Foul Justice (19 page)

“But…”

“I’m under instructions. Sorry, Katy. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure the DCI has insisted for my benefit, no other reason.” Lorne’s take on the situation seemed to appease Katy, thankfully.

“No problem from my end. It’ll be good to get to know the other members of the team. Tracy seems eager and willing to assist me.”

“Carry on delving into Danielle Styles’ past. Hopefully you’ll be able to use some of that as ammunition when you visit Smalling. She’s a friend of Styles’, isn’t she?”

“What are you going to do about that?” Katy asked, nodding at the sheet of paper.

“I might call in to see the pawnbroker before I go over to Denman. They’re not too far apart. About twenty minutes, I think.”

Katy stood up. “I’ll get back to it, then. Shall I order in some sandwiches for later?”

“Good idea. Straight after lunch, we’ll see whose cages we can rattle and who spills what first.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

W
hen Lorne and AJ
arrived at the pawnbroker’s at five minutes to two, the shop was shut. A Day-Glo orange sign at eye level told any prospective customers that the proprietor was out to lunch and the shop would re-open at two.

“We’ll wait in the café on the corner. If he sees us waiting outside, he might think again about opening up on time.”

AJ bought them both a cup of coffee. At the table, Lorne stared out the window at the shop. “You and Katy seem to be getting on well. She’s a nice girl.”

“Yes, ma’am.” AJ gave a brief nod.

“I’ve warned Katy, and now I’m warning you, AJ. Be careful. There are several reasons why you shouldn’t get involved, the main one being your careers. You’re both going places. I’d hate to see anything jeopardise that.” Lorne glanced at him and smiled when she saw the slight colour change in his cheeks.

“Message received, ma’am, but—”

Just then, a Merc pulled up outside the barred door of the shop. A rotund man in his early sixties hoisted himself out of the passenger seat, and the car, driven by a woman half the man’s age, left.

“Here we go.”

They finished their drinks and walked across the street to the pawnbrokers. The bell rang to announce their arrival. A voice out the back hollered, “Be with you in a minute.”

The shop was a mess. Apart from the glass display cabinets in front of them that were in some semblance of order, everything else appeared to be haphazardly thrown on the shelves. Videos and CDs were piled on top of each other with the plastic case edge showing instead of the titles. Every few feet or so, a toaster sat on the shelf, most of them scratched to pieces and belonging in a skip.

Lorne found it hard to believe that anyone would target the shop to try and steal any of the crap on sale, so why the bars on the door and windows?

The man came through the jangling beaded curtain and stopped dead when he saw them. Recovering well, he moved behind the counter, placed his hands on the glass, and gave them one of the falsest smiles Lorne had ever encountered. “What can I do for you nice folks?”

Flashing her warrant card, Lorne asked, “Are you Mr. Boskins?”

He ran a nervous hand across his brow and over his balding head. “That’s right. Something wrong?”

Lorne held his gaze. “We have it on good authority that you have some jewellery for sale here that was reported stolen last week.”

Boskins looked physically sick by that piece of news. “Now, wait just a minute. Anything that comes in my shop is legit.”

Lorne turned to AJ and asked, “Did I insinuate anything in my question?”

AJ shook his head, playing along with her. “Not that I know of, boss.”

“If that’s the case, you won’t mind showing us your books, then, Mr. Boskins. Will you?” Lorne gave a sugar sweet smile.

“Not without a warrant.” The man pushed back his shoulders and puffed out his chest.

Lorne remained quiet for a moment, and her gaze dropped to the glass cabinet before her, she turned her head this way and that and pointed at a necklace. “AJ, isn’t that the necklace that was stolen from the house where those two kiddies were murdered?”

“Hmm…‌Sure looks like it to me, boss.”

“What? I know—nothing about—any murders,” Boskins stammered. He kicked out at what sounded like a cardboard box behind the counter.

By his reaction, Lorne had a feeling he was telling the truth. “Been told some porkies, have you?”

“You have to believe me. I had no idea. This guy dropped the stuff off, and I bunged him a couple of hundred quid for it.”

The second that someone said, ‘You have to believe me,’ Lorne smelled a rat. She suspected the sum he’d mentioned was far from accurate. “You expect me to believe that, Mr. Boskins?”

