Law & Order Page 8

  ‘I don’t like the idea of dropping him out altogether, Fred. Mind you, if he’s led to believe that’s what’ll happen…’ The dci seemed uncertain about the matter. He was the duty officer, and there was none on the Squad of higher rank at present. Calling back one of the supers or the chief superintendent was his other option, but Pyle knew he wasn’t about to do so for a decision at this level. ‘What do you think yourself, Fred? Is he going to come up to scratch?’

  ‘He looks well placed. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find us something worthwhile on Lynn.’ Pyle shrugged. ‘Depends what he’s offered, I suppose.’

  ‘What about Criminal Intelligence? They have anything for you?’

  ‘To be honest, guv, I haven’t checked back with them.’ It wasn’t that he was too busy, he’d forgotten to do so. ‘Jack Lynn might prove more worthwhile. The other fella, Harding, might only have been minding that gun, like he claims.’ He didn’t believe it, but thought giving him back his liberty to punt around was a risk worth taking.

  ‘With a firearm charge on the sheet, a magistrate would expect us to object to bail,’ Simmons pointed out. He wasn’t someone to take chances. ‘I suppose he wouldn’t be much use to you down in Brixton?’

  ‘I could have a word with the beak,’ Pyle suggested. Simmons gave him a sharp look. ‘That’s what Eric tried, didn’t he? Now he’s got Complaints up his daily.’

  ‘He was unlucky, guv. Most of us have done – got some help for a grass. There was aggravation between that magistrate and the Clerk of the Court. It was him what complained.’

  ‘Eric’ll be lucky not to get disciplinary action taken against him. Still, it’s a chance you take – do the job right.’

  ‘We could leave Harding out altogether.’

  ‘Be nice to have some kind of hold, Fred.’

  ‘It’s there, guv. It would only be a matter of finding him again. That wouldn’t be too difficult in his circumstances – four young kids. Thinks the world of them. He wouldn’t go far.’

  ‘How did it go with the gun dealer he put our way?’

  ‘We nicked him. He’s at Peckham. From the way he’s shaping he’ll go all right,’ Pyle said. ‘And one or two more besides.’

  ‘Good. Take a chance on Harding. See what they have across the corridor on Lynn first.’

  The offices used by Criminal Intelligence were much like the Squad’s offices: too small for their requirements, impersonal, overstuffed with filing cabinets and an excess of computer terminals. A prominent feature was the noticeboard which took up almost one wall. It resembled an elaborate family tree featuring photographs of villains with arrows and information connecting them to other pictures. Most of them were in conference or nightclub-type settings, and always in long shot. Some of the heads in photos had been circled.

  di Graham McHale pointed to a circled photograph of Jack Lynn. ‘That’s the most recent picture we have of him. Taken about six months ago. You see that?’ He indicated the prison mug shot that was arrowed away from the centre group. ‘He’s changed a bit.’

  ‘Good living, I suppose,’ Pyle said.

  He was grateful for the vanity which made villains unable to resist having their photos taken in clubs with hostesses, but resented their apparent good life.

  ‘He was with a villain called George Bennett. Here.’ McHale pointed out a squirrel-like man in the picture. The Regional Crime Squad nicked him for a job out in Bromley. A bank. Lynn was supposed to be involved, but there wasn’t enough to nick him. You know what the RCS is like,’ McHale said.

  Pyle nodded. Members of the Regional Crime Squad were notorious at being cautious and painstaking with intelligence on suspects before making an arrest. ‘They still interested?’

  ‘They have a nibble now and again, Fred. The way they work it’ll be another two years before they bite.’ The di from Criminal Intelligence yawned.

  ‘What else you got? Anything?’

  ‘Another rumour. A security van blag out in Wimbledon which was supposed to have been down to him. Around about the time it went off he was seen in bad company. Hanging out with a lad called Alf Kitchen, who was believed to have been involved.’

  ‘Was he nicked?’

  ‘No. Only one person was for that job. Two more were pulled, but later released.’

  ‘D’you think he sold the RCS two bodies?’

