The Chameleon's Shadow (31 page)

Chalky spat on the floor. ‘Bloody interfering women . . . Can’t let a man alone . . . Got to be at him all the time. How’s the kid?’

‘Still in hospital but doing all right.’

‘He’s the one they should be talking to. What the fuck do
I
know? You do a favour for a little toerag and the next thing you’re banged up in the sodding nick. It ain’t fair. I was planning on hoofing it down to Brighton tomorrow...Get me some R&R by the sea.’

‘Let’s hope you still can,’ said Jackson pleasantly. ‘As I understand it, you’re not under arrest.’

‘Amounts to the same bloody thing. Me and the cops don’t see eye to eye on much.’

‘Then the sooner you’re out of here the better. They’ve asked me to assess whether you’re sober enough to answer questions. What’s your opinion?’

He looked at her through narrowed lids, a calculating gleam in his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t know what it feels like . . . Haven’t been sober for twenty years. Can’t answer questions in the state I’m in.’

‘You might find the alternative worse,’ Jackson warned him. ‘You’ll suffer withdrawal symptoms if the police keep you on ice until the alcohol’s out of your bloodstream. You seem pretty alert to me and I’m willing to give them the go-ahead now, but I’m equally happy to test your blood for alcohol if you’d rather delay.’

Chalky held his palm parallel with the table. ‘Shaking like a fucking leaf. It’s alcohol I
need
. Tell ’em that. I’ll be a damn sight keener to give the bastards what they want with a drop of liquor inside me . . . stands to reason.’

* Whether by design or accident, Jones allowed Jackson to watch the monitor while Chalky was interviewed by DC Khan and a second detective whom she hadn’t seen before. The door to the viewing room stood open and she stepped quietly inside after a visit to the cells, where she’d found Charles asleep. Two other members of the inquiry team were gathered around the screen, but there was no sign of Beale. If anyone noticed Jackson’s arrival they didn’t comment on it. Most of Chalky’s statements contained long, complaining monologues against the police, bossy dykes, lying officers, ungrateful teenagers and the inhuman brutality of ‘denying a bloke a bevvy’. But in essence his story corroborated Jackson’s and Acland’s in relation to the events in the alleyway and the subsequent drive to St Thomas’s. ‘Do you remember how many bags Ben brought in with him, Chalky?’ ‘Just the two . . . a black rucksack and a Londis carrier.’ ‘And how many did the lieutenant have?’ ‘Reckon he had two as well . . . a kitbag and a duffel.’ ‘Are you sure about that?’ ‘You calling me a liar?’ Khan shook his head. ‘Just getting a few facts straight. Is it true you took the Londis bag? We’ve been told it had cigarettes and alcohol in it.’ ‘What if I did? The kid can’t use it in the hospital. I’ll pay him back next time I see him.’ ‘What about the duffel? Did you take that as well?’ ‘Course not. It wasn’t mine.’ ‘So what happened to it?’ ‘The lootenant took it.’

Khan studied him for a moment. ‘Meaning what? That he never removed it from the doctor’s boot?’

Chalky looked as if he was about to spit on the floor again, then appeared to think better of it. ‘Don’t ask me, mate,’ he said indifferently. ‘I wasn’t looking . . . But the lootenant’s the one that’s got it. It sure as hell ain’t nothing to do with me.’

Khan nodded. ‘That’s pretty much what we thought.’

‘So what am I doing here?’ Chalky asked belligerently. ‘The likes of me have rights, too, you know.’

‘We’re aware of that and we’re grateful for your assistance. You’ve confirmed an important piece of evidence for us. Up until now, we only had the lieutenant’s word that the duffel bag was ever in the boot. The doctor never saw it and, for all we knew, the lieutenant had reasons of his own to invent a bag that didn’t exist.’

Chalky’s black eyebrows drew together in a ferocious frown. ‘I ain’t confirming nothing.’

Khan consulted some notes on the table in front of him. ‘Why did you hole up in Bread Street, Chalky?’

‘None of your sodding business.’