“Believe what you like. It’s the truth.” He sneered.

The shop’s phone started ringing. He went to answer it, but Lorne told him to leave it. “I’d like to get to the bottom of your involvement in this. Therefore, I’d like you to accompany us to the station.”

“What? Why? I buy and sell stuff, that’s all. I don’t know what I’m buying half the time. Most of my punters are stoned out of their minds when they come in here. Pawning their old gran’s stuff just so they can buy some more drugs. I tell you, I know nothing about any kids dying.”

“Really?” Lorne asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes,
really
.” He raised his voice. “I’ve got grandkids of my own. The thought of—”

“If the thought abhors you that much, then you won’t mind giving us a name, will you?”

The man paced up and down a number of times before he slumped down on a stall at the end of the counter near the window.

“If I give you a name, can we come to some sort of deal?”

“I’m listening,” Lorne said, suppressing a smug smile.

He shook his head. “Assurances before I open my mouth.”

Lorne nodded. “I agree. Give me the name and the jewellery. I’ve got no qualms with you, Boskins. I just want the bastards who killed those kids.”

“Carl Ward and Zac Murray.”

“Just the two names?” Lorne asked. The way the man’s gaze evaded hers spoke volumes. He was obviously keeping back another name, but she was prepared to let it go. For now. “Thank you. Now the jewellery.”

He expelled a deep breath. “I shifted the gear abroad. This was the only piece I kept. Stupid, I know, but I thought this piece would go better over here. They deal more in eighteen carat over there. This is only nine.”

“Okay. Does the name Bob Denman ring any bells?” Lorne asked, watching intently for any kind of recognition when she mentioned the name. She saw Boskins shuffle a little and decided to proceed with her questions. “I can see it does. Deal with him much?”

Boskins gave a defeated shrug. “A little.”

“What can you tell me about him?” Lorne took out her notebook. She flipped through a few pages until she came to the notes she’d made on Denman.

He lifted his shoulders again. “His boys bring me gear now and then. Nothing much.”

“He brings you tat, is that what you’re telling me?”

“If you like. I wouldn’t put it that way to him, though.” He laughed, but under Lorne’s glare, his smile vanished.

Her pen poised, she asked, “Had anything recently?”

“How recent?” Boskins asked

“Has his gang brought anything in this past week?”

Boskins nodded.

“Like what?”

“Nothing much. Just some costume jewellery. I passed it over to a friend of mine who runs a small shop in Islington.”

“I’ll need the name of your friend.”

“Dora Fields. Hey, she ain’t dodgy. She’s cleaner than a bleached toilet. I’ll tell you what…‌if you want the goods back, I’ll get them for you. Leave her out of this, yeah?”

As Boskins seemed to be cooperating, Lorne nodded her agreement. “Very well, then. How often does Denman bring you gear?”

“Depends. Not that often, really.”

“Is Denman friendly with Ward and Murray?” Lorne knew the answer, which made it a good question to test the water and see how truthful Boskins was being.

He snorted. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? After what happened…”

Lorne looked up from her notebook and frowned. “Don’t stop there. Why don’t you fill me in?”

“Not sure I can give you specific details. I can only tell you the gossip I heard. I never heard it from the horse’s mouth, as such.”

“Go on. We’re listening.”

Before they left the tacky shop, Boskins had told them of the hassle between the two gangs. Gossip was that both gangs had independently come up with a plan to rob a post office, but the Murray gang had been the one to make off with the cash. Rumour had it that the haul was a couple of hundred grand. So petty criminal Zac Murray wasn’t so petty after all, or maybe his brother was the one who got his hands dirty on that job.

It was time to tackle Denman about the post office job and the third robbery, the one that hadn’t ended up in murder. Lorne was now confident Denman’s gang was behind that, and the Murray gang had carried out the other two robberies. It wasn’t a case of a copycat crime, but a ‘one-upmanship crime’ involving the same security firm.

•     •     •

Trevor Murray answered his
mobile and almost immediately held it away from his ear. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

“Hold on, Boskins. What are you going on about? Have you fenced that gear, yet?”

