Tight Circle (Detective Johnny Inch series Book 2)

by J F Straker

  They chatted briefly with the staff before leaving. Browne, the chief cashier, had a dazed look in his eyes and moved his head warily; Johnny guessed he’d be suffering from headaches and a stiff neck for some days to come. One had to hand it to a chap like that, he thought. It wasn’t his money. By having a go he’d had everything to lose and nothing to gain.

  ‘Any ideas, sir?’ he asked, as the police car set off on its journey back to the Yard. Sherrey did not answer. ‘I was thinking it might be the Minter gang. They used hoods in the Battersea job. Remember? And then there’s the Buckridge brothers. They —’

  ‘Not the Buckridges. Harry Buckridge is in hospital. And the Minters were acquitted.’

  ‘Yes. But we know they did it.’

  ‘Maybe.’ That particular failure rankled more than most. A cast-iron conviction had gone sour on them when a key witness had blandly retracted his original statement, and another had mysteriously disappeared. ‘Shut up, Johnny, will you? I want to think.’

  The superintendent fished in his pocket for his pipe, failed to find it, and sank back into his corner. Johnny studied him covertly. He knew what was on the Boozer’s mind (Sherrey was ‘The Boozer’ to the underworld, and the nickname appealed to his subordinates), but surely the old boy couldn’t seriously consider the possibility that Knickers had gone bent? Knickers hadn’t been with SIN all that long, and there had been times when Johnny could cheerfully have clobbered him; he was pompous and vain and a damned sight too rigid in his outlook on crime. Police Regs was his bible. But after a dicey start he’d shown up pretty well in that Crime Co-operative job,’ and no one could deny that he was a dedicated copper. He just wasn’t the type to go bent.

  A message from Nicodemus awaited them at the Yard. He had telephoned to say he was following a possible lead, and would call in later. Johnny found comfort in that. But not the superintendent. The message did nothing to relieve his gloom.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. He stood with his back to the room, staring down into Broadway. From that height the traffic looked fussily insignificant. ‘Why would Nicodemus need an overdraft? He isn’t married, and as far as I know he doesn’t share your propensity for chasing women. Does he gamble?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Johnny allowed the charge against himself to go unchallenged.

  ‘No. In fact, I’d say he’s an unusually temperate and cautious young man. Not the sort to get into debt. So why the overdraft? And if the drunk wasn’t a drunk — if it was just an act to enable his accomplice to get at the master switch well, that makes Nicodemus the accomplice. And that I don’t like.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Johnny said. ‘But aren’t you forgetting, sir? The manager said —’

  ‘I’m forgetting nothing. And what you don’t know, my lad, is that before Nicodemus got around to the overdraft he and the manager discussed security. All right, so that’s part of the job. But it makes Nicodemus about the only person, apart from the staff, who would know where to find the damned switch, let alone how to operate it.’ He swung round quickly, stumbled, and reached for the desk. ‘Well, go and chat up the Minters. It doesn’t smell like their lot to me. But we may as well stick to routine.’

  The Minters ran a garage and second-hand car lot off the Fulham Road. The business did reasonably well, but the police knew it as a blind for less legal activities. The Minters knew they knew it, and neither side attempted to disguise its knowledge.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t little Mr Inch!’ Tom Minter was one of the few villains who went out of their way to needle the police. He was a big man, with a frank, open face that belied an innate viciousness. ‘You know, I just didn’t see you. Maybe it’s time I got meself some cheaters.’

  Johnny was five foot nine and wished he were taller. He seemed to move permanently among a world of giants. But he wasn’t rising to Minter’s jibe. He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  ‘Been busy this afternoon?’ he asked.

  ‘Mustn’t grumble.’ As usual with this form of approach, Minter wilfully misinterpreted the question. ‘We unloaded a Zodiac earlier, and this little beauty’s as good as sold.’ He stroked the bonnet of a Mini Cooper, leaving a dull blur on its sweated sheen. ‘You wouldn’t be wanting a motor for yourself, I suppose?’

  ‘Not when I know it’s rung,’ Johnny said.

  Minter shook his head, still beaming. ‘You’ve got a nasty, suspicious mind, Mr Inch, and that’s a fact. I’ve not forgotten how you and the Boozer took me up the steps last March, you know. It rankles, that does. All right, so I knew I’d be slung. But nobody likes being dragged. ‘Specially when he’s innocent.’