  ‘Appears that way.’

  ‘Looks like Lynn’s had a good run.’ He paused and thought about that. ‘Yes, I’d say he’s well overdue,’ he said. ‘Where did he stand? Was he putting those blags together?’

  ‘It’s possible, Fred. We’ve heard nothing.’ McHale waited. ‘That’s all we have. The rest is on his CRO file.’

  ‘Makes chummy a bit more interesting. Good luck.’

  ‘You got anything for us, Fred?’

  Pyle measured the di with a look, then shook his head. ‘Only a whisper that Lynn’s putting one together. S’all. Not where, not when, not yet.’ He wasn’t about to give over his information for them to give any cid who came sniffing. Having found Lynn, he intended to nick him.

  12

  THE BLOCK OF FLATS WHERE BRIAN Finch’s girlfriend lived in West Hampstead was modern, built within the previous ten or fifteen years. It looked like it could have been council property but wasn’t – there were no prams parked either in the entrance hall or on the landing, and no graffiti on the walls. There was no lift and the flat Pyle was visiting was on the top floor, up ten flights of stairs.

  ‘Wouldn’t you know it?’ he said to dc Humphries.

  ‘Keeps you fit, guv,’ the dc replied.

  ‘I’d say I was fit enough, Rog’.’ By the fourth landing he was struggling.

  The caretaker had admitted them to the building and seemed disappointed when he was dismissed. Pyle had both the exits covered with ds Lethridge sitting in his car at one, with another two detectives waiting at the back of the building.

  The block was L-shaped, with open walkways. The door to the flat they were visiting was open, which made Pyle wary. Maybe someone had left in a hurry. Or maybe she liked fresh air. When he rang the bell a dog began barking. It was an Alsatian and came bounding along the hallway and stood at the threshold, baring its teeth, like it had something to say. dc Humphries edged back, but Pyle refused to be intimidated.

  Having done a course with dogs in the uniform branch, Pyle knew the breed well. ‘Go on, you bastard,’ he said, ‘before I break your arms!’

  The young detective grinned, still not trusting the dog.

  ‘Stop it! Stop it, Judge, that’s a good boy. Be quiet now,’ a woman said, coming along the hall. The dog quietened as she caught him by the choke chain. ‘Most people run from Judge,’ she said to Pyle, softening her tone now. ‘You’re very brave.’

  ‘Of course I’m brave,’ he replied with an expressionless face. ‘I’m a police officer.’

  For a moment she appeared nonplussed, losing the haunted look she carried. She was in her late twenties, attractive in a tired, greasy-skinned sort of way, with a good face that had a strong bone structure. Her body was well shaped, Pyle noticed, and carried her jeans on her hips with a T-shirt worn without a bra under it. He used a simple measure for categorising women: those he’d give one, and those he wouldn’t. He’d give this woman more than one.

  ‘Is that who you are?’ she said. ‘Police?’

  ‘S’Brian Finch here, love?’

  She started to shake her head as Pyle pushed into the flat without awaiting an invite.

  ‘Do you have such a thing as a warrant?’ The protest was feeble. The dog remained silent.

  ‘Of course,’ Pyle said over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket, as if to produce the appropriate paper as dc Humphries followed him in. ‘Roger,’ – indicating a bedroom off the hall to be searched and heading into the other room without producing his warr
ant.

  The small living room was over-stuffed, with nowhere to conceal the man they were looking for, Pyle saw at a glance. Humphries was almost as swift searching the bedroom. That left just a bathroom and small kitchen to search. Finch wasn’t in either.

  ‘Now perhaps you’ll believe me.’

  Pyle looked at her, feeling himself reacting to her hostility. Something about angry women always aroused pockets of sexual interest in him and he had never quite worked out why. Perhaps it was because it provided a potential opportunity -to do them violence. ‘Slip down and check with Sergeant Lethridge,’ he said to the dc. ‘Chummy might have got out ahead of us.’

  With great care the dc stepped around the dog and went.

  Pyle watched the woman.

