by Graham Ison
“In the canteen, sir,” said Gilroy.
“Let her listen to this tape and then tell her to charge our friend here with burglary, will you?” said Fox.
*
“Mr Fletcher?”
Percy Fletcher recognized Janet Mortimer’s husky voice immediately. “What is it, Janet?”
“Is it all right to talk?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, I was talking to one of my girls today.”
“One of your strippers?” asked Fletcher flippantly, intent on having a bit of fun at the woman’s expense.
“You know what I mean, Mr Fletcher.” In addition to the strip joint and brothel she ran in Soho, Janet Mortimer was also responsible for a number of high-class call girls who operated in West End hotels and pieds-a-terre. They were discretion personified, these girls, and never a whisper of their activities had reached the ears of either the police or the popular press. That was probably because Janet Mortimer vetted the girls’ clients and knew that a scandal would result in prosecution for her and ruination for them.
“What have you got then, Janet?”
“It’s nothing very much, but one of my girls was entertaining a gentleman last night and happened to mention the name you mentioned to me. lust on the off chance.”
“And?”
“Well, like I said, it’s nothing much, but this trick said he once knew a Povey, but a Gordon Povey. He’s dead now, apparently, but he was in the diamond trade, years ago. Did very well out of it, so the punter said. Even had a yacht in the South of France. Cannes apparently.”
Fletcher had been scribbling down the details as Janet Mortimer had been speaking. “Is that it?”
“Sorry, Mr Fletcher, but that’s the best I can do. If anything else crops up, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Janet, you’re a treasure,” said Fletcher and replaced the receiver. For a few moments, he studied his notes. Two words struck him as possibly relevant to the enquiry into the deaths of Proctor and Skelton. One was “diamond” and the other was “Cannes”. He stood up and made his way, thoughtfully, to Fox’s office.
*
Detective Constable Kate Ebdon had been left behind at Leman Street police station to deal with the mass of paperwork that was involved in the arrest and charging of Bert Glass. She had listened to the tape of Fox’s interview with the petty criminal and had come to the conclusion that Glass was lying. And Kate, being a resourceful sort of hard-nosed detective, rather like a brasher, younger, female version of Tommy Fox, decided to have another go at Glass.
She strode into the interview room and stood in front of the table behind which Glass was lounging, her hands on her hips. She wore tight blue jeans and a white poplin shirt, and her flame-red hair was tied back with a bow. “You’re a lying little bastard, aren’t you, Glass?”
Glass had jousted with Kate Ebdon before and did not relish doing so again. She had none of the suavity of the man who had recently interviewed him, and Kate’s aggressive Australian accent unnerved him. “Aren’t you supposed to switch that on?” he asked lamely, pointing at the tape recorder.
“Too right, mate,” said Kate. “And I will, once you start telling the truth.”
“I told that other copper all that I—”
“Balls!” said Kate. “I’ve just listened to the tape and that was a load of moody if ever I heard it.”
“It’s the God’s honest truth, Miss Ebdon, so help me.”
“You just listen to me, bastard-features, before I start kicking you all round this bloody interview room.”
“I want a solicitor—” Glass began plaintively.
“You’ll need a bloody team of paramedics if you don’t wind your neck in.” Kate was not at all angry but she knew how to put the frighteners on tuppenny-ha’penny toe-rags like Glass.
“What’s got your dander up, then, Miss Ebdon?”
“I don’t like it when you try to have me over, Glass, that’s what. All this crap about screwing a drum in Notting Hill. You were bloody hand-in-glove with Robin Skelton, weren’t you? You were his runner, weren’t you?”
“How did you know that?” Glass suddenly realized that there was no deceiving this woman officer. But he was unaware that she had taken a gamble in making such a wild allegation.
“Because Skelton wasn’t the sort of stupid bastard that you are. D’you honestly think that a bloke who’d gone to all the trouble of nicking a load of ice and other assorted gear off some rich old bird is going to leave it lying around his pad so that the likes of you could nick it?”
