Billy took this as a compliment and was just about to respond when a middle-aged woman in front turned round and said cheekily, “I’ve got two lovely daughters, darlin’. You can come round to my house for tea any time!”
“Thank you, missus!” Billy laughed. “But my boss here thinks I’m a danger to women, so I’d better not!”
Tollman nudged Billy. “Sorry to interrupt, lad, but this is our stop.”
Billy gave the woman in front a wink as they got up and left. Several women waved and blushed from the omnibus as Billy and Tollman walked away.
“See what I mean, lad,” said Tollman. “You’re like catnip to a bunch of cats. You ain’t setting foot in my house, that’s for sure.”
They walked up Gray’s Inn Road in companionable silence, then Tollman’s tone changed. He wanted to talk about the seriousness of the task ahead.
“When we walk in this club, Billy, you say nothing. Do you hear me? You’re there to be seen and not heard. Silent intimidation unless provoked. Understand?”
“Gotcha,” said Billy firmly. “Nasty crew are they, these Eyeties?”
“All these gangs are the same, lad; you should know that.”
Billy nodded.
“Darby Sabini can be a reasonable bloke,” Tollman continued. “Depends what sort of mood he’s in. But be warned. If he gets riled he’s got a helluva punch. Broke a man’s jaw with just one right hook last year. Boxes under the name of Fred Handley.”
Billy stopped in his tracks. “Handley?! Blimey, I know Fred Handley! Trains at Hoxton Baths like I used to. I didn’t know he was Italian! He don’t have an accent or anything.”
Tollman smiled. “Doesn’t speak Italian either, even though his father’s from Italy. Darby Sabini and his brothers—there are four—work the racetracks, intimidating the bookies with various levels of nasty violence. But, of course, their business may go down the tubes if the Government decides to close down horse racing for the duration of the war, as has been rumored. I wouldn’t normally suspect the Sabinis of selling drugs but who knows what these gangs have decided to try in order to supplement their usual incomes.”
Tollman led the way round the corner into Theobald’s Road. “You must know this area well, Billy, seeing as you come from Hoxton.”
Billy shrugged. “I know it but it wasn’t actually a place any sensible bloke would enter. Little Italy is worse than Chinatown in some ways. They don’t like English blokes much. Especially coppers.”
“Mm. Although, I’ve had my suspicions for some time, that the Sabinis have got certain coppers on their payroll. They seem to be unusually fireproof sometimes. Whenever they have a fight with another gang, the Sabinis always seem to get ignored when the police turn up to make arrests.”
Billy’s face set hard at this information. “I’d like to get my hands on any of those bent coppers, Mr Tollman. I think they are the worst kind of scum. I mean I didn’t set out in life to make the police my career but now I’m in the force, I don’t see the point in not doing an honest job. It’s worse than being a criminal.”
“It’s not always black and white, lad. Let’s hope you stay honest, Billy. But just make sure that when you do marry, your private life is lived far away from the reach of these gangs. I have known a few coppers who have co-operated with them because their wives and families have been threatened. There’s bent coppers and there’s desperate coppers.”
They turned down a side street to see a stocky man standing guard outside a basement well. At the sight of Billy and Tollman, the man turned and swiftly went down the stairs—presumably to report the approach of the police.
“That’s the place,” Tollman nodded to Billy. “Remember, lad, don’t be provoked into anything rash.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tollman went down the steps and entered first. Billy had to remove his helmet before he could duck down through the doorway.
There was a movement of chairs, as Billy’s frame filled the doorway, and several men, heads down to avoid recognition, slipped out of the door at the back of the bar. Tollman made a mental note of this as he flashed his warrant card at the barman. Always note all the exits when you enter the presence of criminals, his old sergeant had told him when he was a young copper. You always want to know how to get out of a place in a hurry.
“I’m looking for Darby Sabini,” he said in a firm voice, to no one in particular, and was rewarded with a reply from the back of the smoke-filled room.
