by Jim Eldridge
Lampson shook his head. ‘I don’t buy it,’ he said. ‘Barnes and McGuinness go way back.’
‘That’s what I told him,’ said Coburg. ‘The trouble is the only way to disabuse him of that idea is for us to catch the real killer.’
George was on duty at the hall porter’s desk when Coburg arrived at the Ritz. It struck Coburg that George always seemed to be on duty, whatever the time of day.
‘Good day, George, he said. ‘Has Count Ahmed returned yet?’
George shook his head, then said: ‘Not yet, although I’ve been reliably informed that he will be back tomorrow.’
‘Informed by whom?’
‘One of the King’s entourage who wanted me to get in touch with housekeeping to make sure the Count’s suite was ready for him.’
‘Do you know where he’s been?’
‘Not officially, no,’ said Coburg. Then he lowered his voice as he added: ‘However, the King did make a telephone call to him yesterday, to a number somewhere in Kent, if I’m right about the dialling code. I believe that call may have been to urge the Count to return.’
‘Do you remember the number the King asked for?’ enquired Coburg.
George handed Coburg a small piece of paper with a telephone number on it.
‘I made a note in case you should find it helpful.’
Coburg gave him a grateful smile. ‘I think I’ll find it very helpful indeed. Thank you, George.’
Coburg then made his way to Rosa’s dressing room, where she was sorting through her sheet music.
‘You made it!’ she said delightedly.
Coburg smiled. ‘I did indeed. I tried to arrange a table for lunch with the maître d’, but he told me you’d already fixed it.’
‘I did,’ said Rosa. ‘I was confident you’d be here.’ She pushed the sheet music to one side. ‘So, I suggest we grab lunch now, in case something happens to disturb it.’
I could get used to this, thought Coburg as he and Rosa sat down at the table with its white linen cloth, silver cutlery and salt and pepper pots.
‘My treat, though,’ said Coburg, as the menus arrived.
‘No complaints from me,’ said Rosa.
They both selected the soup to start, then salmon for Coburg while Rosa once again chose the beef.
‘I’m taking advantage of it while I can,’ said Rosa. ‘I was talking to one of the waiters who reckons it won’t be long before the menu’s restricted to variations on whale meat.’
Their soups arrived and as they began to eat, Rosa told Coburg: ‘Just to let you know that whatever you said to your gangster chum, warning him off, seems to be working. No one came round – so far so good.’
‘Actually, my “gangster chum”, as you call him, was shot dead last night.’
Rosa stared at him, horrified. ‘Shot?’
Coburg nodded. Rosa swallowed, then she whispered in horrified tones: ‘You don’t mean you …?’
Coburg looked at her, angry.
‘No, of course not! What sort of person do you think I am?’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Rosa apologetically, obviously flustered. ‘I didn’t mean … Yes, I did.’ She looked at him, then reached out and took hold of his hand. ‘It slipped out, because I know you’d protect me like no one else.’
‘I don’t commit murders,’ said Coburg, apparently only slightly mollified. Then his tone changed, and he smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I was being oversensitive. I shouldn’t have been angry that you’d think I’d do something like that to take care of you. And the truth is, I would, if anyone harmed you. But in this case, I thought a warning word would be enough. Though it looks like someone else had a different attitude towards him.’
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘Not yet. We’re working on it.’
They had just finished their soup when a waiter approached their table and whispered to Coburg: ‘Excuse me, Monsieur Coburg. There is a telephone call for you at reception.’
Coburg put down his napkin with a sigh.
‘This could be my sergeant,’ he said. ‘In which case this might be a short lunch.’
Coburg headed for reception desk, where George handed him the receiver and confirmed his suspicions.
‘It’s your sergeant, Mr Coburg.’
‘Thank you, George.’ He put the phone to his ear. ‘What news, Ted?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, guv, but Den Bell’s been shot dead.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Coburg returned to Rosa. ‘As I feared, it’s going to be a short lunch for me,’ he said apologetically. ‘But don’t let me stop you.’