‘Did you open the duffel and take fright when you saw what was in it?’

‘I want a lawyer. I ain’t answering no more questions without a brief in the room.’

‘Sure,’ said Khan easily. ‘Do you have a solicitor of your own or would you rather take one of the duty paralegals? If you choose a paralegal, it’ll be a couple of hours before they get here. You’re welcome to sit in this room with a cup of tea and a biscuit until they arrive.’

‘I’ll take a beer.’

‘This isn’t the Hilton, Chalky. We don’t do alcohol.’

He hunched forward over the table. ‘I should’ve tossed the bloody thing in the river,’ he grumbled. ‘Damn near did as a matter of fact. Only took it in the first place because I thought it had a bottle in it. It’s the kid you should be talking to. His head’s

fucked.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He’s a vicious little bastard . . . Got his girls to give me a kicking not so long ago.’ Chalky tugged at his matted beard. ‘He didn’t like me telling ’em they’d do better without a good-fornothing pimp living off ’em.’

‘The pimp being Ben?’

‘Right.’

‘So how come you let him sleep in the alleyway with you?’

‘Didn’t know what he was like the first time I met him. All I saw was a skinny kid taking a kicking himself. He told me the guy was a faggot after a rent boy . . . but I reckon it was someone he’d fleeced. Got stuck with him after that. He used the alleyway as a bolt hole whenever he thought people were after him . . . only reason he kept the location to himself.’

Khan folded his hands over his notes. ‘Weren’t you frightened of him after he attacked you?’

Chalky gave a growl of disgust. ‘Him and his bitches caught me asleep. Told him I’d break his fucking neck if he tried it again. Didn’t see hide nor hair of him till he turned up that night. The lootenant reckoned he was sick . . . Me, I thought he’d been on the receiving end of another thumping . . . Even more so when I looked in his fucking bag after I’d split with the doctor.’

Khan made what he could of this. ‘The duffel bag? Had you seen Ben with it before?’

‘Wouldn’t make any difference if I had or not. He had it that night . . . and in my book that makes it his.’

‘Why did you hang on to it?’

Chalky flicked him an assessing glance, as if to measure how gullible he was. ‘Because I read the newspapers, that’s why. Do you think a meths drinker doesn’t know what’s going on in your piss-ant world? The army’s not good for much – it drops you like a hot potato when you’ve done your bit for Queen and country – but it doesn’t take you on if you’re stupid. Recognized the name,

didn’t I?’

‘Harry Peel?’

‘That’s the one. Put it together with the doctor telling me the kid had a murdered bloke’s mobile in his rucksack . . . and knew I’d shot myself in the bloody foot. I should have stuck with the booze and fags and left the duffel bag alone.’

‘All the more reason to dump it somewhere.’

‘Not if you have a conscience, it isn’t,’ said Chalky in an injured tone. ‘What makes you think I like killers any more than you do?’

‘The fact that you never brought the evidence to us,’ said Khan with a faint smile. ‘I’m betting you thought Ben would pay to get it back.’

B
EALE REACHED FOR HIS
radio as a taxi drew up alongside the transit van. ‘Go,’ he said quietly. He made a note of the time –

03.17 – then eased his Toyota door open as Jen Morley emerged from the back of the cab and walked towards the door of her apartment block.

She stopped as two plain-clothes policemen converged from the shadows at the side of the building into the light shed by a low-wattage lamp inside the hall. They moved in front of her to stop her entering, holding up their warrant cards. ‘I have a rape alarm,’ she warned.

‘Metropolitan Police, Ms Morley,’ said one. ‘We’re investigating an attack that occurred last Friday in the neighbourhood of Gainsborough Road and we believe you may be able to assist us by answering some questions. We’re happy to do the interview in your flat or, if you prefer, you may accompany us to Southwark East police station.’

She stared him down with surprising coolness. ‘Do I look as if I’ve got “mug” stamped across my forehead?’ she murmured. ‘I can’t even read your cards from here.’

