Death Trap (16 page)

‘I've had a lot of contact with Robertson over the years,' Barnard said. ‘I don't think he's bothered what colour anyone's skin is if he can see a profit for himself at the end of the day. He started off in boxing, after all, and they come in multicolours. And he's got a long history of moving in with existing firms and then taking them over when the time's right. Remember the Smiths south of the river? They didn't last long when the Robertsons took an interest.'

‘Your DCI said you thought a deal was imminent. You've got an informant on the inside, have you?'

‘Pretty much on the inside,' Barnard said, thinking of Shirley Bettany's welcoming arms. ‘Ray Robertson and his money man were apparently down here last night, according to my information, and he'd only bring his accountant in if it was getting serious. I'm sure you'll be able to find out who was at Devine's club last night from your own sources.'

‘I'm sure we can,' Hickman said irritably. ‘Though there's no love lost between us and the blacks. This used to be an easy manor to police. Now there's nothing but trouble, the sex trade's exploded, the violence is always just under the surface, both sides blaming t'other. We should send the West Indian bastards back home if they step out of line and King Devine would be top of my list. We've enough gangsters of our own without importing more. And now we're getting beggars like Nelson Mackintosh agitating for their bloody civil rights.'

‘Right,' Barnard said. ‘Isn't he the one you've got for a killing? Some tom?'

‘We've not charged him with that yet. But we're holding him on cannabis charges. We're working on the other. You know how it is. It takes time.' Particularly if you're fabricating the evidence, Barnard thought.

‘Anyway, if we need any more help from you we know where to find you,' Hickman said with finality, the short interview evidently over.

Dismissed, Barnard wandered back downstairs until he found the CID room and put his head round the door. ‘Eddie Lamb in?' he inquired.

‘Probably in the boozer,' a voice came back. ‘Just round the corner, you can't miss it.'

Barnard smiled and glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes past midday, so he supposed it could be reckoned to be lunchtime. He made his way into Ladbroke Grove and found Lamb easily enough in the snug of the nearest pub, drinking alone at the bar and studying the sports pages of the
Daily Express.

‘What are you drinking?' Barnard asked.

‘I'll have a Scotch if you're buying,' Lamb said. ‘You're a long way from home.'

‘Had to see your DCI,' Barnard said. ‘We have it on good authority that Ray Robertson's hooking up with your man Devine. They had a meet last night apparently to agree terms.'

Lamb whistled between his teeth. ‘You'll have to introduce me to your Mr Big,' he said. ‘We've always been the poor relations down here. Maybe Robertson will bring a bit of the Soho action with him.'

‘Maybe,' Barnard said, sipping his own Scotch. ‘Depends what you can offer in return.'

‘I dare say we'll think of something,' Lamb said. ‘So – are you taking the opportunity of calling on that pretty little scouse bird while you're here?'

‘No chance,' Barnard said. ‘She'll be at work.'

‘What does she do then?'

‘She works for a picture agency in Frith Street,' Barnard said.

‘Secretary, is she?' Lamb persisted.

‘No, she's a photographer,' Barnard said, aware for the first time how Kate must feel breaking into a man's world. ‘She's very good, apparently.'

‘Nice little earner too, I shouldn't wonder,' Lamb said knocking his Scotch back in one and ordering two more. ‘I saw her, you know, did she tell you? She found the old woman in the basement lying dead in the garden. We haven't got the post-mortem results yet but it looked as if she'd had a fall, or maybe her heart just gave up. Natural causes, I reckon.'

‘Yes, Kate told me. She was quite upset about it. Reckons the son wanted her out of the way so that he can sell the house. Might be worth casting an eye over what he's up to. He must be keen to clear the place out if he's sending thugs with dogs in.'

‘Yes, she came in here complaining about Stuttering Stan and his Alsatian but I guess she's bent your ear about that, too. We know all about him. He worked for Rachman in his time, and I guess he's latched on to Lazlo Roman, this Beauchamp bloke, or anyone else who'll pay him to chuck his weight about, to be honest. Your bird should get out of there if she's got any sense. The landlords always get what they want in the end, fair means or foul. Doesn't mean this one bumped off his ma, though. She's got a vivid imagination, that girl.'

