He unbuttoned his jacket. ‘You’ve asked me that before.’
‘You’ve a good memory, Mr Lazarus. But so have I.’ She motioned to her papers. ‘And I have my notes to back it up. You told me you’d never been to the Iron Duke. But I have a witness who identified you.’
‘He couldn’t have.’
‘He said you came to see one of the boys.’ She watched his reaction closely. ‘You paid for his food and drink. Sat with him, talked to him. Nothing wrong with that. I just want to know what it was all about.’
He clenched his fists, saying nothing. From across the desk she could feel the white heat of his anger.
‘We’ve been speaking with Rose Manning. She’s made a full confession.’ She paused. ‘About everything.’
His eyes bored into hers.
‘We know that Max Quincey brought boys back to the Garrimont,’ she continued. ‘And we know about your intervention. Can you tell us about it?’
When he finally spoke, it was in a halting monotone. He seemed to be forcing the words out as though speaking were painful. ‘When I was very young, my Dad left us. Mum married again. A man called Newman. Came with a kid of his own.’ He shifted in the chair. ‘Emmanuel. But everyone called him Manny.’
She felt Steve look at her, but she kept her eyes on Lazarus.
‘I had no brothers or sisters. Neither did Manny. We hit it off from day one. Could say we became inseparable. And his dad was okay with me. Good to my Mum as well.’ He picked at his nails. ‘Thought we could be a proper family. But we never had any money and eventually my new dad did a runner. Didn’t take Manny with him. Things went downhill after that. Mum couldn’t cope, went on the vallies.’ He stopped abruptly, as though he’d said too much.
‘And Manny?’
‘Heartbroken.’ His voice caught on the word. ‘Although she wasn’t his real mum, I think he loved her more than I did. When he saw what she was doing to herself, he changed. Became bitter. Started to hate her. As if it were all her fault, which of course it wasn’t. Anyway, it was just a matter of time before he left too.’
‘How old would he have been?’
‘About fourteen.’ He ran a hand over his stubble. ‘We lost touch. I left school as soon as I could. Helped a mate out with lighting work for some rock band’s gig. Picked up more work and eventually moved to theatre lighting.’ He shrugged. ‘Been there ever since.’
‘So how did you meet Manny again?’ she said, when the silence had gone on too long.
‘The play was running. It was my night off and I was out with some mates. We decided to go to the Duke for a drink. Come and look at the queens and bumboys, one of them said.’ His voice grew hard. ‘My mates went there a lot, for a lark. I wasn’t too keen but I tagged along. Ignored them and sat quietly with my pint. And then he walked in. Hadn’t changed. Except he was thinner, a lot thinner. But the eyes were the same. Eyes never change.’
‘Did he recognise you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d put on some beef, and my face had filled out. Used to wear glasses but my rock-band friend suggested I try contacts. I thought Manny would recognise me on account of this’ – he indicated the scarring on his face – ‘but he didn’t. Maybe he never noticed it when we were younger. Kids don’t always see that sort of thing.’
‘What was your reaction when he walked in?’
‘Horrified. Could tell by the way he acted that he was on the game. My mates were nudging each other and giggling. I couldn’t stand it. Made some excuse and left.’
‘But you came back.’
He hesitated. ‘The next morning. He wasn’t there. The landlord said nights were best. Evening after, he came in again. I got him a drink.’ He snorted. ‘He thought I wanted sex. To keep him there, I gave him money. Bought him a burger. Don’t know what he thought about it all, but he was happy just to talk.’ He looked at his hands. ‘I tried to persuade him to give it up. He just stared at me. We met a lot after that, but he always left to find someone.’
‘Why didn’t you tell him who you were?’
‘I was afraid to. Thought he might be so ashamed, he’d run off and I’d never see him again.’
‘Did he tell you about his clients?’
‘I didn’t ask. He knew I didn’t approve.’
‘And did you see Max Quincey at the Duke during that period?’ she said, watching him closely.
‘Many times. He just nodded at me and carried on doing whatever he was doing.’
‘What was that?’
Lazarus scratched behind his ear. ‘Depends. Sometimes he sat and drank. Sometimes he talked with people.’
‘The regulars?’
‘Regulars, the landlord. And the boys.’
‘Did you ever see him with a Jack in the Box doll?’
He seemed surprised by the question. ‘Hard to remember. But everyone had them. They were all over town.’
‘And in the Duke?’
‘Always a couple of dolls on the bar.’
‘And after Manny was attacked, did you carry on going to the Duke?’
‘Why would I?’ He lowered his head. ‘Never saw him again. The landlord told me he was taken into care.’ He spoke slowly, an appeal in his voice. ‘That’s something, isn’t it? He’s being looked after.’
