Anderson took time to think about his options. Meanwhile, Gilbert had got upright and was now standing directly in front of the car to prevent it from moving on — brave, but not necessarily wise.
‘Turn off the engine,’ Ingeborg told the driver. She couldn’t see his face, just his black hands resting on the wheel.
It didn’t happen.
‘Tell him,’ she said to Anderson with more insistence.
Anderson gave a nod and the driver obeyed.
‘I was on my way home,’ Anderson said as he emerged from the car. ‘Can we keep this brief?’ He was at least a foot taller than either of them and he moved as if he spent time in the gym.
Ingeborg had the initiative now and she intended to keep it. ‘What were you doing in there? Not your kind of music.’
‘Bar billiards. The only decent table in my neighbourhood.’
‘I didn’t see you playing.’
He shrugged and the wedge of white increased in size. ‘Changed my mind, didn’t I? There was an unpleasant smell in there … of pigs.’
She ignored the taunt. She wanted cooperation. She was trying to think where best to take him. ‘You say you want to keep it short. Tell your driver to pull in to the side of the street and wait for you.’
This relaxed Anderson a little. He nodded to the driver. Gilbert stepped around the car and joined the other two.
‘We’ll take a short walk up the street,’ Ingeborg said, still reassuring. ‘This isn’t about you. It’s about the officer who was shot on Saturday night. Harry Tasker. You knew him, didn’t you?’
They started a slow stroll in the direction of the city centre.
‘I had no dealings with Harry,’ Anderson said.
‘We were told you might know about some of the people he spoke to on his beat.’
‘Small fry. Kids, mostly,’ he said. ‘They’re the ones need keeping in order, right?’
‘Students, you mean?’
‘Younger than that, sixteen, seventeen. Should be at home, doing their school work instead of making trouble, graffiti and that.’
‘There’s not a lot of graffiti here.’
‘Like I say, Constable Harry kept them in line.’
‘Are there any he didn’t keep in line, the over-twenties maybe? You know why I’m asking, Anderson? Some crazy person was way out of order taking a shot at him.’
He went silent again. His heels had metal tips that clipped on the paving stones. Club XL was on the left, probably the last place Harry Tasker had visited before he was shot. Like most of Bath’s nightclubs, it occupied an old building. In this case a carved stone over the entrance said ESTD 1798. Established as a
‘This is your manor, isn’t it?’ Ingeborg pressed him. ‘What’s going on? Walcot is swarming with cops and pressmen. You don’t want that kind of attention.’
‘If I knew who shot the cop, I’d tell you,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked around. Nobody knows.’
‘We’re not suggesting you know,’ Gilbert said, picking up on Ingeborg’s approach. ‘We’re looking for help. Was there anyone who could have felt threatened by Harry?’
‘I’m not a mind reader.’
‘Try.’
‘I told you, man. He was looking out for small fry, juveniles. He had the sense not to mess with grown-ups like me.’
‘Any juveniles in particular?’
‘I keep my distance.’
‘Sensible,’ Ingeborg chimed in. ‘As a grown-up it can’t be any pleasure being questioned about their misdemeanours.’
‘You said it, lady.’
‘At the same time, being a man of some influence in the community, you must have taken an interest. Were there any juveniles giving Harry a hard time?’
Anderson shook his head.
‘Looking at it another way,’ she said. ‘Was Harry giving any of the kids a hard time?’
He clearly enjoyed that. His gold teeth glinted in the street lighting.
‘What exactly was going on?’ Ingeborg pressed him. This was all against her resolve to stay loyal to a brother officer, but there was something in Anderson’s smile. The truth had to come out if it was buried. ‘Some kind of scam?’
‘Your word, lady, not mine,’ Anderson said.
‘Was Harry threatening the teenagers?’
‘Whatever he did, it worked.’
‘Until Saturday, when he was shot. I need to know more, Anderson. We’re investigating murder, not some dodgy arrangement with tearaway kids.’
‘I can’t tell you who topped him, or why.’
‘You’d better tell me about the scam.’
‘It was small beer. Harry knew what the kids were up to, who was dealing, who was stealing. He turned a blind eye mostly and they paid him when he chose to look and caught them off-base.’
‘Paid him cash?’
‘Cash and kind. Not many kids have cash in hand.’
She felt an uprush of revulsion. ‘What are you hinting at, Anderson? Give it to me straight.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, sister. I mean a stash of the stuff they were dealing in. His way of dealing with juveniles was confiscation.’ He intoned every syllable of the last word like a line of rap. ‘No harm in that.’ He laughed. ‘Confiscation.’
Ingeborg said in Harry’s defence, ‘You couldn’t be more right. There’s nothing wrong in that. His duty was to take possession.’
‘Sure, and they wouldn’t hear any more until the next time they were caught.’
That, certainly, was all against the rules. ‘Are we talking drugs?’
‘And any junk they lifted from the tourists. Bath is one big sweetshop and the sweets are mostly mobiles, cameras and nice designer bags.’
‘He would confiscate these things — is that what you’re saying?’
‘Haven’t I made that clear already?’
‘It doesn’t sound enough to justify murder.’
‘Probably not.’
She had a strong sense that Anderson knew more and might be persuaded to reveal something in a different league from stolen phones. ‘Is it possible Harry got into something major, something that put his life at risk?’
Anderson walked on for some seconds as if pondering the question. More likely, Ingeborg suspected, he was weighing the risk of opening up to the police. In the circles he moved in, there were definite no-nos and informing was high on the scale. Yet he seemed to be tempted.
‘There is one kid, a rich kid,’ he said finally. ‘Likes to think he should have respect. What is it they say? — a rich man’s joke is always funny. Wears all the latest gear, rides a five grand Japanese bike. What he’s got is folding stuff, any amount. He trades in larger items. Don’t know if you’d call them major.’
‘What items?’
He laughed. ‘How would I know? He doesn’t want money my black hands have touched.’
‘Is he a racist, then?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You say he wants respect,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Doesn’t he get it?’
‘A good name is better than wealth. Isn’t that the truth?’
Ingeborg was getting impatient with the axioms. ‘What’s the link with Harry Tasker?’
