involved, not now that I’m going straight and all?What’s up with you?”
“Sorry, Les,” Banks said. “Just a bit of coffee went down the wrong way. Carry on. Tell me about this mate of Carl’s.”
Poole scowled. “Anyway, I remembered from the time inside, like, this bloke he used to talk about sometimes, like it was his hero or something. I never met him myself, but just hearing about him gave me the creeps.
Funny that, like Carl seemed to get some kind of kick out of telling me about this bloke and what he did and all that, but to me it was a bit over the top. I mean, I’m no fucking angel, I’ll admit that, but I’ve got my limits. I never hurt anyone. Remember, this is all ‘ypothetical.”
“The man, Les.”
“Hold on, I’m getting to him. Anyways, as I was saying, Carl said he was here in Eastvale. Well, that’s when I cut out. I didn’t want nothing to do with them. I didn’t want to get mixed up in anything.”
“What didn’t you want to get mixed up in, Les?”
“You know, anything, like, criminal.”
“I see. Were they in on the Fletcher’s warehouse job? Johnson and this other bloke.”
“I think so. But like I said, I stayed well away after I heard this bloke was in town.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Not much to tell. Like I said, I never met him. According to Carl, he’s never been inside, yet he’s been up to more evil than many as have.”
“What kind of evil?”
“You name it. If what Carl says is right, this bloke worked with some of the London mobs, you know, peddling porn and hurting people who wouldn’t pay up, but now he’s gone freelance. Bit of a rover. Never stays in one place very long. Got lots of contacts.”
“And he’s never been inside?”
“Not as anyone knows of.” Poole leaned forward. “Look, Mr Banks,” he said, licking his lips. “This bloke’s really nasty, know what I mean? Carl told me he was in a fish-and-chip shop once and got arguing with the woman in front. She was carrying a dog with her, like, one of those little Pekinese things, and this bloke just plucked it out of her arms and flung it in the frier then walked out cool as a cucumber. He’s a nutter. I
didn’t want nothing to do with him.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” said Banks. “What’s his name?”
“Dunno. Carl never said.”
“Les!”
“Look, I don’t want anyone knowing I?”
“Just between you and me, Les. Off the record.”
“You promise?”
“I’m in the business of preventing crime, remember? It’d hardly be in my interests to have another murder on my patch, would it? And you’ve no idea how much I’d miss you.”
“Huh. Even so …”
“Les.”
Poole paused. “All right, all right. I’ll trust you?still ‘ypothetical, like. All I know is his name is Olivers. It’s pronounced with a ‘sh’, like in shivers. I don’t know if it’s his real name or a nickname.”
“What does he look like?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I never met him.”
Banks wasn’t convinced. For a start, he was certain that Poole had been connected with the Fletcher’s warehouse job, and now it seemed a good bet that Johnson and this Chivers person had been involved, too, along with John Fairley, the junk-shop owner. He could understand Poole’s not wishing to implicate himself, of course, especially as it was now a matter of murder.
The thing to remember about Les Poole was that he had spent time inside; he knew the value of information and of silence. He knew how to get as much slack as he could while giving as little as possible in return. Maybe he was a small-time crook, a coward and a bully, not too bright, but he knew the ropes; he knew how to duck and dodge to save his own neck, how to measure out exactly enough co-operation to get himself out of trouble. Banks
sensed that he was holding back, that he had met this Chivers, but there was no percentage in pushing him yet. They needed more leverage, and Poole was right about one thing: impounding Brenda Scupham’s television would look very bad indeed.
“Is he still in Eastvale?”
“Dunno. Don’t think so.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”
“No. ‘Cept I’d stay out of his way if I were you. Carl said he had this bird and—”
“What bird’s this, Les?”
“This bird Chivers had with him. Some blonde hint. Apparently, he always has a bit of spare with him. The lasses like him. Must be his unpredictable, violent nature.”
They liked Les, too, Banks remembered, and wondered if there had been a spot of bother about this blonde. Maybe Les had made a pass and Chivers put a scare in him. Or maybe Carl Johnson had. It wasn’t so difficult, he thought, to fill in the rest from the scraps Poole dished out.
