The Murder Exchange (31 page)

It was difficult to believe that a crime so heinous
had taken place on what was such a quiet and
peaceful street, and for me that's the worst thing
about policework, the knowledge that effectively
nowhere's safe. In a free country, those with evil in
their hearts can roam wherever they want.

I'd wanted to come here alone. I'd told Benin
that this was because it would waste less time. I'd
got him hunting down any further information he
could find on Contracts International, and chasing
Leppel for the list of Bosnian operatives. The real
reason, however, was to give me an opportunity to
revisit the scene of what I considered one of my
most important pieces of unfinished business, and
perhaps take a bit more time to reflect on what had
happened that cold, dark morning.

The newsagent for whom Robert did his round
was situated on Highbury Grove, approximately
half a mile north-east of where I now stood. This
street, Runmayne Avenue, was about halfway
along his route. He would make his way down

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Runmayne, which was just under a quarter of a
mile long, then come back the other way on
Fairfield Avenue, the next street down, before
returning along the main road back to the
newsagent's. I was sure it was on this street that
Robert had been snatched. Even at that time in the
morning, there were cars and people about. Not
that many, but enough to expect that if he'd con
limifu the whole length of it he'd have been seen
by someone else. After all, he would hardly have
been inconspicuous.

Franks's house was about a hundred yards
further along from the spot where Robert had last
been seen and wasn't one to which he delivered.
qiowly The started towards it, trying to remember the
cac.v i route he would have taken and which houses
he delivered to, but without much success. It was
too long ago. Too much time and too many cases
had come to pass since then, and already the life of
Robert Jones was passing into ancient history. He
would always be remembered, of course, by his
parents and his sister, but even they would think
about him less and less as time wore on, and to
everyone else he would simply become a vague
memory, a smiling, permanently young face in a
photograph that would occasionally inspire a sad
and wistful conversation. It was more than a
tragedy, it was an injustice. Someone, some day,
would have to pay.

Franks's place was the end extension of a huge
villa, set back a few yards from the road, that probably
housed at least half a dozen professionally
spacious flats and which had two grand entrance

287

porticoes along its length. The extension had been
built much later than the villa, probably in the
sixties, and looked as if it had been attached at a
slightly crooked angle. The paintwork was a fading
sky blue rather than the white of the rest of the
building, making it stand out for the wrong
reasons. Apart from that, though, it looked OK.
Small, but reasonably well kept. Newish windows
had been installed on both floors, and there was a
tiny, recently cobbled driveway in front of it with jg room for two cars at a squeeze. A high stone wall '^^ separated it from the main parking area in front of
the rest of the villa, as if its occupants didn't want
anything to do with their tattier neighbour.

Today, Franks's driveway was empty as I walked
up it to the front door. Through the net curtains, I
could make out a clean, well-furnished interior but ^
no obvious signs of life. I rang the doorbell but no
one answered, then looked through the letterbox.
There was a pile of tacky-looking brochures and
various other bits of junk mail on the carpet - at
least a week's worth, probably a lot more. It looked
like he might have moved out.

I went round to the nearest entrance portico and
saw that there were buzzers for three flats on the
wall outside. Beneath the buzzers was a sticker saying
that the building was protected by CCTV
cameras - not that I could see any in evidence. I
rang the first two but got no answer, so I tried the
third. I needed to ring several times but eventually
a moderately annoyed female voice came on the
line. 'Yes?' she said in an accusatory voice. I
identified myself, and explained that I was here as

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part of an inquiry. Her voice immediately lost its
initial hostility, and she buzzed me in. Hers was the
ground-floor flat, and she came out of the door to
greet me, clad only in a dressing gown and slippers.
She was about thirty with short blonde hair, and
nice-looking in a Sloaney sort of way. In a dressing
gown as well. Perhaps I was going to have to watch

out.

'I'm sorry/ she said. 'I didn't realize you were
the police. I thought you were here to sell me
something.'

'I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not,' I told
her.

