by Bill James
‘Choices.’
‘True. What I say to myself, Col, is, not Will this be up Colin Harpur’s street? What I say to myself is, Do I regard what I hear about as disgusting and evil and do I want it stopped? If I get an answer Yes to that I’ll talk to you because you might be able to stop it. This is a cleansing matter, a positive duty matter, Col.’
‘So, which people, Jack?’ Harpur replied.
‘Which people what?’
‘Which people talk to you before you might or might not talk to me?’ Harpur always put this kind of query to Lamb, knowing it would not be answered, and could not be answered. Informants never identified their informants or their informants would stop being their informants. Grassing had its refined procedures, its dainty interdependencies. Harpur asked so that Jack could ignore or reject the question. This enabled Lamb to think he was not just a loose-mouth and blab-all. Harpur did not expect an answer, did not want an answer. You looked after the morale of your grass, guided him away from self-contempt, in case self-contempt brought on a guilt-based dry-up. Harpur thought that in retirement he might write a guidebook for young detectives called Tending Your Grass.
‘My source was there,’ Lamb said.
‘Morton Cross?’
‘The night.’
‘When Tirana got it?’
‘Very much in the vicinity.’
‘He saw something?’ Harpur said.
‘This could be important, Col.’
‘He should be talking to us, not to you.’
‘He’s the kind who does talk to me. And not to you.’
‘Which kind? Does he know it’s an offence to withhold evidence?’
‘He doesn’t withhold it. He tells me,’ Lamb said.
‘Not the same.’
‘The same as what?’
‘I should talk to him.’
‘Think of me as a conduit, Col.’
‘I still –’
‘My source – small-time pusher around the usual spots, the previous usual spots, who hears there’s an interesting expansion of trade up in that area and decides to have a look-see. You wouldn’t have heard of him, even if I told you his name, which I won’t, naturally.’
‘It might help me gauge the reliability of his information, Jack.’
‘That’s damn hurtful, Col. An insult. It’s not necessary for you to gauge his reliability.’
‘No?’
‘What you’ve got to gauge is my reliability, isn’t it, Col? And you gauged that long ago.’
‘Well, I –’
‘Have I ever given you a dud?’
‘You –’
‘Have I ever given you a dud?’
‘I –’
‘If I believe him it’s because this is my applied judgement. That means you’ve got to believe him because you believe in me,’ Lamb replied.
‘Jack, I still –’
‘He’s at Morton Cross on that night and is walking through a couple of the streets where trade seems to be under way, assessing. A girl – very young – comes running towards him, looking really troubled and scared. Well, he’s only there to do a commercial reconnoitre and doesn’t want any involvement, does he, so he’s going to ignore the girl, but she comes across the street to him, still running? She’s trying to talk. She’s foreign – some English, but not much. He’s heard of the Albs infiltrating those parts, obviously, so he thinks maybe Alb, or possibly Turk. Now, he wonders is this some kid whore looking for business? Of course, he’s also heard the Albs operate girls up there, as well as pushing substances. He takes her to be one of these sad, shanghaied youngsters.
‘Then he notices something unusual, even for a tart. She’s got two handfuls of money – paper money, twenties, tens – scrunched up in her fists. She waves one handful at him and is shouting something he doesn’t understand at first. Is she saying she wants more like this from him? He’s not looking for that. Oh, she’s shaggable, he thinks, but his purpose is different. Gradually, though, he picks out some English words among the rest of it. He hears “coach”, “please”, “bus station”, “now”, “soon”, “pay”. She’s pulling at his sleeve, but not to drag him into a house or a car or a hedge for bought coitus, but as if she wants something else from him. He realizes he has misunderstood – not misunderstood by thinking she’s a tart but misunderstood by thinking she’s tarting now. She’s not. No, slowly, he works it out that she’s asking him to take her to the bus station where she can pick up a coach and she’ll give him one lot of her cash and buy herself a ticket to somewhere with the rest. She wants escape. Something’s happened to give her the chance, and she’s scared she’ll lose it if she’s not quick. He knows some of these kids are conned and forced on to the game – prisoners. And he objects to that, the same as I do myself, the same as you would, Col, or any right thinker and the Mail and Express. So, he thinks, OK, I’ll do it and they go to where he’s left his car. Probably it’s not all kindness. He could ask her about the scene up there, even though she’s not much at English. She’s familiar with it from the inside.
