‘I suppose you’re right,’ Fifi said wearily. ‘I just wish I’d never poked my nose into anything. I never will again.’
‘Can I hold you to that?’ Dan grinned.
Martin heard the news that Jack Trueman had been beaten up when he called into the Bastille coffee bar at five-thirty on Tuesday to collect the day’s takings. Patsy, the little blonde manageress, called him into the kitchen out the back and broke the news.
‘There were police all over the place earlier this afternoon and we heard an ambulance too, but we didn’t think nothing of it. Then one of the girls from Mirabelle’s come running in here, said the police had gone swarming up into the office and found Jack tied up and beaten to a pulp.’
Martin was so staggered he could only stare wide-eyed at Patsy. He even thought it might be a wind-up.
‘Who did it?’ he asked eventually.
‘Well, Tricia was told by Janice that it was this goodlooking bloke who came in the office that morning. He said he was going to meet Janice for lunch. But he didn’t show, and when she got back to the office there was a note pinned on the door telling her not to go in, but wait for the police. They came soon after and they told Janice to go down into Mirabelle’s while they investigated, and it weren’t long after that the ambulance come and took Jack away.’
Martin immediately felt nervous because if this was the start of a turf war he knew Jack would expect all his men to retaliate hard and fast.
‘It was to do with those two women that have gone missing, the ones that were in the paper,’ Patsy said, tapping him on the arm because he didn’t appear to be paying attention. ‘Tricia reckoned the man was the pretty blonde one’s old man.’
‘You what?’ Martin exclaimed. ‘No, it can’t have been!’
‘Well, that’s what she heard the coppers say,’ Patsy retorted. ‘But if Jack had got those women you’d have known about it, wouldn’t you?’
Martin went all cold. He said he knew nothing about it, then, claiming he was in a hurry because he had other money to pick up, he took the bag of takings and rushed off.
He continued with his usual daily early-evening round of the businesses, collecting takings, putting them in the night safe at the bank, but his mind was working on two different levels. The higher level admired Dan Reynolds for having the balls to take on Jack Trueman and he hoped that by now Fifi and the Frenchwoman had been rescued. He even hoped Trueman was so badly injured he’d either die or have to retire.
But on the lower level he knew this meant he was going to be in serious trouble. Fifi could identify him and Del.
He met up with Del at nine at Cindy’s, the stripclub in Greek Street. Del told him that he’d just heard a news bulletin on the radio. The women had been found out at Bexley. One had been taken to hospital, but the other woman was dead. It was also said a man was being held in custody.
Martin had to tell him what he knew then.
Del lost all his bluff and bluster. He looked very scared. ‘I don’t fuckin’ well know what to do,’ he exclaimed. ‘I mean, do we carry on with the job? Or do we piss off out of here?’
‘We won’t get paid if Jack’s in the nick,’ Martin said. He meant that they might as well disappear now while they could.
‘Yeah, but if we piss off and he gets out…’ Del didn’t finish what he was going to say. There was no need, they both knew what Jack would do to them.
‘Well, I’m not hanging around here to wait till we’re picked up,’ Martin shrugged. ‘I’m going home to me gran’s. Until we know the score.’
‘What’s put the smile back on your face, sir?’ Sergeant Mike Wallis asked as he came into the office and found his superior looking extraordinarily happy.
It was mid-morning on Thursday and Roper had been like a bear with a sore head all the previous day.
‘I’ve just had Bow Street on the blower,’ Roper grinned. ‘Seems one of Trueman’s gofers has been spilling his guts. I usually go along with the saying “There’s no honour amongst thieves”, but it seems this one doesn’t like to see children or fair damsels being hurt.’
‘You don’t say!’ Sergeant Wallis grinned. ‘More like he knows it’s going to come on top of him and he’s trying to save his skin.’
‘I don’t give a toss what his reasons are, the result is all that matters. And you and I are off to Brixton to see Alfie Muckle.’
Almost as soon as the police got to St Anne’s Court in answer to Dan Reynolds’ call on Tuesday afternoon, a search warrant was issued for Trueman’s house in Essex. But by the time the police got there, just a few hours later, the filing cabinet was empty, the safe was too, and the door was hanging open. Someone had beaten the police to the house and removed any incriminating evidence.
When John Bolton was found dead before Roper could question him about the man he was seen in Dale Street with, it had briefly crossed his mind that there might be a leak at the station, but he’d shrugged it off as being mere coincidence. Even when Dan Reynolds said that he hadn’t gone to the police because he couldn’t risk Trueman being forewarned, he only thought Reynolds was a trifle paranoid, which was to be expected under the circumstances.