On instructions not to crowd her, both officers stayed where they were. ‘If you have a mobile,’ said the same man, ‘I’ll give you a number to call so that you can verify our status.’

‘The only number I’ll be dialling is 999,’ she said, removing a slimline device from her pocket. ‘Are you sure you want me to do that?’

‘Indeed, Ms Morley,’ said Beale from a couple of yards behind her. ‘Ask to be patched through to Detective Inspector Beale and you’ll find yourself talking to me.’ He held up his own mobile. ‘We spoke a few days ago if you remember.’

She swung round to face him, then backed away a few steps. ‘You’re too close and you’re frightening me,’ she snapped. ‘I want to go into my flat and make the call from there.’

She looked in better shape than Beale had been expecting – make-up still in place and hair rolled neatly in the pleat behind her head – and he wondered if her client had had his money’s worth. ‘That’s not a problem . . . as long we accompany you.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why would I take three strange men into my flat when I’ve already said I’m afraid of you? Either I go in alone or I’ll sue the Metropolitan Police for intimidation.’

Beale smiled good-humouredly. ‘So you do recognize me?’

She shrugged. ‘Whatever. Any court will agree that it’s unreasonable to surround a woman in the middle of the night when all you want to do is ask her questions. I’ll make an appointment to talk to you tomorrow.’

‘Can’t do that, I’m afraid. Would the presence of a woman constable set your mind at rest?’

He watched her made a quick calculation in her head as she tested her options. ‘Not if it means I have to stand out here waiting for her. I’m cold and I’m tired and I need to sit down.’

Beale held up his mobile again. ‘We can sort this very quickly if you dial 999 now, Ms Morley. I understand your concerns, but we believe you have information that will assist our inquiry.’

‘I don’t even know what inquiry you’re talking about.’

‘An elderly gentleman was assaulted outside his home in Bermondsey last Friday.’

She looked at him in surprised disbelief, her huge eyes widening like a little girl’s. ‘You mean the old chap who was taken to hospital? How would I know anything about that? What time did it happen?’

Her surprise seemed genuine, thought Beale. ‘Midday.’

‘Then I wasn’t even in Bermondsey. I left here at about eleven-thirty to meet a friend for lunch in central London.’

Beale smiled pleasantly. ‘No one’s suggesting you were involved in the attack, Ms Morley. The questions relate to certain items that may be connected to the inquiry. We believe they were in your possession at one time.’

‘What items?’

‘I have photographs to show you.’ He gestured towards the front door of her block. ‘May we come inside?’

There was something very wrong inside her flat, he thought, judging by the way she kept computing different courses of action. She tried a tired smile. ‘I can’t do it tonight,’ she said, placing a slender hand against her belly. ‘I’ve been having really bad period pains for two hours. I’m sure my solicitor would say it’s unfair to question me under those circumstances.’ She offered him the wide, innocent gaze again. ‘I truly am perfectly willing to come to the police station later.’

‘Is that a refusal to cooperate, Ms Morley?’

‘Only on the grounds that what you’re asking is unreasonable.’

‘Then you leave me no choice but to invoke stop and search powers, Ms Morley. DCs Wagstaff and Hicks of Southwark East police station—’

The change in her demeanour was immediate. Her face blazed with sudden fury. ‘That’s a cheap threat,’ she broke in angrily. ‘I’ve given you no reason at all to suspect me of carrying illegal drugs.’

‘A suspect can be stopped and searched on the basis of a tip-off, Ms Morley. Shortly before midnight a man called Lemarr Wilson, also known as Duane Stewart, was taken into custody. He made a statement which leads us to believe you are in possession of a class-A drug. DC Wagstaff will explain your rights before the search commences.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘He gave a very good description of a woman who bought five hundred milligrams of cocaine off him at around eight-thirty last night. He knows you as Cass.’ Beale smiled slightly. ‘You’re very distinctive-looking, Ms Morley. Too distinctive. I saw you myself after you’d made the purchase. That’s what led us to Lemarr Wilson.’