‘As soon as he starts driving, she perks up and is happy. She knows she’s out of it. He can see he’s done the right thing. She pushes some money – one whole handful – into his top pocket, but when they reach the station he makes her take it back. He reckons she’s going to need it, wherever she goes, and he’s got some good to him, this source. Or he says he gave it back to her, all of it. You know what sources are like, Col.’
‘Of course I do. You’re a source, Jack. One of mine.’
‘You have others, you sod?’
‘Minor.’
‘Right. Anyway, my source had tried to ask her about the money as he drove – where it came from, and so on. She holds up two fingers and he sees she means two men. She’s been in a threesome with big payment? Is there a premium for threesomes, Col? You’d probably know. She tells him, “Two from big Jag, one with face rip.” ’
‘Face rip?’
‘He thinks she means a scar. Once she has shoved the money into his pocket she’s got a hand free, and she puts a finger along his jaw line to show where that face rip was on one of the men.’
‘She’s doing a bunk with a night’s takings before the pimp grabs it?’ Harpur said. ‘And she needs transport?’
‘I wonder if this gets a message to you, Col.’
‘What kind?’ But, yes, it got one special message to him, and probably the same message as it got to Lamb. However, Jack liked to eke out his stuff and be mysterious, so Harpur would often act defeated. It was another standard ploy to nurse grass ego, grass confidence. Informants always did their revelations unhurriedly, to make them seem more – a spread. ‘What are you thinking of, Jack?’ he said. Plainly, what Jack would be thinking of was Manse Shale and Ralph Ember.
‘The Jaguar. A scarred face. Two men together, apparently with a load of cash on them.’
‘It’s a puzzler, Jack.’
‘Is it?’
No, not a bit. ‘We have to ask first, is she telling the truth, and second, is your source reading things right?’ Harpur replied.
‘This is Mansel Shale and Ralphy, isn’t it?’ Lamb said. ‘Both likely to have plenty in their wallets. There’s Ember’s famous, throat-close wound mark that stirs the women so much. They stroke it, ladle out the sympathy and admiration. Of course, Ralph hints it happened in some epic gang fight when he took on fearful odds. “You ought to see the other guys” – this sort of thing. I heard that actually he fell on a broken HP sauce bottle in the kitchen at home in Low Pastures when boozed up to ease a panic. And then Shale. He drives the Jag himself these days, since Denzil went under, doesn’t he?’
‘Shale and Ember? Would they go tarting together? Manse has long-term partnerships at the rectory. Anything up to weeks at a time. And Ralph’s got a wife.’
Lamb shifted and did what he usually did at blockhouse meetings. He crouched and gazed seawards through one of the loopholes, as though on watch for Hitler’s landing cr
aft and ready to throw them back on his own. During the war, some Polish and Free French army people with greatcoats like Jack’s were stationed in Britain, and would have helped resist Nazi invaders. Lamb had become Allied Forces in Europe. It was best not to mess up his concentration while he conducted one of these intense sentinel sessions, and Harpur stayed quiet. Lamb grunted – had possibly mind-eyed a pocket battleship out there, masthead swastika aflutter, ready with protective broadsides of 11 inch shells as the troops fought their way ashore.
He stayed in that position when he spoke again: ‘The girl says to my source, “Tirana” – asks him if he ever heard of Tirana and he says yes. “He dead,” she says. “Dead in car. He love me. He love me so much, but dead.” My source, he’s not sure he’s understanding right what she says, and the love bit he thinks would probably be wishful, anyway. But he does some grief and asks her if it was Tirana who gave her the money, which would make her think he loved her. And she gets ratty and says no, says she has told him already, the Jaguar man and the man with the face rip. My source apologizes and says he just wanted to get things clear. So, was it Jaguar man and face rip man who did Tirana? he asks. No, no, before them, she says. But they both have what she calls “gun bumps”. And this time she touches his jacket where a shoulder holster would lie. She’s a girl who’s very young but who has seen a lot of bad life and most likely a lot of gun bumps, Col.