  ‘Where’s your warrant?’ she demanded.

  ‘What warrant’s that? Didn’t you invite us in to search? Oh, I thought you did,’ he said. ‘I thought you said, come in, have a look round, mind the dog.’

  Anger was coming off her in waves as she glared at him, and he felt himself getting more aroused. Having a hard-on twice in twelve hours was unusual.

  ‘How long’s he been gone, love?’

  ‘How long has who been gone? Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Going to make me work for the info’, are you? All right, what’s your name?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just keeps the paperwork straight, s’all.’

  ‘It’s Finch. Elizabeth Finch, Brian’s wife.’

  Pyle would have known she was lying even without having earlier visited Finch’s real wife over at Paddington. He had cracked some of the best liars around, and she didn’t rate. ‘If you want to be difficult, we can go to the local nick. Somehow, I don’t think you’ll like it. A right pisshole.’ He waited, letting his eyes bore into her until she glanced away. ‘If you are his wife we can do him for bigamy as well. We just left Mrs Finch. Nice woman. Mouthy, but then she knows he’s at it!’

  ‘Brian’s not married,’ she said, without confidence.

  ‘Not to you, he’s not.’ He continued to watch her, noticing the effect this information was having. ‘Why are you wasting your time with a villain, a good-looking girl like you? Brian knows he’s got some coming. S’why he legged it like he did.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me he was married,’ she said.

  ‘No? I don’t think I’d tell you I was married if I was looking to give you one.’ In fact, he’d make a point of doing so as he guessed she would appreciate that kind of honesty, and that level of honesty was easy enough. ‘What’s your name, your proper name?’ He knew, but answers to such questions were the starting point for any successful interview.

  ‘Libby Howard,’ she answered.

  He nodded. ‘What are you doing with him, Libby? Slags, they’re about his mark.’ She didn’t answer. ‘Oh, I suppose he has a certain attraction. Most villains do. You’d be surprised some of the women they manage to pull. You must like suffering.’

  The Alsatian, which had been lying near her feet, raised its head and began growling as dc Humphries returned.

  ‘There’s a good dog.’ The dc sounded nervous. ‘Good doggy.’

  ‘He’s more sense than to bite you, Rog’. Any sign?’

  ‘No, nothing, guv.’

  ‘He wasn’t here,’ Libby Howard said.

  Pyle inclined his head to the dc, indicating for him to leave. ‘Tell Eric to get down to Peckham. I’ll see him there.’

  The dog growled some more as Humphries went out again.

  ‘D’you train him to do that? Bark at detectives?’ At last she smiled.

  ‘What’s this? A smile – thought I had struck granite here. Always comes as a bit of a surprise to find you’ve been sleeping with a liar.’ She gave him a startled look. ‘That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think I can help you,’ she said.

  ‘Come on, you haven’t tried.’

  ‘I can’t help you – I have a bad headache.’

  ‘The local nick won’t improve it, Libby. Make yourself some tea. Take a couple of those.’ Pyle produced a flat silver foil pack of Disprin. ‘Policemen get headaches too. I’ll have a cup with you.’

  She hesitated and looked at him, then took the tablets.

  In the kitchen he picked up letters that were placed between a storage jar and the wall at the end of the shelf and glanced over them while Libby Howard waited for the kettle to boil.

  ‘They’re private letters!’ She reached for them, but he pulled his hand back.

  ‘You shouldn’t keep secrets from me, Libby,’ he said. ‘How long have you known Brian?’

  She shrugged. ‘What do you want him for?’

  ‘You trying to tell me you don’t know?’

  ‘I don’t. Why should I?’ She seemed surprised.

  ‘Villains have a lot of bunny. They never leave off telling people what they’ve done. That’s why we catch so many, not because we’re geniuses.’ He saw her take up a pale green tea packet. ‘What’s that, China tea?’

  ‘Japanese. It’s the only sort I have.’

  ‘Better make mine coffee.’

  ‘Gosh, you really are presumptuous,’ she said as she took down coffee.

