Jack in the Box (13 page)

‘How well did you know the Irish boys? Gilly and the others?’

‘Christ Almighty, give me some credit. Do you think I’d keep company with that bunch of Fenians? I kept away from them. They were always involved in some racket or other.’ He rocked back and forth again. ‘That’s why they were killed. They knew what was going on at the Duke.’

She glanced at Steve. This confirmed what Larry had learnt when he went undercover.

‘And you really have no idea?’ said Steve.

‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’

‘Then why do you think you were attacked?’

‘I went to the Duke to pick up punters. I was there sometimes when Gilly and Liam were around. Maybe he saw
me and thought I was in with them.’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘Murderers can make mistakes, can’t they?’

‘And all this time you’ve been worried he’ll come back?’ Von said, suddenly close to tears.

‘Wouldn’t you? Each time I go out, I ask myself, is he going to be there? Is he round the corner? Is he at the bus-stop? Whenever I’m shoved around by those low-lifes from the estate, I wonder if he’s with them and this is going to be it.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I know I’ve been lucky. It was only because Pete heard us that I’m still alive.’

‘The security guard?’ she said, brushing at her eyes.

‘He used to look out for me. Told no-one I dossed at the back. He was a good mate. Wish he was living with me now.’

‘Your mother’s still in London. Why aren’t you living with her?’

‘You are joking, aren’t you? She’s a druggie. She’s the reason I left home.’

Von glanced at the table. ‘I see you’ve learnt Braille,’ she said encouragingly.

He straightened his shoulders. ‘I go to college now,’ he said, pride in his voice. ‘Been there for three years. I have tapes and everything.’

‘What have you been studying?’

‘Sociology. I’m getting good grades.’ He flushed slightly. ‘I have a girlfriend. Met her at ballroom dancing classes.’

Von pictured him dancing, stumbling against the other couples. But perhaps not. He’d walked confidently enough across the room. Maybe the blind develop a sense of the objects around them. ‘Have you made many friends at college?’ she said.

‘I’m not good at that. Never was. Even on the game, I never had friends.’ His head drooped. ‘What we all wanted was a friend, just one punter who’d protect us and treat us nicely. Set
us up.’

‘What about regulars?’ she said quietly. ‘Did you have anyone who asked just for you?’

He fell silent.

It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking because of the eyes
. With a jolt, she realised why they looked familiar.
They’re identical to the doll’s…

‘There was this guy,’ he said. ‘He was different.’

‘A client?’

‘We never did it. He just sat and smiled. Paying for the pleasure of my company, he used to say. Liked to stroke my hand.’ He snorted. ‘Said I should quit the game and do something else. I knew he must have picked up other boys, so I didn’t put much store by what he said. It’s only now I’ve come to realise he was probably my only friend. This might sound strange, but I was gutted when he stopped coming.’

‘When was this?’

‘Shortly before it happened.’

‘How long did he come to the Duke?’

‘Not long. Two or three weeks.’

She glanced sideways at Steve. He caught the movement, and shook his head slightly. This couldn’t be the rent boys’ killer, they hadn’t had sex.

But, still, the information might give them a lead. ‘What did he look like?’ she said.

‘Heavy build.’

‘Tall?’

‘Never really found out. He was always sitting when I arrived, and he was still sitting when I left to find a punter. And before you ask, no, I don’t remember the colour of his eyes. He had bad skin, though.’

‘How old?’

‘As I said, I’ve never been good at men’s ages. Older than me,
but not by much. In his twenties.’

‘Would you recognise this man’s voice?’

‘After fifteen years?’ He sneered. ‘What do you think?’

‘Maybe you’d recognise the touch of his hand,’ she said softly.

For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to cry. She nudged Steve, who nodded. They got to their feet.

‘You’ve been very helpful, Manny.’ She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll leave you to get on with your studies.’

He clutched her arm. ‘You will catch him, won’t you?’

‘I give you my word,’ she said, her heart twisting inside her.

He released her. ‘You can’t promise that, neither you nor your pal. That’s lovely perfume you’re wearing, by the way. Paris, isn’t it? My girlfriend uses it.’ He sat back. ‘I bet you’re gorgeous. You know your pal is sweet on you, don’t you? It’s amazing what you see when you’re blind.’

She resisted the urge to throw her arms round him. ‘We’ll let ourselves out,’ she said, her voice choking.

They walked to the Toyota in silence. It had stopped raining, and the roof tiles gleamed in the early evening light.

