Sherry’s face lost its colour and she sagged back into the armchair, her hand over her mouth.
‘Cat got your tongue, madam? Well … you know what they say, “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings”. Looks like you’ll have to give the money back, won’t you? And then, just for dessert I’m going to book you for obstructing the police in the pursuit of a murder inquiry. I don’t doubt you’ll get off with probation, but your picture will look nice in the local paper, and your neighbours will be able to point at you and say, “That’s the slag who tried to put Bimbo away.” ’
Sherry’s eyes filled with tears that ran down her cheeks.
‘I shouldn’t bother with the tears,’ said Dodds. ‘They don’t work on me. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Now, what time did Bimbo arrive, and what time did he leave?’
‘It isn’t like you said,’ sobbed Sherry. ‘Not anything like it.’
‘Just answer the question, madam.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like. They threatened my kids. There wasn’t any money. They said they’d hurt my kids.’
‘Who said?’
‘I don’t know. Just after he left there was a phone call. And this awful voice said they knew he’d been here, and if l told anybody, they’d get my kids.’
Dodds sat and finished his tea. The tears seemed genuine, but then most women could turn on the taps, he knew.
‘So it was Bimbo,’ he said. She nodded. ‘And what time did he leave?’
‘Just before one.’
‘Thank you, madam. I’ll be going then.’ He rose.
‘What about my kids?’ She shouted, rising from the chair to grab his jacket. ‘What happens now?’
‘I’ll see someone is sent round. Now calm yourself down. Nothing is going to happen to the youngsters. l promise you that. It was an empty threat. But we’ll look after them. Now calm down.’
‘I didn’t want to let him down – especially after all he’s done for us. I’m not a slag. I’m not. I’m not!’ He led her to the chair and settled her into it. The little girl came in, her eyes blazing.
‘You made my mummy cry. You’re not a nice policeman.’
‘You make her a nice cup of tea, and she’ll feel better,’ said Dodds. ‘Go on now. You know how to make a cup of tea, don’t you?’
‘Go on, Sarah,’ said Sherry. ‘Do what the policeman says.’
Dodds passed Sherry a clean white handkerchief. ‘I am sorry, Mrs Wilks. But I needed to know. Right now Bimbo is sitting in a cell looking forward to a murder trial and maybe fifteen years. You understand?’
‘I understand. But he won’t will he? I let him down. After all he’d done. And I do like him a lot. I thought … you know, maybe we’d get together. Maybe even get married.’
‘Don’t worry about Bimbo. As far as he’s concerned I came here this morning and you told me everything. Now I’m going to call and get a couple of officers round. Okay?’
‘I’m not a slag. I’m not!’
‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Wilks.’
Chief Inspector Frank Beard was forty-seven years old, and not only skilled in the arts of police work, but also a fine reader of men. Before his oak-topped desk sat two men he could read very well. One was an old fashioned copper, who, despite his cynicism, had never lost his understanding of duty, nor his compassion. The other was a first rate case solver and bent as a three quid note. Frank Beard would have loved to be able to prove a case against the Geordie, to kick him from the force, to see him serve a stretch. But Lynch had been surreptitiously investigated on four occasions, and always came up whiter than snow. He was sharp, and he was crafty.
‘Outline it for me,’ said Beard. Lynch flicked open his notebook.
‘Reilly was killed late the night before last. His wife described the assailant. I received a phone call early yesterday morning saying that one John J. Jardine had threatened Reilly several weeks ago and broken two of his fingers in a fight. It seems that Reilly was running a small-time protection racket, and had put the squeeze on a gay friend of Jardine’s. I was told that Jardine had killed Reilly. We obtained a warrant and searched Jardine’s flat. We found his track suit top, covered in blood. The lab says the blood is Reilly’s. We picked up Jardine in the High Street, where he assaulted P.C. Daines. We’ve questioned him and he obviously denies the killing, but he gave us an alibi which has subsequently been shot down.’
‘No it hasn’t,’ said Dodds. Beard leaned back. Lynch swung on the sergeant.
