Hard Going (19 page)

Lawrence interrupted before they got going. ‘Did you have a chance to talk to her at all? Yvonne?'

‘You don't come here to talk,' Mrs Green said, casting a longing eye at the door. Numbers could be being called out in there, numbers that would make her fortune and lift her from her old, known life of tedium into a new one of exciting possibilities, foreign holidays and redecorating the lounge.

‘I did, in the break, when they were changing the drum,' said Mrs Orton. ‘Well, it wasn't so much a matter of talking to her. She does all the talking.'

‘And what did she talk about?' Lawrence asked hopefully.

‘Oh, I don't know. Some stuff or other.'

‘Try and remember. It's important.'

Mrs Orton frowned. ‘She was going on about something. What was it? Some court case I think. Her husband was taking someone to court? I know she went on and on about it. I wasn't listening, tell you the truth. She uses too many swear words. I'm not a prude, but I don't like that sort of language. Wait, I know – she said someone had got off, that was it. Her husband had taken someone to court about something, but they'd got off, and she wasn't going to let it go at that.' Mrs Orton looked pleased. ‘That's what it was. I remember now.'

Mrs Green was scornful. ‘She was always talking about that. That old court case. Bores the ears off you with it.'

‘Does she, dear? I've not spoken that much with her. But Tuesday, she was quite vehement about it, that I do know,' said Mrs Orton. ‘I remember she said she was going to get him. Looked really grim when she said it, and I thought I wouldn't like to be that person, because she's not a nice woman at all, not really. She said, “My God, I'm going to get him if it's the last thing I do.”'

Lawrence leaned forward. ‘Did she say “my God” or “Bygod”?'

‘I don't know. Does it make any difference? It's the same thing, isn't it?' said Mrs Orton.

‘Not entirely,' said Lawrence. ‘Bygod is a name, you see. The name of the person she was after.'

Mrs Orton's eyes and mouth became perfectly round. ‘Ooh!' she said.

Mrs Green clutched her arm. ‘There you are, Peggy, you've gone and got yourself into trouble now. And the eyes-down just started again. We're going to miss it.'

‘I won't keep you much longer,' Lawrence said. ‘If you can just think back, and tell me which she said.'

Mrs Orton shook her head. ‘Well, I thought she said “my God”, because that's what I'd expect to hear. But now I come to think of it, maybe she did say “by God”. Yes, I think p'raps she did. Yes, because I thought at the time it was rather an old-fashioned way to speak.' She raised a pink, pleased face to Lawrence. ‘Yes, I'm sure of it now. She said “by God”.'

‘You're quite sure?' Lawrence said.

‘As sure as I'm sitting here,' said Mrs Orton, beaming.

M
rs Kroll was sticking grimly to her story. ‘I told you, I was there my usual time. And my husband was never there. He's never been near the place.'

‘But we have the evidence of his van being parked right in the next road,' Slider said patiently. ‘We have it on camera.'

A gleam entered her eyes as she thought of something. ‘Didn't see him, though, did you? You don't know who was driving it. Maybe it was taken.'

‘Then why didn't you report it stolen?'

‘Maybe they brought it back. Someone borrowed it without telling him.
I
don't know. That's your job. All I know is he's never been to the house, and that's that.'

‘Mrs Kroll, we have his fingermark from inside the house.'

‘I don't care,' she said flatly. ‘You're lying to try and trick me. Or you put it there yourself. Or you're mistaken. He wasn't there and that's it, and that's all I'm going to say.' And she folded her arms and her lips tightly to emphasize the point.

Illogic, Slider thought, was a powerful defence. If someone simply would not agree that if (a) was so, then (b) must logically follow, it left you out on a limb with your predicates dangling.

Mr Kroll took an entirely different approach. He listened in his customary silence as they laid the damning evidence in front of him, and some thinking seemed to be going on behind those buckled brows. Then he unlatched his lips for the first time since they brought him in, and said, ‘I don't care. Charge me if you like. There's nothing you can do to me.'

‘How does life imprisonment sound to you?' Atherton asked genially.

‘I'm safer in here than out there,' Kroll said. ‘You can do what you like.'

