Petrella at 'Q' (18 page)

His brother said, “Has there been some development?”

“Yes and no. I asked Adams to find out if there was any particular reason why he should have been followed the other night. He thinks he has found the reason. I am going to discuss it with him. If he is right, we may have to think very carefully about it.”

“I leave the thinking to you,” said Samuel, “with every confidence.” He put an arm round his brother’s broad shoulders and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

Petrella sat up in bed and said, “Of course.”

“Of course what?” said his wife sleepily.

“It must be the answer.”

“Go to sleep,” said his wife.

Ideas which arrive at two o’clock in the morning sometimes turn out to be chimeras, but at breakfast time the idea still looked solid. As soon as he got to Patton Street, he sent for Sergeant Ambrose. He said, “Go round to these three addresses, see the managing director first and then get hold of the chap who’s in charge of hirings and firings.”

“The personnel manager.”

“Right.”

“And what do I ask him?”

“I’ve written down two dates opposite each name. I want to know if a girl was taken on around the first date and quit around the second.”

“They’re all fairly large outfits.”

“Certainly. But I’m not talking about a girl in the factory. I mean someone who had a job in the executive office. Secretary or P. A. to one of the top bods. Something like that.”

“And if they say yes?”

“Show them the photographs.”

The long-range weather forecast had got away to an accurate start. A cold, heavy rain was coming straight down out of a black sky. Mr. Adams turned up the collar of his coat and cursed Manfred Tillotson for choosing such a desolate spot for his rendezvous.

A Vauxhall Magnum drew up to the kerb. Manfred said, “Get in. Take your coat off and throw it on to the back seat.”

The car heater was on and the interior was warm and comfortable. Manfred said, “There’s a flask in the pocket beside you. Help yourself.” They drove on for a few minutes in silence. They seemed to be making their way down off the heath, towards the river.

At the bottom of Maze Hill, Manfred swung the car into a side turning, drew up, and said, “Well, what’s the answer?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Lloyd’s getting careless.”

“In what way?”

“When he paid one of our customers in cash he gave him thirty of the new tenners from the Corinth job.”

“Thirty?” said Manfred thoughtfully. “He might have thinned them out a bit more than that. Still, it’s all part of the system isn’t it?”

“It wasn’t the number of notes, it was the person he gave them to. Chief Inspector Petrella.”

“He did
what?”

“That’s right. Petrella’s our local gaffer at Patton Street.”

There was a long silence whilst Manfred thought this over. Then he said, “We all know the Yard keeps an eye on senior officers’ accounts. That must be how they spotted it.” He was silent again, thinking out the ramifications of this new development. It had been worrying when he had not known why Adams had been followed. Now that he had the explanation it was less alarming. But there was a possibility that had to be checked.

“Is there any chance,” he said, “that Lloyd did it on purpose?”

Mr. Adams turned his head. The car had been carefully parked half-way between lamp posts. There was not enough light for him to see Manfred’s face clearly. He said, “I
think
it was just a slip up.”

“But you’re not sure. Why?”

“He’s been seeing a lot of one of the sergeants from Patton Street. A Welshman called Blencowe. They talk rugby football.”

“All the time?” said Manfred. “Or just when anyone else is listening.”

“It’s in the Wheelwrights. They have a couple of beers there most evenings. I didn’t think—”

“That’s right,” said Manfred. “You didn’t think.”

But he was thinking, turning over possibilities, making plans against a contingency which ought to have been foreseen and now had to be dealt with. He was silent for so long that, in the end, it was Mr. Adams who spoke. He said, “The fact is, he’s getting old. And tired. I don’t think he means to tell them anything, but if they keep hammering at him, he might fall apart.”

“Don’t upset yourself about it,” said Manfred. “It’s not your problem. I’ll drop you at your flat.”

When Julie left Chesterfield Court at about seven o’clock, two evenings later, she had in her handbag a letter from her mother. It had reached her by a roundabout route, through the good offices of a friend of a friend. Mrs. Marsh was not a great letter writer. The four pages were punctuated with exclamation marks and scored with underlining, but their message could have been put in two words, “Come home”.