‘Are you kidding? With food this good!’ she said as their main courses arrived. Then she gave him an apologetic smile and asked: ‘Sorry. What’s happened?’
‘Sadly, another shooting.’
She looked at him, concerned. ‘Serious?’
‘Very serious,’ he said. ‘The victim’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘So is he, and so am I,’ he said ruefully.
‘Listen, I still intend to have a meal with you,’ said Rosa. ‘Are you free tonight?’
‘Providing no one else gets killed.’
‘In that case, can you pick me up after the show? I’ll cook for you. Nothing to compare with what you would have had if you hadn’t had to rush off like this, but I managed to get hold of some eggs and cheese. I thought an omelette would be good.’
Coburg smiled. ‘You have won my heart with those very words. I’ll see you later. And I’ll tell George I’ll settle the lunch bill, when I return to pick you up.’
Coburg and Lampson pulled up outside the Merrie Tumbler in Tudor Street, just off Fleet Street, and made their way to a small, cobbled yard at the back of the pub. Three uniformed officers, a sergeant and two constables, were standing beside a body covered with a tarpaulin. Coburg lifted one corner and saw that it was, indeed, Den Bell.
‘The doctor’s on his way, sir,’ said the sergeant.
‘Is Danny Bell around?’ asked Coburg.
‘He’s inside, sir.’
Coburg turned to Lampson. ‘I’ll go and have a word with him. You stay here and make a note of whatever the doctor says when he gets here.’ He turned to the uniformed sergeant and ordered: ‘Sergeant, take one of your men and canvass the immediate area, seeing if you can find any possible witnesses to what happened. Although, as I suspect this is a gangland killing, I don’t hold out much hope, but you never know.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant. He turned to one of the constables. ‘Nixon, you’re with me.’
Coburg walked in through the back door of the pub and found Danny Bell and two of his henchmen sitting at a table. The rest of the pub was empty of customers, just a barman in wary attendance. Danny Bell had a whisky in front of him, his two henchmen had nothing except very grim expressions.
‘Danny,’ said Coburg, joining them at the table.
‘Bastards!’ snarled Bell. ‘I won’t just kill ’em, I’ll rip their throats out.’
‘Who?’
‘Who d’you think? Whoever did it!’
‘And who do you think that might have been?’
‘It’s got to be Charley Barnes. He’s a nutter. He must’ve thought it was us who did Big Mel, but we didn’t. I swear on my mum’s life!’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I’ve already told the plods out there.’
‘Now tell me. I’m the one who’s going to find whoever did it.’
‘I know who did it! Charley Barnes!’
‘I’ll still need to prove it in a court of law,’ said Coburg. ‘And for that I need evidence. So, talk to me.’
Bell scowled, but grudgingly began.
‘Me and Den were sitting here, talking, and Den says he’s going for a piss. The toilets are out in the back yard. He goes out, and next second there’s this bang, then another. I knew at once what it was. I ran out, and there was Den, lying on the gr
ound. The bastard must’ve been waiting for him.’
Outside in the yard the doctor had arrived and was examining the body of Den Bell. ‘Not much to say, except the obvious,’ he told Lampson. ‘Two bullets in the back, both of them hitting him in the heart. A heavy calibre gun, by the look of it, though I’ll know more when I get the body back to the morgue and dig around. Death would have been instantaneous. Is an ambulance on its way?’
Lampson looked at the constable, who said: ‘Sergeant Tod phoned for one, sir. It should be here shortly.’
‘Right. Tell the crew to take the body to Charing Cross. I’ve got another couple of calls to make, then I’ll go there and start on him.’ He replaced the tarpaulin over the body, picked up his case and headed towards the street, passing Sergeant Tod who was returning.
‘Doc all done?’ Tod asked Lampson.
Lampson nodded, then asked: ‘Anything?’
Tod looked towards the pub to make sure he couldn’t be overheard and lowered his voice as he told Lampson: ‘There’s a woman who lives above the greengrocers opposite the end of the yard. Mrs Black. She’s an invalid and spends most of her time looking out of the window. She says she heard bangs, then saw a man come running out of the alley. He headed off along Tudor Street in the direction of the Inner Temple.’
