Dead of Winter (18 page)

‘And then killed them both, and Benny Costa into the bargain, to cover his tracks.’ Bennett growled. ‘You’re right,Angus. You must keep an eye on this. But only from your desk, mind. I don’t want to hear again that you’ve been gadding about.’ He wagged an admonishing finger. ‘Where do we go from here, then? What’s next?’

‘That rather depends on what Styles finds out this morning,’ Sinclair replied. ‘He and Grace will be talking to whoever’s in charge at Silverman’s shop. Wapping will take care of the crime scene. They’ll question the landlord again and see if they can get any names of customers out of him, those we didn’t interview last night. Cook’s going down to Southwark. We need to find out how this man came to pick on Meeks to do his dirty work, and the market where Alfie had his stall is a good place to start.’

The chief inspector prepared to rise from his chair.

‘And what of your fair helper, Angus?’

‘My what, sir … ?’ In the act of getting up, Sinclair checked himself.

‘WPC Poole. This building is abuzz with rumours of her presence in your office. Is it a sign of things to come, I am asked.’ Bennett’s eye had taken on a roguish glint. The commissioner’s wondering the same, especially since he’s the one who lays down policy. He wants a report from you: an explanation of why you have decided to go outside established guidelines on staffing and employ this young woman in a job usually reserved for a member of the CID. In writing, that is.’

‘Sir, really …’ The chief inspector started to protest.

‘No, no, Angus. You must put pen to paper.’ The assistant commissioner rubbed his hands. I look forward to reading the results myself. In the meantime, though, if it’s not impolite to ask, just what is she doing for you?’

‘A good deal, as it happens.’ Nettled by this inquisition, Sinclair spoke sharply. ‘Up until yesterday evening she was going through a list supplied by the governor of Wormwood Scrubs, names of felons who were in prison at the same time as Alfie Meeks and with whom he would have come in contact, violent criminals, in case one of them might be the man we’re looking for. She spent all day yesterday checking their records.’

‘Without success, I imagine, or you would have told me?’

‘That’s true. But it was a job that had to be done.’

‘Excellent. Then I take it she can return to her normal duties now?’

The assistant commissioner wasn’t done with his ribbing yet, but Sinclair had regained his poise and he rose with a smile and a shake of his head.

‘Not for the present, sir. There’s something else I want her to do: it’s equally important. As I said earlier, I’m increasingly of the opinion that if we’re going to pick up this man’s tracks anywhere it will be abroad. I’ve told Poole to get hold of the International Police Commission files. Since the war began they’ve been gathering dust in the basement, but I want her to go through them. There’s a chance we may discover some trace of him there.’

His instructions to the young policewoman a little earlier had been more precise. Finding her already at her desk when he’d arrived that morning, he had called her into his office. Bennett’s summons, brought by hand, lay on his blotter, but he had delayed some minutes to explain exactly what it was he required of her.

‘This is an area of policing you’re probably not familiar with, though I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Before the war the commission acted as a clearing house for its members. It enabled them to communicate with one another easily and also kept a register of certain types of offenders, mainly sexual, who had a tendency to move about from one country to another. Unfortunately it was based in Vienna and staffed by Austrian police officers, so the war brought a halt to all cooperation. Nevertheless, we have copious files dating back years, which include routine advisories sent out by the commission to all its members dealing with crimes that might involve more than one country – fraud, for example – but also requesting information about criminals who were being sought. It’s these I want you to look at carefully.’

Standing stiffly before his desk, Poole had received her orders in silence, but her eagerness had been palpable and the chief inspector was put in mind of a greyhound trembling in the traps, poised to be off.

‘Before you go down to records, though, I want you to read this.’

A copy of the same report Bennett had secured from registry had already been delivered to Sinclair’s desk and he handed it to Poole.

‘It’s an account of the shooting in Wapping last night. Study it carefully. I’m convinced this man we’re seeking is an experienced criminal, and it would be strange if he hadn’t left his mark elsewhere. It appears he’s also a thief, and the presence of a well-known fence at this get-together suggests that jewellery might have been his line. Keep all these factors in mind when you go through the files. Look for similarities.’

At least one of the chief inspector’s assumptions was confirmed a little later when Billy Styles with Grace in tow returned from their visit to Solly Silverman’s shop in Holborn. The two detectives had been waiting there when Silverman’s sole employee, a middle-aged woman named Mrs Delgado, arrived to open the store.