Something like fear flickered in her eyes, but she made an effort to compose herself. ‘I’ll answer your questions at the station. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?’

Beale ignored her. ‘Should a class-A drug be found on your person, Ms Morley, you will be arrested. In addition, your premises will be searched under the extended powers that such an arrest allows.’

‘I can refuse to be searched by men,’ she hissed. ‘You should have brought a woman with you.’

‘You only half know your law, Ms Morley. Nevertheless –’ he raised his hand and beckoned to a passenger in his car – ‘WPC Barnard will conduct the inspection as soon as you’ve placed your bag and the contents of your pockets on the ground in front of you and stepped away from them.’

Jen watched the woman police officer approach and a smile suddenly transformed her face. ‘Hi,’ she said with easy friendliness. ‘I’m sorry about this. I didn’t much fancy being patted down by your male colleagues.’

The WPC, who was carrying a small holdall, came to a halt beside Beale. She was a sturdy forty-year-old with fifteen years’ service and she eyed Jen with amusement. ‘Each to his own,’ she said lightly. ‘In your shoes I’d have chosen the men. Same-sex searches are a lot more thorough.’

Beale nodded to DC Wagstaff to read Jen her rights. When the officer had finished, the DI said, ‘Everything on the ground, please, Ms Morley, including the object in your hand.’

Jen uncurled her palm to look at it. ‘It’s only a rape alarm.’ She opened her leather shoulder bag, put the device inside it, along with a tissue from a pocket, then pressed the flap closed and lowered the bag to the pavement. ‘That’s all there is,’ she said, stepping backwards.

The WPC eyed her for a moment, then knelt down and took a square of plastic sheeting from the holdall, which she unfolded on to the pavement. She snapped on some gloves and, using a foot-long grab-stick to hook the strap, she dragged the bag on to the sheeting.

‘Most of these guns are effective through heavy clothing,’ she told Beale, ‘so leather won’t prevent an accidental discharge.’ Avoiding the metal catch, she caught the edge of the flap between the grab-stick claws and flipped it open to expose the contents. ‘It’s definitely a stun gun,’ she confirmed. ‘This one’s called a Small Fry and packs a million volts. The red light means it’s primed and ready to go.’ She leaned away to allow Beale to look over her shoulder.

‘How do you turn it off?’

‘There should be a switch at the side – but it’ll be safer if I empty everything on to the sheeting. I don’t fancy sticking my hand in and hoping for the best . . . even to amuse Ms Morley.’

She grasped the edge of the sheeting and gave it a flick, tumbling the bag towards Jen. As the stun gun fell out, a deafening, high-pitched electrical siren screamed into the night air. The woman grinned as Jen jumped backwards. ‘Most guys with any sense do a runner the minute they hear the siren,’ she said, stretching forward to flick the switch. ‘The ones who don’t end up on the floor for ten minutes.’

Using her grab-stick, she caught the bottom of the leather bag and upended the rest of the contents over the sheeting. From among the detritus, she isolated an empty biro tube and a small gilt compact. ‘No imagination,’ she said, popping the catch and showing Beale the white powder inside. ‘Nine times out of ten, women disguise their stash as cosmetics.’

She stood up and beckoned Jen forwards. ‘Legs apart and arms out to the side, please. When I’m satisfied that you have nothing else in your clothing, you will be taken to a police station, where you may be asked to undergo a more intimate search.’

For a moment, Jen looked as if she was about to comply with the woman’s brisk, no-nonsense manner, then she abruptly raised an open hand to slap her. This time the WPC’s smile was dismissive as she easily caught the swinging hand and twisted it behind the girl’s back. ‘I told you you should have chosen one of the men,’ she murmured, grabbing Jen’s other hand and snapping on a pair of handcuffs. ‘They might just have been fool enough to take that.’

