A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4) (32 page)

‘How did he arrive?’

Grimes smiled. ‘How do you think, gov? In his nice black Range Rover, of course.’

Romney smiled back. ‘Well done.’

There was more good news. Sitting on Romney’s desk was the report he’d been waiting for concerning the comparison of the Temazepam samples – the Temazepam that had been found in the dead dog’s system, the Temazepam that had been found in Stephanie Lather’s system and the Temazepam provided by Mrs Allen. Romney smiled as he scanned it to discover what he already knew.

*

Romney’s first impression of Billy Savage was that he looked the sort of person who ate his own bogeys. Despite this, the DI tried some friendliness. ‘Hello, Billy. Thanks for coming in. Much appreciated. This is DS Marsh and Superintendent Vine.’

‘What’s with the brass?’ said a cocky Billy, tracking Superintendent Vine to her seat against the wall.

‘Everyone is taking the matter of your father’s position very seriously, Billy, as I’m sure you’d want us to. Superintendent Vine is here to make sure everything is done properly.’

Billy said nothing. But his beady eyes, black as a snake’s, were fixed on Romney as he took the seat opposite him. Billy’s single eyebrow, like some big, hairy caterpillar, was pinched in the middle with his questions. ‘So, what’s this good news you’ve got for me?’ he said.

‘All in good time, Billy. All in good time,’ said Romney sounding affable. ‘Is that a bicycle chain round your neck?’

‘A twenty-two carat gold bike chain, yeah.’

‘Nice.’ Romney settled himself and said, ‘Nice car, too. I’d like one of those one day. Not on my pay though. I hear you won money on a lottery.’

‘That’s right. Fair and square. This’d better not be about that. I thought this was about my old man.’

‘It is, Billy. Patience.’

‘I’ve been patient. I’ve been waiting for you nearly an hour.’

‘How much did you win?’

Billy rolled his eyes and said, ‘A lot.’

‘And you bought a Range Rover and some, what do you call it? Bicycle-parts jewellery?’

Marsh idly wondered if she should pass him a tissue for that sarcasm.

‘That’s right,’ said Billy.

‘And you still live in Tower Hamlets?’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘You literally had a ticket out of there and you spent the money on a car and a necklace. Why, Billy?’

Unexpectedly, Billy grinned, exposing not bad teeth. ‘Simple. We move, the council stop paying our rent. Now, I ask you: why would we move?’

Marsh considered that something of a goal and from Billy’s smirk so did he.

‘You know a man called Bernie Stark?’ said Romney.

Billy became guarded. ‘Course I do. His lies put my dad away, didn’t they?’

‘But he saw his mistake, I understand,’ said Romney. ‘And wanted to put things straight.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why would he do that, do you think?’ said Romney. ‘I mean, why now? What could he have to gain from raking all that up?’

‘A clear conscience,’ said Billy.

Romney shook his head. ‘I’m not convinced Bernie had one to clear.’

‘Well we’ll never know now, will we?’

‘Probably not,’ said Romney. ‘How do you feel about him being dead? I suppose his death won’t do your father’s appeal any good.’

Billy stared levelly at Romney for a long moment. ‘We’ve got his legal sworn statement for the appeal. We don’t need him no more, so I hope he burns in hell for what he done to my old man.’

‘Interesting choice of phrase. You know how he died then?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How? It’s not public knowledge.’

Billy shifted on his chair. ‘I know someone, don’t I?’

‘When was the last time you saw Bernie Stark?’

‘I saw him about from time to time. In pubs and that.’

‘Not seen
him recently then?’

Billy Savage shook his head.

‘So you didn’t give him a ride in your fancy new car last Friday?’

Billy hesitated. His thin tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. He said, ‘No. I didn’t and anyone who says I did is a liar.’

Now it was Romney’s turn to smile. ‘We’ll see about that, Billy. Did you bring a coat with you?’

Billy frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘It’s a long walk home from here. We need to have a look at your car.’

Billy’s face reddened and his jaw tightened. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘We have witnesses who’ll testify that Bernie left The Eight Bells in your company the lunchtime of the day he was found dead in his flat.’

Billy said nothing for a moment. Then, ‘Yeah, I remember now. I popped in to see someone and we left at the same time.’

