Mask of the Verdoy (8 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Harley walked over to greet the young CID officer in the ticket hall of Goodge Street station, shaking his head in mock despair.

‘Jesus Christ, Pearson! Is that your idea of dressing inconspicuously?’

‘What do you mean? It’s not as of if I’ve come in uniform.’

‘But that’s just it—you have, haven’t you? The gabardine, the service issue shoes—it’s the bogey’s uniform. Anyone worth their salt on the street can spot it a mile off.’

‘Bogey?’

‘My God—you are green!
Bogeys
—detectives. What do they call ’em down your way, then?’

‘Detectives.’

Harley raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, you’re no good to me dressed like that—they’ll clam up as soon as we walk in the boozer.’

‘What do you suggest then? I’ve been told to stick close to you.’

‘Have you now? Quigg’s little spy, eh?’

‘No, nothing like that, sir … Mr. … what do I call you?’

‘Harley will do fine.’

‘Well, Harley, this is a police investigation and as far as I can see I’m the only one here holding a warrant card. I don’t quite understand this irregular setup yet, but I’ve been given my orders to cooperate with you fully and—as long as you don’t break any laws—that’s what I intend to do. But let me assure you—I still report directly to Detective Inspector Quigg.’

‘Then, Pearson, we have a problem … What about your loyalty to King and Country?’

‘Unquestionable, of course.’

‘Might have guessed … Right then, follow me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘
La Primavera;
it’s a little Italian just around the corner—does wonderful ravioli.’

Harley set-off at a pace down Tottenham Court Road leaving Pearson to jog a few steps to catch up.

‘Hold on! Do you really think this is the best use of police resources? Besides, I’ve already eaten.’

‘Really? What d’you have?’ said Harley, checking his watch.

‘Actually, June—Mrs. Pearson—did me a lovely plate of liver and bacon.’

‘That’s fascinating, Pearson. But for your information, we’re not going there to eat.’

‘Well, personally, I think this will work a whole lot better if you’d fill me in on your plan of investigation, don’t you?’

‘All in good time, sunshine, all in good time. For the moment you’re just gonna have to trust me.’

They took a side street and were soon entering a small Italian restaurant. The atmosphere inside felt close after the unseasonal chill of the evening air, and was redolent with the promise of good food. Only two of the candlelit tables were occupied.

After nodding a greeting to the waiter, Harley approached a solitary diner in a tweed suit.

‘Ah, Harley—there you are,’ said General Swales, looking up from mopping at his plate with a small bread roll. ‘Well, I must say, you were right about the ravioli—exquisite!’

‘Over here, Pearson … I’d like you to meet someone.’ Harley removed his coat and joined the General at the table.

As Pearson made his way over he took stock of the only other customer in the restaurant—a bald, chisel-jawed, dangerous-looking character eating a plate of spaghetti; he decided he didn’t like the look of this individual at all.

‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, DC Pearson,’ said Swales, wiping his moustache with his napkin and proffering his hand.

‘Likewise, I’m sure, sir.’

Harley gave the young DC a mischievous grin.

‘You know who this is, Pearson?’

‘Erm … I’m afraid not, no.’

Pearson was a little disconcerted to notice the desperate-looking character had now stopped eating his pasta and was watching the exchange with great interest.

‘Harley, stop teasing the lad!’ said Swales, pouring himself some wine.

Harley held his hand up to attract the waiter.

‘Carlo—do you have today’s paper?’

The waiter produced a
Daily Oracle
and Harley skimmed through the pages before pointing out a photograph to Pearson. The young policeman immediately blanched, stood to attention and saluted.

‘I’m sorry, sir … Commissioner … General, sir!’

‘At ease, detective. Come and sit down, have some supper if you’d like.’

‘He’s already eaten—liver and bacon, apparently.’

‘Very nice, I’m sure. But Harley, you really are too much—why didn’t you prepare the lad?’

‘Not sure he would have believed me, FW.’

‘Hmm … maybe not.’ Swales looked towards the bar. ‘George … I wonder if you might?’

Harley nodded and then got up to approach the waiter.