* Acland was awake the second time Jackson went to check on him. He was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the bed, his back resting against the wall, and he nodded as she appeared in the open doorway of the cell. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply. ‘What for?’ ‘Everything . . . the damage to your car . . . the duffel bag . . . involving you again. It wasn’t fair on you or your patients.’ Jackson leaned her shoulder against the jamb and folded her arms. ‘Then why did you do it? I don’t even have a car at the moment. It’s been towed to a lab for forensic examination.’ ‘Sorry.’ He made a move to stand up. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ ‘No, thanks . . . and don’t keep saying sorry. It’s the most infuriating word in the English language. Just a cheap way to behave badly, then shelve responsibility by putting the onus on the other person to be forgiving.’ He knew her well enough by now to know that her bark was worse than her bite. ‘It wasn’t deliberate,’ he said. ‘I got stuck with the damn bag and I didn’t know what to do with it.’ ‘Why didn’t you hand it in to the nearest police station? That’s what a normal person would have done.’

‘A normal person wouldn’t have gone looking for it in the first place.’ A glint of self-deprecating humour appeared in his good eye. ‘And neither would I if I’d known what was in it.’

‘What did you
think
was in it?’

He shrugged. ‘More of Ben’s possessions. It annoyed me that he denied knowing anything about it.’ He put his head back to stare at the ceiling. ‘Chalky couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. I should have suspected something at that point.’

‘You’d still have taken it,’ said Jackson. ‘You’d have been too curious not to.’

Acland acknowledged the point with a nod. ‘I wouldn’t have paid for it, though.’

‘How much?’

‘Fifty quid.’

She gave an abrupt laugh. ‘You shouldn’t be allowed out alone. Chalky says you got it in exchange for a cheap bottle of vodka. How come the dykes let you back in?’

‘I didn’t try. I waited at the end of the terrace until Chalky came out. It didn’t take long. He said he hadn’t had a drink in twelve hours.’

‘How did you know he was in there?’

‘While we were there I heard a man hawking phlegm up in the room across the corridor. I didn’t know for a fact it was Chalky but it seemed worth a try.’ He held her gaze for a moment. ‘Thanks for telling the police he was there.’

‘You could have done it yourself. You had the perfect opportunity when the superintendent spoke to you outside the Crown.’

‘I gave Chalky my word I wouldn’t.’

Jackson’s smile was cynical. ‘That’s Pontius Pilate stuff, Charles. How long were you planning to sit on the bag before you chose a side?’

‘That’s not what I was doing. I was trying to work out—’ He broke off on a sigh. ‘Chalky said the bag belonged to Ben. Is that what he’s told the police?’

‘In a manner of speaking. His view seems to be that as Ben brought the bag into the alleyway, it must be his . . . on the basis of possession being nine-tenths of the law.’ She saw the doubt in Acland’s face. ‘The police aren’t convinced.’

‘I wouldn’t expect them to be.’

‘Then I suggest you come up with some credible answers about how you knew the bag existed. From what I remember, you told the superintendent you only
thought
it did.’

* Apart from a glass crack pipe on a coffee table in the open-plan sitting room with a kitchen at one end, it wasn’t immediately obvious why Jen had been so reluctant to allow the police into her flat. If she’d entered first and palmed the pipe, Beale doubted that he or his detectives would have noticed. The room was in some disorder, with various outfits slung across the back of a sofa and different pairs of shoes littering the floor. ‘Looks as if she couldn’t make up her mind what to wear,’ said Wagstaff. ‘I wonder what the bedroom’s like if she had to bring the choices in here.’ ‘More to the point, what’s in here that had her so twitched? This is the only room we could reasonably have entered if she’d been willing to come with us.’ DC Hicks nodded towards a flat screen on a desk against one of the walls. ‘Her computer’s still on. I can hear the fan working. She may not have had time to close out before she left.’ He walked over and nudged the mouse with the tip of a gloved finger. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said with amusement. ‘She’s seriously up her own arse if she has to admire her own pictures.’ Beale and Wagstaff joined him to gaze at the naked and half-naked images of Jen on the screen. They were standard soft-porn poses – fully naked on hands and knees with her arse raised provocatively, bare-breasted on a chair, cutely provocative in high heels and a bikini bottom.

The text beside the pictures read: