Mask of the Verdoy (9 page)

‘Natural? There ain’t much we do nowadays that’s natural, is there? And from what I recall the other fella was over twenty-one—another actor I seem to remember—and they’d been shacked up together for a while, by all accounts. They weren’t exactly out in the streets, scaring the ’orses.’

‘Still, it’s not what God intended it for, is it now?’

‘Exactly which part are we talking about? Just so’s I’m clear, like.’

‘Well—either bit, really.’

‘You a God-fearing man then, Pearson?’

‘Back home June and I would go to church most Sundays—I’m not embarrassed to tell you that. Following June’s lead really—I’d say her folk are more devout than my lot. But since we moved up here we haven’t been as often—the church isn’t quite so friendly in London. I told June it’s just a case of settling in, getting known in the community. What about you?’

‘Me? No—staunch atheist.’

‘So … what are you saying? You think it’s quite alright for them to—you know—do that to each other, do you? Is that why you let that lad stay in your house?’

‘Listen, Pearson—I’d love to have a philosophical discussion with you about the morality of buggery, but some other time, yeah? I’m sure they’ll be plenty of opportunity for us to fall out about such things—but tonight we’ve got work to do. The reason we’re looking for Siddons is that nowadays he spends most of his time upstairs at the Green Fox, entertaining a little crew of lavenders with old stories from when he was treading the boards. In return they keep him in gin for the night.’

‘Lavenders?’

‘Irons.’

‘You know, until I moved here I could have sworn London was part of England and that you all spoke the same language as the rest of us. Why don’t you Cockneys just use the same words as everyone else? There’d be far less confusion that way, surely?’

‘That, my dear country cousin, is the very reason we don’t. Iron Hoof—
poof
. Don’t worry—you’ll soon get the hang of it.’ Harley started off again down the road.

‘
Hoof—poof
; but that doesn’t even rhyme!’

‘That’s ’coz you’re saying it wrong.’

Pearson caught up with Harley as he crossed the road.

‘So you think Siddons might have some useful information on Aubrey Phelps?’

‘Well, the kid worked the Soho Square district with the rest of the Green Fox mob. So chances are that Siddons knew him, or maybe just knew of him, and may have some information that leads us to his killer. He’s our quickest in.’

‘Quigg still thinks it was suicide, you know.’

‘No he doesn’t—he just says he does. Quigg may be many things, Pearson, but stupid isn’t one of them. Even if he was too blind to see the evidence at first, now it’s been pointed out to him he should be in no doubt that Aubrey died in suspicious circumstances. There are three possible reasons why he might still refuse to admit it. One is that he thinks the life of a nineteen-year-old male prostitute is not worth the paperwork—well, I can easily believe that of him. The second is that he so despises me that he refuses to investigate the boy’s death simply because I wanna see it happen—again, highly probable.’

‘And the third reason?’

‘The third reason is that he is somehow involved in the boy’s murder and so wants to put it to bed without any fuss.’

‘Oh come on! You don’t really believe that, do you?’

‘Without trying to sound patronizing, Pearson—you’ve got a lot to learn. Which, when I come to think about it, is vaguely reassuring.’

By now they had arrived at the door of the Green Fox pub.

‘Right, one thing before we go in: we need to tread carefully with this lot, we don’t wanna come across heavy-handed at all, or we’ll never get anything out of them. Remember—we’re not here to pinch anyone, just to get some answers. Got it?’

‘Listen, Harley—I may be new to this city but I’ve been a police officer for almost eight years now. I do have experience of working informants, you know. Personally, I prefer a light touch.’

‘
You catch more wasps with jam than you do with vinegar
—right?’

‘That’s it, in a nutshell.’

‘Glad to hear we’re singing from the same hymn sheet. Right—let’s crack on then.’

As they pushed their way through the swing doors they were met with the rumbling hubbub and the warm, yeasty fug of a busy pub. Harley took a second to scan the clientele and soon spotted a familiar face at the bar. He caught the drinker’s eye and they exchanged a quick nod of recognition.

Pearson noticed the brief exchange.

‘Who’s that? Anyone I should know about?’

‘That’s Benny Whelks, one of Mori Adler’s mob. Not someone you’d want to get on the wrong side of. He’s a chiv-man—handy with a blade.’

‘Charming!
Whelks
, you say?’

