‘He’s gone now. Any idea where? Any forwarding address?’ Larry asked.
‘He paid me in advance, and no, I don’t know where he’s gone.’
***
Isaac paced up and down Homicide’s office at Challis Street. The case was starting to get to him. The anticipated quick arrests, with certain convictions due to the fingerprints at the warehouse where Dougal Stewart had been butchered, as well as Vicenzo Pinto’s evidence, were not materialising.
Katrina Hatcher had phoned him not two minutes earlier to tell him that Pinto was missing. ‘He failed to report,’ she said.
Pinto’s parents, it was known, lived to the west of the city, and it was thought that he would be safe there. Now there was a concern that he had done a runner, the same as Devlin O’Shaughnessy and his offsider. But why Pinto? The man was likely to get off with a shortened sentence, probably two years maximum, especially if he gave evidence against O’Shaughnessy and Stewart.
Larry returned to Challis Street; Wendy was already there. Ten minutes later they were out of the office and in the car and driving west.
‘He was all right,’ Pinto’s father said. He still had the strong accent of Napoli when he spoke. His wife, a typical Italian Mamma, said little. She obviously enjoyed the pasta that she made.
‘We need to find him,’ Larry said.
‘He’s been a bad boy,’ Pinto’s mother said.
‘If he works with us, we’ll keep him out of trouble,’ Wendy said. The smell of Italian cooking pervaded the small house; her stomach rumbled.
‘What has happened to him?’ the father asked.
‘That is why we are here. Has he been gambling again?’ Larry asked. He had also smelt the food being prepared in the kitchen.’
‘He said he had given it up but…’
‘Addicted?’
‘Yes. We know he tries, but it’s hard for him.’
‘Why?’
‘A family trait,’ the father said. ‘I was the same at his age. Eventually he’ll grow out of it.’
Larry realised the son may not have that opportunity. And with the two heavies not around, there was a strong possibility they were related.
The two police officers left the Pintos’ house, but not before they had sampled Italian home cooking. They visited the local police station where Pinto had been reporting. The duty officer stood behind the counter as they entered. Larry and Wendy showed their police identification. The locked door through to the offices opened when the officer pressed the button for the electronic lock. Inside, Inspector Pritchard introduced himself.
‘You think he’s dead?’ Pritchard, a slovenly dressed man, asked.
‘He’s an important witness.’
‘Maybe, but dead is dead. There’s not much you can do if we find his body.’
Wendy did not like the man’s attitude. They had only just entered the police station, and Pritchard was already defeatist, as if he always expected the worst. Larry thought he was a half-empty, not a half-full man.
‘We need him found,’ Larry said.
‘And you want me to find him?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a lot of work just for one man.’
‘This man is an important witness in a murder investigation. His whereabouts are critical. Are you able to help?’
‘Why not? We’ll put out an APW. If someone sees him, we’ll soon know.’
‘We’ll need more than that.’
‘We’re undermanned here.’
‘We will need a thorough investigation of all gambling clubs, legal or otherwise, all pubs, all brothels, and it will need to commence within two hours,’ Larry said.
‘Who the hell do you think you are? You come in here and start giving me orders. I’m not your lackey.’
Wendy leant over to Larry, ensuring that Pritchard heard. ‘Phone DCI Cook. Get DCS Goddard to call the officer in charge of this station. And make sure that the DCS mentions that he is becoming involved due to unnecessary delays being incurred by junior officers.’
‘Okay, I don’t need threats. Give us three hours to check,’ Pritchard said.
He rushed out of the office where all three had been sitting; Larry and Wendy could hear him giving orders and raising his voice.
‘A man eager to please,’ Larry said sarcastically.
Five hours later, Pritchard phoned Larry. ‘We can’t find him.’
Chapter 9
Katrina Hatcher, Pinto’s lawyer, was noticeably upset when Isaac phoned her with the latest developments. ‘I worked hard for that man,’ she said.
‘He may turn up yet,’ Isaac said.
‘You don’t believe that.’
‘I’ll remain optimistic for the present.’
Larry and Wendy were back in the office within ninety minutes of receiving the news regarding Pinto. Isaac convened a meeting.
‘It’s not looking good,’ Isaac said. Larry chose to stand in the corner of Isaac’s office. Wendy was sitting down, not willing to admit to the soreness in her legs.
‘For Pinto?’
‘For the whole damn case, and now Alwyn Davies is after our DCS’s blood.’
‘Which means you as well, DCI,’ Wendy said.
‘What can you tell me about Vicenzo Pinto?’ Isaac asked, choosing not to respond to Wendy’s comment.
‘Unless we receive advice to the contrary, Pinto is a missing person,’ Larry said.
‘Is he dead?’ Isaac asked.
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Then we’d better find him or those who may have killed him. What’s the deal with your friend Rasta Joe? Doesn’t he know what’s going on?’
‘He may do, but he’s scared. The same as everyone else on the street. Something’s going on.’
‘But what? You need to squeeze Rasta Joe,’ Isaac said.
‘It would help if you could speak to him,’ Larry said.
‘He’ll not talk to me.’
‘I’ll ask him. He may open up more with you.’
‘A fellow Jamaican over from the Caribbean, is that what you mean?’
‘I suppose so. You understand his culture.’
‘Maybe, but we go back a long way.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’ Wendy asked.
‘I’ve known Rasta Joe since