She smiled. 'I don't know either. Anyway, please,
come in. You'll have to forgive me, I've got a
tei'able cold. That's why I'm not working.' She
sniffed loudly to prove it, then stepped aside to let
me in. 'I hope it's nothing about David,' she added,
leading me into a spacious, well-furnished lounge.

'David?'

'My husband.'

I took a seat and she sat down on the sofa opposite,
her legs tightly pressed together. Somehow,
I got the feeling I was safe from any predatory
advances. 'No, it's nothing to do with him. It's
about your neighbour to the left, a Tony Franks?'

'Oh yes, Tony. Nice-looking guy. Dark hair.' Her
tones were clipped and upper-class. This girl had
definitely not been educated at the local comprehensive.
Mind you, who had round here?

I nodded. That sounds like him. This is a photo.' I removed the mugshot from my jacket pocket and
briefly showed it to her.

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'Oh yes, that's him.' She excused herself while i
she sneezed into a tissue she'd removed from the*
pocket of the dressing gown. 'Why? Has he done
something wrong?'

'I don't know is the short answer. Possibly.'

'I thought it was funny.'

'What?'

'Well, the way he moved out. It was all quite
sudden.'

'When was that?'

'I don't know for certain. I didn't actually see him
go. All I know is about a week ago a man turned up
in a van and took some stuff away.'

'This man, had you ever seen him there before?'

She shook her head. 'No, I hadn't. On the day he
came I was outside putting the rubbish out for the
dustmen when I saw him loading it up. I don't
normally take too much notice of what the neighbours
are up to -1 mean, you don't in London, do
you?' I nodded, thinking that that was probably the
root cause of so much that was wrong with it, and
waited while she continued. 'But there are quite a
few burglaries around here, as you probably know,
so I asked him what he was up to, and he told me
he was Tony's brother.'

'Those were his exact words: "I'm Tony's
brother"?'

She nodded. That's right, so I thought he must
have something to do with him. He was friendly
enough, too, not at all furtive, as you'd expect a
burglar to be.' She paused to blow her nose, once
again apologizing. 'He said that Tony was moving
out, and he was helping with the removals. There

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wasn't a lot I could say to that. I asked him if Tony
would be coming along later and he said he would.
But he never did.'

'You never saw Mr Franks again?'

'No. I haven't seen him for two or three weeks at

least.'

I made some calculations. It was sixteen days
since Shaun Matthews's murder. The timing
sounded very convenient. Now for the big
question. 'Did you take down the registration of the
vehicle this gentleman was driving?' I mentally
crossed my fingers.

'Yes, I did. I don't like to be a busybody and I
know it's none of my business, but I memorized it
while I was speaking to him, just in case, and I
wrote it down on a piece of paper as soon as I got
back in.' She stood up, sniffing loudly. 'Now, what
have I done with it? Excuse me for a minute, will
you?'

She wandered out of the room and I hoped I was
going to get a break. Even if it proved difficult to
locate Franks, whoever was moving his stuff had
to have some information as to his whereabouts.
Somehow I knew I was on the right track. Call it
instinct, if you like. It was just a matter of continuing
to pursue the scent while at the same time
persuading my superiors that it was a worthwhile
investment of my time. This would be the hardest
part, particularly now that it looked like the area's
criminals were beginning to wake up from the
previous week's inactivity. An aggravated burglary
the previous night in which a pregnant woman had
been threatened with a knife by two intruders,

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/
/

who'd threatened to cut her open if she didn't
reveal the whereabouts of her valuables, had
already caused the chief super yet another serious
resources headache. What with the continued
clamour over the assault on the young girl, things
were getting extremely stretched. Already Knox
had hinted that the murder squad was likely to be
reduced still further in the next twenty-four hours,
so time was of the essence.

'Here it is/ she said, coming back in the room
with a piece of paper. 'I wasn't sure whether I'd
thrown it away or not, but it was in the drawer.' She
handed it to me, and I put it in my top pocket,
thanking her.

'Can you describe the man for me, Miss ... ?'