‘Well, that didn’t go too badly, boss.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, tears stinging her eyes.

Von was sprawled on the sofa, sipping wine. A half-drunk bottle and the remains of a boxed pizza lay on the table. She was thinking about Manny. Her heart ached. Poor lad, getting pushed about like that. She knew the Superintendent at his local nick, maybe she could do something about getting a uniform to patrol the area around the bus stop. She’d learnt something from the visit, though: if Manny was right about not recognising the voice on the tape, Max Quincey was still in the frame for the Jack in the Box murders. She pushed her hands through her hair. Christ, she was no further forward with solving any of the murders.

She sat up. Something Manny had mentioned stuck in her mind. The man who’d stroked his hand. Who was this well-built man who paid just to sit with Manny? Something niggled. He’d come to see him when the play was running, then stopped two or three weeks later. How long did the play run? A month, then they went on the road.

And the Iron Duke.
That’s where you need to go. Talk to Dickie
. The Duke. Again. Her breath came out in a rush. She’d made an error of judgement sending her detectives in. If the regulars were closing up like limpets, she’d need a cooling-off period before trying again. Problem was, they’d smell a copper a mile off. So, she wouldn’t send in a copper. She’d send Tubby. It wasn’t his patch, so he wouldn’t be known, and he was good at gaining people’s trust. But she had to do it soon. If she didn’t take something to the Chief Super, he’d bring someone in over her head. She was that close to being kicked off the murder squad, this time for good.

She poured the last of the wine, then phoned Kenny’s flat. His answer-machine came on. She listened to his voice, remembering how they’d laughed when he recorded the message. The answer-machine had been an early Christmas present because he was hopeless at staying in touch.

‘Kenny,’ she said, ‘I can’t get you on your mobile so I’m phoning here. If you’re home tonight, please give me a call. Even if it’s late.’

She dropped the phone into her bag, and sank back against the cushions. The image of Manny’s face with it dead glass eyes floated before her. She replayed their conversation, remembering the pleasure in his voice when he’d told them he was a student, and his anxiety about getting to college. His mother wouldn’t know anything about him, how he’d turned his life around.
She’s a druggie. She’s the reason I left home
. Couldn’t he forgive her? Parents forgave their children everything. So why couldn’t
children forgive their parents?

She thought of her own child, a child she hadn’t seen in years. These days, no-one batted an eyelid when children were born out of wedlock, but it hadn’t been like that for her; teenage pregnancies, although depressingly common, could ruin a girl’s chances then. Strangely, her parents had been neither angry nor disappointed. Her mother had strenuously encouraged her to keep the baby although the idea of an abortion had never entered Von’s mind. Fortunately for the baby, she had an extended family. Even Von’s brothers had rallied round. She smiled as she remembered her daughter as an infant, the head of downy hair, the warm milky breath, and the tiny fists she made whenever she cried. Von had loved her so much that it ached…

She tottered to her feet and stumbled into the bedroom. The blanket box stood in the corner, buried under a pile of forgotten ironing. She swept the clothes to the floor, then knelt and lifted back the lid. The scent of old roses drifted out, wrapping itself round her, awakening slumbering memories. She burrowed under the sheets. At the bottom, she found what she was looking for.

She laid the shoe box on the floor. The pink satin ribbon was knotted loosely in a huge bow, flattened by the weight of linen. She untied the knot, set the lid aside, and parted the thin tissue paper. With trembling hands, she removed the baby shawl and buried her face in it. Maybe she imagined it because she wanted to, or maybe it was still there, faint but distinctive, that marvellous caramel smell that babies have. She set the shawl aside and, heedless of the tears now streaming down her face, she lifted the tiny shoes and baby rattle and brought them to her lips.

Chapter 16

‘Still not sure why we’re here,’ said Steve.

‘To see the lighting manager,’ Von said, with exaggerated politeness.

‘But there’s no evidence he even knew Max Quincey.’

She threw him an amused look. ‘True, but if we thought that way we’d never interview anyone, would we?’

‘So where’s his office? How are we going to find it in this maze of corridors?’

‘I phoned ahead.’

On cue, Dexter appeared. He was dressed in a t-shirt stamped with the words ‘Body of a God, Pity it’s Buddha’.

‘Nice to see you, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘You too, Inspector English,’ he added quickly.

‘So we’re good to go?’ she said.

Dexter cracked his knuckles. ‘Zack is still in the lighting box.’

‘You didn’t warn him we were coming?’

‘I’ve followed your instructions to the letter.’ He smiled dreamily. ‘Shall I take you up?’

