Dead Beat (28 page)

Of course, Kate thought to herself, and wasn't he some sweet-talking bastard, telling her nothing about this boy. ‘I went to St Peter's to take some pictures. I think I may have met this boy you're talking about. I'll go down there again and see if I can track him down,' she said, taking the flashbulb off her camera and stuffing the whole works in her bag.
And when I see Harry Barnard again
, she thought,
I'll find out what the hell he thinks he's playing at because as far as I can see he's been lying to me from the moment we met.

SEVENTEEN

K
ate O'Donnell caught her brother's eyes briefly across the magistrates' court, before he shook his head almost imperceptibly, glanced away and refused to look at her again. Sitting in the front row of the public seats, she had a close-up view of his bruised and battered face as he was hustled into the dock by a couple of uniformed policemen, and was almost overwhelmed with anger. How had he got into that battered state? she asked herself. In a low voice, Tom confirmed his name and his address at the flat where he had lived with Jonathon Mason. The charge of murder was read out and when he was asked to plead, he said ‘Not Guilty' in a faint voice and was remanded in custody for a week. And to Kate's surprise, that was the end of the proceedings. Her brother was hustled away again, and the court resumed its processing of petty criminals.

Kate hurried out of the room and went back to the front of the building where she found a uniformed policeman who gazed down at her benignly enough until she explained that she was Tom's sister, when his face clouded over.

‘Can I see him?' Kate asked, feeling frantic. ‘He'll need a lawyer. How do I find out if he's got a lawyer? He'll need help. The rest of his family's in the north. I'm the only one he's got in London.'

‘Whoa, whoa,' the officer said. ‘You'll not get to see him here, darling. You'll be able to visit when he gets to jail. If you leave your name and address at the office, they'll tell you where he's been taken, though he won't get there till the end of the day. He'll wait here until the prison van turns up at four.'

‘You mean he's got to sit here all day by himself?' Kate said, horrified. ‘That's terrible. Surely you could get me in to see him for a few minutes? Come on. I'm not going to do any harm. I haven't got a file stashed away in my handbag, you know. I'm not going to help him escape. I just want to talk to him. He looks desperate. In fact, he looked suicidal when they took him out.'

The officer looked startled at that.

‘He's tried to kill himself before, you know,' Kate lied, spotting a weakness she could exploit. ‘I bet they don't know that. Shouldn't we tell them?'

For an instant the officer hesitated before Kate felt a firm hand on her elbow. She spun round to find herself face-to-face with DS Harry Barnard.

‘You certainly believe in the direct approach,' he said. ‘Come over here and I'll tell you what we'll do.' He drew her away into a relatively quiet corner of the crowded lobby. ‘I reckon I can get you in to see him, but we'll have to use a bit of subterfuge. Can you pretend to be a solicitor's clerk? I'd say a solicitor but you look too young and there's not many women in that game.'

‘Another unsuitable job?' Kate muttered.

Barnard ignored her. ‘You'll need some sort of file to carry, a notepad, all that. But if I vouch for you I'm pretty sure I can get you in. A brief is the one person who's got a right to talk to a prisoner. Go down to the Strand and kit yourself out and I'll see you back here in fifteen minutes. All right?'

Kate nodded. ‘What do you get out of this?' she asked.

‘I want to sit in with you. I want to hear what he says.'

‘He won't confess,' Kate said angrily. ‘He didn't do it.'

‘I know that,' Barnard said unexpectedly. ‘I was looking for you last night to tell you to go back to Liverpool and get his mates to confirm his alibi.'

‘I was out,' Kate said quickly. She would not, she thought, tell him about her late visit to St Peter's where she had been unable to find any trace of the boy or anyone willing even to confirm that he had ever been there. Someone, she had thought at the time, had very effectively silenced St Peter's. She looked at Barnard doubtfully. ‘You really believe he's innocent?' she asked.

‘I have some evidence,' he said. ‘But it's fragile. It would still be better if you could prove he was in Liverpool at the time. Now, do you want to see him, or not?'

