Necrocrip (13 page)

Barrington leaned back slightly from his hands, adding another inch or two to his breadth.

‘No. I wanted to get the trivial matter out of the way first. I have something much more serious to say.’

Could anything be more serious than McLaren’s eating habits? It was hard to imagine. ‘Sir?’

‘I have had a telephone call – an irate telephone call
from Colin Cate. I assume you know who he is?’

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place—’

‘He is a very influential businessman, who used to be in the CID. He sits on various committees, including several police advisory bodies. He is widely consulted by everyone from the local authority to the Royal Commission. He owns a string of properties and businesses all over West London, including several on our ground. Am I ringing any bells yet?’

By the tone of his voice he was more interested in wringing balls. Slider kept a cunning silence.

‘Perhaps it would help you if I mentioned that he owns eight fish and chip shops, one of which he drove past this morning, only to find it closed, with police screens all over it. Need any more hints?’

Slider thought he’d better speak before Barrington’s voice went off the scale. ‘He owns Dave’s Fish and Chip Bar?’

‘Yes, Inspector, he does. And he was naturally wondering, just by the way, of course, why it was we hadn’t contacted him before now – as a matter of courtesy, if not because he might have been able to help us with the
bloody investigation!’

Whoops, Slider thought. ‘We didn’t know he owned it, sir. Slaughter told us he was the owner.’

‘You should have checked it out! Good God, man, do you really think a slob like Slaughter could run a business? A simple enquiry to the Community Charge office –something which ought to have been pure routine – but of course you wouldn’t know about routine, would you? It was something my predecessor despised.’

‘I don’t think it will make any difference to the case, sir,’ Slider began, but Barrington overrode him in a sort of desperate Lionel Jeffries shriek.

‘
It makes all the difference!
’ Having left himself, vocally speaking, nowhere to go, he dropped back into normal dicdon. ‘You’re going to have to check every statement and every assumption against the new evidence. If Slaughter has lied about something as basic as that, what else has he lied
about? You’re going to go back to the beginning and start again, you and your team, and this time you’ll do it by the book. I don’t want any more mistakes. Colin Cate has got his eye on this one now, and he is not a man to be underestimated. He has the ear of some Very Important People Indeed, do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘You’re going to have to get a statement from him.’

‘Of course. I’ll send—’

‘As you were! You won’t
send
anyone, you’ll go yourself. He’s not received a very good impression so far, so I want him to have the best possible service from now on.’

‘Sir.’

‘He’ll be at the golf club this afternoon, and he’ll see you there, in the clubhouse, at half-past three.’

Too late for lunch and too early for tea, Slider thought. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘And for God’s sake watch what you say. Remember this man was a copper when you were still learning to shave.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Carry on, then.’ He waited until Slider reached the door, then added, ‘And get that car cleaned up.’

He went downstairs to see his old friend O’Flaherty, who was custody skipper on Early, and found him just going off duty and handing over to Nutty Nicholls.

‘Step across the road with me and have a drink,’ Fergus invited as he hauled off his tunic and inserted himself into a modest blue anorak. ‘I’m as thirsty as a bearer at a Protestant funeral, and there’s a pint waitin’ over there with me name on it.’

‘All fresh is glass,’ Nutty observed, sidelong.

‘I’ve got to go and interview someone important,’ said Slider. ‘I’d better not turn up with booze on my breath.’

‘Ah well, come and sip a lemonade and watch me drinking, then.’

‘Don’t you want to know about your body?’ Nicholls enquired in hurt tones as Slider turned away.

‘Slaughter? How is he settling in?’

‘He’s the happiest wee felon I’ve ever banged up. Chirpy as a budgie now we’ve charged him – isn’t he, Fergus?’

‘You’d think we’d done him a favour,’ O’Flaherty concurred. ‘Thanks us for every little thing. He even likes the canteen food – Ordure of the Day, we call it. Sure God, the man’s as daft as a pair of one-legged trousers.’

‘Probably a relief to him to hand over responsibility,’ Slider said. ‘I’ve seen it before with this sort of murder—’

‘Crime passionelle,’
Nicholls interpreted in his rolling Scottish French.

‘No, that’s a kind of blancmange,’ Fergus corrected.

‘God, you two!’ Slider exclaimed. ‘Talk about Peter Pan and Windy!’

In the pub Fergus collected his pint of Guinness and said, ‘D’you want a table, or would you rather sit on one of them things?’ He nodded with disfavour at the brown-leather covered bar stools. ‘Aptly named, I’ve always thought.’