‘Maybe, but it's not all imagination,' Barnard said defensively. ‘She and one of her flatmates got hassled on their way home last night, and she's got the bruises to show for it. I'm not sure that was connected with the landlord, I think it was more that they'd been to Poor Man's Corner, but I wondered if you could get a uniform to keep an eye on the Argyll Gardens place for me, make sure the girls are safe until they can find somewhere else to go. They're searching for a new place but you know what it's like.'

‘What the hell were they doing at Mackintosh's place?' Lamb sounded angry now. ‘It's not a place for white girls to go, especially now we've got Nelson Mackintosh pinned down. He and his friends are rabble-rousers, nothing but trouble. No wonder the girls got hassled.'

‘Kate's friend teaches Mackintosh's fourteen-year-old boy and seems to have taken a shine to him. Bright lad apparently. And now he seems to have gone missing. Hasn't his mother reported it?'

‘I've no idea,' Lamb said. ‘Black boys run wild all the time. I wouldn't think uniform would give it more than a moment's thought, to be honest. He'll be out on the streets somewhere selling ganja. Like father like son. And he'll end up in the same place.'

‘You'll make sure of that?' Barnard asked, though he reckoned he knew the answer without the bother. Lamb laughed.

‘We might even use the same stash of marijuana,' he said. ‘Waste not want not, don't they say?'

‘And what about the murder? Can you pin that on Mackintosh as well?'

‘Oh, I reckon so,' Lamb said, with every appearance of confidence. ‘Slim Hickman's a canny operator. And we need to do something to keep the local lads quiet, stands to reason. As your bird found out, they're a bit on edge at the moment, and we don't want that, do we? We don't want a repeat of fifty-eight. A quiet life's best all round. And who's going to bother about another uppity nigger in the Scrubs?'

T
he three flatmates found themselves at home that evening for a meal together. It was Marie's day off from her job at the coffee bar and she had volunteered at breakfast time to cook the other two an evening meal. While she struggled with more pans than their tiny cooker could conveniently hold, Tess and Kate opened a bottle of plonk, a beverage they felt they should come to terms with since their arrival in London, while they watched the television news on the small black and white set they rented.

‘There's John Lennon and the lads again, dodging the kids,' Kate said with a grin. ‘The London bobbies don't know how to cope with the girls do they? The bizzies at home took it in their stride.'

‘From what you say, the bizzies at home were a sight tougher and not nearly so bent,' Tess said sourly. ‘Do you think the landlords pay them to take no notice when they try to turf their tenants out.'

Kate shrugged. ‘I expect so,' Kate said. ‘From what Harry Barnard says, they're all on the take, one way or another. And they don't think twice about fitting someone up for something they didn't do. In CID, any road. They're bigger villains than some of the real villains, as far as I can see.'

‘Yes, well, after what happened to your Tom I can believe it. What I don't understand is why you keep on seeing Harry Barnard.'

Kate flushed slightly at the disapproval in her friend's voice. ‘I don't want to,' she said quietly. ‘It's just that he's turning out to be useful with these problems we've got ourselves into. You've had the benefit as well, you know. We've got no help from the local bizzies, have we?'

‘And you don't still fancy him rotten?' Tess asked, sceptically.

‘Not really,' Kate said, though even she knew her denial was less than convincing. Slightly to Kate's relief, Tess's interrogation was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door of the flat.

‘Who's that?' Tess asked, instantly looking anxious. ‘How's anyone got through the front door and up the stairs?'

The knock was repeated more peremptorily and Marie poked her head round the kitchen door, accompanied by clouds of steam and the smell of frying sausages. ‘You'd better open it, la, but don't let that feckin' dog in, if it's there,' she said. ‘I can't leave the bangers.'

Tess shrugged and did as she was told only to find a heavily built and smartly dressed man standing there with a white envelope in his hand.

‘Am I speaking to Miss Best or Miss Farrell?' he asked. ‘I'm your landlord, Miles Beauchamp. I'm sorry we haven't met before but I don't have time to run the house personally as a rule. You know how it is? There are people who make a business of collecting rents. Could I possibly come in for a moment?'