‘Of course I do,' Kate said angrily. ‘I'll see you back here in fifteen minutes.'

The holding cell beneath the magistrates' court was small and filthy and reeked of urine and cigarette smoke which made Kate catch her breath. Tom O'Donnell was sitting hunched on the bare bunk when a uniformed officer opened the door for his sister and Harry Barnard and at first he looked more startled than pleased to see Kate.

‘This is a clerk from your solicitor's office,' Barnard said quickly before the PC closed the door behind them and left them crammed into the tiny cell. Barnard had warned Kate not to show any sign of affection in case the policeman outside chose to watch them through the grille in the door and Kate put a warning finger to her lips as Tom stood up and moved closer to her.

‘I'm not supposed to be here,' she whispered, sitting down on the bunk and opening her completely blank file. Barnard waved Tom on to the bunk beside her and then positioned himself against the door, blocking the peephole. Kate put an arm round Tom's shoulder and kissed his cheek. ‘I'm so pleased to see you,' she said, in a barely audible voice. ‘This is Sergeant Harry Barnard who knows you didn't do it, and wants to help you to get out of here.'

Tom looked doubtfully at the London copper and then at his sister. ‘Are you sure?' he asked.

Kate glanced at Barnard for a moment and knew that with him she would never be sure of anything. ‘I'm sure,' she said. ‘What I want you to do, Tom, is tell me exactly what happened between you and Jonathon Mason before you left and exactly what you did after that, once you knew he was dead. Just what you told me that day we met back home. Sergeant Barnard needs to hear it from you. And then we need to know who can vouch for you in Liverpool on the night your friend was killed. If you've got an alibi you need to prove it. Then we can get you out of here.' Tom slumped back against the graffiti-covered wall for a moment and shut his eyes.

‘You really think they'll believe me?' he asked. ‘I told the bizzies who came for me I was nowhere near the flat that night, and all they did was laugh and give me a good thumping.' He touched his bruised face gingerly. ‘They all hate us,' he said. ‘They think we're fair game. One of the bastards who brought me back said he'd have to fumigate the car once he'd got rid of me. Why should this beggar be any different? Why's he going to believe me?'

‘I'll tell you why,' Barnard said very quietly. ‘I once had a brother. He was only a baby when the war started so he stayed with my mother when I was evacuated. He was much younger than me, so I can't say I ever got to know him that well, my brother Derek. But I always had this feeling he was different, a quiet lad who wasn't interested in rough games, like the rest of us. He took a lot of teasing for that. By the time I was pounding the beat as a probationer I guessed he was queer and I knew that wasn't a good thing to be in the East End. My dad worked on the docks and he'd have killed Derek if he'd guessed. In the end though, he didn't need to. Derek hanged himself when he was fifteen. He was being used by an older man who threatened to tell my family if he didn't do as he was told. It was all hushed up at the inquest but I made it my business to find out what happened and later on I got that bastard sent down for ten years for interfering with young boys. That's why, if your story hangs together, I'll believe you. What grown men do together is their business, what grown men do to kids is my business. Clear enough for you?'

The brother and sister sitting on the bunk stared at him for a moment in astonishment.

Tom shook his head, as if to reorder his thoughts. ‘Fair play,' he said. ‘Like I told Kate. This is how it was.' And he quickly ran through the months of his disillusionment with Jonathon Mason, his suspicion that he was involved with more and more unacceptable friends and the final certainty that he was picking up very young men or boys. ‘And it was getting worse. I think even Jonathon was getting uncomfortable. I saw him in the street one day with some bloke I'd never seen before, having a furious row. I couldn't hear what they were saying but it looked as if the big fellow was threatening Jon. When I asked him about it, he said the bloke owed him money but wouldn't pay up, money for some work he'd done. And I didn't think the work could be anything legal, or why would they be arguing in the street about it? I had to get out. Like I told Kate, I left on the Monday that week, hitched a lift with Dave Donovan and the band, and stayed in Liverpool with a mate until the bizzies came for me the day before yesterday. I had absolutely nothing to do with Jonathon's murder.'

