‘Either it was a professional or someone who knew where to place the knife. You seem remarkably well-informed.’
‘I keep my ear to the ground, and besides, I’ve got you further information on the woman.’
‘Amanda?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it?’
‘Firstly…’
Larry was ready for the favour. He wasn’t sure how he would respond, but Amanda Upton was only second in importance to Analyn and Ian Naughton.
‘I’ve got an address,’ Spanish John said. ‘More than you have, I assume.’
It wasn’t the rub, not yet, or was the gangster baiting him, Larry thought. Whatever it was, he needed to ease back on the alcohol. He needed his wits about him, and strangely, after the first two pints, he had found that the flavour wasn’t as good as he had expected. He hoped it was because his need for alcohol was abating, but he thought it was probable that as a connoisseur of the fermented hop, he was not enamoured of the beer dispensed in the pub.
Akoni, Spanish John’s brother, swayed on his seat, oblivious to the conversation, only making the occasional guttural sound to indicate that he was listening. He was on his sixth pint, and the need to leave the table and circulate was foremost on his mind. He was a sociable man with little charisma, but an easy drunk’s friend, and the pub was rapidly filling, the general hubbub of people talking and laughing, some arguing over near the bar. It was a place that Spanish John liked, he would have admitted if asked, as it afforded him a degree of anonymity, a chance to mingle, to not look over his shoulder all the time. Although close to the entrance of the pub, in the bar, a heavy, a club bouncer when he wasn’t looking after his charge, and out on the street, a late-model Mercedes, a couple of men lounging nonchalantly on the bonnet smoking cigarettes and perving at the occasional dolly bird that walked by, making inappropriate comments, receiving scowls from some in return, a smile from others.
Spanish John looked over at his brother. ‘Leave us to it,’ he said.
Akoni walked away, headed for the loudest group, those drinking the most.
‘Inspector Hill, I’ll level with you. You’re not a bad sort, not for a police officer, but normally people like you and I don’t get on well.’
‘We can’t ignore each other, your people and mine. Sometimes we need to come together for the common good.’
‘I know you were friends with Rasta Joe and he trusted you, and Isaac Cook was at the same school as me, one year above.’
‘Where’s this leading?’
‘Someone’s killing people for no apparent reason, and it brings focus on the area, something that neither of us wants or needs.’
And definitely not an increased police presence, Larry knew that.
Spanish John continued. ‘What did Mary Wilton tell you?’
‘She’s critical to the investigation in that all the dead women were involved with her establishment at one time or another.’
‘Except for Amanda, who never sold herself there.’
‘Amanda? The first name suggests that you knew her.’
‘Not personally. Did you find out where she lived?’
‘Not yet. Apparently, confidentiality was a prerequisite of her line of business.’
‘High-class whore, intimate friend to the rich and famous, to the secretive and the infamous.’
‘At least that’s what Mary Wilton believed she was. Apparently, Amanda was frightened, probably in too deep with the wrong people,’ Larry said.
‘Amanda Upton had a place in Marylebone,’ Spanish John said. ‘No idea why you haven’t found it, but then maybe you and your chief inspector aren’t as smart as you think you are.’
Larry wasn’t going to bite. ‘We’re smart enough to have found someone who would for us, aren’t we?’ he said.
‘Touché.’
‘The address?’
‘Akoni’s in trouble again.’
‘You want a favour?’
‘He’s an idiot; that’s confidential, between you and me, but blood is thicker than water, even if I think he’s as thick as two short planks.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not important. I can deal with it or a smart lawyer can. Just remember, you owe me one.’
‘I can’t break the law, just put a word here and there if I have to, but don’t expect me to overlook your more serious criminal activities.’
‘An honest cop. Do you get a medal for that?’
‘I sleep easy at night, but apart from that, just a modest salary, index-linked superannuation.’
‘Sometimes, I wish I’d taken the easy road, but I didn’t. Of all those at that school, some are dead, one’s a politician, another’s a chief inspector, the majority are slaving away in menial jobs, and some are important men in their community.’
‘Which one are you?’
‘The latter, and I don’t like to be crossed. If you’ve got anything on me, anything that can stick, you let me know, and I’ll back off.’
‘Don’t ask me to interfere if it’s too serious to ignore.’
‘Number 256, Glentworth Street, Marylebone. On the second floor, an apartment. She lived there in London. Do you know the street?’
Larry did, a two-minute walk from the Sherlock Holmes museum on Baker Street.
‘How did you find the place?’
‘Someone I know.’
‘And the other women, Hector Robinson?’
‘Plus a couple of hoodies in Canning Town.’
‘Yes,’ Larry said.
‘I can’t help you there. The hoodies are perfectly capable of killing each other, no help needed there from outsiders. As to Janice and Cathy, they’re probably tied in with Amanda.’
‘Mary Wilton?’
‘She’s been around a long time. No doubt she knows more than she’s letting on, but you can never be sure.’
‘There are two others that need finding.