'Deerborne. Mrs Judy Deerborne. I'm not too
good at this, but I'll give it a go. He was quite well
built. Sort of tough-looking, which was why I
wasn't entirely sure about him. About fortyish,
maybe a couple of years older, five nine or ten, and
I think he was bald, although it wasn't easy to tell,
because he was wearing a cap. He also had quite a
big head.'
'I disagree with you,' I said, 'I think you are good
at it.' I was glad I'd worn the suit I'd been wearing
yesterday because it still contained the photograph
I'd shown to Martin Leppel. I fished it out now, and
handed it to her. 'It wasn't the man on the right,
was it? The one in the suit?'

She looked at it closely for a few seconds. In the
photo, the Slap had a cap with him but was holding
it in his hand rather than wearing it. His bald dome
seemed to stand out a mile.

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Finally, she looked up. 'You know, I think it is. I
can't be a hundred per cent sure - it's not a brilliant
photo, is it? But, yes, it looks a great deal like him.'

Interesting. 'You've been here for how long, Mrs
Deerborne?'

'My husband and I bought this place ten years
ago. I think it cost us about a third of what it would
go for now.'

That seems to be the case for most of London.
And how long has Mr Franks been your next-door
neighbour?'

'A long time.' She appeared to think about it for a
moment. Three or four years at least, probably
longer. Why? What is it you think he's done?' She
iiiiffed loudly. I'm dying to know.' I told her politely
that 1 couldn't divulge that. 1 hope it's nothing to do
with what happened to that poor paperboy. The one
who got killed.'

I smiled reassuringly. 'No, it's a separate matter
entirely. Did Mr Franks live there alone?'

'I saw people come and go occasionally, but as far
as I know it was just him in there. He wasn't always
there either. He'd be away for a few weeks at a time
sometimes.'

'Did he ever tell you what he did for a living? I
mean, it's an expensive house.'

'I know he rented it but I don't know how much
for. A lot, I suppose. But no, he never said what his
job was. He tended to keep himself to himself. He'd
talk if you talked to him, and he always said hello,
but I don't think I had more than half a dozen conversations
with him in all the time he was here, and
not one of them lasted more than two or three

293

I

minutes. Usually they were about the weather or
something mundane like that.'

'Do you know who owns the house?'

Tes, his name's Roddy Lee Potter. He's owned it
for years. I know because he's come round here a
couple of times, trying to buy our place. I think he
owns a few houses in London. It's how he makes
his money.'

I asked her if she had a phone number or an
address for Mr Lee Potter and, after a bit more
hunting around, it turned out she had both. She
wrote them down on a sheet of paper and handed
it to me. 'I don't know why we bothered keeping
his details,' she said. 'It's not as if we'd ever consider
selling. We love it round here.'

'I can see why,' I said, getting to my feet. 'It's a ^
nice area.' I put out my hand and she shook it |
vigorously. Thank you very much for your help,
Mrs Deerborne. It's most appreciated. If Mr Franks
does for some reason turn up, can you call me on
this number straight away?' I handed her my card.

Tes, of course,' she said, leading me back to the
front door.

'I hope your cold improves,' I told her as I
stepped outside.

'I'm sure it will. They never did catch the man
who killed the paperboy, did they?'

'No,' I said. 'We didn't. But one day we will. We
always get them in the end.'

When I was back out on the street I phoned Benin
and brought him up to date. 'I've got a couple more
visits to make/ I told him. 'We'll meet back at the

294

station. Do me a favour, can you check on a car
registration for me?' I reeled out the number.

T)o you think you might have something then,
Sarge?' he asked.

'I don't know. Possibly. Do me another favour as
well, will you? Speak to Capper and Hunsdon. See
how the interview went with Jean Tanner.'

When I'd rung off, having given Benin plenty of
things to do for the morning, I suddenly felt guilty.
There I was, supposedly teaching the poor kid the
ropes of CID, and instead I was dumping all
the routine stuff on him and going my own way. I
made a conscious decision to be more inclusive in
future. But for now, I needed to move fast.