‘My source drops the girl off in the bus station car park to get an intercity coach, says he gives her back the money, then returns to Morton Cross to continue his tour and try to check the Tirana story. It would make a difference to his plans if someone like that had been taken out. There might be more room up there, a trade opening. And when he reaches Morton Cross again he discovers more or less at once that the girl has it right. A street near where he met her has been closed off. Police and police cars everywhere. Also a crowd of spectators kept back behind a barrier. He parks and goes to join them.’
Lamb’s lookout stint ended. He could relax from maximum alert and stood straight again. He’d made GB safe.
‘Yes, I was down at the BMW with the body when your source joined the crowd, I expect,’ Harpur said.
‘My source asks people what’s up. They’re not all too keen on talking but eventually one says that “the king of the Albs” – this was the phrase, Col – one of them says that “the king of the Albs has got his and so he should.” My source asks if this means Tirana. “Of course Tirana,” he’s told. “Didn’t I say, king of the Albs?” My source thinks it might not be a wise spot to hang around. He’s wary about getting his face remembered given all the circumstances, including his possible plans. He withdraws.’
‘I definitely ought to see this source, Jack,’ Harpur said. ‘It could be entirely in confidence.’
‘Except you might want to put him up in court.’
‘I –’
‘So, you’ll ask what’s my reading of all this, and why did I call you out tonight,’ Lamb replied.
‘What’s your reading of all this and why did you call me out tonight?’
‘I’d say a link between the three aspects.’
‘Which three, Jack?’
‘Tirana, the girl, Ember and Shale, taking Ember and Shale as a unit.’
‘What’s it based on, Jack?’
‘What?’
‘Your idea of a link,’ Harpur said.
‘It’s how I see it.’
‘But why?’
‘Ralphy and Manse are up in Morton Cross for the same reason as my source – to look at what’s happening there as a trade situation. Or . . .’
‘Or?’
‘Well, the “gun bumps”, Col. These two are tooled up? It’s not usual for them. They love peace, as you know, Col. They’ve given you peace, you and Iles. But did their patience break? They’re frightened by the new competition? Had they decided on a removal job? Were they up there looking for Tirana and arrived too late?’
‘And how do they find the girl?’ Harpur said.
‘Find her? Perhaps they didn’t have to find her. Maybe she was in the car with Tirana.’
‘Was she? Have you got some evidence?’
‘He loves her, she said. His girl for the night? Only the night gets shortened because he’s shot.’
‘You think the money’s from him? The girl said no.’
‘Of course she said no. And she’s right. Tirana wouldn’t pay. Droit de seigneur. And, anyway, it’s true love, isn’t it? So she thinks. Cash would spoil it. That’s why she got angry with my source. The money comes from Ralphy and Manse, as she said. They see Tirana is dead and the girl’s alongside him in the car. They get her out of the BMW, pool their tens and twenties and tell her to scarper. There might be two reasons for that. Ralphy Ember can be almost a noble gent sometimes. They call him “Milord Monty”, don’t they, after the name of his club? A kind of grandeur to him and crooked dignity, even gallantry. Mostly, yes, he’s just Panicking Ralphy. But he’s capable of the fine gesture. And he’s got a daughter around that girl’s age. This could touch him, even enough to make him brave. That night, does he suddenly come over humane and persuade Manse to do the same? Ember realizes the girl probably has no papers and will be in a bad spot when your people arrive. And Manse wouldn’t care to look cowardly compared to Ralph. Compared to Panicking Ralph! God.
‘Second, they might not want to be tied into the Tirana death scene although they didn’t do him. Could they prove they didn’t do him? They have to think how you, and especially how dear Des Iles, would visualize things. The girl had seen them, and would have seen the Jaguar. They’d want her gone, not available as a witness. “Take the money and run, kid.” It’s a way out from a shit pit life for her. She might really believe Tirana loved her, but he’s unavailable now. Everything tells her to vanish. She does run, buys a ticket for the first long distance coach out, maybe London, maybe anywhere. It doesn’t really matter where it’s going, as long as she can get clear of the regime here. She disappears. She’s obviously not on her way to an ideal life, but better than this one.’
‘Your source, Jack,’ Harpur replied.
‘I keep telling you: he wouldn’t see you.’
