Jack in the Box (23 page)

‘What’s the going rate for a blow job?’

He seemed alarmed. ‘Twenty quid. Why?’

She took a twenty-pound note from her bag. ‘When we go into the bar, just hand me this. People will stop wondering what you’ve been doing.’

Von was waiting on Oxford Street for the bus to take her to Clerkenwell. She shivered in her short skirt, feeling the cold suck of the wind. An ambulance screamed past, its siren drowning out the noise of the roadworks.

So now she had the proof. She stared at the photo of Kenny, remembering when she’d taken it. It had been high summer and they’d gone to Brighton. He hadn’t realised she had the camera in her hand, and she’d captured that look of surprise close up. Close up enough also to capture the tattoos.

At the Duke, then, he was known as Robbie. His brother’s name. Dickie’s words sliced through her like a scalpel:
He’s a distributor
. And had been for many years. All that time, Kenny would have been working with Max, getting his packets from
him.
He’s a distributor
. No wonder he’d quizzed her hard the night she told him Max had been murdered. When had he become involved? Was it when he interviewed Max at the time of the Jack in the Box murders? Or later. Perhaps he’d stumbled on the drug ring as part of some other investigation and saw it as too good an opportunity to pass up. Everything he’d told her had been a catalogue of lies. He’d even lied about going to the Duke:
I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there
.

What was going to happen to the ring now? Had Mr Big already found his new Cutter? Perhaps that was what Kenny had been up to these past few days. Trying to climb higher up the greasy pole.

She felt as if she were being squeezed in a vice. Could she suppress Dickie’s evidence? Tip Kenny off? Give him a chance to leg it somewhere? And when the drugs squad came in to clean up the operation at the Duke, which they would eventually, would they uncover his involvement and her duplicity? The knot in her heart tightened. It hardly mattered. Either way, what future was there for them now?

The bus lurched into view. She tore the photo into tiny pieces and threw them into the gutter. As she climbed onto the platform, a gust of wind lifted them, scattering them high into the air.

Chapter 27

‘He’s late, boss.’

Von and Steve were waiting on the Thames Path at the southern end of Blackfriars Bridge. Little was visible in the dark other than the grey ribs on the underside of the bridge’s arches, and the outline of St Paul’s Cathedral dominating the skyline to the north. Von shivered, not daring to move in case she stepped into the foul-smelling water. As if recognising her predicament, the moon slid from behind a cloud and illuminated the river, revealing food cartons and other rubbish caught up in the rotting leaves that lapped back and forth in the scum. The cold penetrated her clothes and seeped into her bones, and not for the first time she asked herself why, of all the places in London, Tubby had chosen this spot for his special place.

‘How will he react when he finds you’ve not got the money?’ said Steve.

‘I don’t care. I’m taking him with me.’

‘Kidnapping is a crime,’ he said lightly.

‘I’m in no mood for jokes, Steve.’

‘Sorry.’

‘What time is it?’ she said after a while.

‘A quarter past ten.’

She pulled her scarf around her face. ‘He’s never been late before. Something’s happened.’

‘Let’s give it another fifteen minutes.’ He paused. ‘Did Kenny show up?’

‘At home? There’s nothing on my answer machine.’

‘He’ll phone eventually. He always does, doesn’t he?’

Maybe not this time
. She wondered whether Kenny suspected she was close to uncovering his drug involvement, or whether his lack of communication was simply because he’d left her. But she knew him too well. He wouldn’t go without having it out. He’d want his big scene, his grand finale. He’d want closure.

Steve was fidgeting. ‘When was the last time you—’

‘Saturday lunchtime. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.’ She beat her arms in an effort to keep warm.

‘Have you thought of contacting The Guardian? They might know what he’s working on, and where he is.’

She was tempted to say she doubted he was still working for The Guardian. A time was coming when she’d either have to tell Steve everything, or keep quiet and go down with Kenny’s sinking ship.

‘What time is it?’ she said again.

‘Ten thirty.’

‘He’s not coming. Let’s go.’

The Toyota was heading north across the bridge when Von said, ‘Slow down a minute, Steve. This isn’t the direction he’d be coming from. He operates north of the river, so he goes to Southwark tube and walks up Blackfriars Road.’

‘Does he live around there?’

‘He rents a house near the tube station, and he may have come directly from it. Either way, we won’t find him here. So when we’re off the bridge, turn the car round.’

‘Boss, I don’t think—’

‘For God’s sake, Steve, just do it.’

