Текст книги "The Imposter"

Автор книги: Mark Dawson

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

27

CHARLIE MURPHY MADE his way down Northumberland Avenue to the three buildings that comprised Scotland Yard. It was sunny and cool although not cool enough to be called crisp. The Commissioner’s Office and the Receiver’s Office were made from old red and white brick, the third from Portland Stone that was mined by convicts down on Dartmoor. He was a little anxious. Deputy Assistant Commissioner Stan Clarke had asked to see him. Urgent, he’d said. Christ. Clarke hadn’t said what the meeting was for but the chances were that it was going to be something that Charlie didn’t like. Of course, he had seen the papers over the last couple of days. He had stewed over them in the pub with Carlyle and White. They had made glum reading. The front pages all led with reports of the shooting of Lennie Masters and the ruckus in the club. They were comparing it with Chicago and Al Capone. Charlie knew that was asinine nonsense, arrant foolishness of the worst order, but he also knew that excited reporting like that would go down very badly with his senior officers.

That fact of it was that they were losing control of the West End. Jack Spot was there every night, seemingly with more men each time. Charlie received the reports very morning and the coloured pins on his large map demonstrated how his malefic influence was spreading throughout the area, all seemingly unchecked. Businesses that had kicked up to the Costellos for years were being persuaded to change their allegiances. Spielers and shebeens were being attacked, the custom driven away. Two street bookies had been slashed across the faces and driven out. The Maltese, who controlled vice west of Regent Street, were being attacked. And, throughout all of this, there was nothing in the way of retaliation from the Costellos. Charlie could only think of two possible explanations for that: either they were a spent force or they were getting into something else.

The D.A.C.’s office was on the second floor. Charlie knocked and went inside. The office was large, with wide windows that looked out over the Embankment and the iron-grey sweep of the Thames beyond. A couple of olive-green navy pontoons were still lashed to their moorings, bobbing sullenly on the rise and fall of the tide. The D.A.C. was behind his desk, papers spread out before him and a pencil in his mouth.

“Morning, Charles,” he said. “Take a seat.” He pointed absent-mindedly at the armchair opposite the desk.

Charlie did as he was told. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Clarke put the pencil down and tidied the desk. “Cost cutting,” he explained, indicating the sheaf of papers with a gesture of brusque irritation. “Bane of my bloody life.” He settled back in his chair and folded his arms. “Now then, Charles, afraid we have a bit of a problem.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Your work on the gangs. The black market and so forth.”

“Yes?”

“Not going quite the way we want it to.”

Charlie felt defensive. “We’re making progress,” he protested. “This isn’t an easy job, sir. We always knew it would be difficult.”

“Appreciate that but you’ve got to put yourself in the Commissioner’s shoes. All this blather in the press, calls for us to be seen to be doing something–it’s all about image, Charles. Giving the right impression. And, at the moment, you’ve not given us anything to show them that we’re making a decent fist of it.”

“The Commissioner has spoken to you?”

“Course he has, man, course he has. And he’s unhappy. The Masters murder is a problem. The Times and the Express have both been bending his ear about it. And when he can’t give them anything useful to print they make up that nonsense they’ve been coming out with over the last couple of days. He hates that, Charlie, absolutely hates it. He bollocks me and then I have to bollock you. You know how it is.”

Charlie spoke with careful patience: “The reason we haven’t made any arrests yet is because it’s a long and sensitive investigation. I could go in and arrest a dozen men this morning if that’s what he wanted me to do.”

“So why don’t you do that?”

He knew to tread carefully but it was difficult to hide his irritation. “Because it would be a stupid move, sir. As I understood it, the purpose of this investigation is to go after the big fish. We could probably set them back a few weeks by taking the low-ranking men off the street but they’d just replace them. We’d be no nearer solving the problem. All we would have achieved would be to warn them that we’re onto them.”

“How much longer before you think you can deliver someone impressive?”

“Like who?”

“Jack Spot? One of the Costellos?”

“Hard to say. We’re trying to develop a couple of informers. It depends how we get on with that. These are careful people, sir. It’s not straightforward.”

“Alright, Charlie,” Clarke said. “I’ll tell him to be patient. But you need to remember that this is a results business. The line that we’re working hard and making progress isn’t going to wash forever. I’m going to need something tangible.”

Charlie got up and smoothed down his trousers. “I understand, sir.”

“One of the big fish, Charlie. That’s what we need.”

28

THE DAWN OF EDWARD’S BIRTHDAY in October found him in circumstances he would not have credited just nine months earlier. The miserable penury that had greeted his return from Asia was now a distant memory. He was well off, with two and a half thousand pounds spread among three bank accounts and two safety deposit boxes, fifty pounds in cash that he kept on his person and another hundred pounds swelling the coffers every week. His wardrobe contained half a dozen bespoke suits, he bought fresh shirts whenever he fancied them and his shoes were handmade by the cobbler who supplied the King.

