by Linda Regan
He sighed. “You think I killed her too?”
“Just answer the question,” Banham said dryly.
“I was here, doing my books. And before you ask, I have at least four witnesses. My doorman, Johnny Gladman, was here.” He paused. “Some of the time. Terry King too, sewing sequins, his favourite pastime.” He leaned back against his desk, looking Alison up and down with distaste. “I think he went out to buy some bits from the market, but he was here most of the day.” He touched his index finger to his cheek. “Let’s see, who else can speak for my innocence?” The finger traced his hairline. “Oh yes, my pot collector and cleaner, Ray Adams. He was working today.” He looked straight into Banham’s eyes. “Let me find this killer,” he said softly. “No one messes with my girls.”
“She wasn’t one of your girls,” Alison said. “She had left.”
His cold eyes burned into her. “Temporarily.” He picked up a pencil and tapped the palm of his hand. “She went to do a theatre job. Most of my Marilyns are models and actors; they all come and go.” He laid the pencil down with great care. “Two of my best Marilyns.” He shook his head slowly and repeated, “No one messes with my girls.”
“Have you any idea who might want them dead?” Banham asked.
Chang tidied the papers on his desk into a pile. He looked up. “When I find this killer, he’ll wish you’d found him first.”
“Did Sadie Morgan have any boyfriends?” Alison asked.
“She was having it off with my doorman,” he said, his tone edged with scorn. “Johnny Gladman.”
“You don’t approve?” Banham questioned.
“She deserved better.”
“You, for instance?” Alison pushed. Chang just smiled.
“Have you found the husband?” he asked. “He bruised her beautiful face, in here. There are witnesses. Ask me nicely, I could find it on CCTV.”
“We’ll wait,” Banham rapped.
Chang opened the door and stood waiting for them to leave. “It may take a while. Why don’t you have that drink?”
“I’d rather talk to Johnny Gladman,” Alison replied.
Chang made a little mocking bow and led the way out into the club. The same Elvis impersonator was now crucifying Crying in the Chapel. Alison spotted Ray Adams washing down tables, a roll-up cigarette in the corner of his mouth and eyes nearly out on stalks.
Gladman wore old jeans and a black t-shirt; the suit jacket on top obviously belonged to someone else – it was far too tight. His hair was still in plaits, held at the nape of his neck by an elastic band. His entwined hands lay on the table, but he struggled to keep his dirty fingers still.
“You were very friendly with Sadie Morgan, weren’t you?” Alison asked after a few uncomfortable silent moments.
There was something about him that didn’t add up. He had been done for drug dealing, yet his face was careworn rather than the rough gauntness she would have expected in a small time estate dealer. He spoke softly.
“She was my friend, yes.”
“More than a friend.”
“No.”
“Rumour has it you were,” Banham pushed.
“Rumour has it wrong.”
“Did you know Lily Palmer?” Alison asked him.
“Yes, she worked here until a few weeks ago.”
“She’s dead.”
He looked stunned.
“Did you know her well?”
“No.” The colour had left his face and his eyes were half-closed.
“Where were you between four and seven today?” Banham asked him.
There was a pause. “Home. I live in the cottage at the back. I’m the caretaker here.”
“Anyone live with you?”
“My brother Otis.” He paused. “Some of the time.”
“Was he with you today?”
“No, today I was alone.”
“Otis was involved in a stabbing at St Abbot’s school last year,” Banham said. “What do you know about that?”
Johnny looked puzzled. “His friend Felix was stabbed.”
“Felix Greene.” Banham’s tone hardened. “And he won’t say who did it.”
“It wasn’t Otis,” Johnny said quickly. “He was his friend, man.”
“Where is Otis now?” Banham asked.
He became noticeably nervous. “He’s out. I don’t know where. I never know where.” His eyes reminded Alison of an animal caught in a car’s headlights.
“You should know,” Alison pushed. “He’s only fifteen.” Johnny shrugged. “He goes out with his friends. That’s all I know.”
“I need to talk to him,” Banham said.