‘So that wasn’t your big black Range Rover outside his flat that afternoon?’

‘No. Like I say, we just left the pub together.’

‘And went your separate ways?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Any witnesses for that?’ said Romney.

‘Actually, yes.’ Billy reeled off three names, which Romney found as generous as it was stupid of him.

‘Thank you, Billy. That’s a big help. I’ll talk to them directly. Let’s hope they corroborate your version of events, shall we?’

Billy’s eyes betrayed his feelings of regret for having thoughtlessly handed the police the names of the three young men who were with him that afternoon. As the cogs of his mind ground around to understanding that he’d better get out of the station quickly, call the three and make they sure they all said the same thing, he said, ‘I’ve wasted enough of my time here. You got nothing for me on my old man, have you?’ Romney shook his head. ‘Then I’m leaving.’ Billy stood. The uniformed constable inside the door straightened.

‘Car keys, please Billy,’ said Romney.

‘You can’t make me give you the keys to my fucking car,’ said Billy.

Romney couldn’t have contrived to look more disbelieving if the chair had spoken to him. ‘Are you all there, Billy? I’m the police. If I want your car, I can take it. And I have good reason to believe it’ll tell tales on you.’

‘I’m leaving anyway,’ said Billy suddenly feeling that his greatest priority was to get outside and phone his mates. The car could wait. If they found evidence that Bernie Stark had been in it, he’d think up something to explain it away. He threw the key ring down on the table, a big heavy gaudy decoration, like something off a Christmas tree.

‘Hang on, Billy,’ said Romney. ‘We’re not done, yet.’

‘You can’t keep me here. I’m here voluntary. I can leave whenever I like.’

‘What if I were to arrest you, Billy?’ said Romney.

‘For what?’

‘For my belief that you had a hand in Bernie Stark’s death.’

‘You got no proof of that.’ It seemed to Romney that Billy’s little ears pinned themselves back, like some aggressive fighting dog’s.

‘My copper’s instinct tells me that the names you’ve just provided might give it. That was pretty stupid, wasn’t it? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Billy. You are what’s known as a chip off the old block. I remember your old man was what we called a forty-watter – not too bright. Sit down, Billy.’ Billy glowered at Romney. ‘Sit down, Billy. I’m going to tell you something and let’s see if you change your mind about anything.’ With Billy on his feet, something had occurred to Romney, something he should have thought about before. Romney glanced across and caught the puzzled expression of Superintendent Vine. Billy sat. He was breathing heavily through his flaring snout and his face was puce.

‘We got good lawyers these days’ he said.

‘You might need them, Billy,’ said Romney, unperturbed.

‘My sergeant here is going to go and get something that I think might jog your memory about where you were that afternoon.’ Romney was pleased to see that Marsh hid her bewilderment well.

The room was very quiet as Romney spent the next thirty seconds scribbling a message onto his pad. Then he said, ‘There’s the authorisation. Don’t be all day.’

Marsh had been watching the sentences of his instructions gradually form on the paper. When he had apparently finished, she was clear about what he wanted but would admit to not having the first idea about why?

She stood, took the paper he offered and hurried out.

When she re-entered the room six minutes later glowing and panting slightly with her exertions she smelt Billy Savage’s sweat. The hot little room had heated up a good few degrees with the combined warmth radiating from those present. The air was slightly fetid with their exhalations. She wondered whether they had talked while she was absent, but sensed that they hadn’t.

Marsh set the sealed and labelled evidence bag on the table in front of Romney.

‘Et voila,’ said Romney with an appalling French accent. ‘Behold exhibit A, Billy.’

‘What’s that then?’ said Billy. He was staring at the bag as though he expected Romney to release something slithering and venomous from it.

With the flamboyant practised actions of a top-of-the-bill magician, Romney took his time slipping on the rubber gloves Marsh had produced, like his pretty assistant, and placed before him.

‘This, Billy, is something we recovered from Bernie Stark’s home. Lucky for us, he didn’t hide it very well.’ Romney still hadn’t attempted to open the bag. It sat inert and mysterious between them. Instead, he intertwined his latex-covered fingers and rested them on the table in front of him.

