A Donation of Murder (8 page)

Pike met the head of Special Branch, Chief Superintendent Callan, coming down the stairs while he wended his way up to Superintendent Shepherd's tower office.

‘Morning, old man. How was your Christmas?' Callan said, shaking Pike's hand. They paused on the narrow stairs, Callan on the upper.

‘Quiet, thank God. After the year almost gone, it needed to be.'

‘Did you see anything of Violet?'

‘Unfortunately, no, she was working. They always seem to give the raw recruits the worst shifts.'

‘But she's enjoying her nursing?'

‘Apparently. She's hoping to get New Year's Eve off, so I expect I'll hear more about it then.'

‘Jolly good. We'll be needing good nurses.'

Pike looked at his friend, trying to interpret what he meant. ‘You mean if there's civil war with Ireland?' War was one of the many reasons he had used to discourage Violet from nursing, but she, Florence and Dody had formed a combined front against him, telling him not to be so gloomy and pessimistic. Of course there wouldn't be a war, they'd chimed in unison. ‘Given the current climate, I'd rather she'd become a lady typist or a teacher, like your daughter,' he added.

‘I'm not talking about Ireland, Pike.' Callan touched the side of his nose. ‘Rumours from the top and all that.'

‘The arms race has reached an impasse, the press is telling us that Kaiser Bill is settling down . . .' Callan gripped Pike's arm, looked up and down the empty stairwell and dropped his voice. ‘Look, we need to talk — something important has cropped up and it's got nothing to do with European affairs. Can you pop up to my office now?'

Pike pulled out his watch. ‘Provided I'm not too long with Shepherd.' He noticed Callan's face tighten and continued cautiously, wondering what this was about. ‘After that I'm due at the mortuary to identify some bodies.'

‘And my afternoon is filled with meetings. On second thoughts, maybe after office hours is best, anyway. Let's make it tonight, eight o'clock at the Rag. I'll see
you then, eh?' And with a clap to Pike's shoulder he was gone, running down the stairs as fast as a schoolboy.

Pike puzzled over the nature of the encounter. What had Callan to say that could not be said at Scotland Yard? And was the ‘word from the top' as serious as Callan implied? Pike's knowledge of international events came from the newspapers, but as head of Special Branch, Callan was more likely to know what was really going on behind the smiles and handshakes of the Entente Cordiale and the ‘defensive' alliances. Pike kicked the edge of the stair with the foot of his good leg. He'd only just adjusted to the idea of Violet taking up an occupation that a generation ago was considered tantamount to prostitution. No way on God's earth would he allow his daughter to serve as a nurse in an overseas war — any war, for that matter.

But as for himself, he pondered, the cogs of his mind wheeling in all directions, that was a different matter altogether. He could not sit at home and do nothing. If his country was in danger it was his duty as a trained military man to do everything within his means to protect her. He must make some enquiries. With any luck he might find his old CO lounging at the Army and Navy Club bar — otherwise known as the Rag — as was the colonel's wont.

Pike continued his way up the tower to Shepherd's office. His knee pained him a little, but it was nothing compared to how it had been before the operation. He wondered if he would pass the army physical, and what Dody would think if he rejoined his regiment. She was well aware that, thanks to Shepherd, his position in the police force was becoming untenable. He expected she'd be pleased for him to find an honourable way out of the career he was beginning to detest. Maybe she could even do something more to improve the function of his gammy knee?

And then a thought occurred to him. Once he'd resigned from the police force, the major obstructions to their marriage would be removed: one, her parents could not object to his occupation, and two, Shepherd could not effect their dismissals by revealing their affair, which he'd discovered by unscrupulously targeting Dody's maid. Furthermore, if there
was
a war, and on this matter he was still sceptical, the authorities might even allow her to continue with the career she loved.

He continued up the stairs on lighter feet, making a mental note to write to his sister and see if she still had their late mother's engagement ring.

Shepherd's secretary, the guardian of his portal, was absent from his desk, so Pike knocked and entered. How happy he would be never to see this place again.