Five minutes later, they were heading back south.

‘Would he think we’d wait this long?’ said Steve. ‘If he was held up, he’ll be in touch again tomorrow, surely.’

‘I don’t think he was held up.’ She was struggling against the growing feeling of dread. ‘He would have called, he has my number.’

They drove to Southwark tube station but there was no sign of Tubby on Blackfriars Road.

She tapped Steve’s arm. ‘Stop here and park the car. We’ll walk to his house.’

‘What do you think’s happened, boss?’

‘He’ll have gone back for his passport. He lives somewhere near Bear Lane, I’ll know the place when I get there.’

They found Tubby in his doorway. She recognised the cowboy boots poking out from underneath the pile of rubbish. Whoever had killed him had made a poor job of concealing the body. The black bin bags had been tossed carelessly, and one had split and strewn its stinking contents across the pavement. In death, Tubby had merited less of anyone’s time than he had in life.

She removed a torch from her pocket and pulled away the bags. Her stomach churned. Tubby’s face was unrecognisable. The blood-clotted hair was plastered to the forehead, the spectacles missing, the swollen flesh a mass of cuts and bruises. Blood, which had coursed from the shattered nose, caked the mouth and chin.

Steve took her wrist gently and guided the beam down. The torchlight caught the glint of wire in Tubby’s neck.

She straightened, groaning. ‘This is my fault. I shouldn’t have believed him when he told me he’d be okay. I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight.’

Steve put an arm round her shoulders. ‘You couldn’t have known this is how he’d end up.’

Remorse surged through her. Why hadn’t she taken him with her to the station? Why hadn’t she insisted?

She remembered his words:
We’ll say our goodbyes later, Von
.
She leant forward and stared into the broken face. ‘Goodbye, Tubby,’ she whispered.

Von ran a hand through her hair. ‘I can’t find the Chief Super.’ She looked around the room wildly. Only Steve and Zoë were at their desks. ‘Either of you know where he is?’ she said.

‘He left the station in a bit of a rush, ma’am,’ Zoë said. ‘We got a call from his mother’s house to say he wouldn’t be in. His mother’s not herself.’

It wasn’t like the Chief Super to put his private life first. After his wife had died, he’d taken only the day of the funeral off. His mother must be in a bad way for him to leave the station at such a critical time.

Zoë was watching her. ‘Are you unwell, ma’am?’ she said quietly.

‘I’m fine. Where are the others?’

‘At the crime scene.’

‘Steve, can I see you in my office, please?’

He looked surprised. ‘Sure, boss.’

In her office, she sat down heavily. ‘Please close the door. And sit down.’

He smiled faintly. ‘Why the cloak and dagger?’

‘I have something to tell you,’ she said, staring at the desk.

Her heart was hammering. But she couldn’t dissemble any longer. She looked him in the eye and told him what she’d been concealing: finding Kenny’s landline number on Max Quincey’s Guardian, and learning from Dickie that Kenny was part of the drug ring.

He rose and went to the window. He rubbed his arm slowly.

‘For God’s sake, Steve, say something.’

He faced her. ‘What do you intend to do?’ His voice was calm. ‘Are you asking me to keep quiet about this?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, confused. ‘Kenny is now a suspect
in the murder of Max Quincey. We have to act accordingly.’

‘Why have you shared this with me and not the others?’

Jesus, he’s determined not to make this easy
. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I wanted you to understand why I did it. No, that’s not why. I think I was hoping you might talk me out of it. I’ve been suppressing evidence. I know what the implications are.’

He sat down. ‘You’ve hardly been suppressing evidence, Von. If you have, it was for all of twenty four hours. Less. You saw Dickie Womack yesterday afternoon.’

‘But if I’d told you, then Tubby might still be alive,’ she moaned.

‘How do you make that out? You offered him immediate protection and he refused it. It was his choice.’ He frowned. ‘Are you thinking Kenny killed him, and if we’d pulled Kenny in yesterday, Tubby would still be alive?’

‘The thought did cross my mind. Tubby was asking Malkie a hell of a lot of questions. Kenny may have got to hear from someone who was there.’

‘I don’t believe that. You told me once that, when it comes to extracting information discreetly, your snout is a pro. No, I think someone at the Duke has a loose tongue and it’s that that’s got Tubby killed.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘Come on. Everyone’s out. Let’s get it up on the board and fill the others in when they return. With luck, no-one will notice it’s yesterday’s news.’

‘You’re prepared to do that?’ she said, gazing up at him.

