“You’ve done well. Tuball apart, what did you find?”
Shard said, “I got into the basement as soon as I could, before they wanted to let me — ”
“Risky.”
“Yes, so’s crossing the road, Hedge. I had to know. I found Chinese heroin, you’ll never guess how much. So I’ll tell you: at a rough count, ten thousand half ounce bags.”
“Good…God!” Even Hedge was shaken.
“Exactly. Tuball’s big — was big. It’ll be interesting to see what Sydney digs up now. He must have supplied all Britain from this end.” Shard clenched his fists.
Hedge looked at him closely. “Don’t get over-involved, Shard.”
“I can’t help it, it’s in me. I’d like to tear the bastard’s guts out, personally.”
“Resist it.”
A bitter laugh. “Oh, I will, don’t worry.”
“Have you questioned him?”
“Not fully — yet. Just a little, driving him in. I think I shook up his broken leg a bit. Sometimes, I’m a jerky driver.”
“Where is he?”
“In hospital, Guy’s. Clean break, lower part of the leg. He’s in plaster, and a private room. Well-guarded. He’ll be back on his plastered feet by now.”
“Hospital. Er…your wife, Shard?” Shard smiled. “Better. Conscious and speaking, nicely out of danger.”
“I’m so glad. A relief for you, Shard.”
“You can say that again, Hedge.”
Hedge drummed his fingers on his desk. “Results — of your bit of questioning, Shard?”
Shard shook his head, looking puzzled. “He’s a bit of a mystery. He was badly shaken up, but would he talk? Would he hell! I did try — that being the best time to get results, uncooked statements — you know what I mean — ”
“Yes, yes.”
“All he would talk about was the girl — Gorukin. The burning. I asked him, why the legs first. He said…oh, I don’t know what he said, Hedge! A lot of disjointed guff about a lovely face and not wanting to spoil it till he had to, that sort of thing. He was babbling, really. It became…horrible. He’s a horrible man. The look in his face…sharp, self-interested, cruel to the point of sadism, I’d say. But something else.”
“Yes?”
“Lecherous. Dirtily lecherous. I know it sounds revolting, but I formed an idea when he’d been going on about lovely faces — and other things. I could be wrong.”
“What idea, Shard?”
Shard said, “Necrophilia.” He added, “She was a good-looking girl, Hedge.” Hedge stared, obviously rocked.
After a moment he said, “Are you telling me you think that's why he ambushed the convoy?”
“Oh, no, no! Just a by-product. We know the facts, now. Tuball’s trade was drugs. Till now, he’s been in the clear, but I suppose his net was always at risk. He wouldn’t have wanted Barclay and Elgood back in Britain. That was Tuball’s main motive, Hedge.”
Hedge nodded. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right, now. But I’ve been thinking about that aspect, Shard, thinking deeply.”
“And?”
“Well, if Barclay and Elgood had beans to spill, why haven’t they spilled them in Russia? I mean, it’d be no skin off their noses now, and it could have helped them to get a lesser sentence — or something. Don’t you see?”
Shard said, “Yes, I do see. I hadn’t entirely overlooked the point in my own thinking. I’ll be interrogating Tuball in…” He looked at his watch. “Just about an hour. I’ll bear it in mind.”
“Do. You see, I thought that…well, Tuball could be looking after their financial interests over here — while they’re away. I’m told their families aren’t exactly on the breadline. In that case, they wouldn’t talk.” Hedge paused, looked embarrassed, shuffled objects about on his desk. “Shard, while you’re doing your interrogating, I hope you’ll be bearing in mind…my own personal interests?”
Shard said, “Oh, yes, along with all the other dirty washing, Hedge.”
“Really, that’s very un-called for, Shard.”
“I apologise. I’ve had a lot on my mind, things important to me.”
With an obvious effort Hedge held onto his temper. “I understand that. Let me know the results of your interrogation as soon as you can, please, Shard. Depending on those results, I may have plans for Tuball.” He sounded mysterious.
“What plans, Hedge?”
“I’d prefer not to be specific at this stage.”