Shepherd's top floor office had expansive views of the Thames. On clear days one could see as far as Temple Pier down river, and Westminster Bridge in the opposite direction — not that there tended to be too many clear days in London. Now, through the greying tears of condensation on the window pane, Pike could see little but a billowing cloud of dirty white. A damp cold sank deep into his bones. He moved towards the stove where Shepherd stood warming his hands.

‘Shut the door.'

Pike did as ordered and returned to the stove. He had not seen much of Shepherd since his illness, and it was still disconcerting not to see the same coat-flapping Leviathan ablaze with fuss, bluster and ill-humour. While the red-veined bulbous nose and greying side-whiskers seemed to have grown, the rest of Shepherd's body had shrunk, and Pike found himself meeting his small pebble eyes from almost the same level.

‘Yesterday was a disaster, I hear,' Shepherd said in lieu of a greeting. It seemed his life or death illness had done nothing to improve his temperament.

Pike said nothing.

‘I didn't see the point of sending troops.'

‘They would have helped with the evacuation of civilians. A child was murdered.'

‘But the thieving beggars were killed, and that's the main thing. You lost the necklace though — not good, not good at all, Pike.'

‘No, sir,' Pike answered, hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. ‘Was anything else stolen in the heist?'

‘No, that's it — but quite enough, I would have thought.' Shepherd picked up a photograph and shoved it at Pike. ‘That's it, the La Peregrina necklace. Worth at least thirty thousand pounds.'

Pike inspected the photograph. The pearl was pear-shaped and huge. It hung like a pendant from a decorative white metal foliate, attached to a simple chain link necklace interspersed with smaller pearls. He frowned. It was an attractive piece, but he couldn't imagine it to be thirty thousand pounds' worth.

‘Probably worth a lot more now,' Shepherd continued, increasing Pike's bafflement. ‘The King is interested in it, you see, wanted to surprise the Queen on her birthday.'

The King? Good heavens
! Pike's hand moved to the knot of his tie. ‘Who owns it now, and what was it doing at Sachs's jewellery shop?' he asked.

‘It's owned by the Duke of Abercorn. He's spitting chips, as you can imagine. It was undergoing repairs, kept falling off the setting apparently and needed quite a bit of work. The King was to be given a viewing next week and the Duke was hoping for a decision then.'

No wonder Abercorn was spitting chips. No wonder Shepherd looked as if someone was about to light a firecracker on his tail.

‘We need to get it back.
You
need to get it back,' Shepherd said, jabbing a finger into Pike's chest. ‘So, tell me, Chief Inspector, how you plan to do it.'

Pike racked his brains. He didn't need Shepherd's tone to tell him how important the case was.

‘First, I need to consolidate the witness interviews, especially the jeweller's, Mr Sachs,' Pike said. ‘We need to find out how the thieves operated. I need to identify the dead men and their associated fences and putter-uppers. I also need to find out the whereabouts of Tommy “the Tadpole” Beauchamp, the only member of the gang formally identified. The boy's a known associate of the Anchor Men. I suspect they are behind this. None of the other London gangs are this daring or this organised.'

Shepherd frowned. ‘Surely you don't think John Giblett's involved? Rumour has it he's retired, and anyway, this is hardly his style. He's always kept violence to a minimum.'

Pike shook his head. ‘He
used
to keep violence to a minimum, but his modus operandi has changed over the last year or so. Last year's robbery of the Brighton train, sir, you remember that? One guard killed and another injured. And then there was the Croydon jewellery shop, where the elderly jeweller was beaten to a pulp despite his cooperation with the thieves.'

‘It's never been proved that the Anchor men were behind either of those.'

‘No, the investigations are still ongoing. But I recently spoke to one of the officers in charge who told me a couple of Giblett's associates are under suspicion. Both these robberies match Giblett's style in the massive preparation involved, and I think it's highly likely he's also behind this Hatton Gardens robbery.'

Pike paused for breath, wondering how much more convincing Shepherd needed. His scathing sneer suggested more.