‘I think I know the way. Those stairs?’

‘Third floor, follow the corridor round. His is the last door on the right. I’ll be around in case you need me.’ With a small bow, he left.

‘Polite young man,’ she said, as they made for the stairs. ‘Don’t you think, Steve?’

‘I’ve always found him gormless-looking. What’s all this cloak and dagger stuff? I’ve followed your instructions to the letter,’ he added in the tone of an undertaker.

‘I want to surprise Lazarus. Corner him in his den.’

‘Put him off his guard, eh?’ He rubbed his cheek. ‘In Glasgow, that tactic often landed me with a shiner.’

‘Isn’t that part of the fun of being a detective?’ She glanced at the wall. ‘Okay, here’s the corridor.’

‘This place is dark and poky, and everywhere looks the same.’

‘I’ve cracked it, Steve. It’s the pictures. Along here, we have Monet.’

‘Impressive, boss,’ he breathed.

They stopped outside the lighting manager’s room. She recognised it from opening night. She was about to knock, when the door opened, leaving her with her hand in the air. Zack Lazarus stood in front of her.

‘Mr Lazarus, we’d like to speak to you.’

‘You’re police,’ he said calmly. ‘I remember you.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Valenti.’ She indicated Steve. ‘Detective Inspector English. Can we come in?’

‘I’m working.’

She stepped past him. ‘As it happens, so are we.’

In front of her was a wide glass window through which she could see the auditorium and the stage. A small console was fixed to the table, the switches labelled. On the floor was a rusty toolbox, its lid thrown back to reveal a jumble of screwdrivers, spanners, and wrenches. A faint smell of oil hung in the air, reminding her of her brothers’ garage.

There was hardly enough room for three people. A Jack in the Box was sitting on the only chair. They’d have to do this standing.

Lazarus closed the door. ‘There’s nothing I can tell you,’ he said without preamble.

She smiled prettily. ‘You don’t know what I’m going to ask.’

‘Max Quincey. You told me before.’

‘And you said his murder was the best thing that could have happened. Why was that, Mr Lazarus?’

‘You know why. He was a queer.’

‘That’s a justification for murder?’ she said, feigning surprise.

‘Tis in my book.’

‘Where were you on the night of Tuesday, September 12th?’

He drew his shoulders back, glowering at her.

‘Please answer my question, Mr Lazarus.’

He continued to say nothing.

‘You’ve got ten seconds,’ she said softly, ‘or we take you down to the nick.’

Steve took a step forward. Lazarus frowned, throwing him a glance. ‘Okay, then. A Tuesday? Can’t remember.’

‘Not visiting Max Quincey in his digs?’ she said.

‘Don’t even know where he lives.’ He nodded at the equipment. ‘I was probably here, trying to get all this ready.’

‘In the evening?’

‘Best time, no-one’s around a week before opening night. In the day, there are rehearsals, and the theatre’s also booked out for schools who need a stage. Chrissie’s idea, a way to make money. Been very successful.’ He nodded. ‘Got a business head on her shoulders. God knows, we need someone to turn this place around.’

‘Do you work the lights when the schools use the place?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I couldn’t help noticing that the lighting didn’t dim when I was here on opening night.’

He flushed. ‘Still trying to get it working.’ He avoided her eyes, as though ashamed of his lack of expertise.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘System’s so antiquated that dimming and brightening isn’t
safe. Whole place needs rewiring. Chrissie’s promised it’s the first thing we’ll do when the funds come in. In the meantime, I have to do what I can with this.’ He indicated the console. ‘I’m trying a workaround, but I haven’t succeeded.’

‘What do you do in this room while the play’s actually running?’ she said, examining the console.

‘Keep an eye out that nothing fuses.’

‘And if it does?’

‘I spring into action.’

She studied his face. ‘How well did you know Max Quincey?’

‘As well as anyone else,’ he said caustically.

‘But you weren’t a member of the Quincey Players.’

‘I’m employed by the Garrimont. Chrissie Horowitz is my boss, not Quincey.’

She glanced through the window. ‘You’ve been working with him for, what, three weeks?’

‘About that,’ he said warily.

‘But, apart from this season, you’ve never seen him before.’ She made it sound like a statement. It was a tactic which sometimes got results.

He sneered. ‘Is this what the Old Bill call entrapment? Look, you know I was here the last time the play was running, when Max Quincey was director. Ergo, I’ve seen him before.’

He’s no fool. I’ll have to tread carefully
. ‘So what was your relationship like with Max Quincey that first time?’