His expression softened. ‘There’s nothing I’ve heard here today that two consenting detectives can’t keep private.’

‘We’ll have to search Kenny’s house,’ she said quietly.

He saw her hesitation. ‘You’re not thinking of taking yourself off this case, are you?’

‘Why would I?’

‘Conflict of interest. He’s your man, after all.’

She looked at him, saying nothing.

Chapter 28

Von turned the key and opened the door to Kenny’s flat. As she and Steve stepped inside, the scent of freshly cut flowers touched her like a warm breath.

‘Don’t mean to pry, boss, but when was the last time you were here?’

‘Can’t remember. We’ve been meeting at mine.’ She tried to sound professional, but the catch in her voice was unmistakable.

In the living room, the familiar bright IKEA furniture was tastefully rearranged and dotted with new scatter cushions. Not exactly Kenny’s style. She noticed that the photos of herself, with and without Kenny, had been removed.

She fingered the carnations on the sideboard. They were lovingly arranged, unlike the flowers in her flat, thrown into a chipped vase and drooping now in stagnant water. ‘Someone’s been here recently.’

‘Looks like it.’ Steve ran a hand over the mantelpiece. ‘Clean.’

‘Amazing. He’s not the type to dust.’
She’s done it for him
.

He gazed out of the window. Kenny lived in Battersea, on London’s south bank. Von had never thought it the most inspiring of districts, but he’d bought the flat to be close to his aunt. She’d passed away the previous year and, although Von had urged him to sell up and move nearer to Whitechapel, he’d refused, saying his roots were in Battersea.

‘If he didn’t live on the ground floor, boss, he’d have a cracking view of the Power Station and Chelsea Bridge.’

She knew what he was doing, trying to lighten her mood. But nothing was going to lighten her mood.

The bedroom was the largest room, with wall-to-wall wardrobes left behind by the previous lady owner. The king-sized bed, reflected in the wardrobe’s mirrors, was unmade, the sheets thrown back. Von closed her eyes, seeing the two of them stumbling towards it, shedding their clothes. An odour rose from the bed. The mustiness of sex mingled with sweat.

‘What’s that smell, boss?’

‘Perfume.’ She turned to face him. ‘Not mine.’

His eyes held hers. What was it she saw there? Pity? Hope? She looked away, unable to bear the expression on his face.

‘I’m sorry, Von. I didn’t know.’

‘Neither did I till a couple of days ago.’

She slid open the wardrobe door. His clothes were hanging neatly. Her own were nowhere to be seen. She’d left a couple of good suits there. She pulled his jackets aside, searching, but he’d removed all trace of her.
The bastard. He’s binned them
.

She was straightening his things when she found it near the back. A blouse which wasn’t hers. Next to it was an Oscar de la Renta suit. And behind it, a negligee in champagne silk, with long thin straps. Her lips tightened. She closed the door before Steve could see the clothes.

He was jingling coins in his pockets. ‘You think he’s done a runner?’ he said.

‘Why would he? He doesn’t know we’re on to him.’

The kitchen was spotless. The dishes had been washed and neatly stacked, and the surfaces wiped down. She sneered inwardly.
Nothing like a woman’s touch, eh, Kenny?

Inside the fridge she found his beers, several microwaveable meals, and a bottle of champagne. She removed the food packages and examined them.

‘Two of everything.’ She threw them onto the kitchen table.
‘Cosy.’

‘You think he might be coming home for lunch?’

‘When his fridge is full, he usually eats at home.’

He was clearly uncomfortable. ‘Should we wait? We haven’t exactly been invited in, although we’ve got a search warrant.’

Before she could reply, she heard the front door open and close. Her heart lurched with shock.
Oh, Jesus, she might be with him. Please let her not be. Please. Please…

She heard him moving in the hall, hanging up his coat. Was it her imagination, or were there two sets of footsteps?

When he entered, he was alone.

He stopped short. ‘Von,’ he breathed. His eyes flicked to Steve, and his expression darkened. ‘What the hell are you doing in my flat?’

‘Hello, Kenny,’ she said lightly. ‘We’d like to talk to you. Take a seat.’

His shoulders sagged. ‘Look, I get it, you’ve been trying to ring me. I’m sorry, I meant to call back, but—’

‘We know everything.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Sit down,’ she snapped.

He pulled out a chair, keeping his eyes on hers. She sat next to him. Steve took the seat on his other side.