‘What do you mean it hasn’t? My D.C. rang the woman. She denied he was there.’
‘I went to see her. She’d been threatened. She’s now willing to swear he was there – from seven until one.’
‘So that’s why Jardine wanted to see you alone. To set up an alibi.’
Dodds ignored him and turned to the Chief Inspector. ‘She was terrified, sir. She had a phone call after Bimbo left saying that if she told anyone he was there her kids would be hurt.’
‘Bullshit!’ said Lynch.
‘I also saw the man Silver – you know, the pimp on Ironside Estate – he saw Bimbo at around 1 a.m., coming home. He was wearing a white sweater and jeans. He also said he saw some men hanging around Bimbo’s flat.’
‘New career in CID is it, Dodds?’ asked Lynch.
‘I’d be no good at it, Lynch. I’ve been saving for two years for a new greenhouse.’
‘You bastard! What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Enough!’ roared Frank Beard. ‘Now, Don, what makes you sure the woman isn’t lying?’
‘I had to trick it out of her, sir. She denied he was there, but I told her that her daughter had told me different. I also said her neighbours had identified Bimbo as leaving the house at 1 a.m. And I know terror when I see it.’ Lynch made to speak but Beard waved him to silence.
‘Then what is going on – in your estimation?’
‘It’s hard to say, sir. As far as I can piece together Frank Reardon is … was … behind Reilly’s operation. When Bimbo moved against Reilly and broke his fingers, Reardon took that as insubordination and decided to have Bimbo punished. Reilly then organised a vicious assault on Bimbo’s friend, Adrian Owen. A short time later Reilly’s snooker hall was burnt down. Insurance company refused to pay up. Place was a fire trap. Now Reilly is dead.’
‘Which all points to Jardine,’ said Lynch.
‘I accept that,’ said Dodds, ‘but there are pieces missing.’
‘Like what?’ asked Frank Beard.
‘I’m satisfied Bimbo didn’t kill Reilly. But someone did. And someone torched his place. I reckon Frank Reardon lost a lot of money when the snooker hall went up. My bet is he had Reilly topped.’
‘And your view?’ Beard asked Lynch.
‘It’s a damn sight less complicated than this fairy story. We’ve a man on the manor who served time for arson. His name’s Stan Jarvis. He was good at it too. He now runs a video shop. But, more importantly, guess who he spent two years sharing a cell with?’
‘I’m not into guessing games, Inspector.’
‘Bimbo Jardine,’ said Lynch, triumphantly.
‘So you’re still asking for Jardine to be kept in custody?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But you, Don, think he’s been set up?’
‘I’m convinced of it, sir. I think we should let him out. He’s not the type to “flee the country”. And I believe this can of worms will explode if Bimbo is on the street. Reardon still hasn’t managed to punish him. His credibility is slipping, and we could find ourselves putting him away.’
‘I’m not interested in any more murders,’ said Beard. ‘One is quite enough to be going on with. But I wouldn’t mind seeing Reardon’s arse in a sling. What’s this about Jackie Green?’
‘Reardon brought him in – a sort of partner,’ said Lynch. ‘The
re’s some talk of Reardon financing him so he can get back into the ring.’
‘I saw him fight McNab,’ said Beard. ‘Good puncher. Didn’t he get pulled in over a Securicor job?’
‘Yes, sir. He did three years.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I understand he’s flown to Tenerife for a short holiday,’ said Lynch.
‘Convenient,’ said Dodds.
‘What does that mean, Don?’ asked Beard.
‘Well, sir, he’s another giant, isn’t he? I wouldn’t have minded examining his hands for bruises this morning.’
‘I’m ordering Jardine released, pending further inquiries,’ said Beard. ‘And I want a close eye kept on the situation. Any developments, come to me instantly.’
‘I think it’s a mistake, sir,’ said Lynch, reddening.
‘We all make mistakes,’ said Beard, softly. ‘I can live with it.’