Julie considered the proposition coolly. There had been moments, in the last week, when she had sensed undercurrents of distrust in the curious little circle into which she had fallen. Nobody had said anything. Possibly what had worried her were things which would have been said before and weren’t being said now. On the other hand, the conditions were easy and the pay was fabulous. She had a sudden picture of home. The streets of Litherland. Men and girls trooping off at eight o’clock on a grey morning to a day’s work and trooping back again in the evening tired, but planning a night out at the local with a crowd of boys; boys with unsuccessful moustaches; boys who smelled of beer and cigarettes and talked about nothing but soccer. It was familiar and it was safe; but my God, it was dull.

She was still thinking about this when she got off the train at Borough Station and started to walk home to her top-floor flat in Manciple Street. She was half-way there when the car drew up just ahead of her and a man got out. She had seen him twice before with Manfred, but didn’t know his name. He said, “Hop in chick, we’ll take you home.”

“Not worth it,” said Julie. “It’s only two streets on.”

“Come on.”

“What do you think my legs are for?”

“I could give you one or two answers to that,” said Mason coming closer. “But don’t let’s stop here all night discussing it. Just get in.”

“I told you, no.”

Mason came so close to her that she had to step back. She found herself up against railings. Mason said, lowering his face towards her, “In my book, little girls do what they’re told. If they don’t, they’re apt to lose things. Like, say, bits of their face.”

She saw the bright gleam of steel in his right hand, held down by his side. She also saw that a man was coming along the pavement towards her.

She screamed out, “Leave me alone.”

The newcomer rolled to a halt. He was as big as Mason and was smiling in a good-natured way. He said, “Phwat goes on here?” The lilt in his voice proclaimed an Irishman.

“I should advise you to keep walking, chum,” said Mason.

“Would you now,” said the newcomer. “And suppose I were to ask the little lady if she was in trouble.”

“He’s trying to get me into that car,” said Julie.

“If you don’t care to go with him,” said the newcomer judicially, “then there’s no reason you should. No reason at all.”

By this time the driver had got out of the car. Mason said, “For the last time, if you don’t keep your fucking nose out of our business, you’ll get fucking well hurt.”

The newcomer gave a long whistle, apparently of surprise. He said, “Hey, Patrick. Would you believe it! I’m being intimidated.”

A second man had appeared on the scene. He said, “Whadder you know?” He had approached very quietly. Mason could see a third figure in the shadows behind him. He sensed that there might be others. He was outside his own territory. It was no moment for taking chances. He swung round, signalled to the driver and climbed back into the car.

The three men on the pavement watched in silence as the car drove off. The first one said, “We could use that taxi of yours, Len.”

“It’s just round the corner. I’ll fetch it.”

“You do that. The little lady’s had a bad fright. I can see that.”

“It’s very good of you,” said Julie faintly. Her legs seemed to be in danger of giving way under her.

“Think nothing of it,” said the first man. “It’s a sad world if we can’t spread a little light and happiness. You go with Len. He’ll take you home right enough.”

Julie said, “It’s only three streets away. It’s hardly worth bothering.” But she got in.

“You come from Liverpool, I guess,” said Len. “There’s a coincidence, for it’s my own home town.”

As they drove off, Julie was coming to a decision. All her money and her important possessions were in her handbag. There was nothing in her flat that she couldn’t replace. She opened the glass partition and said, “I’ve changed my mind. Do you think you could drive me to Euston?”

Len seemed unsurprised. He executed a tight U-turn and set off in the opposite direction. When they got to Euston, his kindness was not exhausted. He parked the taxi against the kerb, put a glove over the meter and said, “I’ll come along with you whilst you find your train. That is, if you’ve no objection.”

He was a square, solid comforting sort of person. Julie smiled at him and said, “I’d like that, Len. Are you sure you won’t get into trouble leaving your cab there?”

“No trouble I can’t get out of,” said Len.

They found that an Inter-City train was leaving for Liverpool in ten minutes, which gave them time to buy her a ticket and some newspapers to read.

