Blood Brothers (8 page)

‘Someone’s coming,’ Kate said quietly pointing at a big car which nosed past them and parked immediately outside the pub’s main door. She felt rather than saw the tension as Price watched.

‘That’s Smith’s car,’ he said. ‘And there’s another Jag parked a bit further down, look. Something’s going on.’

They watched in silence but could not see who the new arrival was. Eventually Price leaned across Kate and opened the passenger door. ‘There you go. No one knows you, so you’ll be quite safe. Have a little mosey round the back. No one will think it odd if you take a few shots of the river. We’re not far from Tower Bridge. You’ll see it on your left.’

‘Can you get over the river from here?’ Kate asked.

‘Oh yes. There’s a road tunnel just down the road in Rotherhithe and the first one which Brunel built is still there. It’s part of the underground now. It’s not completely cut off from the other side.’

Cautiously Kate got out of the car and walked down the side of the pub as Price had suggested and suddenly found herself facing a huge sweep of water which, even in the dusk, was still choppy with the wake from strings of barges chugging steadily in each direction. To the left she could make out the bright lights of Tower Bridge sweeping high over the water and opposite the much dimmer lights of Wapping and Shadwell. It was low tide and the unpleasant smell of Thames mud rose up from the beach beneath the embankment wall. The sight and smell of the working Thames made her catch her breath in a moment of nostalgia for her own home town. She hoped that Carter Price’s pessimism about the future of the Mersey as well as the Thames was ill-founded, but she guessed it wasn’t. She took several shots of the river and of the slightly decrepit old pub and then made her way back to the car.

‘He’s there,’ Price said as she got in. ‘It wasn’t him in that first car which pulled up. But I saw him quite clearly getting out of a Bentley. It’s parked over there, look.’ He waved in the direction of a couple of large cars at the far side of the pub. You see? I was right. There’s something big going on. We’ll hang on until they go and then meet up again in daylight – Saturday before the match would be ideal if you can make it. And get some snaps of whoever he meets then if we can. Did you get anything useful round the back?’

‘There’s a veranda sort of thing facing the river,’ Kate said. ‘There were some people out there with drinks even though it’s so cold. I thought that was a bit odd. I took some shots in that direction but I daren’t use the flash. They would have noticed. The pictures will be very dark but they might just show something with the pub lights behind. I’ll print them up tomorrow and you can have a look.’

‘Good girl,’ Price said, starting the engine and easing the car across the road and past the parked cars. ‘Whoever’s in there’s not your usual Bermondsey punter, that’s for sure. They don’t drive around in Jags and Bentleys. And they don’t hang about on chilly balconies unless they’ve something very private to discuss. Something’s going on and if Reg Smith is involved you can be bloody sure that it’s not going to be legal.’

Harry Barnard rang Kate at the office next morning and offered to take her for lunch.

‘I’m pretty busy,’ she said, looking at the contact prints from the previous night, which were on her desk. ‘I could do coffee and a quick sandwich at the Blue Lagoon.’

Barnard groaned at the thought but then agreed. ‘One o’clock then?’

‘See you later, alligator,’ Kate said absent-mindedly, but Barnard had already hung up. She turned back to her work, and when the rest of the staff went off for lunch at a pub, without inviting her to join them, she strolled through the crowds to the coffee bar where her aspiring actress friend Marie used to work. Barnard was there before her, his coat carefully hung with his hat nearby and a cup of steaming cappuccino in front of him.

‘I could have done with something a bit stronger than this,’ he said irritably as she slid into the seat opposite him. ‘What would you like?’

The black girl who had taken over Marie’s job when she decided to go back to Liverpool took their order and when she had finished Kate looked at Barnard quizzically.

‘You don’t look very pleased with life, la,’ she said.

‘I’m not,’ Barnard said. ‘I’ve got Vic Copeland dogging every step I take. And someone’s told the DCI that you’ve been seen snooping around with Carter Price. He wants to know what Price is up to and I have to tell him something convincing. What do you suggest?’

‘Just tell him the agency is doing some work for the
Globe
,’ Kate said. ‘It’s nothing to do with you lot what Carter’s investigating. I’m sure he’ll tell you when there’s anything to tell. Where am I supposed to have been snooping, anyway?’