‘She went to pieces when she heard what had happened, sir,’ Billy told him. ‘It was genuine shock. And when we told her what Solly had been up to in his wicked past she threw another fit. I don’t think she had the first idea what sort of bloke he was. Or had been. Mind you, if we’re right about him and he’s been straight since before the war, that would make sense. She’s only worked there for the past two years.’

Their experience the night before had left its mark on both detectives, whose drawn faces showed signs of fatigue and lack of sleep, and Sinclair had Poole bring in an extra chair from next door so that they could sit down and then ordered the young officer to remain while they made their report.

Once she’d collected herself, Billy told him, Silverman’s employee had proved to be a good witness with a memory for details. She had confirmed Alfie Meeks’s visit four days earlier – he had used his own name – and recalled that he’d asked to see Silverman ‘on a matter of business’.

‘According to her, Solly used to spend most of the day in his office at the back of the shop. He’d only appear if he was needed. When she told him about Meeks wanting to see him he took a look at Alfie through his peephole and instructed her to get rid of him.’

‘Do you think Silverman recognized him?’ Sinclair asked.

‘I doubt it, sir. Alfie Meeks wasn’t in his league: I’d be surprised if their paths ever crossed. But he probably spotted him for what he was and didn’t want him on the premises. Anyway, Mrs Delgado went back with the message, but instead of shoving off Alfie produced a small velvet box – the kind you keep a piece of jewellery in – and asked her to show it to Silverman. Said if he still wasn’t interested he’d leave. So she did that, went back into the office and gave it to Solly, who told her to wait outside.’

Billy grinned. ‘I don’t know what was in the box – Mrs Delgado says she didn’t look – but whatever it was it made Solly change his mind. He had her send Meeks in and they spent the next twenty minutes together, and when Alfie left, Mrs Delgado said he was looking pleased with himself. Like a cat that had swallowed a canary was how she put it.’

‘So …’ Sinclair sat back in his chair, fingers laced across his stomach. ‘It looks as though Meeks had a piece of jewellery to show Solly. Something calculated to capture his interest. But there must have been more to it than that.’ He looked for confirmation to Billy, who nodded.

‘That’s what we thought. Meeks must have been showing him a sample of the goods on offer. Then Grace had an idea …’ He turned to his colleague, who’d been sitting silent in his chair beside him. ‘Go ahead, Joe. Show the chief inspector what you’ve come up with.’

With seeming reluctance, Grace gathered himself. Never one to seek the approval of others, his harsh manner had antagonized many over the years and promotion had been slow in coming. But none questioned his sharpness, and Billy was among those who had learned to turn a blind eye to those traits of his personality, including a sheer bloody-mindedness, which had made him a burden to many of his superiors.

‘It was something I found in Solly’s wallet last night, sir.’ Grace spoke gruffly. ‘It didn’t mean much at the time. Just some sort of list with figures and letters. But after what we heard at the shop today it gave me an idea, and Mr Styles and I went by forensic to collect it on our way here.’

He passed a folded sheet of paper across the desk to Sinclair, getting to his feet as he did so.

‘We reckon it’s a list of jewels. Stones. Diamonds, maybe.’

Grace twisted his head to squint at the paper upside down as the chief inspector unfolded it and Sinclair beckoned him round the desk.

‘Show me what you mean,’ he said.

‘There’s a column of numbers – ’Grace pointed – ‘with ct after each, which must be carats, and then some other stuff, letters that don’t make much sense, but might be descriptions of the stones.’

He bent over Sinclair’s shoulder as the latter emitted a humming sound, his eye running up and down the neatly penned column.

‘Eight, ten, twelve … there’s one of twenty-five carats at the end of the list. That’s a fair-sized stone.’ The chief inspector grunted. ‘A score in all. If they’re good-quality diamonds they’d be worth a pretty penny. So you think this is what brought Solly down to Wapping with his loupe in his pocket?’

‘It looks that way, sir,’ Grace agreed, with a glance across the desk at Billy, who was sitting back, allowing him his moment of glory. ‘Meeks must have given him these details when they met. Solly could have copied them down.’