‘He stole the Ascot Cup, didn't he?' Pike continued. ‘They say that while the Cup was in his possession he used it as a punchbowl. This necklace seems like a natural progression to me. Thieving's a game to him. A man like Giblett doesn't retire, even
if he is as rich as Croesus. The money's of secondary importance, it's the thrill of outwitting us that counts, of proving to his mates that he really is still the King of Thieves.'

‘It's still only a hunch, Pike,' Shepherd said, softening slightly and letting out a breath. ‘But God help us if he is behind this. We've never had a successful prosecution against him.' Shepherd pulled thoughtfully at a fluffy side-whisker. ‘The most we can hope for is to get the necklace back.'

‘Giblett's a gambler. A gambler's luck always runs out eventually. And if we can find Tadpole, we might yet find the necklace.'

‘I don't want “ifs” and “mights” from you, Pike, I want “wills” — is that understood?

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Your career is resting on this, you know that, don't you?'

Pike stifled a sigh.
Here we go again
. He'd be glad when all this was over. He used to think the army was bad enough with its rigid structures, internal squabbles and incompetent superiors. His last twelve years with the police had made his time in the army appear like a seaside holiday camp. ‘Yes, sir.'

‘There's things about you and that female pathologist we wouldn't want to become common knowledge, would we?'

Though it came as no surprise that Shepherd would use this low tactic, Pike struggled to control his anger. Could he make the switch from police force to army before Shepherd spilled the beans about him and Dody? Not if he didn't get that necklace back first. He'd been half hoping that Shepherd's memory of the events of summer had been eclipsed by his heart attack, but obviously that hadn't happened.

He would not give the man the satisfaction of an answer. Instead Pike tried and failed once more to meet his skittering eyes.

‘They say you did a good job filling my shoes while I was on sick parade. Well, that's the last taste of command you're going to get, I assure you, Pike. And as for that doctor dolly-bird of yours, cock up this case and she will be ruined.'

‘Is there anything else, sir?' Pike asked, fighting the urge to grind his teeth and clench his fists.

‘Get out, and don't show your face in here again without the necklace.'

Pike maintained his composure and walked from the room. He was at the top of the stairs when he heard Shepherd bellowing: ‘And shut that bloody door!'

He did not turn back.

*

Pike spent the rest of the morning reading through notes and coordinating the police investigation of the heist. As usual the eyewitness reports were unreliable, the number of thieves ranging from three to five. The gang included a shadowy figure driving the getaway motorcar, whom one witness identified as a man, the other a woman. Mr Sachs, the jeweller whose shop was robbed, was suffering from shock and so far had not been much help to the police. Pike underlined his name in his notebook and copied down his address.

On several occasions while he worked he found himself glancing at the phone, willing it to ring. Dody had promised she'd call as soon as she'd completed the autopsies of the three dead robbers. At one stage he'd picked up the earpiece and went as far as calling the operator before hanging up. She was busy, he must allow for that. With Spilsbury away she was the sole Home Office Pathologist on duty and he had no wish to add to the pressure she was already under.

That morning at breakfast she'd looked exhausted. She was also disappointed that Pike had not been able to meet her new friend. She'd pepped up, however, while going over the details of how the woman had woken up on the autopsy slab. Pike was quite put off his breakfast. His mind wandered to stories he'd heard of people being pronounced dead and buried alive. Exhumed coffins with scratch marks on the underside of their lids, corpses with bloodied fingernails . . .

‘Tea, sir?'

Pike looked up with a sharp breath. ‘Good God, Singh, what are you doing here?'

The sergeant carried a small tea tray in one hand, his other bound up in a sling.

‘I'm sorry, sir, I was unable to knock.'

‘That's hardly surprising. But you shouldn't be here at all, the doctor told you to take a week off work.'

‘He did, sir, but I—'

Pike waved his hand. ‘No need to explain.' He knew full well that while Singh's promotion had earned him greater respect from the men he had still failed to assimilate with the residents of the police section house — the unmarried men's quarters. Not only was he a foreigner, he was the oldest man there and a family man at that, meaning he had little in common with the younger officers. After his wife had died he'd transferred from the Indian police to the English police in order to make
enough money to provide his children with a decent education. They lived with his parents in India to whom he sent most of his pay.