‘Shelters. .? Back to Salford?’
‘Can’t go home — not like this. . half-starved, dressed in rags — such an admission of failure. If I go to a shelter I’ll get dragged back here.’
‘Who by?’
‘Yates. Who do you think?’ She lowered her voice and glanced around her. ‘These walls have ears. . seems like it anyway.’
‘You’re paranoid.’
‘Believe me, there must be hidden microphones. . Mary, is it?’
‘Penny.’
‘I’m Josie. That accent, Stoke-on-Trent?’
‘Yes, that way. . the Potteries.’
‘Been in London long?’
‘Just less than two years. Can’t go back for the same reason as you. . too proud to admit defeat.’
‘It traps you like that, London does. That’s what Gaynor’s problem was.’
‘Gaynor?’
‘The Welsh girl, she had the room you’re in. She was murdered in there. . remember. . we told you. .’
‘Yes. .’
‘Best not to ask too many questions, but like we said, she was brought home by the guy whose room it really was — brought her in off the street, just to keep her safe. He was going to send her home and he also wanted away from Yates. They both made the wrong sort of noises. . so follow my drift?’
‘Yes, I think so. Am I in danger?’
‘We all are — that’s why her majesty upstairs is on edge. She runs this house for Yates; she tells him everything that goes on here.’ Josie Pinder’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She would have told him about Mickey Dalkeith and Gaynor planning to leave.’
‘Why didn’t he want them to leave?’ Yewdall paused. ‘Sorry, questions. . I shouldn’t ask. . you’re right. . that’s good advice.’
‘Best remember it, but Mickey was a long-time member of Yates’s firm, more than a gofer. . not real high up but high up enough to know where all the bodies is buried, makes him a liability. Yates had Gaynor strangled in Mickey Dalkeith’s room so Mickey would get fingered for it if he ran, but Mickey does not come home as expected. . turns out he went to sleep on Hampstead Heath instead. He told Sonya where he was going, and Yates and one of his heavies went after him. . followed a set of footprints on the off chance and came across Mickey Dalkeith lying there. So I was told, anyway.’
‘Asleep?’
‘In the snow. . hypothermia. . suicide, I reckon. He must have thought it was his only exit.’
‘I see.’
‘So the police came here investigating Mickey’s death and found Gaynor’s body, put two and two together — Mickey’s slain Gaynor and then topped himself by lying down in the snow rather than do life. So Yates is well pleased. He’s off the hook and Mickey’s not a threat to him no more. But things have not gone away for some reason I don’t know about. The filth is still sniffing around Yates and Bowling.’
‘Bowling?’
‘His female oppo. Watch her if you run into her; they say she’s worse than him.’
‘OK, thanks for the warning.’
‘So that’s why she’s on edge.’ Josie Pinder pointed to the room she shared with Sonya Clements. ‘She came back from the garage yesterday. She had to watch one of Yates’s heavies get a kicking.’
‘The garage?’
‘Yes, a lock-up really, under the railway arches, down the East End somewhere. I’ve never been there myself. He’d been lifted by the filth who took him in for a chat. He says he didn’t say anything to the filth but he got a kicking anyway as a warning. He was one of the heavies who iced Dunwoodie, so he can damage Yates if he wants to do so. You know, turn Queen’s evidence, go into witness protection. This guy, Clive someone, he swore blind he didn’t tell the filth anything, but he got a kicking anyway. . like just a gentle — a very, very gentle — reminder not to ever say anything. . not ever.’
‘Blimey.’
‘So she came back shaking like a leaf ’cos she’d seen a kicking before, but not like that, she says. Went on all day, it did. They stopped for lunch and carried on in the afternoon. They left him on the pavement a mile or so away. Let him be found and taken to hospital. He’ll still be bruised in six months’ time and every waking movement for him will be agony. But you’ll see a kicking.’
‘I will?’
‘Yes. You’re a gofer aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’
‘Have you done an errand, delivered a message or a parcel?’
‘A parcel.’
‘OK, so you’re a gofer, you’re in the firm. You’ll be collected to witness a kicking if someone gets out of order, and they tell you that’s what’ll happen to you if you get left field. Being a girl makes no difference.’
There was the sound of movement from upstairs.
‘She’s getting up.’ Josie Pinder grimaced. ‘She’ll want her tea.’ She stood and partly filled the battered aluminium kettle with water, then ignited a gas ring on the oven and placed the kettle on the flames.
‘How do I get out?’ Yewdall asked plaintively. ‘This is getting too much for me.’
‘You don’t, sweetheart. Feet first possibly. Other than that you don’t get out.’ Josie Pinder reached for a clean mug and placed a little milk into it. ‘You’re in. . and believe me. . you’d better keep your pretty little nose clean, as clean as a whistle. Cleaner.’
Vicary sat down in the chair in front of the desk in the interview suite at New Scotland Yard. ‘We meet again, Mr Yates.’
‘Seems so.’ Curtis Yates was dressed casually in closely fitting casual clothes that showed off his muscular build. ‘So what’s this about?’
‘A chat.’ Vicary smiled. ‘Just a chat.’
‘Then why has my client been arrested?’ The middle-aged man wearing a pinstripe suit who sat next to Yates spoke with a soft voice, which Vicary thought could be disarming if he let it. It seemed to Vicary that he was the embodiment of Teddy Roosevelt’s advice to ‘speak softly and carry a big stick’, a man, thought Vicary, not be underestimated.
‘Because I am doing him a favour.’ Vicary smiled at the lawyer, one Kieran Worth, of Worth, Lockwood and Company. The Rolex on his left wrist spoke clearly of the level of fees he commanded. ‘If he’ll let me.’
‘You want to do me a favour?’ Yates sneered. ‘Don’t go putting yourself out for nothing.’
‘Well, you scratch my back,’ Vicary replied calmly. ‘But we’ve been investigating you.’
‘I know you have. Don’t got nowhere, do you?’
‘Closer than you think. You know we can link you to the murder of Rosemary Halkier. Remember her? Ten years ago now she was your girl. We can link you to Michael Dalkeith’s death, and you’re there in the background of Gaynor Davies’ murder. You see our interest, Curtis? You don’t mind if I call you Curtis?’
‘Don’t mind.’
‘We really want to talk to Rusher. Can’t remember his name but it’s in the file. It’s quite thick now. . the file. . our witness gave a good description of him. Quite close when Rusher was battering Mr Dunwoodie to death in the alley. The geezer with Rusher said, “That’s enough, Rusher”, but Rusher kept on battering away saying, “The boss wants him dead”. So, if we can find Rusher. . and he tells us you’re the boss in question. . well, then, then you go down, for a long stretch. All this smoke that surrounds you, Curtis, this odour of suspicion, it smells like Billingsgate Market at the end of a long summer’s day. Have you ever smelled rotten fish, Curtis? Got a distinct smell all its own it has, like fear. You must have smelled fear from someone. . quite often I imagine.’
‘Maybe. .’
Vicary leaned forward. ‘You see, Curtis, it’s time to think. . now. . off the record — off the record, you won’t be prosecuted for all the men and women you’ve chilled or had chilled. So in a sense you’ll get away with those murders.’
