Thief Taker

by Alan Scholefield

  “OK. Well, you skate on thin ice. Legalwise. That’s what I’m getting at. But as far as Robbie goes, I mean not only him but anyone, well I could never, never do a thing like that. It’s not in me. And as for Shirley. Well, sure we did have something going but — ”

  “Why don’t we start at the beginning, Mr Collins?” Macrae said. “Then we’ll know where we are. You were his partner. Tell us about that.”

  “Sure you don’t want a drink?” He poured himself another vodka and orange and lit a large Havana. “Listen, Robson Healey and me, we go back a long way. Maybe I should say went back a long way — seeing as how he’s deceased.”

  They went all the way back to a secondary modern school in a bombed area of Portsmouth. Both their fathers had been killed in the war, both their mothers struggled to keep going.

  “We used to do what a lot of kids were doing then, go through the bombed buildings for scrap. You could sell anything in those days, ‘specially lead and copper. And when we didn’t find the stuff in the broken buildings we used to nick it from anywhere. I remember once we stripped the lead off a church in Fratton. Took the bleedin’ lightning conductor and all.

  “I’m only telling you this so you’ll know. I mean you asked. I don’t want no bother about things that are past. OK?”

  “OK,” Macrae said.

  “We did what kids do, a little bit of shoplifting, little bit of nicking. That sort of thing. But even then Robbie was a hard man. Once — he couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve — there was this old busker playing the harmonica on the front at Southsea. Had his cap out on the pavement in front of him so the people could drop in coppers. Some old lady gives him a half-crown — a lot of money in those days — and Robbie says that’s mine, oh no it ain’t says the old punter and Robbie says I’ll fight you for it. And he takes it out of the hat and the old chap must have seen that Robbie meant what he said because he didn’t do anything.”

  “Can we move on a bit?” Macrae said.

  “Sure. But you did ask.”

  “Tell us about the partnership.”

  “You might say we was always partners.”

  “You mean partners in crime,” Silver said. “As the saying goes.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You got it. But Robbie never wanted to be a…you know…”

  “Criminal?” Silver said.

  “Yeah. Criminal. He wanted money and power and respect but he wanted it where everyone could see it. Otherwise we’d just have gone on nicking things and ended up doing porridge.

  “Anyway, Robbie cons me into putting up half the money for an old dredger. He’d got word on the grapevine that a big contract was coming up. Nothing had been done in Portsmouth or Southampton harbours during the war. And there’d been a hell of a lot of bombing so there was a hell of a lot of clearing up to do. Oh, and Robbie also took diving lessons and bought a proper diving suit so he could cut away underwater obstacles. I mean there wasn’t nothing we couldn’t do.

  “We made a packet. Bought a second dredger and a floating crane. That’s how we started. Then into coasters and when the oil boom began, into tankers. And when that went bust we managed to get out with a few quid and went into container ships.”

  “Tell us about Mrs Robson,” Macrae said. “Her relationship with her husband.”

  “What about it?”

  “She’s the daughter of a judge.”

  “You mean the other side of the tracks sort of thing? OK, it’s a bit unusual but not all that rare. Society’s changing.”

  “So they tell me,” Macrae said, dryly. “Go on.”

  “She met him in the Med. She was in a party that chartered a yacht he owned. And you know how it is on a charter. I mean the hired help get to mix with the paying punters.”

  “Spare us the social observations,” Macrae said. “Just give us the facts.”

  “OK, OK. Well, they fell in love. He was devastating with women when he wanted to be. Good-looking and just dangerous enough to be around. It turned a lot of them on. It turned Shirley on. Mind you, it’s never taken much to turn her on.

  “Well, the marriage was OK for a while but then Robbie got itchy and started the old business with other women and Shirley got narked and when she protested he…well, he beat her up. I mean it didn’t do to get narked with Robbie. He didn’t like it.”

  “He was a great man for beating people up,” Silver said.

  “Yeah,” Collins said. “You could say that. Anyway, she began to get more and more scared. And that’s when she came to me. That’s when that started.”