Slider quelled Atherton with a minute glance, and stared at Kroll in silence for a long time, long enough for him to begin to fidget a little. Then he said quietly, ‘If you go down, your wife goes down too, have you thought of that?'

Kroll looked alarmed for the first time. ‘You leave her out of it. She knows nothing.'

‘No jury is going to believe that. To begin with, she had the key.'

Since Bygod was at home and probably let the murderer in, this meant little, but Slider was hoping to provoke Kroll into making some comment on the observation that would incriminate him. But Kroll only clenched his considerable jaw and said, ‘You leave her alone! She's got nothing to do with it. Keep away from her or I'll—'

‘You'll what? You'll kill me?' Slider enquired politely. Kroll's meaty fists were clenched on the table. Slowly they unwound. Slider said, ‘You have the right to have a solicitor to represent you, as you've been advised more than once. I think you should have one now.'

‘I don't want anyone,' Kroll said, staring at the table, and his tone sounded bitter. ‘I won't have one.'

‘Get him someone,' Porson said. ‘I can smell a complaint coming down the track, and I don't want some human rights lawyer stinking up the case. Get him someone good.'

‘David Stevens,' Slider suggested. Stevens was a sleek otter of a man with shiny brown eyes, and suits that made even Atherton whimper. He was so successful, you'd think the firm of Lucifer and Faust had a contract on file with his name signed in suspicious red ink.

Porson nodded in appreciation of the point. ‘Steven's'd cover our bottoms all right.' While Slider was contemplating this alluring image, Porson changed tack. ‘Mr Wetherspoon likes Crondace,' he said, with a latent sigh. Wetherspoon was their Borough Commander, and a royal pain in the arse which he also regularly liked to hang out to dry. He was the ultimate publicity bunny, never happier than when facing the TV cameras and the frenzied clicking of shutters. He had been chummy with the Home Secretaries of the previous administration, and the change of government had not left him with any sunnier a disposition towards the team at Shepherd's Bush. A golfing, lunching, drinkies-at-Number-Ten media star did not want people on his payroll who looked funny (Porson) or got themselves into trouble by doing the right thing (Slider).

Slider digested the information, and said, ‘There's no harm in keeping a second string to our bow, sir.'

‘Right,' said Porson gratefully. ‘And who knows, Mr Wetherspoon may be right.'

To cheer him up, Slider told him about Mrs Crondace at the bingo hall.

Porson was doubtful. ‘Sounds as if Lawrence pushed her into it,' he said. ‘Can't rely on that.'

‘No, sir. And of course Crondace has no alibi at all, as far as we know. There are certainly tempting things about him – not least that he's missing.'

‘Keep after him,' Porson said. ‘And keep an eye on her. And I don't see any harm in tossing his flat, if Tower Hamlets'll play ball. I'll ask Trevor Oxley. If Crondace is that much of a slob, you never know what you might find. Meanwhile –' he turned at the end of his walk and faced Slider – ‘get more evidence on the Krolls. Her movements as well as his. And a witness who saw him go in. At least.'

When Slider got back to his room, most of the troops had gone. In the CID room McLaren was doing something on the computer, Atherton was tidying his desk, and Hollis was pottering about, mug of tea in his hand, with the air of a man already in his slippers.

‘Where's Mackay? I thought he had night duty,' Slider said.

Hollis said, ‘I swapped with him, guv. Some school thing for his kid.'

Unusually noble of him, Slider thought. Nobody liked catching the night shift. Then he remembered Hollis had been having trouble at home – maybe he liked the excuse to stay away. Slider cleared his desk and locked everything, then went back out and said to Atherton, ‘I'm whacked. Fancy a drink?'

Atherton looked up. Was there the slightest hesitation before he said, ‘Yes, okay'?

‘I've been thinking about a pint all afternoon,' Slider said, ‘ever since Mackay and Coffey came in wittering about the Navigation.' Connolly came into the room at that moment, on her way back from the loo. ‘Are you off?' Slider said. ‘Want to come for a pint with us?'

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Janey, that's weird. The minute I came in the room I knew you were going to say that. Do you believe in premonition?'

‘No, but I've a queer feeling I'm going to. Are you coming then?'

‘Thanks, boss, but I've got a date.'

‘Anyone we know?' Atherton asked.