‘Oh just around Soho,’ Barnard said, to Kate’s relief. ‘But someone recognized you both and thought it was odd even if Price does have a rep for liking women half his age. Are you sure it’s just pictures he’s after?’

Kate drew a sharp breath at that. ‘I’m sure he’d like to get into my knickers if he got half a chance, but he’s not going to get that is he,’ Kate said tartly, hugely relieved, at least, that no one had seen her with Price south of the river. ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Harry Barnard? I didn’t think we had that sort of relationship. Do we?’

Barnard glanced away and Kate grinned.

‘It’s a job,’ she said. ‘Nothing more or less. Tell me how, in my trade, I’m going to work at all if I don’t work with blokes? There aren’t any other women around. Nor likely to be any time soon, as far as I can see.’

‘OK, OK, I get the message,’ Barnard said. ‘I suppose I’m a bit twitchy since this nasty murder.’

‘Do they know who it was yet?’ Kate asked.

‘They say not,’ Barnard said. ‘And who am I to contradict in present circumstances. I’m trying to keep a low profile. And surely a whisper would have leaked from the Yard if one of their key witnesses had really gone missing. There’d be a row of mammoth proportions if it looked as if Georgie Robertson was going to get off the hook.’

‘What worries me is that if one’s gone there may be more,’ Kate said. ‘What about the young lad Jimmy? And the rest? If one of them has been killed surely someone will be trying to get them too.’

‘They may be, but no one’s going to tell me,’ Barnard said gloomily. ‘The Yard play this sort of thing very close to their chest. If I started asking questions they’d have me down as trying to get them out rather than making sure they’re safe. That’s just the sort of accusation they’re looking to pin on me. I can’t get involved.’

Kate took a bite of her somewhat limp and soggy egg sandwich and sighed.

‘There is one thing you could do for me, sweetie,’ Barnard said. ‘Just a small favour. I daren’t go anywhere near Ray Robertson at the moment, for obvious reasons, or even phone him. If the body really is who I think it is, they may have Ray’s phone tapped. They still have him down as likely to try to try to get Georgie off somehow because he’s his brother. They don’t seem to realize the brothers are not exactly devoted, and haven’t been for years. In fact they hate each other’s guts. Do you think you could track Ray down at the Delilah – very discreetly – and ask him to call me at home from a number he’s not connected with? I really need to suss out what he thinks is going on. And with Vic Copeland sitting on my tail it’s almost impossible.’

‘He’s not following you now, is he?’ Kate asked, glancing out of the steamy window anxiously.

‘No, he went with the boss to some meeting at the Yard about the murder case. I wasn’t invited. I’m seeing them when they get back.’ It was obvious from his expression that this was not a prospect he was looking forward to.

‘I’m not booked for anything special this afternoon,’ Kate said. ‘I could drop into the Delilah on my way home.’

‘Great,’ Barnard said. ‘And not a word to that weasel from the
Globe
you’re working with.’

‘Of course not,’ Kate said. ‘Trust me.’

‘When are you seeing him again?’

‘Saturday,’ Kate said. ‘He wants some pictures of football fans.’

‘Chelsea, I hope,’ Barnard said with a grin. ‘Though they’re a dead loss this season.’

Kate finished her sandwich, feeling uneasy at the subterfuge she was being pushed into. ‘I’ll pass on your message to Ray,’ she said.

Barnard pushed his chair away from the table explosively. ‘Thanks, Katie. You’re a doll.’

‘Maybe,’ she said.

It was mid-afternoon before DS Harry Barnard was summoned to the DCI’s office, where he found Keith Jackson ramrod straight behind his immaculate desk as usual and DS Vic Copeland lounging in a chair opposite with a satisfied look on his heavy features. The DCI waved Barnard into another chair and steepled his hands in front of his face, his pale blue eyes more than usually chilly.

‘We had a very productive meeting at the Yard,’ he said. ‘Information has come to hand that the liaison we suspected between Ray Robertson and Reg Smith is developing rapidly and that major criminal activity is planned. It seems that the murder we are investigating at Tottenham Court Road is intimately linked to what is going on between these criminal gangs, which is what I suspected all along. We don’t have a formal identification yet but I am anticipating that very soon we’ll pin down who that poor devil is and which of the gangs he either belonged to or annoyed in some way. But as another line of investigation AC Amis feels that it would be fruitful to use your long-standing relationship with Robertson, Sergeant Barnard, to uncover something of what he is planning with the south London gang.’

