nothing about it.’
‘Yeah, well.’ He sounded very tired. ‘I’m thinking of jacking it in, anyway. Shirley wants me to, and I reckon she’s right. Her young brother is earning twice what I am, and he gets home regular at six each night, and he doesn’t ’ave to put up with people wanting to poke him one, or trying to stick a syringe in ’is face.’
‘Yes, I understand. I’m looking to get out myself.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes. And I have nothing to complain about my boss. That must have been the worst thing for you, was it? Not having a boss who’d back you up.’
‘Yeah, that didn’t help. So why are you quitting?’
Quitting. She wished he hadn’t used that word. ‘I had a rough time on my last case. It wasn’t the first time it’s happened. I think I’ve had enough.’
He nodded sympathetically. ‘Yeah. We had a sergeant that happened to. Great bloke. Got attacked one night by three guys. He reckoned that was the end for him. Just couldn’t stomach it any more.’
And that was what they’d say, she presumed. Couldn’t stomach it any more. Lost her bottle.
‘What exactly do you want from me?’
Kathy took the photocopy of the green handbill from her pocket and handed it to the constable. ‘This was found in Springer’s room. We think it may have been intended as a threat. We haven’t been able to trace where it came from until we noticed one like it on a wall in Shadwell Road, not far from the police station. No one at the station knows who might have put it there. We wondered if you might.’
Talbot handed it back with barely a glance. ‘None of them know? The sergeant? The inspector?’
‘Right.’
He smiled bitterly. ‘No, well, they don’t get out much. Not on the beat, talking to people.’
‘Do you know, Greg?’
‘Yeah, I know who made this.’ He sat back as if he might say no more, then said, ‘They’re a crew calling themselves Islamic Action. Sounds impressive, but it’s really just three young lads who are pissed off with everything. Maybe I should join them. The leader is Ahmed Nathaniel Sharif. He gets real annoyed when you call him by his middle name. Left school two or three years ago. Quite bright really, but hasn’t got a job. People don’t like his attitude and the way he looks. He’s got dreadlocks and a feeble attempt at a beard.’
‘Arab?’
‘No, Paki, I suppose. Or Bengali. English anyway. He lives somewhere on the council estate east of Shadwell Road. The mosque will know. That’s the Twaqulia Mosque, just up the road from the police station. Speak to the imam, Mr Hashimi.’
Kathy wrote it all down, checking the spelling. ‘Thanks, Greg. I appreciate that. Brock said you know the local characters, like the Kashmiri with the runaway daughter.’
‘Mr Manzoor? Yeah, well, I didn’t tell him the worst part.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Old man Manzoor reckons his daughter’s humiliated him in the eyes of his family, and people say he’s sworn to kill her when he finds her, and the bloke she’s with. He and his two brothers are out most nights after they close up shop, cruising the East End looking for her. They think she’s still around there somewhere. That’s the main reason we’re still keeping an eye open for her, to get to her before her dad does something stupid.’
‘Nasty. You know this young Sharif lad then, do you, Greg? Has he been in trouble?’
‘About six months ago he attacked The Three Crowns-that’s the pub on Shadwell Road, just across the way from the police station.’
‘Attacked it?’
‘Yeah. Marched in one Saturday lunchtime and announced that the pub was an offence in the eyes of God, or something, and started to smash the place up. The landlord and a few of the customers managed to restrain him after a bit, but not before there’d been a good bit of damage, both to the pub and to him.’
‘What did he get?’
‘Twelve months good behaviour. He wanted to be a martyr, see, and go to jail, but the magistrate wouldn’t oblige.’
‘So he can be violent?’
‘You mean, shoot Springer?’ PC Talbot rubbed his nose doubtfully. ‘I never thought of him as bad, really, but he fills his head with these crazy religious ideas. Maybe it makes him feel important, part of something.’
‘Greg, I think you should speak to my boss about this yourself. He tells me your inspector and sergeant have agreed to cancel your suspension and give you a private apology.’
Greg nodded unhappily. ‘Yeah, I know. But the Federation want a public statement printed in The Job. Apparently there’ve been other cases like this, and they want to make an issue of it.’
Kathy felt sympathetic. Through no fault of his own, circumstances had conspired to make life difficult for PC Talbot. ‘Yes, it’s hard. I suppose that’s up to you in the end. But meantime, we need your help. Will you come back with me and speak to Brock?’
He stared gloomily down at his feet, then said, ‘I’ll talk to Shirley.’
Kathy waited by the front door to see what the answer would be. She heard Shirley’s voice, angry, and wasn’t optimistic, but eventually Talbot appeared, pulling on a coat, and they went out to the car.
He directed her to a lane running behind Shadwell Road, from which they turned into a yard behind the police station. Another vehicle was there, a van from which men were unloading folding screens. Kathy spotted Leon Desai among them, and guessed they were a forensic team, preparing to retrieve the green poster from the wall. Wayne O’Brien was with them, talking to Leon, and she said hello to them as she and Greg Talbot passed, avoiding Leon’s attempts to catch her eye.
After they’d gone inside, the Special Branch man, who had been watching Kathy meditatively, turned to Leon and said, ‘What do you reckon on her, then? Know her, do you?’
‘Yes, I know her,’ Leon replied, but didn’t offer more.
‘Well, I reckon she’s dead gorgeous. I go for that arctic blonde look, and just a hint of haggard, like she had a heavy night last night, know what I mean?’
Leon turned away with a discouraging frown. ‘No, can’t say that I do.’
But Wayne wasn’t going to be put off. ‘Come on, old son. You must know something about her. Is she hitched?’
‘She’s not married, no,’ Leon said, his disapproval beginning to sound pompous.
‘Going steady?’
Leon hesitated before replying. ‘You’re wasting your time,’ he said softly.
‘How come?’
‘Just believe me, OK? Leave her alone.’
But Wayne loved a challenge, and he hadn’t got where he was by taking things on trust.
Inside the police station Brock shepherded the reluctant PC Talbot towards the interview room, ordering coffee and cakes from the reluctant desk sergeant. He turned to Kathy with a beam of satisfaction.
‘I knew you could do it, Kathy. Well done. I’m just sorry I had to involve you. You on your way back to Suzanne now? Give her my best.’
He was in a hurry and she was being dismissed, she realised.
‘I’ve got one or two things to do in town,’ she said. ‘I’ll probably stay at my place tonight. What about the reporter, Clare Hancock?’
‘Do nothing. If she contacts you, tell her I’m thinking it over. Say it may be a day or two before we can give her an answer.’
‘Is that a good idea? Suppose she takes her material to someone else?’
‘I think she’s already worked out that we’re her best hope. At the moment it’s still our case.’
He gave her a reassuring nod and turned away. Kathy dug her hands in the deep pockets of her coat, feeling suddenly dispensable and at a loss.
‘Hi there!’
She turned to face Wayne O’Brien, a big infectious grin on his face. ‘It’s my lunchtime. How about you? Fancy another expedition into the Hindu Kush?’
She smiled back, grateful. ‘Don’t they need you here?’
