her feel more unafraid than most women would be in such circumstances, but Greenwich being Greenwich, she never had to put her training to use. She returned to her modest house, made a cup of cocoa and had an early night. Her house was small, but it was hers. She liked it like that, and she liked it like that in Greenwich. She felt that no other part of London would work for her the way Greenwich worked for her.
The man and the woman held hands and stood up in the hushed room. The man spoke. He said, ‘Hello, we are Harry and Kathleen and we are alcoholics.’
The people in the room answered, ‘Hello Harry and Kathleen.’
FOUR
DS Victor Swannell eased his bulk gently into Harry Vicary’s office and sat with controlled ease in the vacant chair between Ainsclough and Yewdall, and, looking to his left and right, said, ‘Hello, nice to be back.’
Vicary smiled. ‘Nice to have you back, and how you are needed. Things have been developing whilst you’ve been away.’
‘I’m all ears, sir.’ Swannell sipped his tea.
Vicary briefed him on the case so far and then moved on to more recent developments.
‘Now, Frank came to see me this morning and there is an issue which may come to something: we have ascertained Pilcher is aka Curtis Yates.’
Vicary held eye contact with Swannell.
‘Not
‘Yes, the very same.’
‘The Metropolitan Police have been after him for years. . murder. . money laundering. . drug smuggling. He’s been quiet for a long time. Didn’t he go down? He collected a ten stretch for manslaughter.’
‘Yes.’ Vicary raised his mug of tea to his lips. ‘Came out in five and seemed to have dropped off the radar.’
‘Well, if I know Curtis Yates, that just means he has been getting someone else to do his dirty for him. He has his enforcers.’
‘Seems so, because the employee of WLM Rents who permitted an item to be removed from the premises of the offices of WLM Rents was rolled the other night. . fatally so. Not just a random attack, because we apparently have a witness who claims she heard one of the attackers address the other as “Rusher”, and who also heard Rusher say “the boss wants him dead”.’
‘Rusher,’ Swannell repeated the name, ‘that handle rings bells.’
‘You know Curtis Yates?’
‘Yes, I investigated the death of a woman called Charlotte Varney. . I was on that team, anyway.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes, murdered. . some connection with Yates. We came up against a wall of silence and the case went cold. I would like to think it is going to be warmed up again. We’ll have to dig the file out, but if Yates is involved, he’ll be getting his crew to do his dirty, like I said, and they’ll all be too frightened to grass him up.’
‘Always the same,’ Ainsclough groaned. ‘The big fish make themselves untouchable unless they slip in some way.’
‘Yes. .’ Vicary took up his ballpoint pen and held it poised over his notebook. ‘We have three murders now, possibly a fourth if we include Charlotte Varney. We have the murder of Rosemary Halkier, Gaynor Davies, J.J. Dunwoodie. . and Charlotte Varney. We’ll call it four, and Curtis Yates is in the background of all but Rosemary Halkier’s, and he may be there yet. Michael Dalkeith was known to be frightened at the time he died — of what or of whom we don’t know — but was his death suicide? Did he take us to the grave of Rosemary Halkier, then lie down on top of it waiting for death to take him? But whatever happened, Curtis Yates is in the background there also — he was Dalkeith’s landlord and used him for a gofer. . so we believe.’
‘So, job sheet time.’ Yewdall smiled. ‘I sense a job sheet time coming on.’
‘It isn’t coming on — it’s already arrived. So, who’s for some action?’
‘I’d like a crack at the Dunwoodie murder.’ Brunnie sat forwards in his chair.
‘I bet you would,’ Vicary replied coldly, ‘but the answer is no. We don’t know what the repercussions of your trick with the watering can will be. If A-Ten take the hardest line possible you could be suspended pending disciplinary action.’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘But apart from that, I want professional detachment, no personal agendas. . allowing that always muddies the water and turns cops into zealots.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So I want you to team up with DC Yewdall — pick up the Rosemary Halkier case from where I left it yesterday afternoon.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘The next step there is to interview her best mate who now lives in Mill Hill. She contacted me this morning following my visiting her mother yesterday. She’s very happy to talk to us about Rosemary. We need to know what was happening in her life when she disappeared, and especially who the man she was seeing was.’
‘So, Swannell and Ainsclough, I want you on J.J. Dunwoodie’s murder. That is recent. Very recent. Give it priority, but also dig the case about Charlotte Varney’s murder out of the void, press some buttons on that one when you can.’
‘Got it, sir.’ Ainsclough glanced at Swannell.
‘Yewdall.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m also putting your name alongside the murder of Gaynor Davies.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We need to know about her, and you’ll have to represent the police when her parents view her body. That’s a single-hander. But don’t go near the address in Kilburn.’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘Right.’ The phone on Vicary’s desk rang and he picked it up. ‘DI Vicary.’ He paused and listened, and then said, ‘Alright, thank you,’ and replaced the phone. ‘That’s A-Ten to see you, Frankie.’
Brunnie nodded.
‘They’ll just take a statement in the first instance.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘After that, pick up the Rosemary Halkier enquiry.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘For myself, I am going to read files and pick brains. I want to know all I can about Mr Curtis Yates. Right. . meeting closed.’
Detective Sergeants Swannell and Ainsclough sat in DC Meadows’ unmarked car that was parked at the kerb in Kilburn High Road, close to the junction with Messina Avenue, and close to the alley in which J.J. Dunwoodie was beaten to death. It was a cold day with intermittent showers that fell from the low grey cloud which hung over all London. The pedestrians on the greasy pavements huddled in overcoats, and many women had plastic covers over their heads. Occasionally an aircraft was heard, but not seen, flying overhead on its final approach to Heathrow airport.
The police officers sat in a calm, relaxed silence with Meadows in the driving seat, Swannell beside him and Ainsclough in the offside rear seat. A traffic warden approached and tapped on the front nearside window. Swannell wound down the window and, without speaking, showed the traffic warden his ID. The traffic warden nodded and walked on.
‘That sort of thing could blow a surveillance operation,’ Meadows commented.
‘We’d allow for it.’ Swannell replaced his ID. ‘It just wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t park like this, three geezers in a car on a yellow line. Any boy scout could figure us for the law, let alone the nasties.’
‘Suppose,’ Meadows replied and glanced at his wristwatch, which showed the time to be mid-morning. ‘She’ll