  “On the boat?”

  “On the boat. I also bought a cottage down there but that was too dangerous, so we didn’t use it much. The boat seemed safe.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “You might say that.” He fingered his mouth. “Bridgework cost me thousands.”

  “Not very friendly of an old pal.”

  “Not very friendly putting a leg over his wife if it comes to that,” Collins said, thoughtfully.

  “There was a daughter,” Silver said.

  “Yeah, poor Rachel.”

  “Why poor Rachel?”

  “Well…I mean…Robbie and Shirley were never meant to be parents. The poor bloody kid lived a solitary kind of life. And there was her asthma as well. I really felt sorry for her. You know, they stuck her away in a boarding school. Hardly ever went to see her. And she used to be such a beautiful kid.”

  “Beautiful?” Silver said, incredulously.

  “You seen her? Well, you’ll know then. That was another thing. Robbie and Shirley were a bloody good-looking couple. But when Rachel was a teenager she seemed to lose her looks. Don’t think they forgave her.”

  They didn’t have any more kids, then?” Macrae said. “Well…” he paused.

  “He’s dead. He can’t send his heavies now.”

  “It’s not only that. Shirley and I…And anyway it’s private. I mean she wouldn’t want it known.”

  Macrae said, “Mr Collins, a man’s been killed. His head was bashed in. A woman was seen leaving his house. But the murderer might have been a man. The blow was pretty hard. See what I’m getting at?”

  “OK. I’m with you. A few years after Rachel was born, six or seven, Shirley got pregnant again. Told me she lost the baby but I always doubted it. I’d lay odds on an abortion.”

  “Why would she do that?” Silver said.

  “Christ, I dunno, mate. I’m not a bloody mind-reader. Maybe it’s because of what I said: that she decided she wasn’t so hot as a parent. It’s only a guess, though.”

  “Do you think she could have killed him?”

  “I suppose anyone can do anything. But what for? I mean he’d made a big settlement on her when they separated. She wasn’t short of a few bob.”

  “What about Harris? He thinks Healey was still jealous of her having affairs with other men. That he thought of her as his possession.”

  “Harris is just a bloody boatie.”

  “But it could be true?”

  He fingered his jaw again. “Maybe. I always wondered why they never divorced. Robbie was a great lad for what’s mine’s mine and what’s yours is also mine. But never the other way round.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Macrae and Silver walked back to Queensway. Eddie had brought the car out from the underground garage and was leaning on a meter in the sunshine.

  “Your lady called the switchboard,” he said to Leo. Eddie never called her Zoe or Miss Bertram, always “Your lady”.

  Leo looked concerned. There had been half a dozen explosive directives from the DI about taking private calls.

  “Sorry, guv’nor,” Silver said to Macrae. “I’ve asked her not to.”

  Macrae nodded briefly. Since at least one ex-wife phoned him regularly about late payment of child support it was not really fair for him to comment.

  “She said would you phone her? She has a clue pertaining to the case.” Eddie liked using phrases like that.
/>   “Well, get on with it, laddie,” Macrae said. “We need all the clues we can get.”

  There was a payphone a few yards away and they watched him walk towards it.

  “What about the Mazda?” Macrae said.

  “Owned by a Mrs Purvis,” Eddie said.

  “Any form?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I thought so. You’re beginning to imagine things.”

  Silver dialled Zoe’s direct line. “I asked you not to call the station.”

  “Don’t be such a grouch. I’ve worked something out. It may help.”

  “What?”

  “Erewhon is “nowhere” spelt backwards.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Brilliant. Fantastic. Something along those lines.”

  “What the hell is it supposed to mean?”

  “Aah. You didn’t ask that. It’s not exactly backwards but nearly.”

  Tor God’s sake! I’m standing in the middle of Queensway. Macrae’s watching me and — ” He distinctly heard background laughter. “Are you having a party?”

  “It’s my going-away bash. You remember, we’re going fishing.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to go.”