“Detective Sergeant Tollman,” said the voice, with an element of jovial surprise. “I thought they’d put you out to pasture.” A barrel-chested young man walked forward with an icy smile on his face.
“Ah well,” replied Tollman, “they had to bring the experienced coppers back on account of all the young ones going off to war, didn’t they? By the way, Darby, when are you going to do your bit?”
Sabini flushed slightly and the smile on his face slipped a little. “I would love to do my bit for King and Country, Mr Tollman, but I got turned down on account of a medical condition, didn’t I?”
“And what medical condition would that be then? A severe case of malingering? Or would it be idle bones?”
Sabini’s mouth drew up into a sneer. “I see you haven’t lost that famous sense of humor, Mr Tollman—” he paused and then said menacingly “—despite you being widowed an’ all. My condolences on the loss of your lady wife.”
Tollman didn’t rise to the bait. He merely replied, “I’m surprised that your—” he paused for emphasis “—‘medical condition’ allows you to still box.”
“Nah. I don’t do much of that anymore, Mr Tollman. I’m more of a fight promoter. Speaking of fights—” Sabini eyed Billy curiously “—your copper there looks familiar. I feel I should know him.”
“Billy Rigsby,” answered Tollman. Billy stared straight ahead, his back ramrod straight, but he could feel Sabini’s eyes boring into him.
“Billy Rigsby!” It was almost a yelp of recognition. “Hoxton boy? Fought light heavyweight afore you went in the army?”
Billy nodded.
“Well, well. What’s a Hoxton boy doing joining the filth, eh?”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, Darby,” Tollman warned.
Sabini began to circle Billy with a predatory look on his face. “I heard you was invalided out of the Guards and can’t box no more. Crippled hand, they say. Ain’t that a shame, boys?” he addressed the men in the room and they laughed.
Billy twitched. He had a powerful urge to punch Sabini and was desperately trying to control himself.
Sabini crouched and started shadow boxing around Billy, goading him.
“So you can’t do the old one-two anymore, eh, Billy Rigsby?” He demonstrated a quick right-left combination jab at Billy, coming within inches of Billy’s stomach. Billy felt his heartbeat quicken and clenched his good hand around the knuckleduster he was wearing under his glove.
Sabini continued to dance around Billy and goad him. “What are the police doing employing a cripple, eh? I bet you’re no use to man nor beast, with that hand? Is it your old punching hand, Billy?
“No,” said Billy suddenly, causing Sabini to stop in his tracks and Tollman to say “Rigsby!” in a warning bark.
“It’s this one,” said Billy, ignoring Tollman and raising his rigid left hand. Quick as a flash, before Tollman could stop him, Billy extended his arm and caught Darby Sabini square in the throat, hitting his Adam’s apple with the hard scarred cartilage between his bound finger knuckles and the base of his thumb. Before Darby could react and even catch his breath, Billy had pushed him back, by the throat, until he had him pinned against the wall. “This is the hand that I punch with!” and he raised his right hand, as though he was going to smash it into Sabini’s face.
There was a sound of chairs scraping and falling as Sabini’s men stood up to take Billy on, but then Tollman’s hand closed firmly over Billy’s clenched fist and he said, “Enough! That’s enough, lad! Take your hand
away from Mr Sabini’s throat and let me talk to him.”
Billy, shocked out of his blind rage, obediently dropped his right arm and reluctantly let Sabini out of the vice-like grip of his left hand. Sabini gasped for breath and had a coughing fit, motioning to his men to stand down.
“I always knowed you were a useful fighter, Billy,” he said hoarsely. “And you ain’t lost that killer instinct, I see.”
“Barman,” said Tollman matter-of-factly, tossing some coins on the table, “get Mr Sabini a brandy.”
The barman duly obliged and Tollman sat Sabini down at the nearest table and drew up a chair next to him. Billy stood stiffly to attention and feared that he had disgraced himself until Tollman, his back to Sabini, gave him a wink and a nod. Billy relaxed.
“What is it that you want, Mr Tollman?” Sabini croaked.