‘Description?’
Tod nodded, then said in a whisper: ‘It sounds like Charley Barnes. You know, Mel McGuinness’s right-hand man.’
‘Have you got a picture of Barnes in the files at your nick?’ asked Lampson.
Tod nodded. ‘I expect every station in London’s got a picture of Charley Barnes.’
‘Right. Go back to the station and get the picture, then bring it back here and show her. Where’s the constable who was with you?’
‘PC Nixon. I left him standing guard by the street door that goes up to Mrs Black’s flat to make sure no one goes up.’
‘Good. Make sure he stays there until you get back. Well done, Sergeant.’
Tod hurried off, just as the ambulance arrived at the end of the yard. Lampson went into the pub where Coburg was still in conversation with Danny Bell.
‘The ambulance is here,’ he said. He looked at Bell. ‘I thought you’d want to know.’
Bell nodded and got up, then went out to the yard, accompanied by his two silent henchmen.
‘Any developments?’ Coburg asked Lampson.
‘Yes,’ said Lampson. He gestured for Coburg to follow him out to the yard, then made for a spot away from where Danny Bell was watching the two ambulance men lift his dead brother on to a trolley.
‘We’ve got a witness who reckons she saw a man run out of the alley right after the shooting. The description she gave sounds like Charley Barnes. Sergeant Tod has gone back to his station to get a file picture of Barnes to show her.’
‘Where is this woman?’ asked Coburg.
Lampson repeated the information Sergeant Tod had given him.
Coburg sighed. ‘I thought it might turn out this way. Barnes has always been a loose cannon, liable to fly off the handle. It was only McGuinness holding him in check that stopped him from being worse than he was. Now, there’s a serious danger of this escalating into an all-out gang war unless we stamp on it.’ He gestured towards the ambulance. ‘Let’s go and have a word with this witness and see if she positively identifies Barnes when Sergeant Tod arrives.’
He and Lampson headed for the end of the alley, stopping beside Danny Bell who was just turning away as the rear doors of the ambulance shut.
‘We’ll be in touch, Mr Bell,’ said Coburg. ‘As soon as we have any information. In the meantime, I’d advise against you taking any action yourself. You could be wrong.’
Bell scowled and headed back to the pub, his men trailing after him.
‘He’s not though, is he, guv?’ murmured Lampson as they crossed the road towards the greengrocers.
‘Not by the sound of it,’ replied Coburg. ‘But we don’t want things escalating.’
They entered the doorway next to the greengrocers and mounted the narrow stairs up to the small flat. Mrs Black, a woman in her sixties, was sitting in a chair by the window.
‘I saw you coming,’ she said. ‘You’re the detectives from Scotland Yard.’
‘We are,’ said Coburg. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Coburg and this is Detective Sergeant Lampson. I know you’ve already described to Sergeant Tod what you saw, but I’d be grateful if you’d tell me.’
And she did. Coburg noted that from her window she had a good view of the entrance to the yard opposite. As he listened to her, and her description of the man, what puzzled him was why Barnes, if it was Barnes, had gone into the alley without any attempt to hide his face. No mask, no scarf, not even a hat pulled low, according to Mrs Black. But then, as he’d said to Lampson, Barnes had always been a loose cannon, one who seemed to think that he was invincible, that the law couldn’t touch him. And, it had to be admitted, that had appeared to be the case for the past few years.
As she was telling her story to Coburg, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, then Sergeant Tod entered. He was carrying a manila envelope, and from it he took six police photographs which he laid on the table in front of Mrs Black.
‘That’s him!’ she said, pointing to the two which showed Charley Barnes full face and in profile.
Tod gathered up the remaining four, which were of other known criminals who bore some resemblance to Barnes, and put them back in the envelope.
‘Thank you, Mrs Black,’ said Coburg. ‘And well done, Sergeant. Can we leave you to take Mrs Black’s statement? Sergeant Lampson and I will go and call on the gentleman concerned.’
‘You gonna arrest him?’ demanded Mrs Black. ‘I don’t want him knowing it was me who said I saw him.’
