“What’s your mate’s name again?”
“John.”
“John what.”
“John Fairley. It’s just a junk shop. You know, old 78s,
second-hand furniture, the odd antique. Nothing really valuable. We empty out old people’s houses, when they snuff it, like.”
“Nothing new? No televisions, stereos, videos?”
“You’re at it again. I told you I had nothing to do with that. Let it drop.”
“What’s he look like, this John Fairley?”
“Pretty ordinary.”
“You can do better than that.”
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing. He’s strong, you know, stocky, muscular. He’s a nice bloke, John, decent as they come.”
“What colour’s his hair?”
“Black. Like yours.”
But Banks could see the guilt and anxiety in Poole’s eyes. John’s shop was where they fenced the stuff, all right, and John Fairley’s description matched that of the man Edwina Whixley had seen coming down from Carl Johnson’s flat, vague as it was.
“Do we know him, Les?”
“Shouldn’t think so. I told you, he’s straight.”
“If I went to see this mate of yours, this John, he’d tell me you were in the shop all evening Thursday, would he?”
“Well, not all evening. We worked a bit late, unloading a van full of stuff from some old codger from the Leaview Estate who croaked a few weeks back.”
“What time did you finish?”
“About seven o’clock.”
“And where did you go after that?”
“Pub.”
“Of course. Which one?”
“Well, first we went to The Oak. That’s the nearest to Rampart Street. Had a couple there, just to rinse the dust out of my mouth, like, then later we went down the local,
The Barleycorn.”
“I assume you were seen at these places?” “I suppose so. That’s what I did. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Les.” “What?”
“Hope to die. Look what happened to Carl Johnson.” Poole swallowed. “That’s got nothing to do with me.” “But we don’t know why he was killed, do we? Let’s just take a hypothetical scenario, all right? A sort of falling out among thieves. Say Carl was involved in the Fletcher’s warehouse job, and say there were two or three others in on it as well. Now, maybe Carl got too greedy, or maybe he tried to stick away a few pieces of merchandise for himself?like one of his accomplices might have done, too?you know, a nice new telly, and maybe a stereo. Follow my drift so far?” Poole nodded.
“Good. So let’s say one of these thieves doesn’t have much regard for human life. He gets mad at Carl, arranges to meet him to discuss the problem, persuades him to go for a ride, then guts him. Now, what do you think this bloke, who’s already killed once, might do if he gets wind there’s a problem with another of his accomplices?”
Poole’s jaw dropped.
“What’s wrong, Les? Cat got your tongue?” Poole shook his head. “Nothing. I ain’t done nothing.” “So you keep saying. Say it often enough and you might believe it, but I won’t. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me, Les? Maybe you met this bloke, or maybe Carl talked about him. I’d hate to have to hang around some filthy old lead mine while the doc tried to stuff you into a body sack withoi. spilling your guts all over the dirt.”
Poole put his hands over his ears. “Stop it!” he yelled. “It’s not bloody fair. You can’t do this to me!”
Banks slammed the desk. “Yes, I bloody well can,” he said. “And I’ll go on doing it until I find out the truth. If I have to, I’ll lock you up. More likely I’ll just let you go and tell the press you were kind enough to give us a few tips on the warehouse job. What’s it to be, Les? Your choice.”
Poole looked around the office like a caged animal. Seeing no way out, he sagged in his chair and muttered, “All right. You’re a bastard, you know.”
Banks glanced over at Susan Gay. She turned a page in her notebook.
“Look, about this ‘ypo-whatsit story of yours,” Poole said.
“Hypothetical.”
“That’s right. I mean, you can’t pin owt on anyone for just telling an ‘ypothetical story, can you?”
Banks grabbed his coffee mug, pushed his chair back, put his feet on the desk and lit a cigarette. “Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “Just tell us about the bloke, Les. Talk to me. I’m listening.”
“Yeah, well, I did bump into Carl a couple of times, accidental like. We had a jar or two now and then, talked about old times. There was this mate he mentioned. I didn’t want to say before because I didn’t want to get