  “All right. Go. Leave me. Don’t give it another thought. I supply you with a genuine clue and all you can say is “I’ve got to go.” Well, let me remind you of what Thurber said, my friend, he said the claw of the seapuss gets us all in the end. And he’s going to get you!”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Never mind, Izaak Walton.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Till we meet again…”

  Silver went back to the car.

  “Well? Have you solved it?” Macrae said.

  Silver was embarrassed. “It was nothing, guv’nor.”

  “Don’t be shy, laddie. I know Zoe. She wouldn’t phone if it was nothing. And she’s twice as bright as you.”

  Eddie gave a snuffle.

  “Well…all right…”she says Erewhon is nowhere spelt backwards.”

  Macrae stared at him uncomprehendingly. At last he said, “So?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, laddie.”

  “The name on the daughter’s caravan. In the forest.”

  “What about it?”

  “There was a wooden name-board. I thought you’d seen it, guv’nor.”

  “And it said Erewhon?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’d never heard of the word before?”

  “No.”

  “Not in three years at university?”

  “No.”

  Macrae gave a wintry smile. “Christ knows what sort of place you went to. But never mind that now. Zoe’s right. It is “nowhere” spelled backwards, or just about backwards. It’s a famous bloody book by Samuel Butler. Never heard of him?”

  “Never.”

  “Nineteenth century. He was writing a satire on Utopia. That’s why he called it Erewhon.”

  “Meaning there’s no Utopia anywhere. Nowhere.”

  Macrae stared at Leo for a moment, then said dryly, “Brilliant.” He turned to Eddie. “I want to go up to Gospel Oak before we go back to the station.” He gave him the address.

  Quick as a flash Eddie said, “Sussex Gardens, then across the Edgware Road, left into Lisson Grove, then — ”

  “Why don’t you go along Oxford Street and up the Tottenham Court Road instead of all these side streets and — ”

  “Oxford Street’s usually jammed at this time, guv’nor.” Eddie’s tone was stubborn.

  “Oh, all right. But stop talking so much and let’s get there.”

  When they reached Gospel Oak Macrae said, “I won’t be long.”

  The house was detached, with a garden that was large for London. Macrae opened the gate and went up the steps and rang the doorbell. He hadn’t been here for a long time and noticed how upmarket the area had become. Artie had done well for himself.

  It was more than twenty years since Macrae, then a copper on the beat, had first met Honest Arthur Gorman plying his illegal bookmaker’s trade just off Piccadilly Circus in front of the Regent Palace Hotel.

  In those days, before off-course betting was legalised, beat coppers were expected to fulfil an arrest quota on bookies in the same way as they were expected to haul in tarts.

  Nobody liked it. Not the coppers, not the bookies and definitely not the tarts.

  Macrae had now forgotten just how many bookies they were expected to arrest in a week but he would never forget his first meeting with Artie.

  The difficulty was to get near the bookies to arrest them. They had runners and tick-tack men all up and down Piccadilly who could spot a copper a mile off.

  So Macrae had borrowed an ice-cream cart, took out the big ice-cream drums and made a hidden nest for himself. His partner, in a white coat, wheeled the cart up Piccadilly and stopped it near Artie who was doing good business on the three-thirty at Brighton.

  Suddenly Macrae leapt out and grabbed Artie before he could say, “Nap!”

  Artie paid his fine and was on the streets within twenty-four hours — which was standard — but the arrest had amazed him. He told the story to every East End punter he knew and Macrae became something of a legend.

  Nor did Artie hold it against him, on the contrary he gained a great deal of kudos himself.

  When off-course bookmaking shops became legal Artie expanded into a string of betting shops and he and Macrae kept up a desultory acquaintanceship.

  Now the house door opened and Artie’s wife said, “Hello, George.” Behind her, in the shadows, Macrae could make out Stoker.,

  “Hello, Molly.”

  She closed the door, put her arm around Macrae’s neck and kissed him. “Long time, George.” She patted his cheek. “You’re looking good.”

  “So are you.”