‘There’s a story going around that when you came into your money Bernie had an idea. He lived on the breadline pretty much all his life. Not one to put much of anything he earned away for his old age. Not much what we call disposable income. Bernie saw a way to make a few quid that might see him through a few of his later years. Word is that he came to you with his idea. He could retract his statement that helped to get your old man put away, which in turn would give Jimmy good grounds for appeal. With Bernie’s retraction, dad would probably be back out on the streets before you could say, what-a-corrupt-bunch-of-coppers-that-Dover-CID-are. You with me so far?’ Billy’s silence indicated he was. ‘Bernie insisted on cash. Maybe he didn’t trust you. And you certainly didn’t trust him because it was a half-before-and-half-after sort of deal. No honour among thieves in this town, eh?’ Romney allowed himself a little smile at his wit.

‘We found the upfront money, Billy.’ Now Romney did open the bag. With his gloved hand he lifted out a bundle of used notes bound tightly with a rubber band. ‘My guess is that when you gave Bernie his money you weren’t wearing gloves, were you? My guess is that your prints are going to be all over these.’ And Romney could see clearly from the way the colour drained from Billy’s face that Billy thought the same thing. Romney carefully replaced them and sealed the bag.

‘So you see, Billy. We’ve got money given by you to Bernie and then Bernie suddenly retracting his statement about dad’s involvement in John Stafford’s death. We don’t believe in coincidences. Neither do the courts. It won’t take much to find out when you made the withdrawal from your bank and for how much. Given the relationship between you, it also isn’t a great stretch of the imagination to wonder why you gave money to a man whose testimony helped convict your old dad of manslaughter. That should be enough to have you charged with attempting to pervert the course of justice. The courts take a very dim view of that particular crime, don’t you know? Something personal in it for them – ordinary criminals thinking they can pull the wool over their eyes, make fools of them. Yes, they take it very personally. That’s a custodial sentence in itself. Automatic.

‘And now we’ve got the names of your confederates from the day Bernie died. Thanks for those, by the way. And when we’ve had forensics take your fancy new tractor apart I’ll bet all of Lombard Street to a China orange we’ll find evidence that Bernie has been inside. Who knows, we might even find something else from that day that won’t look too good for you.’

Romney let it hang for a few seconds before saying. ‘It’s clear to me what happened. Someone tipped you the nod that we were in talking to Bernie so soon after you must have handed over the cash. You panicked that old Bernie might have been got at by us, that we might have put the wind up him and made him see the error of his ways. So you got yourself around there pretty sharpish to check up on him and your investment, didn’t you? You invited Bernie for a drive, ended up back at his place with a few well-chosen threats and he had the mother and father of all heart attacks and expired in front of you.’

Romney sat back suddenly and creased his features in puzzlement at something he wanted Billy to believe had only just occurred to him. ‘You said you knew how Bernie had died. If you were there when he passed away that might make you culpable in some way. Maybe you killed him. Maybe your threats took a physical and violent turn. It baffled our pathologist how Bernie could have set himself alight after he died. Well now it all makes perfect sense. Enough for a case anyway and what with the nasty detail of that messing with justice, I wouldn’t fancy your chances. Everyone’s luck runs out sometime, Billy.

‘So what say I arrest you now on a perversion charge? That’ll give us time to round up your mates and give them a good grilling. And when forensics have had another good hard look at the samples we got from the scene and then your motor... well, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one of your chums folds.’ Romney smiled widely. As Billy was being led away for charging and detention, Romney said, ‘You want to hear something funny, Billy. Bernie told my DC he was adamant he’d made a mistake with his original statement and he was going to speak up for your old man, tell everyone he’d got it wrong. You had him in the bag, Billy. You didn’t have to go roughing him up. He probably told you the same thing, but you didn’t believe him, did you? Your old man won’t be getting out now. You are probably responsible for the death of the one person that could have got your old man out. But the funny thing is we know your old man didn’t kill Stafford.’ Billy looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘You want to know who did? Bernie Stark. After Jimmy walked away from his little fight with Stafford, Bernie, who owed Stafford for a slight, crossed the road and kicked him in the head while he was getting to his feet. That’s why Bernie was so eager to grass your dad up in the first place. Course, with Bernie dead there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it now. Sorry. On the plus side, you might still get to see more of your dad – only you’ll both be behind bars.’