Shard left that interview feeling apprehensive. He couldn’t have said quite why. But Hedge was being cagey, and usually that meant trouble for Shard. In his view, this case was closing. Tuball was going down for a very, very long time and a nice haul of dirt had been made. Obviously, after the interrogation, and depending very largely on the degree of co-operation from Tuball, there would be a lot more donkey work, more arrests, to break up the net. But in the main the case was satisfactorily made.
Wasn't it?
CHAPTER XIV
The man shot by Detective Sergeant Hill had been identified as Walter Cranbrook, owner of Spinneys. The identification had been made by the man’s doctor and dentist: the body had been partially charred by the time firemen got it clear of the building. Nothing was known of Cranbrook, either in the departmental files or in any of the indexes at Scotland Yard’s CRO. Word to this effect reached Shard before he started his interrogation of Tuball, as did word of something else: 93 Longfellow Grove was stuffed with more heroin and a quantity of soft drugs as well — cannabis mainly. A search had been made on Shard’s orders, passed by telephone during his drive into London from Huntingdonshire; the woman he had seen the previous day had been arrested and had made a statement which Shard had in his pocket when he met Tuball. Tuball, with his leg in plaster, was composed as he sat facing Shard across a bare table in a basement off Whitehall. They were alone, with no concealed ears listening and no tape.
First the formalities, the identification of the person and addresses, in Britain and Australia: quickly if surlily agreed. Very innocuous-sounding, with Shard’s voice mild, almost bored. In spite of air-conditioning, the very atmosphere was tired and used and soporific, enervating, like London itself.
Shard said, “You understand you’ll be charged with murder, Tuball. I refer to the murder of one of my detective sergeants. No doubt Sydney police will be interested in you also.”
“On what charge?”
“To my knowledge, seven people have died through your agency. In the case of Petersen and Bunt — by your own hand, for all I know. But that’s up to Sydney. I’m concerned with other things, Tuball.”
Silence.
“Things you may as well talk about. You’re going down for a long time, Tuball, twenty-five, thirty years if the trial judge recommends it.” Shard paused, watching Tuball’s face. “Let’s talk about drugs, about heroin. About Tanka Gorukin, too. Why did you want the body, Tuball?”
Silence still: silence and a supercilious look.
Shard said, “Talk, Tuball. Talk about Tanya Gorukin.”
“Why should I?”
“It could be in your own interest, Tuball.”
Tuball laughed. “I’m being offered a bargain?”
“I don’t make bargains over murder, Tuball.”
Another laugh. “I thought not. You have no lever, Shard, have you?”
Shard’s face was expressionless, but he gave a slight shrug. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t be too sure if I were you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What you like to read into it,” Shard answered. “Where you’re going, it’s no picnic spot. There are things the cons don’t like, and things they don’t like they tend to react to. Get me?”
“A threat?”
“I say again, read what you like into it. Officially, I’ll deny a threat.”
Tuball said, “I think you’re a bastard, Shard.”
This time it was Shard who laughed, but without humour. “And you, Tuball? A kni
ght in shining armour? Bastardry leads to bastardry. I have a job to do. Perhaps for 90 per cent of my time I hate what I have to do. Ten per cent, I quite enjoy — even though I’m being a bastard.”
“And at the moment?”
“Part of the 10 per cent. And all off the record, Tuball. Me, I hate hard drugs. Maybe I’m prejudiced, maybe I’m even paranoid about it, but the fact remains, Tuball.” Shard felt his hands bunching into fists on the table top, felt sweat sticky around his collar. “Here’s another fact that remains, and may be publicised where it’ll hurt — hurt yow, Tuball: the remains of Tanya Gorukin are still susceptible to post-mortem analysis, despite some decomposition. An analysis is being carried out at this moment, Tuball, not far from this room. Maybe you’ll understand if I say this isn’t Scotland Yard. What we do, we don’t do in the full light of day — and there are reasons for that. The analysis is being conducted with full security. If I were you, I’d pray it stays that way.” Shard leaned forward, mouth grim. “I think you know why. You were quite forthcoming on some points last night, while driving into London. I have every reason to believe my theories are going to be borne out. Well?”