‘Kidding me? I wouldn't go out with anyone in the Job. They're all mentallers. I got this one off the Internet.'

‘Isn't that a little rash?' Atherton said.

‘And isn't that what you may find yourself saying tomorrow morning?' Slider added.

Connolly grinned. ‘I'll be careful.'

‘See that you are,' said Slider.

‘Anyway, I don't put out on the first date. One night of meaningless sex can get in the way of a long-term relationship,' said Connolly.

‘I've always relied on it,' said Atherton.

‘I got a date as well,' McLaren announced, with a hint of pride.

‘Way to go, Maurice,' Atherton said. ‘Get back on that horse.'

‘Tim, that lives upstairs from me, his girlfriend Maura's got a mate,' McLaren explained, getting up and coming over. ‘We're doing a double date. Going down the Green Man.'

‘Maurice, Maurice, a blind date?' Atherton said. ‘Are you mad?'

‘Why not?' McLaren protested. ‘Maura says she's a very nice person.'

Atherton groaned, and Hollis, ambling across, said, ‘He's right, y'know. It's classic code. “She's got a nice personality” means she's either a size twenty or she's got a face like a beaten tambourine.'

‘This Maura's nice looking, is she?' Atherton asked.

‘Yeah, she's great,' McLaren said.

‘Right. Nice-looking girls always have an ugly friend they're trying to get fixed up. We're talking dog here, Maurice. We're talking Crufts' Best in Show.'

McLaren's jaw set. ‘I don't care. I'm going. She's called Natalie. I've always liked that name.'

‘And you tell me off for picking horses by the name!' Atherton shook his head.

Hollis switched sides. ‘Hang about, though. Maybe he's on to something. You should go, Maurice. You know what they say – ugly girls are more grateful. You could well score.'

Connolly, who had been sorting out her handbag at her desk, made a sound of disgust so loud it would unknot your tie. ‘Name a' God, I don't believe you people! Would you listen to yourselves? You sound like somethin' out o'
Mad Men
.'

‘Oh, and women aren't interested in sex,' Atherton scoffed.

Connolly gritted her jaw. ‘Men just use sex to get what they want.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Atherton said. ‘Sex
is
what they want.'

Slider's phone rang, interrupting the exchange – and not before time, he thought. He caught Atherton's eye and hesitated.

‘Ignore it,' Atherton advised. ‘Those pints aren't getting drunk, and neither am I.'

‘D'you want me to get it, guv?' Hollis offered.

‘No, it's all right,' Slider said. ‘I'll go. Put your coat on,' he added to Atherton. ‘We're out the door in two minutes.'

It was Freddie Cameron on the other end. ‘I've finished the post-mortem and microscope analysis,' he said, ‘and there's nothing new to add to my verbal conclusions about the death. But one thing has emerged that I thought I'd better tell you about. I don't know if it alters anything, but just in case …'

‘I'm on my way out for a drink and then home,' Slider said. ‘Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?'

A slight pause as Freddie looked at the clock. ‘Good Lord, is that the time? I had no idea. I must get weaving. Martha and I have a black-tie dinner tonight. Charity thing. Damned waste of an evening – I'd sooner give them a cheque and be done with it, but the memsahib likes putting on a long dress. Only blessing is I don't have to make a speech this time. What was I saying?'

‘Something emerged from the post-mortem. I hope not a slavering alien from the abdomen.'

‘You have a morbid imagination. But, actually, you're not far wrong. It seems that Bygod had a carcinoma of the lung, with metastases just about everywhere. I'd say he only had a few months to live.'

‘Poor bloke,' Slider said, with feeling. Life was always precious, but when you had so little of it left … ‘I thought he looked thin. Would he have known?'

‘He probably wasn't feeling in the pink,' Cameron said drily. ‘As to whether he'd had a diagnosis, you'd have to check with his doctor. But given he was an intelligent, educated man, I'd bet he knew the game was up.'

‘I see. Well, thanks for telling me.'

‘I thought it might change the tenor of some of your questions. Or your thought processes.'

‘Yes, you may be right.'

‘I'll send the full report over tomorrow but there's nothing else you didn't know. And now I must make a noise like a bee and buzz off.'