He seemed composed. He turned his body away from Steve, cutting him out of the conversation. ‘What’s this about, love?’ He tried a smile.

‘We know about the drugs, Kenny. Or should I call you Robbie.’

If the statement shocked him, he gave no indication. ‘You think I’m using?’ He shook his head in mock amazement. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘Don’t play games with me.’

‘Games?’

‘You’ve been distributing drugs at the Iron Duke.’

The statement found its mark. He drew in his breath sharply. ‘That’s a lie.’

‘We have a witness who saw you. You’re doing yourself no favours by denying it.’

‘Who’s the witness?’ he said softly.

She ignored the question, holding to the promise she’d made to Dickie. ‘A man was killed last night. Strangled with piano wire after he’d been beaten to a pulp. He’d been asking questions at the Duke.’

The colour bled from his face.

She noted it with satisfaction.
That’s knocked him off balance
. ‘You may be next, Kenny. I suggest you tell us what you know.’ When he didn’t answer, she said, ‘For God’s sake, you were working with Max Quincey. You’re now a suspect in his murder.’

‘I never murdered him.’ He moistened his lips. ‘You have to believe me. Whatever else I’ve done, I never killed anyone.’

She let her breath out slowly. ‘Then, what
have
you done?’

‘What’s in it for me?’

‘A jail sentence for drug dealing, for starters. Another for obstructing the police. What do you think, Kenny? I’m going to let you off the hook? For old times’ sake?’ She threw him a look of contempt. ‘Start at the beginning. And work hard to convince me you didn’t kill Max Quincey.’

He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I interviewed him in 1985. About the play, Jack in the Box.’

‘I know that. Tell me something I don’t.’

‘It was the week before opening night. The town was buzzing with this new play, and I needed to do a piece. Max suggested we meet in the Duke.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘When I arrived, he was steaming. From the state of him, he’d been drinking since morning. I asked him a few questions but
his mind wasn’t on the interview. He was waiting for someone.’

‘A boy?’

‘That’s what I assumed, I knew the Duke’s reputation. And from the way Max dressed and behaved, I took him for a shirtlifter. Anyway, the boys came in.’

‘Boys? Plural?’

‘Three Irish boys.’ He looked at his hands. ‘I know who they were now, of course, they were the ones killed. They came up to us, joked about a bit, then Max bought them drinks. Eventually, they left.’ He frowned. ‘Except for one. He stayed behind with Max.’

‘Which one?’

‘Gilly McIlvanny. Didn’t know his name then, but I got to know it later. After a while I realised I was getting nothing further out of Max so I got up to go. That’s when I saw it. The doll.’

‘Max had a doll?’

‘They both did.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Max and Gilly were so into one another they didn’t realise I hadn’t left. I’d parked myself further away, near a crowd of city types, where I couldn’t be seen. Gilly left his doll on the table and got up to fetch a drink. He returned and they chatted a few more minutes. Then he picked up Max’s doll and went out to the corridor.’

‘You’re sure it was Max’s doll?’ she said, feeling her heartbeat quickening.

‘Absolutely sure.’ He paused. ‘I had a choice. I could stay with Max, or follow Gilly. Whether I’d get a scoop depended on my decision. I followed Gilly. He’d gone to the gents. He was standing with his back to the door, too absorbed in what he was doing to notice someone had come in. He was taking the doll apart. He pulled out the packets. I must have made some sound because he looked up. He was terrified, poor lad, but I told him not to worry, I wasn’t telling on him. He ran out.’

‘And you ran to Max Quincey.’

‘He was still there drinking on his own. I told him what I’d seen. He sobered up pretty quickly when I said I’d expose him if he didn’t let me in.’

‘You blackmailed him?’ Steve said in mock surprise. ‘The big story was forgotten?’

A gleam came into Kenny’s eye. ‘I knew the worth of the stuff in Max’s doll, mate. But I wasn’t greedy. I played it so it was a win-win. Quincey caved in readily enough. There’s plenty to go around, he said in that posh voice of his.’

Steve looked thoughtful. ‘He cut you in? Just like that? Wasn’t he angry?’

‘He seemed more resigned than anything else. If he’d not been drinking, he might have turned ugly. As I got to know him, I discovered his nasty streak when he was sober.’

‘So how, specifically, did you work it?’ said Von.

‘Max would ring me when the dust came in, we’d take possession, then we’d divvy it into smaller packets.’

‘And what was the Irish boys’ role? They’d offer the dust to their clients?’