‘Let’s find a table,’ Slider said. ‘I want to ask you about something.’

‘Y’ve a worn look about you this fine day,’ Fergus observed, following him. ‘Are you keepin’ some woman happier than she deserves?’

‘My wife smiled at me across the breakfast table this morning,’ Slider said cautiously. ‘I don’t know what you’d make of that.’

‘Sounds ominous.’ O’Flaherty sat down and drank deeply, and then wiped the foam from his lip daintily with his little finger. ‘But a wife at home and a mistress on the nest, Billy? Christ, I don’t know how you do it at your age!’

‘I take a young DC and a set of jump leads with me.’

Fergus shook his head. ‘I could never be bothered with that malarky. Sure God, there’s a lot to be said for starin’ at the same face across the cornflakes every day.’

‘Cereal monogamy?’

‘It’s dull, but it’s restful.’ He eased one huge buttock upwards and aired a nostalgic memory of a steak and onion pie, not lost but gone before. ‘But then,’ he added succinctly, as the song reminded him, ‘my owl woman can cook. So what did you want to talk to me about?’

‘Did you ever hear of a man called Cate?’ Slider began.

‘A man called Kate? You don’t mean that cross-dresser, what was his name, Beefy Baverstock? He used to call himself Kate, or Kathy. Used to pose as the Avon lady. Did the old ding-dong, got himself invited in, then lifted the cash and jewellery while the woman o’ th’house was makin’ a cuppa tea. He came out about four years ago, but the last I heard he was goin’ straight – or as straight as any man can go, wearin’ a black suspender belt an’ a Playtex trainin’ bra.’

‘No, no, not him. This bloke was a copper, apparently. Colin Cate.’

‘Christ, everyone’s heard of him,’ Fergus said simply.

‘Tell me about him,’ Slider invited. ‘What’s he like?’

‘Overpaid and underscrupulous, like any successful businessman.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘I don’t like ex-coppers,’ Fergus said. ‘If you get out, you should get out, not hang around interferin’, lookin’ over people’s shoulders and makin’ suggestions you’d never have made when you were in the Job.’

‘But he’s done well since he left?’

‘Oh, he’s pots a money. Smart as a rat. Owns property and shops all over the place. He’s a big house in Chorleywood looks like a Hollywood ranch – swimmin’ pool and the lot.’

‘Apparently, he owns Dave’s Fish Bar,’ Slider said ruefully.

Fergus whistled soundlessly. ‘Izzat so? Well now, who’d a thought it?’

‘Barrington seems to think we should have.’

‘Well he does own several fish bars, that’s true,’ Fergus said. ‘But then he has that computer retail chain too –Compucate’s?’

‘Oh, yes. I know. That’s his?’

‘Yeah. I’d have connected him in me mind with computers sooner than battered fish, but there y’are. We’re supposed to know everything, aren’t we?’

‘So why is Barrington so keen on this Cate bloke, anyway? He was practically having an orgasm telling me how important and influential he is.’

‘Ah well, him and Cate go back a bit. Our Mr Dickson
too. Did you not know that? They were all together at Notting Hill at the time of the shootin’.’

Slider frowned. ‘Do you mean that incident in, when was it, 1982? When two DCs were shot?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘I read about it at the time, but I don’t remember the detail. Tell me about it.’

O’Flaherty eyed the level in his glass. ‘This’ll never last. It’s a full pint story.’

Slider fetched another pint of Guinness, and Fergus began.

‘Well, now, at the time yer man Cate was the DCS, and Barrington and our Mr Dickson were Dis down at Notting Hill nick. The Area team had been investigatin’ a drugs network for a long time, under cover, and now at last it was all comin’ good. So they set up this big operation, a raid on the pub where it was all happening – the Carlisle in Ladbroke Grove—’

‘Yes, I know it.’

‘The Notting Hill lads have still got their eye on it to this day. Funny how some places attract that sort o’ thing. Anyway, it was all set up, huge operation, a hundred men or something of that order. It was all worked out in advance like a military campaign, and kept dead secret. Mr Cate was to be the man in charge on the ground, but even he didn’t know until the last minute exactly when it was coming off.’

He took a drink, eased his position in the chair, and went on. ‘Only come the night somethin’ goes wrong. Our Mr Dickson was out in the road at the side of the pub with orders to stay outside so as to catch anyone who might slip the net. Well, in go the troops and there’s all the noise and rumpus. Dickson’s standing around waiting—’

‘Not relishing it very much, I shouldn’t think,’ Slider put in.