He still had concerns. The sight of policemen patrolling Soho’s streets was still frightening, and there were nights where he would awake in a cold sweat to realise that it was the sound of a passing siren that had disturbed him. And the threat from Jack Spot had still not been addressed. Violet and George had still not taken his advice, nor had they struck back. An uneasy limbo had developed, with the family pressing on as if ignoring the gauntlet that had been thrown down would make it go away. Edward worried about that, too, about their naivety, and worried that Spot would decide there was nothing for it but to make a grander statement of intent. But the worries passed and as the days went by their effect lessened. Life was good.

He regularly had to catch himself. He had been very lucky and, if he played the game skilfully, there was the chance to recover at least some of the extravagant lifestyle that he had enjoyed before. The long years he had spent hiding in the jungle would soon be nothing more than memories. It was difficult to ignore the feeling he had put one over on the rest of the world.

Living with Joseph made a good situation better yet. Joseph was enjoying his company although Edward was careful to keep out of his way when he sensed he wanted time to himself. Joseph was similarly accommodating. They ate out most nights but, on the occasions that they did not, they cooked for each other and then sat around smoking, listening to records on their new gramophone and reading. They both became familiar in the upmarket bars and restaurants in the streets around their apartment, two likely fellows who did not fit the accepted mould–that of the independently rich dilettante, usually funded by a generous trust fund–yet they were clearly well off, too, and Joseph, at least, was not shy about spending. He was frivolously generous, standing drinks and buying dinners with seemingly no concern as to the cost. Edward knew that he was more difficult to assess than his friend, an impression of opacity that he was keen to foster. He was quieter, and less flashy when it came to laying out his money, but his air of reserve helped to increase the mystery that had already settled over the pair. Affluence, mystery; these, together with their good looks, made both popular with the local women and they brought a series of eager debutantes back to their luxurious apartment when the restaurants and night-clubs closed.

As they entered the week leading up to his birthday, Joseph said that he wanted to mark the occasion with a meal. Edward naturally recoiled from drawing too much attention to himself but Joseph would not be persuaded and, eventually, he conceded. Apart from Joseph, Edward had come to know and like Jack McVitie and Tommy Falco. They all made regular jibes about Edward’s education but he knew quite well that they appreciated the different approach that he brought to the planning of their jobs. If relations were good between them, his acceptance was far from universal. Billy Stavropoulos remained surly and uncommunicative and, although the outright hostility that had marked the first few weeks of their acquaintance had been reduced to a constant, low buzz of disapproval, he was under no illusions about the way he still regarded him. One had the impression that Billy was good at bearing a grudge, nurturing it just beneath the surface, feeding it, just waiting for the opportunity for it to catch flame again. Outside of what they jokingly called “work”, Edward avoided Billy and Billy avoided Edward and, on that basis, they were able to function. But since Edward had invited Joseph and Jack he could not very well ignore him. He had hoped (and expected) that Billy would decline and so it was with surprise and a little dismay that he received the news that he was coming, too.

They chose a restaurant with a small private dining room. The table had been laid with expensive crockery and decorated with party hats and balloons. Joseph, Tommy and Billy arrived together and they were not alone. To Edward’s surprise, Joseph’s sisters accompanied them. Sophia and Evie were dressed ostentatiously, as before. Sophia wore a three-quarter length evening coat in Shantung silk over a chemise dress with a high belt. Evie wore a Bolero jacket over a chiffon cocktail dress. Chiara was more reserved in a simple dress with a sweetheart neckline, her sleeves puffed up a little with gathers at the top that extended to just below her elbows. They each gave him a kiss on the cheek, Sophia’s lips straying dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” she said, mischief glinting in her eyes.

Edward thanked her. “Good of you to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

They settled around the table, Joseph taking the place next to Edward. They had robbed a shop two days before and the evening was the first time since that they had all been together. That, at Edward’s suggestion, had quickly become their routine. An enforced absence of a few days after the completion of each job would insulate the others should one of them be apprehended by the police. They were all in high spirits. It was a festive occasion, certainly, but their moods had been lifted by the knowledge that Joseph shared as he sat down. The last robbery had been particularly profitable, with a necklace that they had stolen to order worth even more than they had anticipated. They would each make four hundred pounds, comfortably their best haul to date.

Joseph leaned across and whispered into Edward’s ear, “Hope you don’t mind the girls coming.”

“Course not.”

“Afraid you’ve made a bit of an impression.”

“Sophia?”

He chuckled. “No, don’t worry, not her–she’s like that with everyone. Chiara.”

Edward looked across the table at the youngest of the Costello girls. She noticed his attention and smiled, a little shyly.

“I don’t know what you’ve said to her. She’s always been a bit of a closed book when it comes to chaps.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“Well, whatever it was, she’s taken a shine to you. She’s never been like that with any of my mates. It was her who insisted they all come.”

Edward told him he was flattered, and he was. Chiara was easily the most attractive of the three sisters. Her quiet reticence–a marked contrast to her boisterous siblings–leant her an enigmatic quality that made her even more beguiling.