“What else could I say? The bloke’s been snuffed out, ain’t he? That other copper would have had me for the topping if I’d told him what had happened.”
“Well I’ve got news for you, Glass. You’re going to tell me all about it. And if you miss anything out, I’ll kick you in the balls. Got the message?”
Glass nodded resignedly. “All right,” he said, “I’ll tell you what it’s all about.”
“Good,” said Kate and switched on the tape recorder. “This interview, at Leman Street police station, is commencing at 3.10 p.m. on Tuesday the twenty-ninth of June.” She turned to face the miserable Glass. “Now, Mr Glass,” she said, “I understand that you have asked to see me because you have further information to offer about the possession of certain items of jewelery for which you have been arrested. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say…”
*
“Mr Fox? It’s Spider here.”
Fox groaned. “What is it?”
“I think I might have something for you, Mr Fox. Can we make a meet?”
“See you in the Albert in half an hour,” said Fox. “Don’t be late.”
Eleven
“I know it’s a lot to ask, Janet, but I really do need to talk to the punter who your girl was speaking to about this Gordon Povey.” Fletcher had told Fox of Janet Mortimer’s information about the deceased diamond merchant who had once owned a yacht in Cannes. It could be a coincidence – coincidence featured in police work more than most people realized – and there might be no connection between Gordon Povey and the Kevin Povey that Fox was so anxious to interview. But it was not a lead that could be overlooked. However, both Fox and Fletcher appreciated that it would be very difficult to persuade Janet Mortimer to reveal either the identity of her call girl or the name of the man she had entertained.
Janet Mortimer leaned back in the tatty chair in the equally tatty office of her Soho strip-joint and smiled. “D’you know what you’re asking, Mr Fletcher?”
“Yes, I know, Janet, and I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t very important. This Kevin Povey has almost certainly murdered three people. The first was five years ago, the other two quite recently.”
“And I suppose if I don’t play ball, you’re going to arrange to have this place ripped apart by the Vice Squad.”
“You know me better than that, Janet,” said Fletcher. “All I’m asking for is a little co-operation. I couldn’t care less about what you do here. After all, it’s between consenting adults, isn’t it?” He grinned at the blowsy madam.
Janet Mortimer smiled too. “I don’t know, Mr Fletcher. I’ll have to talk to the girl. If she says no, then that’s it.”
“Fair enough, Janet.”
*
“Hallo, Mr Fox.” Spider Walsh was already installed in the darkest corner he could find at the Albert public house in Victoria Street. “I don’t not like being seen so near the Bladder, you know.”
“Whether you like being seen near the Yard or not is of no interest to me, Spider,” said Fox. “You said that you’d got something for me.”
“It’s dry old work, Mr Fox,” said Walsh.
“You drive a hard bargain,” said Fox, placing a five-pound note on the table. “Get me a large Scotch and a pint of stout for yourself.”
Walsh grabbed at the note and made for the bar. Minutes later he was back with the drinks. “There’s your change, Mr Fox,” he s
aid, putting the money on the table and sitting down again.
“Right then, what’s this earth-shattering information you have for me?”
“I heard a whisper, like, Mr Fox,” said Walsh, once he had taken a mouthful of his Guinness. “And it seems this Povey what you was asking about has been seen up West.”
“Where up West? And when?”
“’Bout a week ago, so my contact tells me.”
“And who’s your contact?” asked Fox, knowing that there was no chance of his being told.
“Now play fair, Mr Fox, you know I can’t reveal my sources.”
Fox grinned and took a sip of whisky. “Get on with it then.”
“The word is that he was seen round about the time that Proctor got topped. You know, the geezer in the flounder. In and out of one or two clubs, like. But he ain’t been seen since.”
“What were the names of these clubs, Spider?”
Walsh shrugged and pulled his raincoat around his scrawny figure. “Don’t rightly know, Mr Fox. My sources never let on like.”
“Is that it, then?”
“Well, it’s better than sod-all, Mr Fox, ain’t it?” said Walsh nervously.
Fox picked up his change and put it in his pocket. “D’you know, Spider,” he said, “on the basis of value for money, you’re the most expensive snout I’ve got.”