  He nodded, it might have been an apology. ‘Being a policeman as long as I have makes me like it. You don’t even realise you’re like it at times.’ He nodded again.

  Libby Howard gave him a look, giving no indication of suspecting this change of attitude was a ploy. Pyle knew if you offered a little of yourself, as he had, you made the person you were dealing with beholden to you in some way, wanting to try to please you.

  ‘Is he in serious trouble when you find him?’

  ‘There’s a bank robbery down to him.’

  ‘Oh well, banks have loads of money,’ she tried, as if trying to cover her surprise.

  ‘More than I’ve got, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘A guard was hurt. He’s in a bad way. Still, that’s nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Course you didn’t. Why would you?’

  She was silent as she offered him black coffee.

  ‘You got some milk, love?’ She got it from the fridge

  Pyle watched her, no longer wondering whether he might get into her pants, but when. He changed tack, deciding that she hadn’t yet quite written the villain off. ‘He can help himself, of course. It’s not all down to him. That’s not how the other guy we nicked is telling it,’ he lied. ‘He says it’s all down to Brian. Everyone tries to save himself when he’s up against it. A fact of life – never was any honour among thieves.’ He shrugged, as if apologising for having disillusioned her. He sipped his coffee. ‘Did you take your tablets?’

  She retrieved the foil tray and handed them back. ‘I have some, thanks. It’s not too bad.’

  He nodded, like any relief was his doing. His eyes circled the kitchenette. Earthenware pots and crockery were arranged along the pine shelves. She was a neat person but there was something disturbing about this order, like it was a denial of chaos. This made him more curious about her relationship with Finch, involving herself with the obvious chaos surrounding his life.

  ‘What do you do for a living, Libby?’

  ‘I’m a window dresser,’ she said.

  More order. Pyle smiled. It was the first time he had done so.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Course. Why would you lie? I was thinking about a lad who kept a couple of female mannequins. The closest he got to a relationship with a woman. A bit of a sad case – ended up in Broadmoor. He couldn’t be helped at all.’

  ‘Will you help Brian when you get him?’

  ‘I don’t like seeing people taking stick for other people’s vill
ainy. I can’t promise I will, love. I mean, I’ll help him if he lets me. First, we have to find him.’ He paused. ‘You any idea where he might be?’

  Libby Howard hesitated, and Pyle knew just how helpful she would be.

  ‘There are a couple of names he mentioned. Friends of his. I don’t know them, but I suppose he could be with them.’

  Pyle didn’t say anything. He waited for her to put up the names, knowing that was going to be just the start.

  13

  ‘SOME OF US HAVE DONE a day’s work here, guv,’ ds Lethridge said as he came in through the back reception area at Peckham police station with dc Humphries. The corpulent ds looked at the time as he hitched up his trousers.

  ‘It’s results that count, son,’ Pyle said. ‘That right, Rog’?’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ the dc replied, giving a sheepish grin.

  ‘How d’you get on?’ Lethridge asked.

  ‘Oh, she came round all right. She put up a couple of names.’ Pyle produced his notebook and considered the names he had been given. ‘Send the lads out visiting, Eric. A chance Finch might be there.’

  ‘You were up there long enough,’ the ds said. ‘D’you give her one?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind. Wouldn’t mind one little bit. I will have to pop back for a statement.’ He smiled at the prospect. In other circumstances he’d have sent someone else.

  Lethridge grinned. ‘Old slags can come to the station and make their statements! What’s she like? Any good?’

  ‘I’ve fucked worse. A lot worse,’ he said, giving nothing. ‘How are the bodies shaping?’

  ‘Clark’s still asking for his brief. He put up one or two. So did the gun dealer.’ He handed him the statement. ‘Jack’s out visiting now.’

  ‘What about Harding? What’s he have to say?’

  ‘He’s missing his family.’

  ‘About right. I’ll have a word with him.’ He shut the folder.

  #

  ‘My governor wasn’t interested in doing business with you,’ he said to Clifford Harding in the cell at the police station. It might have been some cruel game he was playing, but there was more to it than that.