‘If you thought your friend was getting into something criminal, why didn't you go to the police?' Barnard asked.

Tom gave him a pitying look. ‘Because I knew Soho well enough by then to know I couldn't trust you bastards,' he said. ‘Half the time you're in on the crime yourselves, or turning a blind eye for backhanders, according to what I hear in the pubs and clubs.'

Barnard did not comment on that in spite of the sharp look Kate gave him, and she guessed that what Tom said was true enough.

‘If you can get one of your friends up in Liverpool to vouch for you when you come back to court next week, you should be able to get the charge thrown out,' Barnard said. ‘I've got hold of another witness who saw someone else entirely coming out of your flat that night, but he's only a kid, and a homeless lad at that. His testimony on its own may not be strong enough to clear you. You need to establish your alibi as solidly as you can. I've already suggested to Kate that she goes up north and drums up some support for you.'

‘I'll do it, Tom, I promise. We'll get you out of this,' Kate said.

For the first time since his visitors had arrived, Tom O'Donnell's face lightened slightly. ‘I'll tell you who to talk to back home,' he said. ‘Write these names down in your little notebook, Miss Solicitor's Clerk. If anyone can persuade them to help, I'm sure you can. You could charm the birds out of the trees if you tried.'

When she had finished, Barnard pushed himself away from the door. ‘We'd better go. We're pushing our luck as it is,' he said. ‘I've just one piece of advice for you, Tom. When you get to the nick, ask to be put on the segregation wing on your own. You'll be a bit lonely, but it's better than the alternative, believe me. If you think the police hate queers – and most do – they don't often get the chance to make your life the hell that people get in jail. So look after yourself.'

Feeling slightly sick, Kate kissed Tom and followed Barnard out of the cell and back up the ground floor and out of the court building, with not a word spoken. Back in the bustle of the city, she looked at him and found him grim-faced.

‘Do you really think we can get him out?' she asked.

‘It should be easy if he's telling the truth, but to be honest there are things going on around this case which I don't understand, not least why the DCI in charge seems so convinced Tom did it when there are good leads to follow in other directions.'

‘This witness, this boy you never bothered to tell me about, is he the one who was at St Peter's?'

Barnard looked at her curiously. ‘How do you know that?' he asked.

‘I came across him when I went there to take some photographs. Most of the kids thought having their picture taken was a great lark, but he wouldn't let me take one. He was very nervous, terrified in fact. I thought it was odd.'

‘That lad's existence is the worst kept secret in Soho, and it's his friends who look like landing him in trouble. Anyway, it's all taken care of now. He's somewhere safe.'

‘You mean you took care of it?' Kate asked, her perception of Barnard taking another unexpected lurch, but the sergeant merely shrugged.

‘Maybe,' he said. ‘Where are you going now? Will you be OK?'

‘Back to work,' Kate said. ‘There's still masses of filing to do after the burglary. Seems to be my role in life as far as my boss is concerned. It looks as if that boxing do at the Delilah Club will remain the highlight of my career. At least some of those pictures survived. I'd kept the negatives myself so they didn't get incinerated.'

‘Do I appear in any of these pictures?' Barnard asked, slightly amused, not wanting to let Kate go, but also intrigued by this bizarre burglary which had been seemingly aimed only at destruction.

‘I don't think so, unless you're in the background somewhere.' She glanced at her watch. ‘Do you want to have a look? It's lunchtime and they'll all be in the pub. They never bother to invite me. The place will be empty.'

They walked back to Soho slowly and, as Kate had anticipated, found the office empty, her desk piled even higher with loose prints than she had left it.

‘You have to sort all this lot?' he asked. ‘I thought you were a photographer, not a filing clerk.'

‘I don't think I've quite proved that to Ken Fellows yet,' she said gloomily. ‘He'll probably have me back in Liverpool for good when my two months are up. In the meantime, I'll go up at the weekend to talk to Tom's mates. That won't be much fun.'