Barnard drew a sharp breath. ‘I’m sure Robertson wouldn’t confide in me if anything major was going down,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if we’re bosom buddies these days. We were kids together twenty years ago. Since then I’ve arrested his brother, for God’s sake. And if Reg Smith is as ruthless as he’s cracked up to be, he’ll be watching his security like a hawk. If what you say is true about their plans I reckon I might be the next one to end up without my fingers and toes.’ There was a guffaw from Copeland at that.

‘Pull the other one, Harry boy,’ he said. ‘We all know you’re still thick as thieves with Robertson. Always have been. What Mr Jackson fancies is you and me making use of that and doing this together. You go in and have a chat with him at the Delilah, wired up to eavesdrop, with me listening in and providing back-up if it all goes pear-shaped. What’s wrong with that?’ Barnard shrugged.

‘We could try that, I suppose. But I think you’re wasting your time. If he’s really hitched up with Smith he won’t be telling me anything about it.’

‘We could bring him in for a little chat, then,’ Copeland said, with a look of anticipation.

‘We could, but he’d have heavyweight lawyers on the scene even before the interview room door closed,’ Barnard objected. ‘What the hell are we going to ask him on the basis of what we’ve got? Are you and Reg Smith planning another great train robbery? He’d laugh at us.’

The DCI drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk and scowled.

‘Are we getting anywhere with chasing down the site workers from the murder scene?’ Jackson snapped.

‘Not as far as I know,’ Barnard said. ‘We’ve got six DCs working their way through the lists the contractors gave us. But nothing of interest has come up so far. I doubt it will, to be honest. If someone in there told the killers when the concrete was going to be poured he’ll have made himself scarce by now.’

‘What we really want to know is whether any of Robertson and Smith’s people have disappeared,’ Copeland said. ‘If we pick up a few of their associates that should be easy enough to discover.’

‘Not if they’re scared they might be next,’ Barnard said. ‘If the Yard’s got contacts in the gangs surely they could suss it out. It’s certainly easier than trying to frighten one of the bosses. They’re not likely to tell us anything. They’ll laugh at us.’

‘The Yard are working on it,’ Jackson said. ‘Meanwhile we are to pursue our own inquiries. So the two of you get an interview with Robertson. It can be on his own turf initially but make it clear we’re not messing about on this one. We’ll have him in if you feel we have to.’ He flashed a glance at Copeland. ‘Softly softly to start with,’ he said. ‘I’ll listen to what you tape before we decide on the next step. Understood?’

Barnard nodded non-committally.

‘Right guv, I’ll get it set up,’ Copeland said much more enthusiastically. ‘We’ll let you know when we’re going in.’

H
arry Barnard swung his favourite tweed swivel armchair disconsolately, sipping a glass of Scotch on the rocks without his usual enjoyment. Even his new Beatles record, which he had bought in Oxford Street on the way home and carefully placed on the radiogram’s turntable immediately, failed to cheer him up, and every now and again he picked up the telephone receiver just to make sure that the dialling tone was still purring away. So far Ray Robertson had not called, although Kate O’Donnell, who had delivered his request after she finished work, had sworn that he had agreed to contact him when he called her at home.

He felt under siege. Between them DCI Jackson and DS Vic Copeland were constraining his movements around Soho and his strong desire to check out what he believed was the real identity of the body on the building site. He had left Copeland at the nick still finalizing the details of their eavesdropping equipment for tomorrow’s date with Ray Robertson. He needed to talk to Ray before that but was entirely dependent on him to make contact. Edgy with frustration he wandered into his small kitchen and made himself a sandwich. It was not what he wanted for supper but he could not stray from his phone until he had heard from Ray.

After more than an hour of frustration the phone eventually rang and the familiar sound of a call box phone cranking into gear came a split second before Ray Robertson’s irascible voice cut in.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing standing here in a smelly call box in the freezing cold,’ he said. ‘What the hell’s going on, Flash? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff, for God’s sake?’

‘We need a meet, Ray,’ Barnard said. ‘Somewhere private where no one will recognize us. Believe me. This is important. Any suggestions?’