‘Carlo—mind giving us a moment?’ He slipped the young man a coin and Carlo dutifully disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Well now, Pearson,’ said Swales, on Harley’s return. ‘I shan’t keep you long—I know you both have important work to do. But Harley and I felt it necessary to give you a small private briefing. You’ll probably find this assignment somewhat irregular. I’m not sure exactly how it was explained to you by your Chief Inspector, but if I know George Harley you’ll no doubt see things—and on occasions be asked to
do
things—that seem to be … well, shall we say,
at odds with your police training
. But I ask you—as your superior officer, you understand—to assist Mr. Harley in his endeavours to your best ability. I’m afraid where necessary you must turn a blind eye to instances of petty crime … and report back only an agreed, sanitized, version of events to Detective Inspector Quigg.’

Swales noticed Pearson’s pained expression.

‘Oh come now, don’t look so worried—I’m sure it won’t be so bad.’

‘It’s not that, sir.’

‘Well what is it, lad?’

‘I was just wondering, sir …’

‘Come on now—out with it, man!’

‘Well, I was just wondering if you had … well, if you had any form of identification, sir. With you being out of uniform and all. Only I wasn’t at the station the other day when you visited, and … well, the thought’s just occurred that you might just
look
like the gentleman in the newspaper.’

General Swales raised his not inconsiderable eyebrows, and then guffawed into his napkin, before reaching into his inside pocket.

‘Quite right, quite right! Very thorough, most commendable … There’s my identification card—does that pass muster?’

‘I’m sorry, General Swales, sir. I had to be sure—what with your request seeming a little, well … 
unorthodox
.’

‘Understandable—you did the right thing.’

‘Is DI Quigg in trouble, sir?’

‘What makes you ask that, lad?’

‘I was just wondering why I might need to censor my reports to him.’

‘I take it he’s asked you to keep a close eye on me?’ said Harley, offering Pearson a cigarette.

‘Thank you … Well, yes, as a matter of fact he has.’

‘And I’m guessing he painted a pretty picture for you? Let’s see now … Bolshevik tendencies, associates with known criminals, links to drug smuggling in Limehouse—am I getting warm?’

Pearson nodded. ‘Something like that, yes … And others at the station have said similar things.’

The General now puffed his chest a little and engaged his official baritone. ‘Take heed now, Detective Constable! Dismiss from your mind this assumed impression of Mr. Harley. All you need to know is that
I
trust this man implicitly. You will be assisting him on a very important and serious assignment, commissioned directly by me—and therefore indirectly by His Majesty. Do I make myself clear?’

Pearson immediately stubbed out his cigarette and sat up straight in his chair.

‘Crystal clear, sir!’

‘Good lad. Now, any questions? No? Well then, I’ll ask you to step outside for a moment—I want a quiet word with Harley.’

‘Good evening, General.’

‘And a very good evening to you, Pearson.’

When Pearson had left, Harley swapped seats so that he was sitting opposite Swales. He made a nod at the other diner.

‘Who’s your date?’

‘Special Branch—close protection. They’re insisting on it I’m afraid.’

‘Someone you can trust?’

‘I believe so; he comes recommended by Fellowes.’

‘Must be kosher then … How is old Fellowes?’

‘As driven as ever. I’ve been seeing rather a lot of him recently.’

‘Well, say hello to him for me.’

‘You never know—you might be seeing him yourself before too long.’

‘I told yer—I’ve had my bellyful of all that malarkey.’

‘Alright, George … Now listen. Despite what I just said to young Pearson there, I want you to try your damnedest to keep this as clean as possible. The last thing I need at the moment is a lot of embarrassing complications to tidy up.’

‘Understood.’

‘And for God’s sake try to look after the lad—he’s got a young family at home, just up from the West Country. I do not want his
career left in ruins … neither do I want to see him coming back in a pine box.’

‘Of course … But one thing’s bugging me: if you insist on him shadowing me through this caper he’s gonna have to go to some dodgy dives, meet some real characters, if you know what I mean.’

‘Immerse himself in your nefarious demi-monde, George?’

‘Exactly. And I’m just wondering how that’s gonna play out when he returns to his day job, working the manor with DI Quigg. Could be an unhealthy situation for the both of us—if you get my drift.’

‘You intend to pass him off as a professional associate?’

‘Wherever possible, yes.’

‘Hmm … Alright, what we’ll do is this: for the duration of your investigation he’ll work for you exclusively. Once we have everything wrapped up I’ll have him transferred out of the Metropolitan jurisdiction; he’s only here on a secondment anyway—a rising star of his division back in the West Country apparently. How does that sound?’