Walsh grinned a lop-sided grin. “Knew you’d be pleased, Mr Fox,” he said.
*
“Got a minute, sir?” asked Kate Ebdon, catching Fox as he strode along the corridor.
“What is it, Kate?”
“It’s about Bert Glass, sir.”
“Better come in.” Fox led the way into his office and closed the door. “Charged him, have you?”
“Yes, sir. And I got him remanded into police custody for questioning. Just in case you want to have another go at him.”
“Why should I want to do that?”
Kate grinned. “I listened to the tape after you and Mr Gilroy had left the nick, sir,” she said, “And I didn’t believe a word of what he’d said. I know Glass of old and he’s a lying little tosser.” Fox nodded knowingly. “So I decided to have another go at him.”
“Exposed him to some of your feminine charm, no doubt,” murmured Fox.
“Something like that,” said Kate. “Anyhow, he’s singing a different song now.” She put a tape on Fox’s desk. “D’you want me to play it through, sir?”
Fox shook his head. “No, just give me the gist of it.”
“Well, sir, Glass now admits that he was Skelton’s runner, and it’s quite obvious that he was terrified of the man.” “Hang on. Who was terrified of whom?”
“Glass was terrified of Skelton, sir.” Kate had heard of Fox’s occasional pedantry, but this was the first time that she had encountered it directly.
“Good. Go on then.”
“Glass was used by Skelton to deliver bent gear. Skelton was always afraid of transporting the stuff himself because he’d got previous and he knew that if he got pulled by the Old Bill, he’d be nicked very smartly.”
“Not very astute of him,” said Fox. “Glass had form as well.”
Kate grinned. “I think it was a sort of insurance,” she said. “Glass didn’t say so, but I reckon that Skelton took the view that if he lost a consignment on its way to the fence, that was bad luck, but at least he’d live to thieve another day. And Glass was so frightened of getting topped if he opened his mouth that he’d’ve stayed shtoom and done porridge rather than grass on Skelton.”
Fox nodded. “That I can understand,” he said. “So how come he screwed Skelton’s drum at Notting Hill? If that was what he did. After all, there was no sign of a break-in, but I suppose he could have ’loided it.”
Kate Ebdon knew all about ’loiding, as forcing a door with a credit card was known, but she also knew that it had not happened on this occasion. “He went in with a key, sir,” she said. “He now says that he went to the flat in Bayswater in response to a telephone call from Skelton, to pick up some gear—”
“Where the hell did Skelton get that from then? When Jack Gilroy searched that flat and the one at Notting Hill, he took possession of all the jewelery that was there.”
“No idea, sir,” said Kate. “Perhaps he’d had it in a safety deposit box, or at another flat we know nothing about, and got it out while he was on bail. Anyway, the important thing was that when he got there, at around three in the afternoon, he found Skelton dead. So, not wishing to miss out, Glass took the key of the Notting Hill flat and went straight down there. He claims that he was lucky enough to find the ten thousand pounds’ worth of jewelery that Joe Bellenger and I found him with later. The same stuff he was hawking around Staines, I suppose.”
“Saucy little bastard,” said Fox. “Well done, Kate. I think that I’ll have to go and have another chat with Master Bertie Glass.” He stood up. “And you can come too. Get hold of Swann, will you?”
“Is that the idle sod who drives you, sir?” asked Kate with a grin.
“You’ve met him, then,” said Fox.
*
Bert Glass looked distinctively nervous when Fox strode into the interview room accompanied by Detective Constable Ebdon.
“So you went ‘drumming’ until you found an empty flat, did you, Bertie?”
Glass ran a hand round his mouth. “I didn’t want to get into no trouble,” he said, his eyes still fixed firmly on Kate Ebdon.
“Got a funny way of going about it, Bertie,” said Fox. He sat down and took a cigarette from his case. “One of the worst offences in my book is to waste the time of the head of the Flying Squad.” He lit his cigarette. “And I’ve just convicted you of that offence.” He let a thin layer of smoke drift into the air above Glass’s head. “So you were Skelton’s runner, were you?”