‘I suppose so,' Tess said, her voice full of uncertainty as Beauchamp strode past her into the living room, his expression a mixture of entitlement and disdain.

‘So this must be Miss Best,' Beauchamp said, looking enquiringly at Kate. But almost before she shook her head he was looking puzzled.

‘No, she said. ‘I'm Kate O'Donnell. I'm just visiting. Marie is cooking us tea. We're all old friends from Liverpool.'

‘Yes, of course you are, I can hear that,' he said, the condescension deepening in his tone. ‘But you were the person who found my mother. That must have been a terrible experience for you. I'm so sorry it happened that way and it had to be you. But it was extraordinarily kind of you to be checking up on her. Thank you so much.'

‘I liked your mother,' Kate said. ‘And she seemed to like me, though I don't think she's ever met a scouser before.'

‘No, I don't suppose she had,' Beauchamp said as if it was not an event he relished. ‘Did you spend a lot of time with her then? She'd gone a bit gaga, you know. You can't take everything she said seriously.'

‘Really,' Kate said. ‘She seemed to have her wits about her when I was there.'

Beauchamp scowled at that, his eyes angrier than seemed necessary at the contradiction. ‘She couldn't accept that we were short of money,' he said curtly. ‘She wanted to live like she and my father lived before the war and there were no funds for that. No funds at all. Anyway, I didn't expect to be discussing my mother's situation. That was not the reason I called.' He turned his back on Kate to address himself exclusively to Tess. ‘As you must know, Miss Farrell, this is the only flat in the house that is occupied now, and it won't take me long to clear out my mother's place. I'll be doing that in the next couple of days. So I'm afraid what I've brought you is notice to quit. I plan to sell the house as quickly as possible, and for that I need it vacant. I'd like you out by the end of the month.'

He handed Tess the envelope and turned on his heel and made to leave. But Marie, who had come out of the kitchen with a dish of mashed potatoes in hand, stopped him in his tracks.

‘And what if we can't find anywhere else to go?' she asked. ‘What are we supposed to do then?'

‘I'm afraid that's not my problem,' Beauchamp said. ‘You've been served notice to quit, all legal and above board which is what my buyer wants.'

‘Who's your buyer? Will he want to put us out on the street?' Marie persisted. ‘Can we ask him – or her?'

‘Certainly not,' Beauchamp snapped. ‘My buyer is nothing to do with you. Any buyer would want vacant possession. The tenants go and the sale goes through. So, that's the situation. If you're not out by the due date you'll be evicted. And I don't think you'll enjoy that at all. Just remember, I'm pretty sure you're in breach of your tenancy anyway by having your friend staying here, which is what I understand is going on, so I could have you thrown out tonight if I felt like it. You've got ten days' grace so think yourselves lucky. Goodnight to you.'

And this time he made it to the door and slammed it behind him, leaving the three girls too stunned to protest.

‘Oh feck,' Marie said. ‘Why don't I learn to keep my big gob shut? I just made it worse.'

‘He wasn't going to change his mind, whatever we said,' Kate said.

‘We knew it was coming,' Tess said. ‘It was obvious when no one took over Flat Three, and they went to all that trouble to get the Wilsons out. If we don't go we'll be next for the Alsatian treatment. Lord Muck won't bother evicting us politely like a gentleman. He won't want to get his own hands dirty. He'll leave it to the scallies.'

‘What I don't understand is why he told me his mother was going gaga when she obviously wasn't,' Kate said. ‘She was very fed up, that's true, and I know she was selling off her treasures to keep going, so she must have been pretty well broke. But there didn't seem to be much wrong with her wits.'

‘Her dying's a bit convenient for him, isn't it?' Marie asked. ‘He might get a bit annoyed that she was selling off her jewellery but he'd get very annoyed if she was stopping him from selling the house. If we're in his way, she must have been in his way with knobs on, don't you think?'

Kate felt slightly sick as Marie triumphantly went into the kitchen and returned with a plate of sizzling sausages.