become a full-blown junkie. His father had expelled him from the family and none of his siblings would talk to him.
By that time, he was already enamoured with what had to him become a charming alternate reality: the East End and the ordinary lives of ordinary people. Even in his early twenties, he had felt more at home enjoying a pint of brown ale and a knees-up at the local boozer than back on the playing fields of Eton or at Royal Ascot. Rejection by his own family had strengthened these feelings, and with surprising ease he had become part of the Stepney scene. Later, he had fallen in with the gang lords, worked as an accountant for the Krays, spent five years in jail, and then simply turned to a life of wandering around the East End, day after day, week after week, decade upon decade.
As a boy, Pendragon had seen Sammy Samson around Stepney. Even then, the lapsed aristocrat had been a local celebrity. So it was perhaps not surprising that when Jack took the job at Brick Lane, Sammy had been one of the first people he had asked after. When he discovered the man was very much alive and an active police snout, he had reached out to him. Sammy always kept an ear to the ground, and what he did not know about the goings-on in the East End crime world was not worth pursuing. Now in his mid-sixties, Sammy looked seventy-five. He was pretty much broken beyond repair, surviving from day to day. Pendragon liked him a lot.
‘So what may I do for you, Pendragon?’ Sammy asked, knocking back his drink in one. ‘Might there be value in my enlightened observations on recent unhappy goings-on?’
‘I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, Sammy. You always were an astute man.’
‘Ah, my dear boy, flattery will get you everywhere.’
Pendragon signalled to the barman, and a few moments later another brandy appeared at Sammy Samson’s elbow. ‘Very gracious of you,’ the old man said and raised the glass, downing only half its contents this time.
Pendragon looked around. They could not be overheard here. ‘To be specific,’ he said as Sammy eyed the rest of the brandy, ‘we’re trying to piece together a
Sammy considered Pendragon with intelligent eyes. ‘An office? Something of that nature?’
‘No. Larger. More industrial.’
‘A derelict factory or school?’
‘Maybe, or a warehouse perhaps.’
‘I see,’ Sammy said slowly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. Pendragon noted the holes in the soles of his decades-old handmade brogues. ‘I will have to give that some thought,’ he said. ‘Ask around. What … er … what sort of remuneration are we thinking of, Pendragon? Only, you understand, I’ll have expenses to consider.’
He gave the older man a brief smile. ‘Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ve always looked after you, haven’t I?’
‘Indeed you have, dear boy. Indeed you have. While we’re on the subject of Mammon, I may already have some snippets of information concerning the case under investigation.’
‘Snippets of information?’ Pendragon gave him a crooked smile.
Sammy nodded and a glint came to his eyes. ‘I should remind you I was once given the epithet “the eyes and ears of Stepney”.’
Pendragon laughed and shook his head. ‘Honestly, Sammy, you’re worth every penny for the sheer entertainment value.’
Sammy’s ravaged face broke into an indignant expression. ‘Well, I suppose I must consider that a compliment.’
‘What have you heard?’
‘That depends. How entertaining have I been?’
Pendragon sighed, withdrew his wallet from his inside pocket and pulled out a?20 note. Sammy took it and pushed his glass forward an inch. Pendragon nudged it back. ‘Let’s hear it first, Sammy.’
‘Well, how should I put this? Your first victim, the gallery owner … he was very friendly with the descendants of my former associates.’
Pendragon fixed the old man with his eyes. ‘Kingsley Berrick had gangland connections?’
Sammy Samson nodded.
‘What sort of connections?’
‘That’s the limit of my current knowledge on the subject, Chief Inspector.’
‘Come on, Sammy.’
‘God’s honest … as my local friends would put it.’ And he held his hands up, palms out.
Pendragon gave him a sceptical look. ‘So you’re telling me you’ve just heard it through the grapevine? No details?’
‘You now know everything I do.’
Chapter 24
Brick Lane, Stepney, Saturday
‘All right, Jack. Let’s have an update.’
They were in the Super’s office. Jill Hughes sat at one end of the leather sofa, Pendragon at the other. Hughes was nursing a cup of tea. The door was closed, keeping out the noise from the station. The clock on the desk told them it had just passed midday.
‘Well, so far we’ve got a miscellaneous collection of facts. All useful, but none of it seems to fit together.’
‘Explain.’
‘First, we have the forensics and path reports. Turner and I had a thorough debriefing from Jones and Newman over at Lambeth this morning. Appears that both victims died from a massive heroin overdose. No,’ Pendragon added quickly, seeing the Super’s expression, ‘I don’t think either of them was an addict. The heroin was injected straight into their brains. That’s what killed them. They also found Thursk’s DNA in Berrick’s remains.’
Hughes looked suitably surprised. ‘So they were obviously well acquainted,’ she said dryly. ‘And Berrick’s business partner, Mr Price, reckons that Berrick and Norman Hedridge were a couple at one time?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you’re leaning towards this being a sexually motivated murder? A jealous ex-partner, perhaps?’
‘No, I’m not. I don’t think there’s anything in that idea at all.’
‘Why not?’
‘The murders are all too elaborate, ma’am. Too staged. I think the killer is clearly warped, but my gut tells me this has nothing to do with sex.’
‘The Surrealist link?’
‘Yes.’
‘Couldn’t it be some sort of in-joke? A very black joke? Maybe the motive has something to do with the sexual relationships between these men, but they were each involved in the art world, remember.’
‘Well, it’s possible, but I’m a great believer in Occam’s razor.’
‘That the truest answer is always the one based on the fewest assumptions?’
Pendragon nodded.
‘Okay. What else do we have? What other assumptions can we make?’
‘Newman and Jones found some fibres of tarpaulin and some flecks of paint in two colurs, green and white. We’re thinking a van or other motor vehicle for the white sample but the green …’
‘The cherry-picker. I was shown the CCTV footage earlier. And the tarpaulin would have been used to wrap the flattened remains of Thursk. That’s the cylindrical object you can see in the cage of the picker.’
‘I think that’s correct,’ Pendragon said. ‘The killer must have bumped off Thursk with the heroin jab, mutilated the body, then used the cherry-picker under cover of dark to get the remains to the tree and into position. One person could do it.’