Tollman slapped the picture of Dodds on the table. “Dodds aka Sumpter aka Egan. Know him?”
Sabini curled his lip. “I know him. Right toerag. Don’t come from these parts.”
Tollman raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So how come he’s been before the beak at Clerkenwell, then? Seems like this might be his home patch to me.”
Sabini shook his head. “I dunno,” he said, then he added in exasperation, “look, he used to run with the Titanics—that’s probably when he got done over at Clerkenwell. Then he joined up. Then I heard he got invalided out of the army for whatever reason, and then he got some fancy job over Belgravia way. Last I heard he was a part-time pimp and was mixing it with a gang up West. I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s a small-time piece of dirt and I wouldn’t have him in my manor if you paid me.”
“So you wouldn’t know anything about where he might have got a load of drugs, then, Darby?” Tollman looked hard at Sabini.
Sabini looked genuinely affronted. “Drugs! Leave it out, Sergeant Tollman! I don’t touch drugs, you know that! Strictly the turf and the ring. I’m a sporting man. I leave the drugs to the foreign scum.”
Arthur snorted at this Italian calling other immigrants foreign scum.
“So which ‘foreign scum’ would we be talking about, Darby?” he asked quietly.
“Look—” Sabini lowered his voice and leaned forward “—I don’t want no trouble from the West End gangs. I’m happy at the moment to let them Irish boys slug it out with the King’s Cross boys. They leave me alone and I leave them alone.”
“Oh, so we’re talking Irish scum, are we? Exactly who? The McAusland brothers?”
Sabini looked at the floor and said quietly, “I ain’t saying no more.”
“That’ll do,” replied Tollman and he picked up the picture of Dodds. “If Mr Dodds or Sumpter or whatever he’s called, should turn up on your doorstep, you would tell me, wouldn’t you, Darby?”
Sabini looked at Tollman and said sarcastically, “Of course, Mr Tollman, I’ll send my valet with the news!”
Tollman pulled Sabini toward him and spoke very softly in his ear. “If I were you, I’d think very carefully about protecting a man who is wanted for murder …” Sabini stiffened and shot Tollman an anxious look. “… after all, you wouldn’t want me to write you up as an accessory, would you?”
“I thought you said it was drugs!” hissed Sabini.
“Did I? Oh no, lad. Dodds is wanted for a hanging offence and anyone involved will be taken down with him, mark my words.”
With a satisfied look, Tollman stood up, tipped his hat at Sabini and said, “Come along PC Rigsby.”
As they turned to go out of the door, Sabini called to Billy. Expecting a threat of retribution, Billy turned, with a menacing look on his face, only to be surprised by Sabini saying, “Billy, if you get fed up of working for the filth, come and see me. I could use some muscle like you.”
Billy said nothing and turned on his heel.
Outside, Tollman slapped Billy on the back and said, “Well, we got some sort of a result! How about I buy you a plate of pie and mash before we head up West?”
CHAPTER 12
Over plates of steaming pie and mash, liberally strewn with salt, pepper, and vinegar, Tollman took it upon himself to educate Billy Rigsby in the ways of policing.
“I’m aware, lad, that you have been somewhat thrust into this job,” he said, watching, with some awe, Billy eating at his usual frantic pace. “So I feel it is my job to give you some instruction.” He could stand it no longer and put his hand up to stop Billy’s shoveling hand in mid-journey up to his mouth.
“Number one,” he said firmly, “learn to eat slower. A copper with indigestion is no good to anyone.”
“I never get indigestion, Mr Tollman,” said a puzzled Billy.
“Not you, lad. Me. It’s giving me indigestion just watching you. You’re not in the army now. No one is going to swipe your food or set a time limit on how long you have to eat. Just … slow … down.”
“Yes, Mr Tollman,” Billy said meekly and began to eat in an exaggerated form of slow motion. Tollman raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He had a feeling that this was going to be hard work.
“Right,” Tollman continued, “now this morning, you were unable to control yourself and obey my order to be seen and not heard.”