‘Yeah. They call him that coz he’s mad about seafood—whelks, cockles, winkles, he can’t get enough of the stuff. I’ve often wondered if that’s why he looks like something that’s been dragged up in a trawler’s net. Anyway, my advice is to steer well clear of him—he’s trouble.’

‘This Mori Adler; DI Quigg’s mentioned him once or twice. He’s the big cheese round here, right?’

‘
Shush!
Not here—we’ll talk later.’

They pushed their way to the bar.

‘What’s your poison?’

‘Just a ginger beer for me—I’m on duty.’

Harley immediately pulled Pearson away from a small group of men who had turned from their drinks to stare at them.

‘Right—for a start,
keep it down!
We don’t want the whole pub to know you’re a bogey. And secondly, you’re having a proper drink—it’ll be less conspicuous. You don’t have to drink it.’

‘A bottle of mild then.’

‘That’s better.’

After Harley had bought the drinks they made their way upstairs. Here the décor was less brash than the ground floor, the brightly polished brass and etched glass replaced by dimly-lit booths and tables where small groups huddled over their drinks. Pearson noticed that their arrival had caused a few conversations to halt and resume at a lower level. They sat at a table by the stairs and Harley offered Pearson a smoke.

‘The character in the green fedora, sitting under the Guinness poster? That’s Siddons.’

‘I see him.’

‘Alright, let’s have a drink—make it look like we’ve just come here for a chat … The gaggle of lavenders that are with him—do any of them look like they’re gonna leave any time soon?’

‘Well, it’s hard to tell, none of them have … hold on … Yes! Three of them have got up and are about to go. How did you know?’

‘Saw them clock us as we came in—one of them paid particular attention to your service-issue footwear.’

‘Oh, come on now! Who’s going to sit around in a pub scrutinizing people’s shoes?’

‘I told you—they’re a nervous bunch. The ones who are off are probably those who’ve had their collar felt recently, or maybe they’re out on licence. Besides, their lot take an interest in clobber, don’t they?’

At that moment a group of flamboyantly dressed young men walked passed the table on the way to the stairs.

‘There you are, dear,’ hissed one of them. ‘
Vada the lilly’s batts!
’

‘Foreign?’ asked Pearson, when they’d disappeared down the stairs.

‘No,’ laughed Harley. ‘Like I said—he was pointing out your service issue size nines.’

‘Really? More rhyming slang, I suppose?’

‘No, that was
Polari
—it used to be the slang of yer Punch-and-Judy man, janes, fairground showmen and the like. Now it’s mainly just used by the lavenders.’

‘I feel like I’m in another country.’

‘You are—that’s why it’s important that you listen to what I tell you. Right, how many of ’em are left?’

‘There’s Siddons and two others.’

‘Come on then—your daisies would have already frightened off any of ’em that were going.’

Harley grabbed his drink and approached the actor’s table.

‘It’s Gilby Siddons, isn’t it?’

Siddons’ hooded, bloodshot eyes took a second or two to focus on Harley.

‘I’m afraid, dear boy, that you have me at a disadvantage.’

Harley held out his hand.

‘George Harley. My uncle—Blake Harley—was a great admirer of your work.’

‘Harley?’ said Siddons, closing his eyes and dramatically clasping his temples between a shaking thumb and forefinger. ‘Now, where have I … 
Blake
Harley you say?
Blake Harley?
 … Ah—yes! Why, Mr. Harley! You know I regarded your uncle as a dear, dear friend. He was a one-off—a
maverick
, no less. One of those extraordinary Englishmen that seemed to flourish in the
fin de siècle
 … Please sit, sit, dear boy.
Asseyez-vous!
’

The pale, long-haired youth who sat to the actor’s right, gently rubbing a silk kerchief to his cheek like a toddler’s security blanket, now leant over and whispered something in his ear.

‘Oh, don’t be so
cod
dear!’ said Siddons, giving him a dismissive flick of his hand.

The youth got up with a flourish, shot Harley a piercing look and tottered off in his heeled pumps. The old actor put a hand to his face.

‘Where’s she off to?’

Now the second youth stood up.

‘Oh—
et tu Brute?
It’s just an old friend’s nephew!’ Siddons shouted after them. ‘
Nanti a charpering omi!
’

‘To tell you the truth, Gilby,’ said Harley. ‘I may not be a “charpering omi”, but my friend, DC Pearson here,
is
.’

‘Oh … really?’ Siddons looked crestfallen. ‘And you understand our little cant, as well—how perceptive of you.’ He slumped back in his chair. ‘Well, if you are going to arrest me, you might at least have the decency to buy me a drink first—seeing as you’ve scared away the gelt.’