  It wasn’t quite true. Her wide, good-looking face was thinner than he remembered and there were dark smudges under her eyes.

  She was in her forties, a good fifteen years younger than her husband. She had blonde hair and might have been described as brassy except the word indicated hardness and Molly wasn’t hard. He had always thought she had a lovely smile, guileless and genuine.

  “You want to see Artie? He’s in the garden room. Just go out, George.”

  He went through the house, noting the expensive furniture: Honest Arthur Gorman had done very well for himself.

  The garden room was nothing like the conservatory Macrae had been expecting but was a purpose-built office in the style of a Tyrolean hut.

  “Hello, George,” Artie said as Macrae opened the door. “Come on in.”

  Artie was a foot shorter than Macrae and thin as a rail. He had lost his hair in his thirties and now looked like a bald ferret. His eyes were nervous and always on the move.

  Macrae’s eyes took in the room. There were three TV sets, a fax, four telephones, and a desk on which he could see the Sporting Life and the Racing Guide.

  “What’s all this?” he said.

  “After I sold the betting shops I got so bloody bored Molly wouldn’t let me in the house. You could say I’m a gamekeeper turned poacher.”

  “Professional punter?”

  “It passes the time.”

  “Doing all right?”

  “Lose a little, win a little. You know how it is. Sit down.” He waved to an expensive Thai bamboo chair.

  There was a pause as the two men looked at each other. Macrae felt embarrassed. He had borrowed three thousand pounds for Susan’s trip from Artie and now he found himself resenting him.

  It had happened fortuitously. He had been turned down by the bank and was on his way to his car when he’d bumped into Artie. They had had a drink and in the course of it Macrae, angry at the bank manager’s attitude, had told Artie about it. The little bookmaker had taken out a roil of fifties the size of which made Macrae’s eyes blink. He was about to start peeling off notes
right there in the saloon bar, when Macrae had grabbed his hand and pushed it under the table.

  “For Christ’s sake, put it away!”

  “George, believe me, and I’m not saying this to boast, but three thousand quid’s not heavy for me these days. I’ve sold the business. Call it a loan. Pay me when you can.”

  Macrae listened. He thought of his daughter. He thought of Linda. Where the hell was he going to get the money to pay for Susan’s trip? A moment later he’d agreed and they’d gone to the lavatory and Artie had counted out sixty fifty-pound notes. It was a moment Macrae had regretted ever since. “Stoker said you wanted to see me. If it’s about the — ”

  “Hang on, George. I’d never have put it that way. Never! I said if you see Mr Macrae tell him if he’s in the area to drop in and have a drink. I’ll have to have a word with Stoker.”

  “Why Stoker, Artie? He’s not your speed. He’s as thick as two planks and twice as nasty.”

  “He’s not a bad lad, George. Not really bad.”

  “He’s a villain. You know he broke a PC”s arm in that last barney in Hackney. That’s why he went down for so long.”

  “Yeah. I know. But I need someone, George. For Molly, really. There’s too many wide boys around now. No respect. I got a nice house. Nice things. I got money in the bank. They say why can’t we have that? They don’t think, he worked forty years for it and spent some time in the nick. They want it now. And that makes me worry.”

  “But you’ve always sorted out that kind of dirt in the past.”

  “I’m getting on, George. Sixty next birthday. Most of my old friends are dead or left the country. It’s not a profession that encourages longevity.”

  He paused and after a moment Macrae said, “Well, here I am Artie. And if it’s about the money — ”

  “It is, George.” He held up his hand. “Just listen for a sec, all right? This is all part of what I’ve been telling you…I’m sick, George. I mean really sick…Cashing-in time…” Macrae sat in silence unable to think of anything to say. “Don’t think I’ve given up. Not bloody likely. But when three specialists tell you to get your affairs in order then you bloody get them in order. Know what I mean?”

  Macrae nodded.

  “Now if any of these young buggers got wind of what was happening they might think I was a soft touch and go for Molly. Pick her up, hold her somewhere and bargain. And I don’t want that. You know how I feel about Molly.”