“What about?”
“Felix Greene.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Do that.” He handed Johnny a card. “Tell him to call me, and tell him if he doesn’t, I’ll come looking for him. All right?”
“That stabbing was nothing to do with Otis,” Johnny said, suddenly sounding stronger. “He wasn’t even there when it happened. You’ve got that all wrong.”
“Just pass the message on,” Banham told him.
“Meanwhile,” Alison said firmly, “we’re investigating another murder. Can anyone else vouch for your whereabouts this afternoon? As your brother isn’t here.”
Johnny looked nervous. “Someone here might have seen me. I don’t know.”
“The side entrance from your cottage leads to the road,” Banham said. “If you’d gone out that way no one here would have seen you.”
Johnny didn’t answer. Eddie Chang was approaching with Terry King.
“I’ve found some CCTV footage going back a month or so,” Terry said, handing Alison a pile of DVDs. “Bruno and Sadie are on there a lot.”
Eddie sneered at Johnny. “You and the husband having a few ugly rows too.” He began to walk away.
Johnny’s face took on a greyish tinge.
“Mind if we take a look around your cottage?” Banham asked casually.
Eddie stopped. Johnny looked at his back. “Unless you’ve got a search warrant you’ll have to ask Mr Chang.”
“No problem,” Eddie turned and smiled his rattlesnake smile. “But you will need a warrant. That might be difficult on a Sunday night. See you tomorrow, perhaps.” He looked at Alison and added, “If you can persuade a magistrate to let you harass an innocent citizen.”
Terry was instructed to see them out, or more likely to make sure they left the premises. He was dressed in a purple floral corduroy skirt that finished just below his knees, a light- coloured blouse under a pink cardigan, low-heeled shoes and dark glasses.
“How is your face? Alison asked him as they headed for the door. His nose was still swollen and shiny purple bruising showed around the glasses.
“Getting better thank you,” he answered curtly.
“How did you get on with Lily Palmer?” Alison asked him as they reached the end of the dingy passageway.
It was hard to make out his eyes, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the question.
“To be honest I didn’t like her much. I thought she was a bitch. She was unkind to me.” His heavily pencilled eyebrows moved. “But that doesn’t mean I’m glad she was killed. Eddie just told me,” he added quickly. “Lily was a good Marilyn, but she wasn’t popular. Sadie had that extra vulnerable quality. People liked her.” His voice dropped. “I cared for Sadie. I’m so sorry she’s dead. But Lily...” He sighed and shook his head.
“They talk to you, don’t they?” Alison pushed. “All girls pour their hearts out to their hairdresser.”
Terry was about to answer, but Eddie Chang suddenly appeared at the end of the passageway. Terry opened the door and ushered them into the street. Chang disappeared.
“You were saying?” Alison stood on the threshold, a hand holding the door open.
“Sadie had husband trouble,” Terry said softly. “Check out the tapes I gave you. I wouldn’t be surprised at anything he did. He was from Sicily.”
“You think Bruno could be responsible for both the murders?” Banham asked.
Terry looked uneasy. “Lily knew a lot about him and Sadie. He has connections in Sicily, that’s all I can say.”
“You’ve got my number from last time,” Alison reminded him quietly. “Call me if you think of anything else. Or just if you need to talk.”
As they walked back to Alison’s badly parked car, Banham called Crowther. “Still nothing back from Forensics,” he said, clicking his phone shut.
“The post-mortem should turn something up,” Alison said. “The same bruising pattern to both their faces suggests the same killer.” She looked at Banham. “But you’re right – something doesn’t add up.”
“Why would Bruno kill Lily?” Banham said. He stroked his cheek. “I need to shave.”
“I like the unshaven look.”
He slipped an arm around her waist. “Let me take you home and cook you dinner.”
“Not yet. We need to think. What had Lily got over Bruno? Besides knowing he hit his wife? And the poker in her anus – what was that about?”
“Someone who can’t perform sexually? Banham suggested.
“Eddie Chang got very shirty when I asked if he was in love with Sadie.”