‘Would you see him again if you knew where he was?’ she said gently.
‘Don’t know. Doubt he’d want me to, I’d be a reminder of his old life.’ He seemed to need confirmation, his eyes pleading with hers. ‘He wouldn’t want that, would he?’
Pity surged into her throat as she recalled the blind boy, and his pride in his new life. She remembered his words:
It’s only now I’ve come to realise he was probably my only friend
. Maybe Zack was wrong.
‘I hear Rose Manning is going to be charged with murder,’ he was saying.
‘She’s confessed to killing Michael Gillanders.’
‘No love lost between Rose and me, but you should know she’s not had an easy life. Her parents live near my mother in Camden. Her mum’s getting on and Rose is worried she’ll have to give up work to look after her. Life’s not given Rose anything.’ He nodded. ‘But she’s tough.’
She’s going to have to be, to survive in prison
.
‘Just wanted to put in a word for her, that’s all.’ He hesitated. ‘Is there anything else? Or can I go?’
‘There’s nothing else. I’ll have someone drive you back to the theatre.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘The show must go on, eh?’
She held his gaze for a moment. ‘Yes, Zack. The show must go on.’
Chapter 26
There was a crush at the Drunken Duck, and it was clear they weren’t going to be served.
Von rarely waited more than five minutes for anything. She tugged at Steve’s arm. ‘Let’s get a sandwich at the deli next door, and take it back to the nick.’
While Steve was ordering, her thoughts turned again to the dark-suited man in the storeroom. She’d checked the desk sergeant’s log but, unsurprisingly for such an early hour, no-one had visited the station. It meant that the man she’d heard in the storeroom must work at Clerkenwell. Not only that, he had a key to the room’s back door.
She checked her mobile for messages. Kenny hadn’t tried to contact her.
Damn. Where the hell is he?
She could guess.
With Georgie
.
She was putting the phone away when it rang. ‘DCI Valenti,’ she said quickly.
The fear in Tubby’s voice was unmistakeable. ‘Von?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Not far from Euston. Can we meet in the caff?’
‘Now?’
‘Now.’ He sounded desperate. ‘Please come.’
‘Hold on, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ She snapped the phone shut. ‘Change of plan, Steve. It’s my snout. I’ll see you at the nick.’ She nodded at the sandwiches. ‘You can have mine.’
He stared at the package. ‘If I’d known, I’d have got beef.’
Tubby was sipping from a mug, his back to the wall, in the corner of the caff where he wasn’t visible but could see anyone who came in. Von recognised this behaviour from his years with the gangs.
Poor tyke. He must really be frightened
.
She ordered tea but, when she started to choose the cakes, he waved her over.
‘I can’t eat, Von.’ His hands were trembling. ‘My nerves are shot.’
‘What’s happened?’ she said, taking the seat opposite.
His eyes darted to the door. ‘I’m being tailed.’
She frowned. If this were true, by meeting her here he was taking a huge risk. For them both.
‘I’ve shaken him off for now.’ He clutched at her arm. ‘But he knows where I live.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Pretty sure.’
She murmured, ‘Then we’ll make this quick, and you can come back with me. So what have you got?’
‘That name you were after. The Cutter.’
The Cutter! Her heart hammered in her chest. ‘Who is he, Tubby?’
He tightened the grip on her arm. ‘If I give you the name, will you make sure I get out of London? Permanently? It’ll cost you, and you know how much.’
‘I don’t have that much on me, but I can get it,’ she said quickly. It was a lie. She’d never get a large sum of money authorised at short notice. But she daren’t say no, she was too close. If Tubby was this scared, he’d find some way to leg it to Spain where he’d disappear permanently, and she’d have lost everything.
‘Meet me in our special place tonight, Von. 10.00pm. You can give me the money then.’
10.00pm. It would give her time to think up something. She
got to her feet but he pulled her down.
‘Don’t you want to know who it is?’ he said in astonishment.
‘I thought you’d need the money first.’
‘I trust you. You’ve always been more than fair with me. I know you’ll get the cash.’ He brought his face close to hers. People turned to look at them, unlikely lovers meeting for a cup of tea and a quick snog in a greasy spoon. ‘Max Quincey,’ he breathed, so softly that at first she thought she’d said it herself.
She sat back, stunned. So, not only had Max been distributing, he’d been cutting the stuff as well. They’d been wrong about him. He must have laundered the big money and hidden it offshore, leaving just the pin money to go into his account. He’d outsmarted them. She stirred her tea, staring straight ahead. Other pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. The Cutter had threatened Harrower. As his prime suspect, Max would have known Harrower had turned his attention to the Duke as part of his investigation. Could Max have left word with someone there to contact him if the coppers came sniffing around? Could he have received the call, phoned Harrower, and threatened his family unless he backed off?