Tuball’s face was white but shining with a sweat that looked like a cold sweat. No longer so composed. Shard felt fortified in his beliefs. Again he asked: “Well, Tuball?”
“I’ve nothing to say.”
“A pity. Such a pity! Certain facts, once they are proved to be facts, may need to be leaked…in certain places. You’ll be a ghoul, Tuball. A ghoul who walks alone, in obloquy — except when he’s being roughed up.”
“I said you were a bastard.”
Shard nodded. “I remember, Tuball. Are you going to talk?”
Tuball licked his lips. “About what?”
“Let’s start with Tanya Gorukin. And perhaps Barclay and Elgood. Where’s the link, Tuball?”
White-faced still, Tuball said, “I’m saying nothing. Do you understand? Nothing.” Suddenly he hobbled to his feet, seeming not to feel any pain, stood rocking on his crutches. Shard remained sitting, but his hands were ready to send the table flinging into Tuball’s face. Tuball, panting, sweating, began almost to rave. “Pm giving you no help at all, Shard, get that into your head. Your stupid threats…prison beatings…God, I can take that. Pm not a child, I’m not a weakling — ”
“Without a gun?”
“I can take that, I — ”
“Without a private army of thugs? Tuball, you don’t know what it’s going to be like, you haven’t begun to live yet — not that sort of life.” Shard paused: maybe the moment had come. “A word would save you the worst. A word, let’s say, about a certain telephone number written on a letter found on Tanya Gorukin’s body.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“No?”
“No — I tell you, no!”
“I suggest you think again, Tuball.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tuball stared back at Shard, looking wild, frenzied. Then he fell back onto the hard chair, slumped across the table, beating at it with his fists, a tattoo of despair and plain terror. He was weeping now. “Shard, you stupid bastard, I’m not saying a word about anything at all. I don’t want to die, can’t you bloody see? I don't want to die! You wouldn’t want to die. Even Dartmoor — God, it’s not that secure! I don’t want to die.”
*
“He doesn’t want to die, that’s all that emerged.” Shard looked and felt 100 per cent frustrated. “I’ve failed, Hedge. Couldn’t make an impression — I’m slipping. At the start he was half laughing at me. He knew drugs and murder belong to the factory — not us! After that…well, I shook him, certainly. But…”
“But what, Shard?”
“Somebody else was shaking him more.”
Hedge nodded; then got up and prowled about the room, stood for some moments with his thick back towards Shard, staring down over Parliament Square. Thin traffic sounds drifted up around the pink face, swilled back to Shard. Hedge turned. “I rather thought that,” he said softly.
“You did?”
“I did. But for a moment, Shard, let us talk of other things. The woman — at Tuball’s London home.” An accusing look mixed with a smirk came into his eye. “Talking of that house…you say you found more drugs. A little late?”
“But not too late, you’ll agree. Oh, all right, I boobed a little. If I’d got a warrant earlier I’d have found my evidence, and Tuball might have cracked wide open — I agree! But not much time’s been lost in fact — if any. Shall we go on, Hedge?” Hedge nodded crossly. “That woman. Did her statement help?”
Shard lifted his hands. “Not at the interrogation, such as it was. I had it with me, in case I could use it with effect. Now Tuball’s been caught out, all she wants is to lessen her own sentence. It was a lovely statement, but it was…well it was overshadowed by this somebody else.”
“And the statement itself?”
“Gave evidence of identity, of a deep involvement in the import and domestic sale of drugs — all we know already, but at least it was supporting evidence. And the other thing.”
“Gorukin?”
“Yes. Not definite, but suspected. She said Tuball was a beast. Hedge…the analyst. Have you his report?”
Hedge sat down at his desk, picked up a red-covered file, opened it. Yes. It came in just before you did. Nasty!”
“Confirmed?”
Hedge nodded, his face showing distaste, horror: he was a fastidious man. “Evidence of intercourse after death.”
“I used that, Hedge. I was pretty sure, as I’d told you.”
“Effect nil — do I gather?”