‘That’s right. Always a man of action, our Mr Dickson. Anyway, suddenly he sees that there’s apparently nobody covering the yard at the side where there’s a fire door leading out of the function room. So he uses his initiative, grabs these two DCs, Field and Wilson, and goes in there, sees the fire door open, and goes for it.’

He removed his hand from his glass to curl it into a fist and thump the table softly.

‘Shots were fired. Field was killed, and Wilson was wounded and spent three months in hospital.’

‘Yes,’ Slider said thoughtfully. ‘I remember reading about it. They got someone for the shooting, though, didn’t they?’

‘Jimmy Cole and Derek Blackburn. They went down for it. They always swore they didn’t do it, though.’

‘Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they?’

O’Flaherty nodded. ‘Blackburn was a scummy little villain, kill his own grandmother for the gold in her teeth. He’s dead now – got killed in a brawl inside, to nobody’s disappointment. Jimmy Cole, now – he musta come out six-eight weeks ago, f’what I was hearin’ from Seedy Barry.’

‘Who’s Seedy Barry?’

‘Him as runs that garden centre th’ back o’ Brunei Road. Little fella, th’ spit o’ Leslie Howard.’

‘Leslie Howard?’

‘Gone Wit’ the Wind,’ Fergus said patiently, and then clasped his hands under his chin, batted his eyelids and slid into an indescribable falsetto. ‘Oh
Ashley!
’

‘Now I’ve lost track. How did we get on to Scarlett O’Hara?’

‘I was tellin’ you, Seedy Barry’s set himself up in business within sight of the Scrubs – says he misses the place when he can’t see the old ivory towers. He’s been goin’ straight fifteen years now, but he keeps up with all the comin’s and goin’s, does a lot of work for the rehabilitation services. He was sayin’ the other day that Jimmy Cole went down very well with the parole board and they let him out a sadder and wiser man. But I was surprised meself at the time that he was mixed up in the shootin’. We’d had him over on our ground enough times before that, and I wouldn’t a put him in that league. Strictly a small-time villain. I’d never known him carry a shooter. But Seedy was sayin’ over the bedders the other day that the word always was it was Blackburn did the job, and took Cole down with him.’

‘So what happened afterwards?’ Slider asked. ‘From our point of view, I mean. I suppose there was an enquiry?’

‘Must a been. But there were no disciplinary actions. Cate left the Job not long afterwards, but he wasn’t required to resign or anything o’ the sort. He was only second-in-command, but he was the man on the spot. The Commander was co-ordinatin’ back at the ranch.’

‘I suppose no-one likes to lose men,’ Slider mused.

‘If you’re thinkin’ he left a broken man, you can think again. He’s gone from strength to strength since he went private.’

‘And what about Dickson and Barrington?’

‘Dickson transferred, just in the natural course o’ things. I think that was when he went to Vine Street. Barrington stayed at Notting Hill as far as I know. Why d’you ask?’

‘I keep getting the impression Barrington didn’t like Dickson, and I wondered if it could be anything to do with that incident.’

Fergus shrugged. ‘It might. I’ve never heard Dickson talk about it – but then he doesn’t talk about himself, does he?’

‘Not any more.’

‘Sure God, I was forgetting. I can’t think of him dead, can you?’ He eyed Slider curiously. ‘If you want to know more about it, why don’t you ask his missus? You’ve met her, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, once or twice – and at the funeral, of course. I think perhaps I will, if I can find time.’

‘I expect she’d like a visit. She must be lonely. They were devoted, y’know.’ He sighed sentimentally. ‘Sure, isn’t it a grand thing to know, that there’s someone for everyone, however unlikely it may seem?’

‘It’s a comforting thought,’ said Slider.

ANY MAN WHO HAS WORKED
in a modern police station is likely to feel at home in a modern golf clubhouse: the decor and the assumptions about life are much the same in either.

The lounge to which Slider was directed in his search for Colin Cate had all the true transcontinental glamour of the Manhattan Bar of a Ramada Inn on the ring-road of a North Midlands town. Cate was leaning against the bar laughing loudly with some friends, and he carried on the chaff just a little after he had seen Slider at the door simply to emphasise the difference between them as the detective inspector began the long plod across the stretch of crimson carpet that separated them.