Tubby was looking at her strangely. ‘Von?’
She switched her gaze back to him. ‘Sorry, I was thinking.’
‘You look weird when you’re thinking.’
‘So how did you get his name?’
‘Told Malkie I wanted to know more before I agreed to come in, didn’t I? He wouldn’t say anything, he was too scared, but one of the other regulars must have overheard. Followed me out. Said he could tell me everything I wanted to know if I made it worth his while. I gave him what was left of your money.’ Tubby gulped down his tea. ‘He was the one told me who the Cutter was.’
‘Did you get this regular’s name?’
‘Course not. And I wasn’t going to ask him, neither. He
looks like Rocky Balboa.’
This was par for the course. In Tubby’s world, people rarely told each other their real names. Malkie would have been baptised as someone else, if he’d been baptised at all.
‘And no mention of who Mr Big might be?’ she said, sifting the sugar in the bowl.
‘Believe me, Von, no-one knows.’
Max would have known. As the person who cut the stuff, he would have got it from Mr Big. But Max was dead. The trail had come to an end.
Tubby picked up his copy of The News of the World. ‘I have to go. You won’t forget? Our special place, at ten?’
‘I’ll be there.’ She hesitated. ‘After tonight, we won’t be meeting again. I just want to say—’
‘We’ll say our goodbyes later, Von.’ He grinned, showing discoloured teeth. ‘We’ll see each other one last time.’
She felt a sudden shiver through her body. ‘Come with me,’ she blurted, grabbing his arm. ‘I can take you to a safe house.’
‘Got things to sort out. And one or two people to see.’ He patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve shaken him off. As long as I don’t go back to my place, I’ll be all right.’
She released him slowly. ‘If you feel things are getting hot, Tubby, come into the nick and ask for me. Any time.’
Something passed across his face, a look of sadness. Then he pushed his chair back, and left.
She sat staring into her mug. So Max was the Cutter. They’d need to rethink. If Max had been so high up in this ring, then the motive for his killing was unlikely to be a simple double-cross. But his death had taken him out of the drug loop, and no-one would want that. All of them from the distributors to the street men were dependent on him. Mr Big would have to find someone else. He may well have done so already. She pushed the mug away. Damn it. They’d been so close. Max was the
only one who’d known who Mr Big was. He was dead, and the information dead with him. Unless he’d left a clue somewhere.
She sat bolt upright.
Unless he’d left a clue somewhere
.
But Max
had
left a clue. A clue she’d found that morning on his newspaper.
‘That’s where I’m going, Steve.’
‘I’ll get my coat.’
‘I’m going alone.’
‘For God’s sake, Von, if your snout thinks he’s being followed, then it’s not safe. Not safe for
you
.’
She smiled sadly.
He must be worried. He rarely calls me by my name
. ‘If we go together, they’ll know who we are,’ she said. ‘Look, I’ll be careful. It’s broad daylight.’
‘We could go in undercover.’ He looked at his feet. ‘Pretend to be a couple.’
She did him the courtesy of taking the suggestion seriously. ‘Don’t be offended, Steve, but you’ve got the word copper printed on your forehead.’ She waited until he’d lifted his eyes to hers. ‘I won’t be long. I have just one question to ask.’
‘Whether he knew Max Quincey was the Cutter?’
‘Got it in one.’ She picked up her jacket. ‘There’s something you need to do while I’m out. Track down the Chief Super and get that money authorised.’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It won’t be easy, you know how tight he is. Could you do it when you return?’
‘No pun intended, but my currency’s low with the Chief Super.’
He must have heard the anxiety in her voice. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
‘And if Kenny calls at the nick, can you ensure he doesn’t leave?’
‘Okay. But why?’
‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with him.’ She wondered what to say. She wouldn’t tell him till she had the proof. ‘We had a row, Steve. He may come looking for me here.’ Not quite the truth, but not a lie either. And men understood about rows.
His face cleared. ‘Absolutely, boss.’
As Von stepped into the Iron Duke, all conversations stopped. She knew why they were staring. She’d been careful with her appearance, dressing the way she had a couple of years back when she’d gone undercover as a prostitute. She was wearing a skirt that could best be described as a long cummerbund, and a low-cut top, showing so much cleavage that any man she spoke to rarely lifted his eyes to her face. Better still, the bruise on her cheek had darkened.
She wobbled on her heels to the bar, and climbed onto a stool. Her feet were aching. She’d come by bus, not only because she didn’t want to risk being seen in a car, but because driving down Soho’s one-way streets was a nightmare.