  ‘You’re never innocent,’ Johnny told him. ‘You’re just strong on fixers. That Zodiac you sold. Did the customer live out Acton way?’

  ‘New Cross.’ Minter stopped beaming. ‘Why? Someone done a tickle?’

  Johnny’s heart sank. Minter’s tone suggested he was curious. And if Minter was curious it meant he didn’t know.

  ‘A bank,’ he said tersely. ‘And it had your firm’s monicker all over it. Want to comment?’

  Minter’s comment was typical. It was a pity, he said, that Johnny’s ideas were so narrow they must always move in the same direction. But then presumably little men had little minds. However, if it would ease this particular little mind to know it was barking up the wrong tree well, Johnny had only to check with the woman who had bought the Zodiac. He was welcome to her address.

  Johnny made a note of the address, and left. He had some difficulty in catching up with the woman, but when he did it was to learn that she had been with Tom Minter from one o’clock until well after the time of the robbery. He had no reason to doubt her. Which meant that Tom Minter, if not the rest of his gang, was in the clear.

  As he came out of St James’s Park station and turned right down Broadway he saw the tall figure of Nicodemus striding ahead. He had to run to catch up.

  ‘You stupid bastard, Knickers! Where the hell have you been? The Boozer’s spitting blood.’

  Nicodemus did not pause in his stride. ‘Didn’t he get my message?’

  ‘That’s not the point, you nit. You shouldn’t —’ Johnny stopped. Leave it to the Boozer, he thought. Don’t meddle. ‘Oh, well, it’s your funeral. But I hope you have some nice answers.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me, young Inch,’ Nicodemus said tersely, from the advantage of four and a half inches and seven months. But despite his apparent calm Johnny sensed he was worried. Nicodemus went in some awe of the Boozer. He had a loud voice, which tended to rise in key when he was troubled or perplexed. It had risen now.

  Sherrey was on the telephone, but replaced the receiver as they entered. Had not guilt been an emotion foreign to the Boozer Johnny would have said he looked guilty. And he didn’t bark at Nicodemus, as Johnny had expected. Calmly, in his nutmeg-grater voice, he inquired what the hell Nicodemus thought he was playing at. Still on a high key, Nicodemus told him. Because of the girl, he said, he had not tried to tackle the raiders, but as soon as they had left he had grabbed a passing taxi and had given chase. He had caught a glimpse of their Cortina — yes, he was sure it was a Cortina — near Western Circus; then he had lost it. All right, Sherrey said; so why hadn’t he then returned to the bank? It had been a question of priorities, Nicodemus said. Division would have been alerted by the alarm and, following the procedure laid down by the A.C., would have informed SIN. It had seemed to him —

  ‘The alarm was switched off,’ Sherrey told him.

  ‘Oh!’ Did Nicodemus look guilty because of what he had done, Johnny wondered, or because of what he had neglected to do? ‘Well, I wasn’t to know that, sir. So I decided to carry on. I’d heard this chap’s voice, you see — the one holding the girl — and I thought I recognized it. It seemed a useful lead.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Sherrey asked.

  ‘A man named Dassigne. Paul Dassigne.’ Sherrey frowned, searching his memory. ‘Never heard of him. Should I have?’

/>   ‘I doubt it, sir. I’ll check, of course, but I don’t think he has a record. He’s a friend of Jill Summerbee, the girl who shares a flat with my sister. That’s why I was so flabbergasted at hearing his voice. Somehow one doesn’t expect one’s social acquaintances to be criminals.’

  No? You must have led a very sheltered life, Sergeant.’ Sherrey leaned back, tilting the chair dangerously. ‘You say you thought you recognized the voice. You weren’t sure?’

  ‘I was then, sir. Pretty sure, anyway. I’ve only met Dassigne a few times, but he has a very distinctive voice. Cultured, but rather flat, if you know what I mean.’

  The look on Sherrey’s face suggested he didn’t. ‘And now you’re not so sure, eh? Why? What happened to shake your confidence?’

  He had cruised around for a while, Nicodemus said, looking for the Cortina. After that, not knowing Dassigne’s address, he had gone to the offices where his sister worked, hoping to get it from her. She couldn’t help him in that. But she had given him other information, and it was this that had made him doubt the evidence of his ears.