“Or Terry King?”
“There’s Gladman too.”
“One of them killed the women, and the others are his alibi.”
“Question is which one?” Alison pointed her key at the car. “Then again, maybe there’s a killer out there who we haven’t thought about. Maybe Millie Payne is right, and we should be widening our search. There could be people who are so obsessed with Marilyn Monroe that they hate anyone trying to imitate her.”
“That’s why I think we should let Millie go undercover. She already has a job there – we should make use of it.”
“I’m worried for her safety. She’s keen and gullible. That’s not a good mix.”
“We could send Andrew Fisher in with her; he’s besotted. They’ve already been seen in the club together, and he can take care of himself and her. If our killer’s in that club we have to dig them out – we’ve only got three days to the CO19 raid. Time isn’t on our side.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Whoever it is may be planning to kill again.” He opened the driver’s door for her. “I have to talk to Bobby’s headmaster. I need to see what he has to say about Otis Gladman and the knife attack on Felix Greene. I’ll do that in the morning, then join you later.”
“No problem,” she said gently. The post-mortem was in the morning; he had obviously changed his mind about attending. “I’ll fill you in when you get back.”
He slid into the passenger seat beside her, pushed her hair off her face and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Venice,” he said. “Something to work towards.” He kissed one of her eyes and then the other. “I’d like to cook you dinner, then give you a bath and put you to bed.”
For a moment there was nothing she wanted more. But she pulled away. “I have to go back to the office for a bit. I need to get my head around a few things.”
At the station she went straight to the incident room and tuned into the CRO files. First she looked up Terry King. Terry was registered as a man. He was a transvestite – possibly even a trans-sexual, a man who wanted to be a woman. That was a motive in itself. Marilyn was an icon of femininity, enough to make anyone jealous, especially as Eddie Chang, Terry’s lover, was obsessed with her. Terry had been in and out of youth offenders institutions during his teenage years, for drug pushing, aggravated burglary and car stealing. His last offence was in 1995, when he was fifteen. He hadn’t served time in an adult prison.
Johnny Gladman had been done for small time drug dealing last year; he was given a suspended sentence, but hadn’t been in front of the courts since.
Eddie Chang’s list of youth convictions was as long as his arm, and he had been in Feltham YOI at the same time as Terry King. But he hadn’t been charged with anything since 1989.
It was hard to believe. The man was the biggest drug baron in South London, a known arms dealer, a smuggler of immigrant minors who he abused and sold into prostitution – and no one had managed to prove it. Well, he was in for a big surprise. She couldn’t wait to see his face after the raid, when they charged him with so many offences that he’d be lucky to get out before he was pushing up daisies. Maybe a double murder as well if she had anything to do with it.
But he was clearly besotted with Marilyn Monroe; why would he kill his own impersonators? He had been running Doubles for five years and no one who worked there had died; why now?
She needed coffee. She walked into her office, the small space behind a partition in the incident room. If she was going to sit up half the night reading criminal records and watching CCTV of Bruno abusing Sadie Morgan, she needed a strong pot of the Arabica Banham had supplied when he bought her the machine.
The next thing she remembered was the smell and sound of coffee beans being ground. The records were all over the floor, and the red On light of the office DVD player was flashing. Banham was spooning coffee into the machine.
She sat up, trying not to yawn. “I thought you weren’t coming in till later.” She pushed her knuckles into her eyes. “I must have dropped off.”
“I rang your flat. I was going to come and pick you up. When I didn’t get an answer I figured you’d probably stayed here, but I thought I’d better check. Milk?”
“Oh, er, no.” She took the cup he held out. The coffee was hot and strong, just as she liked it. But she wished he would stop trying to look after her.
Bobby wasn’t keen, but when Banham arrived he was ready with his school bag and a brave smile.
“You won’t let the big bullies hurt Bobby, will you?” Madeleine said when he picked her up for a hello kiss.
“There are no bullies,” Banham said stroking his adored niece’s long golden hair. “No one’s going to hurt anyone.”