9
Hedges carried the boxes up to Stepney’s front door and rang the bell. For some minutes he waited, then rang again. The old man opened the door and Hedges swallowed hard. The flesh had vanished from Stepney’s face, his skin stretched tight over skeletal features. His eyes were bright, his clothes dishevelled, and his right arm was tucked inside a broad belt he had buckled about his waist.
‘Wer bist du?’ asked the old man.
‘I’ve got your stuff.’
‘Was? Ich versehe sie nicht.’
‘Don’t fuck me about. I’ve been up all night. Now let me in.’
The old man swayed in the doorway. ‘Here, are you all right?’ said Hedges.
‘Sprechen sie Deutsch!’ ordered Stepney.
‘I don’t speak German. It is German, isn’t it?’
Stepney rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘German? Yes. German. I am sorry, Mr … Mr … ?’
‘Hedges. I’ve got your leaflets.’
‘Yes, of course. Bring them in.’ Stepney struggled up the stairs ahead of the printer and sank into a leather armchair.
‘Now where’s my money?’
‘First show me the merchandise.’ Hedges ripped open the four boxes, producing a selection of A4 leaflets. Stepney ran his eye over them and smiled. ‘You have done well.’ Reaching into a drawer he produced an envelope which he passed to the man. Hedges opened it and counted the money.
‘You ought to see a doctor,’ he said. ‘You don’t look well.’
Stepney chuckled, a dry sound that brought a shiver to the printer. ‘Goodbye, Mr Hedges. You may rest assured no one will ever know of your part in this.’
‘I could take you to the hospital,’ said the man.
Stepney reached once more into the drawer, picking up a loose bundle of notes. Slowly, with his left hand, he counted out ten £50 notes, pushing them across the table.
‘What’s that for?’
‘That? It is for caring. Now go.’
Stan was at the station to pick up Bimbo at 8.15 a.m. He said little until Bimbo had squeezed himself into the passenger seat of the Cottage Video van. As they drove out into the High Street, Stan outlined his conversation with Jackie Green.
‘Now you know me, Bim, born conman. I talked Jackie into the idea that Reilly torched his own place. But, Jesus, son, never expected Jackie to top him. This is all gettin’ out of hand. You gotta do a runner. Broken bones is one thing, undertakers is another.’
‘l don’t get it,’ said Bimbo. ‘This is all so stupid. One mistake. One piddlin’ mistake. And it aint as if I didn’t say sorry. Now Adrian’s smashed up, Reilly’s dead, and you’re tellin’ me to run. I don’t believe this.’
‘Don’t try to work it out, Bim. It aint your strong suit. Just trust me and vanish for a while.’
‘I aint runnin’.’
Stan pulled over and parked. He turned to Bimbo. ‘Listen to me. If you woke up in the night and the flat was on fire you’d leave, right? You wouldn’t stay and tell the fire “I aint runnin”.’ This is the same thing. It’s out of control. Reardon’s gonna destroy ya. You understand that?’
‘It aint the same.’
‘You think you can stand up to Jackie Green?’
‘No,’ admitted Bimbo.
‘Then what you gonna achieve by stayin’?’
‘I dunno, Stan. But I aint leavin’. It wouldn’t feel right.’
‘Whass that mean? Feel right.’
‘I aint much on explainin’. I can’t stop the world crappin’ on me. I can’t do nothin’ about the way I am. I can’t even protect me mates. But no one aint gonna ever get the satisfaction a sayin’ they run me out. No one. You understand?’
‘No, son,’ said Stan, sadly. ‘There’s a time for fightin’ and a time for runnin’. But, that’s it, I aint gonna try and convince ya no more. You need me, I’ll be there.’
‘You stay out of it. Drop me off at Stepney’s will ya?’
‘Sure, and that reminds me: Jackie was askin’ about him.’
‘They aint startin’ on him now?’
‘They already did, son. He saw ’em off with a pistol. Gutsy old Jew, eh?’
‘He aint a Jew, but it don’t matter.’ Stan switched on the ignition and the van pulled away.