‘We’re not here to arrest anyone, Mr. Siddons,’ said Pearson. ‘We just want to ask you a few questions.’

‘Ah! The opening line to many a dull evening’s entertainment at His Majesty’s Pleasure.’

Harley drew his chair in closer and lowered his voice.

‘It’s gospel, Gilby—
I’m
no bogey, and no one’s getting lumbered. I’m here because somebody broke into my house and murdered Aubrey Phelps in his bed, and I want to find out who.’

‘Truthfully? That was at your place? Well … in that case, you can buy me that drink and I’ll see what I can do to help. Gin and French, if you would.’ Siddons held up his empty glass.

‘Pearson, would you mind getting Mr. Siddons a drink?’ Harley handed over the money.

‘Oh, Pearson dear!’ called out Siddons. ‘On second thoughts, I shall take my anny
sans la Francaise!
’

‘Sorry?’

‘Gin, neat—make it a triple,’ said Harley.

Pearson made his way to the bar.

‘How awfully civilised of you … Now, you wouldn’t have a smoke, dear boy, would you?’

‘You know, it’s funny,’ said Harley, pulling out his cigarettes, ‘no one seems to have their own nowadays.’

‘Alas, these are desperate times for us all, George … Ah! Gold Flake—“
The man’s cigarette that women like”
. Young Johnny Gielgud’s favourites, you know.’ Siddons struggled for a moment to get his
shaking hand to locate the cigarette into the end of his tortoiseshell holder. ‘She’s a bona talent that one—and of course, one of our own.’

‘Really?’

‘That’s the cackle dear. Although she’ll do well to keep it to herself—the dear British public can be very unforgiving with that kind of thing … I learnt that the hard way, of course. Ah, here’s the buvare!’

Pearson reappeared with Siddons’ drink.

‘Thank you, dear.
Chin chin!
’

Siddons gulped half of the gin, took an affected drag on his cigarette and then removed a compact from his pocket and gave himself a quick powder.

‘Now, George, what do you want to know about that poor little chicken, Aubrey?’

‘Well, as you know, someone creased him; slashed his wrist to make it look like a suicide. I have a witness that puts an intruder on the fire escape outside his bedroom a few moments before we found him dead; possibly a foreigner—in a mask.’

‘It all sounds vile dear, simply vile.’

‘So what can you tell me about the lad? Anyone you can think of who might have wanted him dead?’

‘Oh God—take your pick! She was an HP dear; there’s any number of monsters in this foul city that would have happily stuck a knife in.’

‘HP?’ asked Pearson.

‘Homi-poloney, a—’ began Harley.

‘A
poof
dear,’ said Siddons. ‘And effeminate with it, you understand? Wore it like a badge. Oh, she was bold alright—poor little bugger.’

‘But Gilby, this wasn’t a chance meeting on the street. It wasn’t just a bunch of drunks falling out of a boozer and having a go at the kid for a bit of sport. In my opinion this was premeditated, with a high risk of the killer being disturbed or even apprehended. Now, why on earth would someone take all that trouble to get rid of a nineteen-year-old dilly boy?’

Siddons took a furtive look around.

‘He wasn’t the first, you know.’

‘So I’ve heard—tell me more.’

‘Well, there was another two young chickens done away with in a similar fashion.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, I didn’t know them very well, you understand—they worked the Piccadilly beat. Jacky Brewster was one of them, I forget the other’s name—Billy something, I think. But the fact is they all knew each other—Aubrey included. The three of them were involved in
something that earned them a nice little packet. Preening around town like peacocks afterwards, they were … never a good idea—bound to attract the wrong kind of attention.’

‘So you think the motive may have been robbery?’ asked Pearson.

‘Oh no, dear—I don’t think that at all. My guess is that the money had long run out by the time they met their unfortunate end.’

‘Sounds like you think they had something else worth killing for, Gilby,’ said Harley.

‘Well, yes—I think maybe they did. You see, after the first killing Aubrey moved out of his digs and started to work the Soho Square beat, hanging around with our little mob that use the Fox here as their watering hole. He wasn’t a great hit with the majority of them—he was always a little too proud for my liking. But pretty enough, certainly pretty enough—but not everyone’s cup of tea, you understand. However, he was befriended by Harper—one of the little cabal’s more forceful characters.’