‘I promise you your part in this will remain just between us,’ said Coburg. ‘And I’ll do my best to ensure you’re not involved in any trial.’
‘I hope you do ensure it,’ she said firmly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Coburg elected to take one of the uniformed constables with him and Lampson. If Barnes decided to produce a pistol or put up a fight, the three of them wouldn’t be able to do much. Coburg toyed with the idea of going back to the Yard and getting authority from Superintendent Allison to arm themselves, but it would take time, and Coburg wanted to bring in Barnes without delay. With the threat of a gangland war about to erupt, he wanted to put a lid firmly on it. He was taking a chance on Barnes’s arrogance and self-importance. He would be defiant and sneer at them, but Coburg didn’t believe he would try and kill them. That would be a hanging offence for sure, whether he had a clever barrister or not, and Barnes wasn’t that stupid. At least, Coburg hoped he wasn’t.
Working on the theory that a rat always ran back to its lair, Coburg guessed that Barnes would return to the Iron Horse, where he’d be busy establishing an alibi for himself. Sure enough, as Coburg, Lampson and PC Nixon entered the saloon bar, Barnes was sitting at McGuinness’s usual table, obviously having taken over.
‘Mr Coburg.’ Barnes smiled confidently. ‘This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you have any news as to who killed Mel?’
‘Not yet,’ said Coburg amiably. ‘At the moment we’re also investigating another murder.’
‘Oh? Who of?’ asked Barnes, almost smug in his air of assumed innocence.
‘Someone shot Den Bell,’ said Coburg. ‘We’re here to ask you to assist us with our enquiries.’
‘Certainly,’ said Barnes. ‘Ask away.’
‘At Scotland Yard,’ said Coburg.
Any expression of joviality vanished from Barnes’s face. He shook his head.
‘Forget it. You’re not arresting me!’
‘I agree, we’re not arresting you. Unless, of course, you refuse to co-operate, in which case obstructing the police in the course of their duty is an arrestable offence, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Then why are you taking me in
?’ asked Barnes suspiciously.
‘We’re not taking you in, we’re asking you to help with our enquiries. We’ll be talking to many people. But we’ll be seeing them all at the Yard, rather than in a pub or on the street. More official. It means you’re protected, everything properly recorded, especially as I’m sure you’ll be exercising your right to legal representation, as would any responsible citizen.’ He gestured towards the bar. ‘Do you want me to call Mr Underhill, or will you?’
‘I’ll do it,’ grunted Barnes sourly. He got up, strode to the bar and called for the telephone to be handed to him. Coburg, Lampson and PC Nixon stood and watched as he dialled.
‘Mr Underhill,’ he barked into the phone, adding, ‘Tell him it’s Charley Barnes.’ There was a pause, then he said: ‘Pentangle? Charley here. DCI Coburg’s here at the Iron Horse. It seems someone shot Den Bell. Coburg wants me to go and answer some questions at the Yard … Yeh, now.’ Barnes grunted his assent as he listened, then said menacingly: ‘All right, but you better be there.’
With that, Barnes replaced the receiver, then turned to the three policemen with a forced smile on his face. ‘Right. He’ll meet us there. Shall we go?’
When they arrived back at the Yard, Coburg walked to the reception desk, followed by Barnes, with Lampson and Nixon bringing up the rear, and asked if Mr Pentangle Underhill had arrived to see him.
‘No, sir,’ replied the sergeant.
‘In that case, will you arrange for Mr Barnes to be taken to the custody suite while we wait for him.’
‘Oh no you don’t!’ snarled Barnes. ‘I’m not gonna be locked up!’
‘The custody suite isn’t a cell, as you well know,’ said Coburg. ‘And I’d be doing you wrong if I started to question you without your lawyer present.’ Then he added warningly: ‘But do be on your best behaviour while you’re in the custody suite. If you start throwing a strop, then it will be a cell.’ To the sergeant he said: ‘Let me know when Mr Underhill arrives.’ Finally, Coburg turned to PC Nixon. ‘Thank you, Constable,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you return to your station. And thank Sergeant Tod for me.’
