off back to the countryside for Christmas.'

'So he'd have been around same
time as this DI Rose was getting a sniff of a big job overspilling on
to our patch. Pete?'

‘I’ve spoken to Rose.
Low key. Didn't want to get him too excited.'

Which had been difficult. His
sense of exultation had come bubbling down the line and Pascoe had
had to work very hard to keep the cork in.

'Listen’ he'd urged, 'this
could be nothing. My advice, don't go shouting round the office. If
it comes to nothing, you'll look dafter than before. If it comes to
something big, then someone bigger than you will lift it out of your
lap. Good security too. Fewer people who know, less chance of some
idiot blowing things. Walls have ears, remember?'

This argument seemed to impress.
Perhaps Rose had suffered from idle gossip.

'You're right there,' he said.
'Round here they've got bloody tongues too!'

'Anything more from your snout?'

'Still no sign of the bugger. His
cronies say he's still in London, but nobody has an address. I bet
he's too scared to come back. Someone's really put the frighteners on
him.'

'Someone like Mate Polchard?'
suggested Pascoe. That kind of strength, yeah.'

They left it that Rose was going
to put out cautious feelers to check if Polchard was back in town
and, once found, mount a distant surveillance on him.

'It's all owt or nowt,' said
Dalziel fretfully. 'This other guy, LB, the one your snout thinks
must be one of his creepy computer chums, how's that working out,

‘Wieldy?'

'I'm working on it,' said Wield.
'But these closed chat rooms aren't easy. Lots of checks, codes and
passwords. And once you're in, everyone uses screen names.'

'Like Tobe? What sort of fucking
name's that?'

'A rather
obvious sort, I'd have said’ declared Pascoe. 'I'd guess he
calls himself Toby, in reference to Sir Toby Belch in
Twelfth
Night.
Can't work out LB though’

'Better revise your Shakespeare
then, hadn't you?' growled Dalziel, who didn't mind showing off
himself but deplored it in his underlings. 'This chat room, all else
fails, can we do the slimy sod for that?'

'Not unless they're using it to
download obscene material under the Act’ said Wield. 'Or
procuring minors for illegal acts. But if they're just a bunch of
like-minded souls who want a place where they can let it all hang out
and talk dirty, it's hard to touch them’

'If he's into this, isn't he
likely to be into one of the big hard-core rings?' said Pascoe.

'Possibly’ Wield hesitated,
then went on, 'My reading of Belchamber, though, is that he's too
careful to let himself get into something like that which he can't
really control’

'Not so careful if he chats on
the phone with a rent boy dangling from his dick’ said Pascoe.

'I think that's all part of it’
said Wield. 'To a lot of people, danger's an essential part of sex.
We've all got extremes we like to go to. If we're lucky, we find
someone else willing to make the trip. Belchamber wants the danger,
wants the extremes, but he's a lawyer. Maximize the professional
profit, minimize the personal risk. That's what he likes so much
about Lee. He looks like he's ten, and Belchamber makes him act like
he's ten, but in fact he's nineteen. If it all went pear-shaped, what
have we got? No law against sexual relations with a
nineteen-year-old. So Belchamber gets the paedo's kick without the
risk. And doing business while he's getting a blow job is the same.
It feels really wild, but he thinks he's too powerful relative to the
boy to be in any danger of disclosure’

Pascoe was used to listening to
Wield's cool, detailed analyses of situations and cases, but though
the tone was as dispassionate as ever, there was some pulse running
beneath the surface here that he'd rarely detected before.

Dalziel said, 'Another
possibility. We're sure, are we, that this kid, as well as sucking
Belchamber's plonker, isn't pulling yours?'

For a moment Pascoe thought the
Fat Man was questioning Wield's relationship with Lubanski, then he
made the shift from the literal to the figurative.

'Certain, sir,' said Wield. 'And
after the Linford case and the Praesidium thing, he's got the track
record to back it.'

'The security van thing, tell us
about that again. Seems funny for old Belchy to be mixed up with such
a bunch of losers.'

‘They may be losers, sir,'
said Pascoe. 'But we haven't had a sniff of them since. Even the
van's vanished off the face of the earth.'

'They'd want something for their
efforts, wouldn't they?' growled Dalziel. 'Either it's being gutted
and the bits sold off through some dodgy dealer, or maybe they
shipped the whole thing across to Ireland and it's running around
Dublin as we speak. But what's Belchamber's connection?'

'Don't know. Lubanski came in
from the shower -Belchamber likes him clean and smelling of carbolic
soap - and just caught the end of a conversation. Belchamber said,
"and the Praesidium van?" and the other guy said, "we'll
hit it Friday".'

'Not a lot,' said the Fat Man.
'Was this other voice the same as the man in Sheffield?'

‘I asked. Lee couldn't
say.'

'Could be the aim of the
Praesidium job was to bankroll the big job,' said Pascoe.