Yet less than an hour later, as he looked at that empty safe, he had to concede Reynolds was right. Fewer than ten people knew that Trueman’s house was going to be raided, and all of them were policemen. If the raid had been left to the following day he might have believed one of Trueman’s stooges had just used his initiative on hearing he had been arrested. But the speed at which it happened told him otherwise, and Roper felt as if he’d been kicked in the belly.
On Wednesday morning he’d spent the morning at the Middlesex Hospital trying to get something out of Trueman. The man was handcuffed to the bed and an officer was posted outside the door, but Roper was still on tenterhooks expecting that Trueman’s men would attempt to spring him. The man refused to speak, he just lay there like something out of a horror film, acting as if he was deaf and dumb. Roper had been tempted to continue Dan Reynolds’ work; pain seemed to be the only thing that made some villains talk.
Then he drove over to the hospital in South London to interview Fifi Reynolds, and she dropped the bombshell that Angela Muckle was smothered by the Frenchwoman.
He had been convinced Alfie had killed Angela, and the prospect of him being hanged had brightened many a bad day, for the Muckles had been a thorn in his side for almost his entire working life. He had a file some ten inches thick with complaints about them, and there was no doubt they were involved to some extent with half the crimes committed on his patch. Yet each time he thought he’d finally got enough proof to put them away, some piece of new evidence or a rock-solid alibi always turned up, and his case against them fell apart.
Roper had felt he was high and dry this time. Even when a couple of red herrings, Stanislav and Ubley, were thrown into the investigation, he didn’t allow himself to become downhearted. Fortunately there was no real evidence against them, and even the Muckles’ brief wasn’t too optimistic he could get them off. Bolton’s body being found, then the abduction of the two women, muddied the waters somewhat. Clearly there was some other issue at 11 Dale Street that he hadn’t picked up on. Yet through it all Roper hadn’t allowed himself to be sidetracked from the real issue, that a small child had been raped and killed. Alfie, and hopefully his slagbag of a wife, would hang for it, that much he was sure of.
Then when he heard Jack Trueman was involved too, he felt as high as a kite. For almost as long as the Muckles had been plaguing him, Jack Trueman had been the man every senior officer in London wanted a chance to nick. They suspected he was involved in some way with half the serious crime in central London, but he was a clever bastard, always one jump ahead, covering his tracks carefully while flaunting his seedy but legal businesses. If Roper could nail him it would mean promotion and cause for celebration for all his men.
Then young Fifi spoke up about Yvette and said that it was Trueman who raped Angela, and all his hopes of putting Alfie and Molly away for good were blown sky-high.
The previous night he’d been in despair because he knew that as things stood he had nothing substantial against them. They were likely to get something for neglecting and failing to protect their children, but he doubted that would amount to much more than a year or so in prison.
As for Trueman, he’d undoubtedly wriggle out of responsibility for Bolton’s death, and without an eyewitness, it would be well nigh impossible to prove he raped Angela either. Yvette had killed herself and that left only abduction charges to pin on the man; not much when Roper had hoped for so much more.
Fifi had said Yvette claimed there were other young people who were sexually abused at number 11, but that was just hearsay. And they still hadn’t discovered the identity of the other men who were there that night.
Last night he’d decided he was going to leave the force and move to another city. There was no way he could bear to watch Alfie and Molly set free to laugh up their sleeves at him and continue spoiling people’s lives.
But this morning he got up and found the sun was shining again. It was even announced on the radio that an Indian summer had begun. That did seem like a good omen. Then he got the call that a man called Martin Broughton, who was one of Trueman’s lackeys, had presented himself at Bow Street last night prepared to spill the beans.
Now Bow Street had a whole dossier on Trueman, details about his grubby empire that in the ordinary way they’d never get. And Roper had learned who had been informing here.
He’d never liked Inspector William Hall. Ex-public school bully and too flashy by half – no wonder he could afford to live in Barnes and drive a Zephyr 6. To think they’d all believed it was inherited wealth!
But he’d be pulled today too and suspended pending an investigation. But now it was off to Brixton. He’d even got some inspiration about how to trap Alfie.
‘Walk into a door, did you?’ Roper said sarcastically when Alfie was brought into the interview room by a prison officer. The man had two black eyes and he was limping badly. In the grey prison uniform he appeared small and insignificant and he had lost weight since he was arrested.