“Well, I done a bit for him, yeah. But only from time to time.”
Fox leaned forward and studied the small-time villain’s face. “I don’t think you realize the seriousness of your situation, Bertie, old thing,” he said. “Theft from a dwelling is one thing, but obstructing a murder enquiry is a very dangerous thing to do. There are some very worldly people about, and even some judges, who might think that you actually committed this murder in order that you could steal the jewelery for which you stand charged.” He leaned back and let out another thin stream of tobacco smoke.
“Gawd blimey, guv’nor,” said Glass, the anguish clear on his face. “I never had nothing to do with that topping, so help me. That’d be asking for trouble, wouldn’t it?”
“In the field of asking for trouble, Bertie,” said Fox with a grim smile, “I’d say you were a front runner.”
“I swear I never had nothing to do with it, sir.” Glass had now got to the theatrical stage of wringing his hands. It had no effect on Fox. “Like I told the lady, guv—” he shot an imploring glance at Kate Ebdon, who grinned insolently back at him. “—when I got to the Bayswater gaff, Rob was dead.”
“How did you know he was dead?” asked Fox. “You a qualified medical practitioner, are you? Among your other skills.”
“Strewth!” Glass stared at Fox unbelievingly. “You only had to look at him. Eyes wide open and holes in his chest with all blood oozing out.” He shook his head. “It was horrible.”
Fox was unmoved. “How did you get into Skelton’s flat if he was already dead then?”
“I had a key, didn’t I?”
“You have the bare-faced cheek to sit there and tell me that Skelton trusted a toe-rag like you with a key to his flat?”
Glass grinned. “Not exactly. I sort of acquired it.”
“Oh, you acquired it, did you? How?”
“Well, he’d left his keys lying about one day when I got there. He’d just had a shower like, and he let me in and told me to wait while he put his duds on. His keys was on the table, so I took a pressing.”
Fox shook his head. “D’you mean to tell me that you carry a bar of soap around with you on
the off chance of finding a key you want to copy? Pull the other one, Bertie.”
“It’s the truth. ’Cept it wasn’t soap.” Glass grinned at the detective. “That’s old hat these days. Nah, I had some of that Blu-Tak in me sky, didn’t I. It’s good for that sort of thing. Anyway, I got a copy made by a mate of mine what’s in the business.”
“What business is that, Bertie? Burglary?”
“No, nothing like that. Anyway, like you said the other day, I’m a bit of an importunist.”
“I said that you were an—” Fox broke off. Even he realized the futility of trying to educate Bert Glass. “Never mind,” he said and leaned forward to stub out his cigarette in the tin lid that served as an ashtray. “What did you do with the pistol you used to kill Skelton, Bertie?”
The blood drained from Glass’s face as he realized that all his smart talk – he thought it was smart, anyway – had had no effect on Fox. “I never had no gun,” he said. “I ain’t never had a gun. Them’s dangerous.”
“True,” said Fox. “They tend to kill people.”
“I tell you, he was dead when I got there.”
“Did you ring the bell when you arrived?” asked Fox.
“Yeah, course I did. Didn’t want Rob to know I’d got a key to his drum, did I? That’s be asking for aggro, that would.”
For the moment, Fox appeared to believe Glass’s story, although in all honesty he did not think that Glass had had anything to do with the killing. “All right,” he said, “tell me the names of the fences you took this stuff to.”
Glass gasped at the enormity of Fox’s question. “I can’t tell you that,” he said.
“Oh. Why not?”
“Look, guv’nor,” said Glass, leaning forward confidentially, “I know I’m going down for thieving the tomfoolery.”
“Very foresighted of you,” said Fox.
“Well, I don’t know if you know what it’s like in stir—”
“Oh, indeed I do, Bertie. Some of my best customers are in prison.”
“Well, if I grass on these receivers, I’ll get done in the nick for sure.”
“And if you don’t, Bertie, old fruit, you’ll likely get done for Skelton’s murder.”