Len waved to her in a fatherly way as the train drew out. Then he moved off to the nearest telephone box—

“Get round to her place, then, and wait for her,” said Manfred.

“We did that,” said Mason. “We waited more than an hour. She never turned up. I think she’s scarpered.”

“Scarpered where?”

“Back home to Liverpool would be my guess.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“We didn’t touch her. Never had a chance. This other lot turned up. Paddies. Four or five of ‘em.”

Samuel, who had been listening on an extension line said, “What makes you think she’s gone back to Liverpool?”

“She’d been talking about it to the other girls. I think she had a letter from her mum.”

“One of you had better watch her flat. Take it in turns. If she shows up, report back. But no further action until we tell you.”

When he had put down the receiver he said, “I don’t like it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” said Manfred. “We told the boys to throw a scare into her and they’ve done it. Not quite the way we intended, I agree. But if she really has gone home to mum, that’s what we wanted, isn’t it?”

“
If
she keeps her mouth shut.””She knows what’ll happen to her if she doesn’t.”

“Maybe,” said Samuel. “I still don’t like it. It happened too conveniently. Those men being on the spot.”

“There are a lot of Irishmen in that area. They work in the leather market and the goods depot at Bricklayers Arms.”

“I know,” said Samuel. “I know.”

Manfred looked at him curiously. He had a respect for his brother’s instinct, but on this occasion he seemed to be stretching it. He said, “We know Julie’s address and we’ve got friends in Liverpool. Why don’t we ask one of them to go out to her house tomorrow? He’ll find out soon enough if she’s there.”

By the time the eight-twenty Inter-City train from Euston reached Lime Street Station, Liverpool, Julie was three parts asleep. She stumbled out on to the platform and wandered down it, trailing behind the other passengers. She was trying to work out exactly what she was going to say to her mother and how she was going to explain her arrival in the middle of the night equipped only with the contents of one large handbag.

It was some seconds before she realised that the man with grey hair was speaking to her. He said, “You are Miss Marsh, aren’t you? I’m Detective Inspector Lander. This is my warrant card. Oh, and the policeman in the booking hall will identify me, if that’ll make you happier. A lot of people don’t know what a warrant card looks like anyway.”

“I’ll believe you,” said Julie. “What do you want?”

“We thought it might be useful if you’d agree to come along to the Station and make a short statement. After that we could run you home. You won’t find it too easy to get a taxi to take you out to Litherland at this time of night.”

It took Julie only five seconds to make up her mind.

It was at about six o’clock on the following evening that Sergeant Milo Roughead said to Petrella, “I think I’ve got it, sir.”

“Measles, the D.S.O., or a ticket to the Police Federation Ball?”

“None of those,” said Milo. He was relieved to note that Petrella’s customary good humour seemed to have returned. “It’s an idea.”

“I’ll buy it. But it had better be good.”

“This idea is absolutely top line. Do you think that Lloyd and Lloyd might have been set up as cleaners?”

“Come again.”

“It’s an idea the Mafia developed in America. They get hold of a lot of hot money through narcotics and prostitution and gambling and things like that. But they also control a few absolutely straight businesses as well. Places that keep books and have bank accounts. They feed the dirty cash into them and it come out the other end on a nice clean respectable bank statement.”

Petrella thought about it. He said, “How exactly would it work in this case?”

“If the people at the top are in the wage-snatch game they must be lumbered with a lot of banknotes. Not always new, like those tenners they passed off on you. Usually old small-denomination stuff. All the same, they can’t just turn up at a bank with a sackful of them and say, ‘Credit this to my private account’. Not without a few questions being asked. So they pass it on to Lloyd and Lloyd. They do most of their buying for cash. That means the stuff gets well spread out. When they sell, they take a cheque in the ordinary way and pay it into their bank. How to wash your money whiter than white in two simple processes.”

“Then you think Lloyd’s in it himself?”

“I think he must be, sir. And another person who’d have to be in the know was the chap who did the legal work of buying and selling. If he wasn’t in the game he’d be bound to ask why all the purchases were for cash and the sales were paid for by cheque.”