“Yes, there are, Uncle Paul.” Madeleine was quite insistent. “They pick on him because you’re our uncle and you’re a policeman. Naughty boys don’t like policemen, do they?”
Banham was lost for words. He hugged Madeleine close and set her down on the doorstep. “Come on, champ,” he said, holding out a hand to Bobby and trying to sound upbeat. But it wasn’t easy.
Bobby said nothing in the car. When they reached the school gate, he got out, shook Banham’s hand in place of a hug, and ran off with his school bag and jacket hanging untidily from his shoulder. Banham watched him join a group of boys of his own age. Within seconds he was kicking a ball and running around.
A large poster at the edge of the playground drew Banham’s eyes: the forthcoming knife and gun amnesty, appealing to everyone to hand in their weapons. Someone had slashed a huge X across it, and scrawled in large red letters NO CHANCE.
It was eight-twenty. The assembly bell would go in twenty minutes. Wasting no more time, he headed for the headmaster’s office.
Mr Lyons, the head, seemed as concerned about the problem as Banham was.
“This gang culture,” he said, rubbing his glasses with a handkerchief. “I wish we knew how to tackle it. Remember that Muslim boy last year? Beaten and hospitalised, and we never found out who did it.”
“The Felix Greene incident was similar,” Banham “No one saw – or no one’s telling.”
“The lad says he remembers nothing.” Mr Lyons shook his head in disbelief. “The word is Otis Gladman did it, but we all find that hard to believe. The two boys were inseparable. They even live in the same block of flats.”
“Flats?” Banham frowned. “Are you sure? I thought Otis Gladman lived with his brother in the cottage behind Doubles club?”
Mr Lyons pulled a register from a drawer in his desk and flipped it open. “No, he lives on the Bay Estate. He and Felix used to go to and fro together on the school bus.”
“Who does he live with?”
“His brother Johnny is down as his ne
xt of kin. I believe he’s Otis’s only relative. The mother died a year ago, and there was no father.”
“How did the mother die?” Banham asked.
Mr Lyons stared at him. “Don’t you know? She was shot, gunned down in the street, outside the shopping parade on the estate.”
Banham did remember; it was on his patch. He just hadn’t associated it with the Gladmans. A forty-two year old Grenadian woman was gunned down in broad daylight in a busy shopping centre; no witnesses came forward and no one was ever charged.
“A street shooting like that would have made national headlines a few years ago,” Mr Lyons said sadly.
“I’d like to talk to Otis Gladman,” Banham said after a few moments’ silence. “Can you pull him out of assembly?”
“I doubt he’s here,” Mr Lyons told him. “He hardly ever turns up. I’ve sent notes and texts to his brother, let the LEA know, even informed Social Services, but nothing has been done. There’s a backlog, they say; other maters take priority.”
“My interest in this is personal as well as professional,” Banham said. “My nephew Bobby Banham attends this school. I think he’s being threatened. I’d like you to keep an eye on him, and get back to me, let me know who is frightening him.”
“It’s common, I’m afraid. Since the stabbing a lot of the younger boys are nervous. We do our best, try to make sure they always leave with someone, and keep telling them to come to us if anything is bothering them. What more can we do?”
The man slipped his cuff back and checked the time. But Banham wasn’t done. “You can keep your ear to the ground. I’m not prepared to take any chances with Bobby’s safety.”
Mr Lyons sighed. “If Felix Greene won’t tell us anything, I can’t exclude anyone. It’s your job to find out what happened, not mine.”
“Oh, I intend to. But I’ll get nowhere without your full cooperation.”
“You’ll have it.” Mr Lyons was on his feet and walking to the door “We can only do our best. If it’s not knives it’s screwdrivers.”
The man offered his hand and Banham reluctantly shook it. It wasn’t his fault; he was doing what he could.
The assembly rang as Banham passed the playground. Bobby ran with a few others to get into his class line. He seemed happy enough. Then Banham noticed an older boy staring at Bobby; he realised that Banham was watching him and averted his gaze.