Stepney’s shop was closed, but his front door was on the latch. Bimbo and Stan made their way upstairs. Stepney was sitting in his old armchair, staring at a chessboard. He was unshaven and his shirt was dirty and rumpled. The chess pieces had been set in a crazy pattern diagonally across the board.
‘You all right, Step?’ asked Bimbo, kneeling beside the old man.
‘Ja, mein freund. Sehr gut.’
‘I’m sorry, mate, I don’t speak the lingo.’
‘All the pieces,’ said Stepney. ‘I make a new game, yes? The old game is gone for good.’ He leaned forward and swept a knight diagonally across the board and Bimbo saw that his right arm was hanging limp and useless in his lap.
‘Oh God!’ whispered Bimbo. ‘I’m gonna get you to ’ospital.’
‘No!’ shouted Stepney. ‘I will die in my home. But you, Bimbo my son, you will do something for me, yes?’
‘Sure. You name it.’
‘I wish for some peppermint. You buy some now. I will speak with your friend, Stan.’
‘I’ll be right back,’ said Bimbo. ‘Look after him, Stan.’ As the big man ran down the stairs Stepney waved Stan close.
‘Anything I can get ya?’ asked Stan, nervous and uneasy.
‘Nothing. But listen closely. I know you are a man of intelligence, and I also know you are aware of the trouble our large friend is in. Over there are four boxes of leaflets. One is on yellow paper, the second on pink, the third on white. Repeat it to me.’ Stan did so. ‘Good. They are to be distributed – and no one must know how, or by whom. You follow me?’
‘No. Sorry, I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘They will help destroy Reardon. They will take his mind from Bimbo. You understand? Read one. The yellow box. Take one and read it. Aloud.’
‘I aint much on readin’. To be honest I aint much on readin’.’
‘Then pass one to me. We must be swift. I do not want Bimbo to know of them.’
Stan passed a sheet of yellow paper to the old man, who took it in his left hand and held it before his eyes.
‘There is a headline which says “The Evil Among Us”. Then it reads:
“For centuries there has been no more evil a crime than that of abusing young children. Yet here, in our own area, there is a man who has been convicted of sexual crimes against young children, crimes too hideous to reproduce.
That man is FRANK REARDON, who was first convicted of abusing in 1964 and was dishonourably discharged from the army in 1971 for assaulting a boy aged three years and four months.
Reardon now poses as a businessman, and still carries on his e
vil and corrupt practices, procuring young children from his many contacts in the criminal underworld.
A case of the death of a child in Munich in 1970 was recorded, but the culprit never brought to justice. It was thought to be a serving soldier. Reardon was questioned, but an alibi was registered by a homosexual drug addict Reardon was liaising with, and the case was dropped through lack of evidence.
How can this man be accepted among us, with all the inherent danger to our children?
For the sake of our young we must demand the police act.
And swiftly!” ’
Stepney finished reading and sagged back.
‘Bloody Hell,’ whispered Stan. ‘How did you find all that out?’
‘I made it up,’ said Stepney, smiling. ‘It is good, nicht wahr?’
‘It’s bleedin’ brilliant. But won’t he scotch it at the start? I mean you can’t prove none of it.’
‘He will not be able to disprove it. That is the beauty of the blatant lie. Did you notice the age I gave for the child? Not three years. Not four years. But three years four months. It has the ring of truth. And that is all it needs.’
‘What do the others say?’
‘The second talks of his perversion in more detail with six case histories. The third deals with his liaison with the homosexual child molester Jackie Green.’
‘Jesus, Joseph and Mary!’
‘You can see these are distributed?’
‘Where they gotta go?’
‘Every public house, shop, cafe, and as many private homes as possible. But nothing to the press. They alone can declare his innocence, should they so desire.’
‘All hell will break loose.’
‘It is already loose.’ Stepney laid his head back on the chair top. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘you should take me to the hospital now. I cannot feel my legs.’
‘I’ll get you there,’ said Stan, rising.
White Knight/Black Swan Page 19