Boskins growled down the phone. “Fuck your stuff and fuck you in the future, Murray, you dick. If I’d known you’d killed those kids, I would never have dealt with you in the first place. You’re sick!”

“All right, old man. Climb down off your fucking merry-go-round horse. What’s brought this on?”

“You prat! You take everyone else for fucking idiots, when you were at the bottom of the pile when they were handing brains out.”

“What are you going on about?”

Boskins scratched his balding head out of frustration. “The cops have been here. They told me what you did to them nippers. In the future, fucking take your knocked-off gear elsewhere, you hear me?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

L
orne got out of
the car and whistled. The art deco-style mansion house was set in its own grounds at the end of a tree-lined drive. A tacky plastic-looking nude fountain, out of keeping with its surroundings, graced the driveway about twenty feet from the front door.

“Nice place for a petty,” she said out of the corner of her mouth as AJ yanked on the ornate brass bell chain to the right of the front door.

“Apparently, crime does pay,” AJ replied, shaking his head.

The door opened, and the man recognised Lorne immediately. His welcoming smile slipped momentarily and was replaced by an angry glare before it swiftly reverted back.

Amused, Lorne asked, “Bob Denman? Mind if we come in and have a chat?”

“About what exactly?”

The two officers flashed their warrant cards and moved forwards at the same time. Denman took the hint and swept his arm back, inviting them in. A German shepherd approached them, wagging its tail, and sniffed each of the detectives in turn.

“Rex, leave it. Go lie down,” Denman ordered tersely. The dog moaned and retreated down the vast hallway.

The inside of the house wasn’t a patch on the outside. Lorne loved the Mackintosh-designed wallpaper in the hallway, but wasn’t all that keen on the stepped design furniture littering it. It just looked as though someone had said, ‘Yes, this is art deco. We’ll furnish our house with it, lots of it.’ Lorne’s keen designer instincts, developed over the last few years, told her that the house would benefit from a ‘less is more’ perspective for the design element to work well.

Denman showed them into a large, open-planned L-shaped living room-cum-kitchen. Again Lorne couldn’t help screwing her nose up. The setup was far too modern for a house built in the thirties. The work had tarnished the house’s integrity.

“Can I get you a drink? Tea or coffee, I mean, of course.”

“No thanks. We’ve got a few questions to ask, if you don’t mind. Now that I’ve managed to track you down, Mr. Denman.”

He motioned for them to take a seat on the black leather sofa and sat down in the single-seater opposite them.

Lorne held his gaze. Before entering the house, she had told AJ to take notes throughout the meeting. “Now, where do I begin? Ah, yes. How about the last time I saw you? At The Cross Keys last week.”

His brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed—not obviously, just enough for Lorne to notice. “The Cross Keys? I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

“I thought you might say that.” She took out her mobile from her coat pocket and trawled through the photos. When she found the one she was looking for, she handed it to him. “Maybe this will refresh your memory.”

At first he refused to take the phone from her. She waved it around in front of him until he backed down and snatched it from her grasp.

He briefly glanced at her phone. “All right. I’ll admit I was there. What do you want to know?” He abruptly returned her phone.

“I want to know what went on between you and Zac Murray?”

He thought about his answer for the briefest moment. “Not sure what you’re getting at, Inspector.”

“Mr. Denman, either we can do this the easy way, or we can talk about this down at the station.” She stood up. “In fact, why don’t we do that?”

Denman reclined back in his chair and started swivelling it from left to right. “Now, don’t be hasty, Inspector. You can’t blame a man for trying.”

He gave her a smile that turned her stomach. She detested men who thought all they had to do was smile at a woman to have her twisted around their little finger.
Arsehole!

“We haven’t got all day, Mr. Denman.” Lorne tapped her foot.

He raised his hands then dropped them again. “Let’s call it unfinished business.”

“What ‘
unfinished
business’?” Her tone was bored, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “The fact that your gang and the Murray gang got in each other’s way on a job once?”

“Someone been telling tales, have they?”

“I couldn’t possibly say, Mr. Denman. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

His right shoulder lifted up to his ear. “There’s really not that much to tell. I had a little…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s say business transaction, but Murray and his numbskull pals balled it up for me.”