‘Their clients, people in the street, anyone who’d buy. They were all Max’s boys. The other distributors had their own.’

‘And who were these other distributors?’

‘No idea. There was this gentleman’s agreement not to find out about each other. Better for security.’

She ran a hand through her hair. It had been too much to hope that Kenny could give her names. ‘And how long did this happy state of affairs go on?’ she said.

‘Till Max got careless. He rang me when there was someone with him. This guy overheard everything, including my name. I heard him mumble something to Max. Well, Max and I had an almighty row. I told him he had to sort himself out. I made it a rule he shouldn’t store my contact details anywhere.’ He
sneered. ‘Max was hopeless at remembering numbers, but he managed to memorise my address. When he needed to ring, he got my landline from Directory Enquiries and phoned from a public place. As you know, my landline goes direct to my mobile.’

Clever. And it explains the imprint of Kenny’s number on Max’s Guardian
.

‘What about this guy who overheard?’ she said. ‘Who was he?’

‘His name was Jonathan Moudry. Turned out he was another distributor. The three of us shared Max’s boys. One of us would go to the Duke, sit with them, and pass the packets along in the dolls in exchange for dolls full of cash – the money was passed up the chain the same way. Jonathan was particularly good at it, blended right in. Profits rose sharply,’ he added cynically. ‘I went along with it, but I was none too happy.’

‘Why not, if the money was good?’ said Steve.

‘Jonathan knew my name, and who I was.’

‘So who was he, this Jonathan?’ said Von.

He rubbed his chin. ‘A good friend of Max’s. He was an ordinary boy. I say boy, but he was in his early twenties.’

‘Not a rent boy, then?’ said Steve.

‘Too old, mate. From something Max said, I thought he was trying to break into acting. Maybe that’s why he latched onto Max.’

‘Were they having sex?’

‘If they were, it was just for the sex. They didn’t behave like a couple.’

‘What did he look like?’ Von said impatiently. ‘Long hair? Short hair? Come on, Kenny.’

‘Short hair, couldn’t tell the colour. There was nothing special about him.’

‘So what happened when the boys were murdered?’ Steve
said after a pause. ‘That must have put a serious dent in your coffer.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘You have no idea, mate. Max went to pieces before my eyes, first his boys being killed, then him under suspicion. He couldn’t believe it was all disintegrating. Kept moaning about where he was going to get more boys. He needn’t have worried, we soon found them.’

Max had been the prime suspect in the Jack in the Box murders. But this information of Kenny’s was the final nail in the coffin of Harrower’s theory. Max wouldn’t have killed Gilly and the others: he needed them, without them he’d have no outlet for the smack.

‘And when Max went on the road with the Quincey Players?’ Von said.

‘I did everything. He came up to town now and again, and did his bit. And got his cash. But, of course, the dolls had gone, so we had to be more careful. We’d hoped the play would go on forever like The Mousetrap and we could continue using the dolls. Such a pity it didn’t.’

‘We examined Max’s finances, Kenny. He was heavily in debt. How come? Drug dealers are never that poor.’

He refused to meet her eyes. ‘When Max wasn’t in London, I didn’t always split the cash down the middle.’

‘So, no honour even among thieves?’ When he didn’t reply, she said, ‘Tell me how you did the packaging.’

‘Max had rented cheap office space. We weighed and divvied the dust there. There were scales, a press for sealing plastic bags, everything.’

‘We didn’t find a key amongst his effects.’

‘The office has a keycode entry system.’

Steve was looking thoughtfully at her. ‘Why didn’t Forensics find any traces of smack on Max’s clothes, boss?’

‘I can answer that,’ said Kenny. ‘We wore jumpsuits. The
office has plumbing, and Max had a shower rigged up. We washed before putting our clothes back on.’

Steve pushed the pad across. ‘I’ll need the address, and the keycode.’

Von watched him write. ‘What are you thinking, Kenny? Are you wondering whether distributing is worse than blackmail? Let me put you out of your misery. It is.’

He said nothing, just pushed the pad back.

‘This Jonathan Moudry,’ said Steve. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He left at about the time the play ended. As far as I know, he never surfaced again.’

‘Was he from London?’

‘There was a bit of the Geordie in there. That’s all I can tell you.’

Von pushed her hands through her hair. ‘Right, Kenny, wind to when the Quincey Players returned to London this month.’

‘Max got in touch before he arrived. Told me the play was coming back and there’d be dolls again. We agreed to use them as before.’

‘Tell me what happened on September 12th, the day Max was murdered.’