Billy looked ashamed. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry about that.”
Tollman gave a wry smile. “Don’t be, lad. I was betting on you doing something of the sort. Hoping you would, in fact.”
“You were?” Billy looked confused. “So why did you tell me not to?”
Tollman looked at him steadily. “It’s a copper’s job to understand human nature, lad. If you understand people, then you know what to expect from them. You can anticipate what they are going to do. I have known Darby Sabini for a long time. Since he was a nipper, in fact. He’s always been a cocky little bugger. Likes to be king of the hill. Likes to show he’s boss. But he’s careful around the police. Especially ones that he can’t intimidate—like me. But, he always has to flex his muscles. I knew he would probably have a go at you because you are young and he knew you had a crippled hand. I also knew that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself retaliating and I had every faith that you would be able to best him in front of his men. That then puts him in a position of weakness and that makes him easier for me to question. It’s like tenderizing meat, son. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, “I’m not advocating slapping every criminal around to get the information that we want but it works with these violent gangs. It’s all about who’s top dog, especially when you’re on their turf, surrounded by their men. Understand?”
Billy nodded. “It’s like that in the army,” he observed with a flash of intuition. “Survival in the barrack room is all about your reputation and whether you can be intimidated or not.”
Tollman smiled. “Exactly.”
They ate for a little while in silence, while the canny Tollman waited for Billy to digest this information and come to the next conclusion.
“So how do you want to play this West End gang, then, Mr Tollman?”
Tollman looked satisfied. Billy was shaping up nicely.
“Ah, now the Irish boys in the West End are a different kettle of fish. They’re not your jumped-up little hooligans who terrorize the racetracks and slit bookmakers’ throats if they don’t pay protection money. Sure, the West End boys run their own form of protection rackets but they are more like your businessmen. They run establishments—nightclubs, pubs, strip joints—they control the girls, the liquor, and the drugs. They resort to violence when someone tries to muscle in on their turf but we, the police, can’t threaten them. They’ve got too many powerful connections …”
“How d’you mean?” asked Billy, so fascinated by this glimpse of the underworld that he had temporarily ceased eating.
Tollman snorted with grim humor. “Oh, lad, you’d be amazed at how many titled people, judges, and top-ranking policemen patronize their establishments, use their girls, drink their liquor, and take their drugs. Makes them fireproof, see? You can’t raid their clubs. You’re
just as likely to find yourself face-to-face with one of your bosses if you storm in flashing your warrant cards. No, you have to negotiate. You have to offer them something in order to get them to give you information.”
“But we haven’t got nothing to offer them!” exclaimed Billy.
“Oh yes we have, lad. Immunity from prosecution in a murder trial. Everyone backs off when a hanging offence is on the table. They know that even their top-drawer clientele won’t protect them if it’s a case of murder. Especially if the victim is a Lord. That’s front-page news, Billy. These men don’t like being in the newspapers. If they kill one of their own, no one cares. If they kill a member of the Establishment then it’s no holds barred and the press has a field day.”
Billy was confused. “But they weren’t involved in Lord Murcheson’s death, were they?”
“We don’t know that. They don’t know that.” Tollman answered patiently. “If Dodds is one of their men, then they are involved. If they supplied the drugs to Dodds or directly to His Lordship, then they are involved. Offences to the Person Act 1861, lad, states than any person who aids, abets, counsels or procures in the business of a murder is known as an accessory and may be punished in the same way as the murderer himself. Course it’s up to the courts what punishment they hand down to an accessory. They could commute the sentence to life imprisonment—but I think not in the case of the murder of a peer of the realm.” Tollman sucked air in through his teeth and shook his head. “No, I think it would be the rope, no mistake.”
Tollman took a large mouthful of pie and ate in silence for a moment. “So” he resumed, “that is how we shall proceed. Politely and firmly putting our cards on the table and see what deal we can come up with. I think you need to be in plain clothes for this one, Billy,” he added, “so we shall have to go back to Mayfair.”
Murder in Belgravia Page 12
