Pinto looked to be both pleased and worried as he descended the steps outside the court house.
‘Glad to be out on bail?’ Isaac asked.
‘For the time being.’
Katrina Hatcher came over and wished Pinto well. He accepted her wishes with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Pinto’s parents were there, and he got into their car.
The bail application and the speed of it being processed concerned Isaac. The two who had killed Dougal Stewart and then chopped him up were still free.
Larry had intended to arrest them on the previous Friday, but they never showed up. He had taken a couple of plain-clothes with him, just in case the two hard cases caused trouble.
The word on the street was that they had left the area. Not that this pleased Larry and Isaac. The drug trade was still operating, so if it wasn’t Devlin and his offsider Steve, it was someone else, or was it?
Isaac thought that maybe the fear within the criminal community had caused everyone to clam up. The full details of Dougal Stewart’s gruesome death were now common knowledge, and even the newspapers and social media were reporting it correctly.
DCS Goddard was a worried man again. His nemesis, Commissioner Alwyn Davies, was on his back again. Three weeks had passed, the alleged murderers were known and yet no arrests.
Isaac had received a phone call from the disagreeable DCI Caddick intimating that he was coming back to show him how to run a murder investigation. Isaac had to admit he did not like the man. Discreet enquiries into Caddick had revealed a history of low achievement, yet the man always came up smelling of roses.
Isaac, disillusioned as he was with his DCS, had to admit that he had protected him in the past, and besides, Isaac knew, he had a good track record, whereas the man aiming to take his place did not.
It seemed incongruous that the commissioner of the Met would compromise his position by protecting Caddick, who was only marginally competent. Unless there was a reason, some event in the past where Caddick had saved Alwyn Davies’s career and reputation. Isaac had to admit it was idle speculation and not relevant to the current case.
Serious and Organised Crimes Command had been in touch to confirm that they were concerned with the escalating drug problem. Apart from that, they had said little, and after a quizzing from Isaac, they had reluctantly agreed that there was a significant operator in the city, and so far they had had little success in tracking down the ringleaders.
It seemed to Isaac that his team was doing better than those with a fancy title and a well-funded operation at Scotland Yard.
***
Larry was out on the street aiming to find out what he could about the men he wanted to arrest. His regular informers had clammed up, even when he offered more than the going rate. Rasta Joe, a man who was a criminal but at least relatively open with him, was saying nothing either. Larry sensed a palpable fear in the criminal community. For once, he was frightened. These people were dangerous, and he had no idea where to look.
Devlin, the person who had shot Dougal Stewart, had accommodation in Bayswater. It had taken some time, but Wendy had found the place. The man’s full name was revealed to be Devlin O’Shaughnessy, and he had an extensive criminal record, mainly for armed robbery. Larry was surprised that he had not heard of the man, but his crimes had been committed in Ireland. Steve, the other villain, was still being elusive. Wendy thought she had found his place, but it was not correct.
Gordon Windsor and his team had been out at O’Shaughnessy’s terrace house. It was expensive, and according to the landlord, O’Shaughnessy paid without fail on the first of the month.
‘Always cash,’ Alex Hughenden said.
‘Illegal money,’ Larry informed him. Hughenden was taken aback, considering that he was a lay preacher in his local church and the curse of illicit drugs worried him greatly.
‘That’s the last time I’ll take money from him,’ Hughenden said.
It seemed a moot point to Larry as it was clear that Devlin O’Shaughnessy was not coming back. The house had been filled with expensive furniture and reflected a man of good taste, yet the tenant was capable of extreme violence. Nothing was apparently missing when Windsor and his team had gone over the place, other than there were no clothes, no personal belongings, no money to be found.
‘You must have known he was a dubious character,’ Larry said to Hughenden, a small, well-dressed man who sported a bowtie.
‘He was remarkably articulate considering.’
‘Considering what?’
‘The tattoos on his arms.’
‘Distinctive?’
‘There was just a lot of them, yet he could discuss art and literature. I liked the man, even if I would not have wanted to introduce him to my circle of friends.’
‘They would have disapproved?’
‘Almost certainly, but quite frankly he was more knowledgeable than most.’
‘What else can you tell me about him?’ Larry asked.
‘He said he had come over from Ireland and he was involved in a cash business.’
‘And you didn’t suspect?’
‘Not really. A lot of people are cash only round here. If you get down to Portobello Road on a Saturday, they’re cash in hand.’
‘But they wouldn’t be able to pay you cash on a monthly basis for your place in Bayswater.’
‘You’re probably right. No doubt I’ve sinned in accepting the man’s money.’
‘Probably, but that’s between you and your maker,’ Larry said, knowing full well that the man had placed greed over his religious ideals.
At least he can ask for