  ‘She had lunch with him, sir. Him and Miss Summerbee, at a restaurant in Victoria Street. They’d left the restaurant around one-fifteen, she said, and had taken a taxi to the garage in Buckingham Palace Road where Dassigne had left his car. He runs a white Mercedes convertible: very ostentatious. Miss Summerbee had a bunch of flowers with her, Carole said — Carole’s my sister, sir — and was taking them to a sick friend in St John’s Wood. Apparently Dassigne offered to drive her there, and they dropped Carole off at her office en route.’

  ‘When and where?’

  ‘Grosvenor Place. I can’t be exact about time — I didn’t like to question my sister too closely — I’d told her I thought Dassigne might be able to help me in an inquiry I was making —’

  ‘Very original,’ Sherrey said.

  ‘At least it was true, sir.’ Nicodemus sounded prim. ‘Anyway, I’d say it must have been around a quarter to two when they dropped Carole.’

  ‘H’m! Three-quarters of an hour before the bank was raided. Not exactly a cast-iron alibi.’

  ‘I realized that, sir. That’s why I tried to get confirmation from Miss Summerbee. My sister gave me the address of her agency — she’s a fashion model — but they couldn’t help. She’d had an appointment for this morning, they said, but nothing for this afternoon. And she wasn’t at the flat.’

  Worldly wise in the ways of model girls, Johnny said, ‘She could be on the books of several agencies.’

  Nicodemus shrugged, and looked at his watch. ‘My sister knew only the one. Sir! It’s after six-thirty. She’ll be home by now, and she promised to ring me at my digs when Miss Summerbee returns. If there’s nothing else —’

  Johnny expected there to be plenty else, and he wasn’t relishing it. It would be embarrassing to have to listen to Knickers getting the sharp edge of the Boozer’s tongue. But the tongue stayed sheathed. ‘Nothing else,’ Sherrey said. Nicodemus heaved a sigh of relief, nodded to Johnny, and made for the door. Johnny thought he might as well go too, but Sherrey said sharply, Not you, Inch.’ (He was ‘Johnny’ in private but seldom in public, and never when Nicodemus was present. Johnny supposed that this was because the Boozer disliked the name ‘Humphrey’, and didn’t wish to show more familiarity to the one than the other.) ‘I’m not through with you yet.’

  Nicodemus said goodnight and departed. While Sherrey doodled on the blotter, his forehead creased in a heavy frown, Johnny waited. He would have liked a word with Knickers, but otherwise he was in no hurry to leave. There was no particular dolly lined up for entertainment. If the Boozer wanted to work late — well, that was all right with him.

  A full three minutes passed before Sherrey slapped his pencil down and looked at Johnny. He said, ‘I had a phone call just before you and Nicodemus arrived.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Anonymous. From someone who said he didn’t like bent coppers.’ Johnny stiffened. ‘Well, I wasn’t arguing with that. But he went on to say that if I cared to take a trip out to Putney this evening, and keep a watch outside Number 27 Bessenden Road at around nine o’clock, I’d find I had one in my squad.’

  Johnny was shocked. Number 27 was where Nicodemus lodged. ‘They’re just trying it on, sir,’ he said earnestly. ‘They must be.’

  ‘Must they? I wonder. Anyway, I intend to find out.’ Sherrey stood up. ‘We’ve two hours to kill, so let’s try eating.’

  The superintendent was neither a glutton nor a gourmet, but he liked his food. They ate at a restaurant of his choosing and new to Johnny, Victorian in aspect and decor but with an impressive menu. While Sherrey ordered glazed paupiettes of sole, followed by roast duck and peach liqueur flan, Johnny contented himself with roast sirloin and apple pudding. The Boozer had not invited him to be his guest, and the Boozer had a reputation for meanness. It was not the first meal they had eaten together, and it would not be the first time Johnny had had to pay for his own.

  When Sherrey told the waiter to make out separate bills he was glad of his caution.

  They drove out to Putney in a squad car, and were in Bessenden Road by eight-thirty. It was a street of semi-detached houses and no garages, and cars were parked fairly solidly along both kerbs; but they found a gap a short distance away from Number 27 on the opposite side of the road. It gave a clear view of the house, and the parked cars provided camouflage.