Harley stood up and grabbed his hat from the table.

‘Sounds perfect, FW. Now, if you don’t mind, some of us have work to do. Enjoy your supper.’

‘Before you disappear,’ said Swales, pulling a small card from his top pocket, ‘here’s the number to call if you need to contact me urgently … and that’s a direct line to Fellowes at Special Branch—he’s been fully briefed.’

‘Special Branch? He’s no longer with the SIS?’

‘Just a temporary position, providing me with a little support. Well, good luck, George … and remember what I said about avoiding any messy complications.’

‘Right-you-are. I’ll be in touch.’

Harley left the table and walked towards the kitchen.

‘Alright, Carlo—you can come out now!’

The waiter appeared with a tray of cutlery.

‘And how’s life treating you, Carlo?’

‘It’s so-so George,’ replied Carlo, in his sing-song Italo-Cockney. ‘So what do you want, eh?’

Harley gave him a smile.

‘And what makes you think I want anything, Carlo?’

‘Well … I think: you’re not eating the ravioli … you’ve finished talking with your big friend … but you’re still here. So, you want something, yes?’

‘Spot on—you ought to be in my game.’

‘It’s not so hard. So I’m right—you want something.’

‘Yes, you’re right—I want your overcoat.’

‘Yes—I’m right, see, I … 
What?
My coat? No way! It’s Savile Row—a five guinea coat.’

‘Get out of here! What would you be doing with a five guinea coat?’

Carlo came in close and lowered his voice.

‘Well, of course, I didn’t pay five guineas, but Sonny Gables said that—’

‘Carlo, Carlo, Carlo! If you bought a smother off Sonny Gables … Well, for one thing, it ain’t from Savile Row, and for another—it certainly ain’t worth five guineas. Now listen—how about I hire it off you? Two bob for the night.’

‘No way! What if you don’t come back tonight? It’s cold, ain’t it. How do I get home? What you want another coat for, anyway? What’s a matter with the one you’re wearing?’

‘It’s for a friend.’

‘Not that big mamaluke Rosen?’

‘No, of course it ain’t. Think about it—just how would big ol’ Smokey Rosen fit into your smother, eh Carlo? No, it’s for the geezer I came in with just now.’

‘The bogey? … Alright, maybe for a dollar I hire the policeman my coat.’

‘Five bob? Uh-uh, nothing doing. Half-a-crown, and you get a nice Metropolitan Police issue gabardine as security—in case I don’t make it back tonight.’

‘Alright—it’s a deal. I get a my coat.’

After a brief argument with Pearson, during which he could be seen pointing to the General through the restaurant window, Harley returned with the detective’s gabardine, which he swapped with Carlo’s dog-tooth double-breasted overcoat.

‘Hey—wait a minute, George! Where’s my money?’

‘Just put it on the General’s bill … That’s alright FW, isn’t it? Half-a-crown on expenses? After all, you wouldn’t want young Pearson sticking out like a sore thumb now, would you?’

The General shook his head and poured himself another glass of Chianti.

‘Good evening, Harley.’

‘Evening, FW!’

Back out on the street Harley helped Pearson into Carlo’s overcoat.

‘There we are—that’s much better!’

‘But the sleeves are too long!’

‘Don’t worry about that; feel the quality of that cloth—that’s a lovely bit of schmutter, that is. Five guineas in Savile Row, you know … Now, after our little chat with the General, are we all squared as to the way forward?’

‘Well, to tell you the truth Harley, I’m still a little confused. After all—it’s not exactly business as usual, is it? But if you’re asking whether I’m willing to follow your lead, then I suppose the answer is—yes.’

‘Good boy. Now, first port of call is the Green Fox—just around the corner in Charlotte Street. We’re looking for an old actor called Gilby Siddons. He was quite well-known before the war.’

‘In the movies?’

‘No, no, the theatre—the West End. I seem to remember my Uncle Blake raving about his King Lear. I think he did a bit of radio as well. But then it all came crashing down around him when he was arrested.’

‘For what?’

‘Buggery and gross indecency, as I recall.’

‘
Good God!
’

‘Please don’t be shocked, Pearson. I can’t be doing with a copper who’s easily shocked.’

‘Well—it’s not natural, is it?’