She could have met Dickie at his house, or at St Pats, but she wanted to see the Duke. She found it easily enough near the street corner, wedged between a sex shop and a massage parlour. Above the tired façade was a board portraying Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington, his right hand inside his jacket as was the custom for portraits. A few feet from the entrance, a woman selling The Big Issue was sitting leaning against the wall. Von bent to give her some coins. As she stepped back, her heels caught in the iron grille covering the delivery chute into the Duke’s cellar.
The inside of the pub was surprisingly classy. The floor had been mopped, and the polished mirrors threw back such a perfect reflection that at first glance the room seemed twice its size. To one side was a platform with speakers and other equipment for karaoke night. There was a strong smell of malt.
She counted a dozen people, some in pairs, a few sitting separately, all nursing their drinks. Malkie and Rocky Balboa might be amongst them, but she didn’t dare study anyone too closely.
On the counter was a Jack in the Box doll, already popped. Identical dolls were sitting on other tables.
Dickie was behind the counter, polishing glasses and hanging them from the tracks in the low ceiling. If he thought it strange a prostitute should enter a rent boys’ bar, he gave no indication. He threw her the briefest glance. She remembered his words:
It’s pretending I don’t notice that’s kept me alive
.
Good boy. Keep pretending
.
‘A vodka tonic, please, love,’ she said, broadening her accent. She unzipped her jacket. ‘Jesus, my feet are killing me.’ She removed a shoe and, leaning over, massaged her toes, making sure everyone in the room had a good look at her breasts.
Dickie handed her the drink, barely looking at her.
‘Can you tell me where the loo is, darling?’ she said, after a while. ‘If I don’t pee soon, I’ll go in my knickers.’
He continued to polish the glasses, motioning with his head to the door at the back of the room. ‘End of the corridor, to your right.’
She followed the corridor to the ladies, and waited outside. A minute later, Dickie appeared. He hurried towards her, frowning.
She put a finger to her lips. With a furtive glance around, he took her arm and steered her towards the steps. The smell of yeast and malt grew stronger as they descended into the gloom.
‘I’m the only one allowed in the cellar, so we should be okay,’ he said. ‘You’re taking a hell of a risk coming here, girl.’ He stared at her breasts and a slow grin spread across his face. ‘But I have to say, your disguise is great.’
She smiled, moving closer so her breasts grazed his chest.
‘I’m built for comfort, not speed.’ She pulled a photo from her bag. ‘Have you seen this man before?’
He gestured to her to keep her voice down, and held the photo up to the grille. ‘That tattoo on his neck’s unmistakable.’
The tattoo…
She felt her legs give way. ‘When was the last time?’
‘A couple of days ago.’
‘And at the time of the Jack in the Box murders?’
‘Definitely then.’ He paused. ‘And many times since. He’s a distributor.’
She was having difficulty breathing. ‘You saw him pass packets to the boys?’
‘I never saw.’
‘Then how do you know?’
‘I overheard one of the boys talking to him in the gents.’ He pointed to the air vent high in the wall. ‘Sound carries all over this building, girl. That’s how I know things.’
‘Did he meet with anyone in particular? Max Quincey, for example?’
He screwed up his eyes. ‘Max Quincey? Gawd, now you’re asking. Can’t remember. It was too long ago. And Max hung around with loads of people.’ His expression cleared. ‘What I do remember is that he’d sometimes bring the boys presents.’
Presents…Her throat tightened. ‘What kind of presents?’
‘Clothes, mainly. Trendy stuff.’
‘Didn’t you think it odd? He wasn’t a client.’
He shrugged. ‘They were nice kids. And this guy seemed to have plenty to splash around.’
‘Did he give the boys anything apart from clothes?’ she said, knowing the answer.
‘This might sound strange, but they seemed to like the dolls. There was talk they were becoming collectors’ items. Once the shops began to run out, the dolls were traded by people who
wanted to collect them.’ He rubbed his cheek. ‘This guy – what was his name? – yes, Robbie, he always had a doll with him.’
She felt faint. She leant against the wall and closed her eyes.
‘You okay, girl?’ he said, concern in his voice.
‘I’m fine.’ She straightened. ‘One last thing, Dickie. I meant to ask before, but why is there no CCTV outside the Duke? Or on any of the streets nearby? The rest of Soho is bristling with cameras.’
‘Dunno. There used to be cameras years ago, but they kept getting vandalised. I guess the council decided not to throw good money after bad.’ He seemed nervous. ‘Look, is this all you want to ask? It’s just that changing over barrels doesn’t take that long. People are going to start wondering what I’ve been doing.’