  The meal had been eaten in comparative silence, with Sherrey concentrating on the food. Now he waxed loquacious. Tom Minter’s alibi did not necessarily put the rest of the firm in the clear; Tom might have planned, he said, the others executed. Johnny said he realized that; he would have been checking that evening had he been free. All right, Sherrey said; first thing tomorrow, then. Not only the Minters, but every other villain who had previously shown an interest in banks. Johnny said it would take a whole team to tackle a job like that; not to worry, Sherrey said, the A.C. would provide. And had he mentioned that the Cortina had been found? Yes — in Acton Park, where a woman later claimed to have seen two men with suitcases getting into a dark-coloured saloon; If these were two of the villains, then the others must already have been dropped. Not much of a lead, though. The woman had been too distant (she said) to describe either the car or the men. And she hadn’t seen them leave the Cortina.

  He was outlining his own plans for the morrow when Nicodemus came down the front steps of Number 27. That was at ten minutes past nine. The street was reasonably well lit, and they saw him pause on the pavement to inspect the adjacent cars. Then he turned and walked away.

  ‘Out!’ Sherrey said.

  They kept to the opposite pavement, hurrying from the shelter of one parked car to the next, ready to duck should Nicodemus look back. Musical cars, thought Johnny, and was shocked that he could think facetiously at such a time. He hated what they were doing, and he hated the Boozer for making him do it.

  Some hundred yards down the street was a crossing. Nicodemus paused at the corner, looked back, and turned left, to disappear from their sight. They crossed the road, waited for him to get a safe distance ahead, and turned the corner after him.

  He was walking slowly back towards them.

  He looked at them in astonishment.

  ‘What on earth ? Good Lord, sir! Is anything wrong?’

  Down the road a car drew out from the kerb and accelerated away. Sherrey stared after it.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Been shopping, Sergeant?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, this.’ Nicodemus looked at the package in his hand. ‘I’ve no idea what it is, sir. About fifteen minutes ago a man phoned — didn’t give his name — and said to look behind the telephone booth round the corner.’ He pointed over his shoulder. ‘There. So I did. And I found this. It was tucked between the booth and the wall.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

  ‘When I get home, sir. Not out here.’

  ‘H’m! Well, if you’ve no objection, I’d be int
erested to see what it contains.’

  As they walked back to the house Johnny said, ‘Did your sister ring?’

  ‘No,’ Nicodemus said. His tone had risen.

  He had a bedroom and a sitting room, which Johnny thought was enviable luxury — particularly as the rent for his two rooms was little more than the rent for Johnny’s one. But he wasn’t envious now. Poor old bastard, he thought. If that package contains what I think it contains, I wouldn’t be in his shoes for all the dollies in Chelsea.

  Nicodemus offered them the choice of beer or whisky. The superintendent refused both, presumably on the grounds that you can’t knock a man when you’re drinking his booze. Johnny supposed he must also refuse, although his mouth was unpleasantly dry and he could have done with a beer. He didn’t care for spirits. His mouth grew even drier as he watched Nicodemus tear off the layers of Sellotape that secured the package. Nicodemus had a high, receding forehead and high cheekbones, and an aquiline nose which gave him a superior look. Johnny guessed he wasn’t feeling superior now. Despite his professed ignorance, Nicodemus must have a shrewd idea of what the package contained. There were few members of the C.I.D. who hadn’t been offered a bribe at one time or another.

  There were two bundles of one-pound notes. Johnny estimated there could be a hundred in each bundle. Nicodemus laid them on the table and looked apologetically at the superintendent.

  ‘It’s nice to know someone cares,’ he said, with a feeble attempt at humour.

  Johnny smiled in encouragement. Sherrey’s grim expression didn’t change.

  ‘No card?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s a note, sir.’

  ‘Read it.’

  Nicodemus read it. Without a word he handed it to the superintendent. Sherrey read it and passed it to Johnny.

  ‘Nicely, nicely, copper,’ Johnny read. ‘You and your pisspot friend fixed it so we had it off good. Enclosed please find two ton for your trouble; carve it up how you like. So long. If we can use you again we’ll be in touch.’

  There was no signature.