‘He wasn’t my boss then, either. Always been the theatre manager.’

‘But you would have worked with him,’ said Steve. ‘He would have given you directions about when to dim, when to use spotlights, and so on.’

‘He may have. Can’t remember.’

‘Try, Mr Lazarus,’ Von said.

He sighed loudly. ‘We had several meetings about the
lighting. He lost it and bawled me out.’

‘Over what?’

‘The system was just as crap then as it is now.’ He hesitated. ‘When he arrived a couple of weeks ago, he gave me a flea in my ear that it still hadn’t been fixed. As if it were all my fault. So we had to do it the way we did before. I set up the lighting at the start of the play and then leave it.’

‘And that’s how it was done the last time?’

‘Exactly the same.’

‘You didn’t like Max Quincey, did you, Mr Lazarus?’ she said suddenly. ‘I don’t mean to work with, I mean personally.’

‘He was the worst kind of faggot. Rolled in shit, like a dog.’

‘Meaning?’ said Steve.

‘Don’t you understand plain English? Perhaps you should go back to Jockland.’ He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘There are different kinds of queers. Some that like their own kind. And others that prey on young boys.’

‘And which kind was Max Quincey?’ said Von.

‘You know which kind. You know what I’m talking about. Those young lads.’

She resisted the urge to step backwards. ‘The rent boys?’

He was shouting into her face now. ‘The Jack in the Box murders, by God.’

‘Let’s talk about those murders, then,’ she said, pulling a file from her bag. ‘In your statement, you said you’d no alibi for the murder of Liam Mahoney, or for the attack on Manny Newman. Those attacks took place after the play had ended. You claim you went for a drink after work, then straight home. No-one at the bar could remember seeing you.’

‘Doesn’t mean anything,’ he spat out. ‘If it did, that old copper would have done something about it.’

‘The other two murders took place while the play was running. If the lighting level didn’t change, you’d have had
nothing to do.’

He thrust his face into hers. ‘What are you insinuating?’

‘You could have slipped out at any time,’ she said, drawing back her head to escape the reek of sweat.

The anger drained from his voice. ‘You think I did those boys.’

‘Well, in your language, weren’t they queers?’

The temper was back. ‘I’ve no idea. Not all lads who go on the game are homosexuals. They’re victims of a system and a society that refuses to help them. Victims to pond life like Quincey.’

‘Which is why he deserved to die.’

‘Spot on. And I’ll tell you another thing. There’d be no end of people lining up to do it.’

‘People like yourself?’ she said softly.

‘Oh no, you don’t catch me that easily.’ His eyes drilled into hers. ‘Go to the Iron Duke. That’s where you’ll find Quincey’s killer. And I hope you give him a medal.’

‘Why the Iron Duke?’

He seemed unsure of himself. ‘It’s where the boys hung out.’

‘Have you ever been there?’

He looked away. ‘No.’

Gotcha. Now you’re lying
. ‘One final thing, Mr Lazarus. We’d like you to come down to Clerkenwell Police Station.’

‘What the hell for?’

‘To take your fingerprints.’

‘I didn’t kill him,’ he said, his voice flat.

She smiled. ‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about. There’s a constable waiting outside. It won’t take long, and we’ll bring you straight back.’

He let out a long breath, and reached for his jacket.

‘Has your hair always been that length, Mr Lazarus?’

‘It’s been short for years.’

‘You didn’t have it cut recently?’

‘No, why do you ask?’

‘Just a line of questioning. Shall we go?’

On the pavement, they watched Lazarus drive away with the constable. Dexter appeared, hurrying down the steps.

‘I’m so sorry, Chief Inspector, but I can’t find Michael Gillanders anywhere. He may have gone home to change.’

‘For the performance?’

‘For the memorial service. We’re all going. Chrissie is insisting.’

‘Thanks anyway, Dexter.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘You’re a brick.’

He grinned, then gave a brief nod and left.

Steve watched him go. ‘I didn’t take much to Lazarus, if I’m honest. That holier-than-thou attitude stuck in my craw.’

‘Really? I quite liked him.’

‘Is he in the frame for Quincey’s murder, though? Or the murder of the rent boys?’

‘Difficult to tell. He could have done Quincey. But he doesn’t fit the profile for the boys.’

Steve gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Unless he’s putting on an act.’

‘Either way, Lazarus knows more than he’s letting on.’

‘Couldn’t we say that about everyone we’ve interviewed, boss?’

‘Sadly, yes.’