“Absolutely nil.” Shard glowered. “The somebody else was much the bigger threat, Hedge. He said something about even Dartmoor not being secure. In certain circumstances, I’d tend to agree.”
Hedge looked up, with a small smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Certain circumstances, Shard?”
“An involvement elsewhere.”
“Moscow?”
Shard said, “It begins to look that way. Naturally, we knew there was some link — after their Embassy got interested in Tanya Gorukin. But it didn’t strike me Tuball was, so to speak, on their list himself.” He added, self-deprecatingly, “It’s my obsession, perhaps. I was working wholly along the drug line, plus murder of course — ”
“Not seeing the wood for the trees, my dear chap! A fault — but an understandable one. How’s your wife, Shard?”
Shard stared. “Curious juxtaposition?”
“I’m sorry. Just an inquiry, a genuine one.”
“I haven’t had a moment, not even for Beth. I’m going round as soon as I can, which is any minute now. There’s nothing more I can do about Tuball for the present, Hedge.”
“No indeed. It looks like a shut case, ready to hand to Hesseltine’s boys.” Hedge paused. “Looks like it.”
“How d’you mean?”
Hedge smiled, but there was a clear anxiety behind the smile. “We don’t want to hand it to Hesseltine, do we?”
“We?”
“You, because you wanted, from the start, to bring it off yourself. You spoke of your obsession, Shard.”
“Yes — ”
“Me, because of that wretched personal involvement, however false in fact. Well,
I’ve been willing all along to meet your obsessive wish. I am still.”
“Thank you. But — ”
“And the Russians, Shard.”
“The Russians?”
“The Embassy. They don’t want it either — the Yard I mean. I’ve had a busy morning, Shard. A certain member of their staff wanted words with me. I went. Very underground stuff! Holborn underground, in fact. A man with long hair, yellowish grey — revolting. Jeans. A curious sort of blouse — ”
“Get there, Hedge.”
“Sorry. Well now, Moscow has an interest in Tuball, really has. And Moscow knows about that confounded telephone number noted on Goruki
n’s letter. They won’t say why it was there. But they want Tuball. Do you follow?”
Shard said, “Yes, I think I do. You’re proposing to give them Tuball — in exchange for something else. What, Hedge?”
“Their silence about my telephone number.”
Shard laughed. “Tuball called me a bastard. It would be insubordination, wouldn’t it, if I used that word here. A life for a telephone number. Sure, it’s only Tuball. It’s still a high price in human terms.”
“For me, so are the stakes — you don’t seem to understand. And you can call me whatever you like,” Hedge added with indifference. “Tuball’s an embarrassment I can do without, thank you! of course, there are people I’ll have to persuade, cooperation I’ll have to get, but — ”
“But that won’t be hard — right, Hedge?”
“Right, Shard.” Hedge was confident: Hedge was powerful enough. “By the way, the other deal’s clinched. Barclay and Elgood will be handed back when Gorukin’s body reaches Soviet territory. You’ll be in personal charge throughout, and you’ll be taking Tuball — ”
“I’ll be taking Tuball, Hedge? Let’s just get this straight, shall we? Are you saying I’m taking Tuball into Russia?” Hedge nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Not me, Hedge. I’m not going.”
“But your wife — ”
“Beth’s better, yes. I hate leaving her — but I’m a policeman, after all. She’ll be all right now. I wasn’t referring to Beth.”
“Then what —“”
“I can’t go, Hedge. You know that.” Hedge stared. “I know no such thing. Why?”
“I’m not an agent, that’s why. Not my job! You don’t send my sort into that sort of field.”
“Do I not?” Hedge raised his eyebrows. “Unorthodox, I agree. But what’s orthodoxy — other than doing the unexpected? No, Shard. You’ll go! You’re already in the picture — and there are things I can’t afford to let spread. I repeat: you’ll go, and that’s an order. You’re my man on this job. And I say again: you’ll be taking Tuball. There’s just one proviso: I’m a suspicious man, suspicious enough not fully to trust the Russians — ”
“They could rat, about your phone number. By God they could!”
Call for Simon Shard Page 14