‘Small-time pushing around the usual old spots, yes?’
‘Very small.’
‘Including the bus station, I suppose?’ Harpur said.
‘Could be the bus station from time to time.’
‘He heard about Morton Cross from someone – new territory?’
‘As I said.’
‘Does he hear about Morton Cross from somebody down at the bus station?’
‘Would I know that?’ Lamb replied.
‘Would you?’
‘What’s the interest, Col?’
‘I have to think about not just the Tirana death but the sequel – Chilton Park,’ Harpur said.
‘You think someone who was around the bus station could have been in the Park scrap? My source, no. I’m sure. He’s not like that. He wouldn’t have the connections, or a gun.’
‘I’m not thinking about your source.’
‘Who then?’ Lamb said.
‘I –’
‘Is this someone important to you?’ Lamb bent a little and pushed his extensive face close to Harpur’s in the dark, trying to read his expression.
‘You want us to try to trace the girl, do you?’ Harpur replied. ‘That’s what the meeting is for?’
‘When I give information, Col, it’s because I’d like something put right.’
‘Well, yes –’
‘That situation at Morton Cross – intolerable. The kids in slavedom. The violence. If you find the girl, she can be helped, can’t she? Her money’s going to run out and then what? All she knows about is the game. She’s back to where she was – not the same place, the same serfdom, though. You say it’s “complicated” on the Tirana inquiries. But she can probably help with those, can’t she? The girl saw who did it. She was sitting alongside him.’
‘If,’ Harpur said.
‘Ask Manse. Ask Ember.’
‘That can’t work.’
‘Have a go.’
‘You said one reason Manse and Ralph gave her money was so she’d not be here to tell us they were around at the death, Jack. They’re going to deny, aren’t they? They’ll have arranged alibis. That’s if they really were there.’
‘Of course they were. Mr Jaguar. Mr Rip Face. Mr Rip Face who is also the big-hearted, humane Milord now and then.’
‘I do worry about the girl,’ Harpur replied, ‘if your source has it right. I ought to speak to him.’
‘He’s got a real aversion.’
‘To what?’
‘Police.’
‘Does he still do the bus station?’
‘I’ll tell him not to,’ Lamb said. ‘You’re a bit concentrated on that place, aren’t you, Col? Why? Double importance? The girl leaves from there. But some earlier significance, too? What, Col?’
‘Perhaps I will try Manse or Ralphy,’ Harpur replied. ‘Not both. Obviously, the second will get a call from the first I see, wising him up. No shock effect possible.’
‘Someone at Chilton Park, or maybe at Chilton Park is a real worry for you, Col – that so?’ Lamb prepared to go. He went to the door of the blockhouse and checked there was nobody around outside. ‘I sold Manse Shale a flashy Arthur Hughes a while ago,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Almost certainly genuine. He’s into the Pre-Raphaelites. The word thrills him, I think – “Pre-Raphaelite”. Saying it right makes him feel educated. If you drop in at the rectory, see if he’s still got it, Col, would you? I aim to keep track of stuff I’ve handled, authentic or fake. It’s like wanting a puppy to go to a good home.’
‘I’ll give you ten minutes before I leave, Jack,’ Harpur replied.
* In Good Hands.
Chapter Seven
Ralph Ember hated crowing or anything gaudy like that but he felt satisfaction at the way he went to help that kid in the BMW with Tirana dead. All right, Shale accompanied him, eventually, and got some cash out, eventually, but both were eventually, very eventually. Manse would never have done either if there’d been no prompt from Ember. Ralph was sure of this. He saw his behaviour as similar to a British officer’s leading troops over the top regardless in a First World War no man’s land attack. But he would not stretch the comparison, and definitely never speak of it. Ralph always enjoyed the obituaries of daring soldiers in the Daily Telegraph, though First War survivors were rare now. Shale had wanted to disappear fast. And, in a way, Ember could see this looked like wisdom. After all, he and Manse visited Morton Cross to do Tirana as a tidy commercial enterprise and, once they’d found him already dead, the requirement ended and they could have very reasonably left. However, perhaps some reasoning was dismally narrow. Certain urges went beyond and above the rational, and Ember considered his wish to save the girl from more trauma showed an almost spiritual side, and one which he longed to develop.