‘No, no …’ Sinclair tapped the piece of paper which lay flat on his blotter. ‘This wasn’t penned by Silverman. The ink’s old for one thing and the numbers are continental. Do you see that seven – it’s crossed? And the ones have a little loop on top. That’s not how we make them. The paper’s expensive, too … prewar, I’d say.’ He turned in his chair and held it up to the light. ‘I can see a watermark. I’ll hang on to this. I’ve a friend in Bond Street who’ll decipher those letters for us. And we’d better let the lab have a look at it, too.’

While he was speaking, Grace had returned to his chair, and the two detectives waited while their superior sat ruminating; gnawing at his lip.

‘We’re on to something.’ Sinclair spoke at last. ‘Just what, I’m not sure. Was this man actually in possession of these stones, or was he spinning Solly a line? And how did he get hold of this list?’

‘He must have had one stone at least,’ Billy suggested. ‘The one Meeks showed Solly.’

‘One which must have been on this list.’ The chief inspector weighed the piece of paper in his hand. ‘And that tells us, too, how Solly Silverman was lured down there. If these stones were stolen in Europe they wouldn’t necessarily be on the lists we’ve circulated, and that might have been enough to tempt him back into business.’

His glance fell on Lily Poole, who’d been standing all this time behind the two men, wordless, but with a rapt expression on her face.

‘How far have you got in your researches, Constable?’ he asked her.

‘Up to 1933, sir.’

‘Jewel thefts. What about them? Has anything caught your eye?’

‘Not really, sir.’ Lily Poole frowned. ‘Quite a few were reported, but the IPC messages don’t say much about them. They just give details of the stuff that was stolen and ask member countries to keep an eye out for it.’

‘But those would be pieces of jewellery, wouldn’t they? Not individual stones like those on this list?’

Poole nodded.

‘No matter. Stick to it. We’re looking for a jewel thief all right, but one who may be a little different from the general run. Keep that in mind.’

Not wishing to leave his superior in the dark a second time, Sinclair paid a further call on Bennett in the late afternoon.

‘I thought with the weekend nearly on us I’d better bring you up to date, sir,’ he said as he took his accustomed seat in front of Sir Wilfred’s desk. Outside, the early darkness of winter had already set in and the assistant commissioner’s windows, like his own, were blackened by blinds. ‘All in all, it hasn’t been a bad day. We’ve made some progress.’

The information acquired that morning at Silverman’s jewellery store made up the bulk of the chief inspector’s account, but there were other items to relate and he wasted no time in imparting them to his superior.

‘The post-mortems have been done. Ransom sent his report over. The bullets he retrieved from the bodies were all thirty-twos, as you might expect. There’s no way of telling what make of pistol was used, nor whether it belonged to this man or was acquired locally. The country’s awash with unlicensed firearms at present thanks to the war.’

The chief inspector had brought his file with him and leafed through the pages contained in it.

‘Styles and Grace collected Mrs Costa at her home in Stepney this afternoon and took her to Paddington to make a formal identification of her husband’s body. They were hoping the sight of her Benny lying stiff and cold might loosen her tongue for once – we’ve questioned her in the past, she’s as hard as nails – and they struck lucky. She told them Costa hadn’t heard from Solly Silverman in years. Like us, he thought he’d retired. And one other thing. When she saw Benny get out his shotgun she asked him if he was expecting trouble and he said no, not necessarily. But Solly didn’t know the man he was dealing with and it would be best not to take chances.’

‘The man he was dealing with …’ Bennett mused on the words. ‘He wasn’t referring to Alfie Meeks, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ Sinclair tugged at an earlobe. ‘And that tells us something. There was no prior connection between them. We still don’t know how this man got hold of Silverman’s name.’

He returned to his file.

‘The Wapping police have found a witness who says he got a glimpse of the man who arrived with Meeks at the White Boar last night. He was relieving himself in the alley and saw them go in the side door. He says the man had a moustache, something Florrie Desmoulins didn’t mention in her description of him. I’m inclined to believe them both.’ Sinclair glanced up. ‘It’s entirely likely he’s done something to alter his appearance since killing those two young women. The more I think about him, the cooler he seems to be. There’s no hint of panic in his behaviour: if he’s grown a moustache then he knows we’re after him. He may even have guessed that we’ve already connected those two early killings: that we have a description of him. But he’s keeping ahead of us. We still have no clue as to his identity.’