‘Fight on the wing,’ Alfie said with a feeble attempt at bravado. ‘I tried to break it up and this is what I got.’
‘No friends in here then?’ Roper asked once Alfie was seated opposite him and Wallis at the table. ‘You ain’t gotta lot anywhere else either. Your old woman keeps slagging you off, and so does Jack Trueman.’
At the mention of Trueman’s name Alfie looked startled.
‘Yup, we’ve got him,’ Roper said gleefully. ‘He’s been singing like a canary too. Sez you sold Angela for two ton at the card party, and Molly reckons she pleaded with you to stop.’
Wallis glanced at Roper, almost certainly rather startled by such an outrageous lie. Trueman hadn’t said one word as yet.
‘That’s a fuckin’ lie,’ Alfie roared out.
‘What’s a lie? That he wasn’t there, or about Molly?’
‘He were there all right,’ Alfie growled. ‘But it were Molly that sold Angie, I was too pissed to do anything.’
Alfie stiffened as he suddenly realized what he’d admitted, a hunted look coming into his eyes.
Roper was pleased to see Wallis sitting up straight now, a faint smirk on his lips.
‘You don’t have anything to fear from Trueman now,’ Roper said soothingly. ‘He’s in hospital after a good kicking, handcuffed to the bed with an officer on the door. Soon as he’s well enough to move he’ll be inside. We won’t bring him here of course, not if you give us a hand sorting out the last loose ends.’
Roper paused just long enough for that to sink in, then carried on. ‘We’ve known for some time he was at your house that night. Molly told us she was having it off with him.’
‘She told you that?’ Alfie said incredulously. ‘’E wouldn’t touch’er with someone else’s!’
‘Come on, Alfie,’ Roper wheedled. ‘Molly’s an attractive woman, you can’t blame her for being tempted to go off and live with him, and he could give her a much better life than you could.’
Wallis blew his nose noisily, probably to cover up a snigger, and Alfie rose from his chair, clearly rattled. ‘She’s lying through her teeth,’ he burst out. ‘Jack Trueman likes ’em young, boys or girls.’E wouldn’t even look at an old boiler like’er.’
‘That’s not what he told me.’ Roper shook his head. ‘He said when you were upstairs with Angela, he was screwing Molly in the front room.’
‘’E’s fucking lyin’. I never went upstairs with Angela. It was ’im!’ He bought her for two hundred nicker and shagged’er.’
Much as Roper wanted the truth out of Alfie, it made his stomach churn to hear the man speak so flippantly of his daughter’s rape. But he had to fight down his disgust and carry on. ‘Come on, Alfie!’ he exclaimed. ‘You expect me to believe that? I’ve talked to you dozens of times and you’ve told me all sorts, but never that before. Are you just mad because he was screwing Molly behind your back?’
‘’E could screw Molly in front of me and I wouldn’t care,’ Alfie raged, white foam gathering on his lips. ‘But I ain’t gonna’ave it said I touched our Angela, cos I didn’t. I was so pissed that night I couldn’t have got it up if Jayne Mansfield came in and begged me.’
Roper half smiled. Alfie had consistently denied raping Angela, the only part of his version of the events of that evening that was consistent. Yet even after learning the truth about who raped and who killed her, Roper had no intention of letting the louse off the hook. He wanted to get him so angry that he’d reveal more of his foul secrets.
‘Trueman reckons you were frightened of Molly leaving you because she’s the one that got you young birds.’
‘She fuckin’ got ’
im
them, fer money,’ Alfie exploded, banging on the table. ‘And boys too. I likes real women, not some skinny little piece.’
Roper kept this up for some time, with each question bringing up some insulting and totally untrue statement that Trueman or Molly was supposed to have made. Alfie got angrier and angrier until he was close to bursting, then suddenly it all spilled out.
‘I’ll tell you how it really fuckin’ was. I’ve been’aving card parties on Fridays fer years, famous for it I was cos the stakes was always high and there was usually a few birds an’ all. Then about a year ago Jack Trueman comes along and cos’e’s got those clubs an’ all up West, Molly thinks he’s the dog’s bollocks. It don’t take’er long to work out what’e likes, and that’e’ll pay well fer it. I told’er the first time she brought a young bird back, barely fifteen she were, that this was big trouble, and soon’e’d be wanting’em younger still. But she wouldn’t bloody well listen. Between the two of’em, they’d got me by the short and curlies.’