“He came from Pakistan when he was a young man, you know, determined to make a success of himself. He was sure hard work and a good head would be enough. And, for all the challenges, he did succeed. We own this shop, and our home above it, now. That is no small feat in London, I can assure you. It’s a very expensive city to live.”
In short order, the shopkeeper had arranged for his assistant to man the cash register so he could direct Adie and Cage up the narrow, dark staircase at the back of the store. At the top of the stairs they entered a small sitting room that looked out over the street they had just left. Across the road would have been The Den.
Adie had to wonder how much noise the club had made well into the early hours of the morning. It had to have bothered the residents in the neighborhood. Back then there would have been no double-glazed windows to keep out the noise.
In the very dated room, surrounded by Islamic iconography and photos of family members, sat an old man. He was hunched over and his knees were covered by a knitted rug. A gas fire burned in the original fireplace, even though the day outside was quite mild.
“Father, you have visitors. People who are interested in the old night club that used to operate across the road,” the man introduced them, speaking louder than normal.
The old man turned from the window and glared at them suspiciously. “Why would anybody still be interested in that den of iniquity? Allah struck down those who operated that place many years ago.”
This man had an accent that matched his appearance, but his English was perfect. Probably more perfect than his son’s.
“We’re actually interested in the owner back in 1965. At the time one of the dancers went missing,” Cage said, moving in closer and taking the son’s lead by speaking as loudly and clearly as possible.
“Ah, that girl. Yes, I remember that girl,” he said, his mood mellowing slightly. “Sit down. Would you like refreshments?”
Adie and Cage took the sofa across from the man, but refused the offer of refreshments. If there could have been a more opposite scene from the last one with Embers she couldn’t have thought of one.
“I’ll leave you to your chat. When you’re finished, I hope you’ll be able to find your way downstairs on your own.”
Cage nodded to the man. “Thank you. We will. We appreciate you taking the time to assist us.”
“It was my pleasure.” He bowed and backed out of the room, closing the sitting room door as he did so.
“Can you tell us what you know about the disappearance?” Adie asked, getting straight to the point.
Rheumy eyes flicked to her for a moment, surprised that she’d spoken. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Once again she realized that this was Cage’s show not hers.
Dismissing her, the old man turned back to address Cage, while answering her question. “I did not know the girl personally, of course. I read about her in the papers, though. The police were around here every second day, looking for clues to what happened to her. I was forced to provide an alibi for that demon spawn. Allah preserve me, I could not lie, although I wanted to,” he said, sounding defeated.
“You mean Owen Jeffers?” Cage clarified.
“Yes, yes. I could not lie. I did see him outside his club that afternoon. I wish I hadn’t. If anyone could have killed that girl it would have been him. He was connected, as you Americans call it. Organized crime was everywhere at that time. My shop was a grocery store, not an off-license back then. That meant we had less dealings with the criminal element. I paid my protection money, kept my head down, and tried not to attract the attention of bad men to my family and business.”
“Did you ever hear stories about Jeffers? From his staff, I mean,” Cage asked.
“His people would buy their cigarettes and snacks here. I heard them complain about the man. Especially the girls. He tried to make the dancers do more than just dance. You know what I mean. And he took liberties with them. He came to no good, in the end. And his connections didn’t save him.” Satisfaction rolled off the old man in waves.
“What happened?” Cage pressed.
“He was arrested in the 70s for drug trafficking and murder. He was serving life. Maybe he is still there. After he went to prison the place fell into disrepair and was eventually torn down. Good riddance. Allah is slow to vengeance, but He always exacts righteous punishment on the unholy.”
Cage stood, and Adie followed his lead, yet again. “Well, thank you for your help. We’ll see ourselves out.”
“I can’t say I was much use to you,” the old man said, seemingly a little disgruntled that he’d lost his visitors so soon.
“You have. More than you know. Thank you again.”
Back on the street, Adie lifted her brows at Cage. “Why did we leave so quickly? Surely we could have gotten more information from him. He obviously knew what was happening in the area at the time.”
“There’s only one man who’s going to be able to tell us what we need to know. Owen Jeffers. If he’s still alive, that is,” Cage answered. “And now we at least know that his alibi for the afternoon in question was solid. It doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Georgie, but it does mean that the only person who can tell us for sure is the demon spawn himself.”
Adie grimaced. “I thought I’d left such religious fanaticism behind me.”
Cage chuckled darkly. “He is a bit of a fanatic. But Islamic and Christian fundamentalists have a lot in common.