“I don’t know if it’s mutual,” Joseph went on, “but, if it is, you know you’d have my blessing. Not that she’d care about that–she never listens to a word I say.” He reached into his pocket and took out a wrapped box. “Happy birthday, Doc,” he said, laying it on the table.

Edward sliced the paper open with a knife and withdrew the box from within. Inside it was the most beautiful wristwatch he had ever seen. It was a Cartier, made from gilt silver with a rectangular black face, silver Roman numerals and hands and blue cabochon on the stem. He turned it over and saw that Joseph had had it engraved:

TO DOC – A TRUE FRIEND – JOSEPH.

He closed the box before anyone else around the table could notice it.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” he said. His cheeks were beetroot red. “I love it. It must be worth fifty quid. Is it–you know..?”

“Stolen?” Joseph opened his mouth in an exaggerated ‘O’. “What do you take me for?” he said, in mock outrage. “You think I’d give you a moody watch for a bloody birthday present? Give it a rest, Doc. I’m hurt.”

Buying it with money made from a robbery was just one step removed from reaching into a broken shop window and grabbing it, of course, but it seemed churlish to bring that up. “You shouldn’t have,” Edward said, taking Joseph’s hand and shaking it firmly.

“There’s something else,” he said, reaching into his inside pocket. He took out a thin envelope and laid it on the table.

Edward picked it up. The envelope was inscribed with the logo of British European Airways. He took up the knife again and carefully sliced it open. Edward took out two tickets to Paris. “I say,” he exclaimed.

“It’s a bit of a cheeky gift,” Joseph explained. “It’s almost as much for me as it is for you. You’re always going on about how much you want to go to Paris. I thought it might be fun for the two of us to go and have a look. What do you say?”

Edward brimmed with happiness. “You’re much too generous,” he said.

“I can take them back,” Joseph teased.

“No, don’t worry,” Edward grinned. “It’s a splendid idea.”

Edward really did think it was splendid. He loved Paris, although it was the kind of city that one could only enjoy properly with a full wallet and the right companion. He was very familiar with the city and his French was excellent. Joseph had no idea that he had been there before and Edward would have to make sure that he kept that quiet. He would just have to pretend that his knowledge was derived from his Baedeker. He would show him all the best spots, mixing the tourist traps with the secret treasures hidden in the back streets, the cafes and little galleries. He grinned with excitement at the thought of it. “When shall we go?”

“I don’t know,” Joseph said. “They’re open tickets. Whenever we feel like it, I suppose.” Joseph smiled with pleasure but, as he did, his attention drifted away from Edward and over his shoulder. His mouth dropped open again. Edward turned to follow his gaze. The door to the main restaurant had swung open and the staff had emerged with the starters. He knew immediately who he was looking at.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. Joseph was staring at one of the waitresses.

“What? You know her?”

“You could say that,” he said, grinning. “Her name’s Eve. I was seeing her before I went away for the war. We were both kids then–I was seventeen, she was fifteen. Her dad’s Old Bill. Nasty, too, a real hard man. Detective inspector Frank Murphy. He didn’t approve of me stepping out with her. Told her we had to split up. Next thing I know, she’s come around to see me with a suitcase and tells me that he’s hit her and she’s moving out and we have to run away together. I couldn’t do that–I had too much going on and I’d just decided to sign up. Anyway, her old man came around, threw me out of bed and almost broke my arm trying to get me to tell him where she was. She hadn’t been home.”

“She ran away?”

“That’s what it looked like. I haven’t seen her since. Well–not until now, anyway. And look at how she’s grown up.”

Joseph watched as the girl served the next table, his face breaking into a grin as she turned and caught his gaze. She paused, confusion passing across her lovely face, before the wide grin was returned.

“She’s lovely,” Joseph said.

She certainly was attractive. She had porcelain white skin and the darkest black hair, cut fashionably short into a bob that just reached the base of her neck. Her eyes sparkled, carefully applied purple eye shadow drawing attention to them. Despite her sophisticated appearance, she had still managed to retain that edge of childish innocence that could be so appealing. She attended to the guests with a charming bashfulness that was regularly illuminated by the brightest, most beaming smile imaginable. As she brought around the main courses Edward noticed that Joseph was staring intently at her. She must have noticed it too for she blushed furiously. She did not look up until she was at the doors to the restaurant. Joseph, still grinning at her, gave her a cheeky little wave. Her expression broke into a charming, guileless smile.

The meal was delicious. As the plates were being cleared away Sophia leant across the table and laid both hands atop Edward’s. “You never did tell us what you did to win your medal,” she said.

Edward feigned reluctance. “Do I have to?” he pleaded.

“Only if you want to shut us up.”

“Very well,” he said, with mock reluctance. The table quietened as he made a show of considering where he should begin. It was a pretence. He had rehearsed the story so many times that he had memorised it, word for word. He had relayed it several times to men he had met on the troopship bringing him back from India. He had told it to the officer who had demobbed him in Portsmouth and to a pair of wide-eyed squaddies he had met on the train. He had spoken it into the mirror before leaving the flat this evening and had repeated it so often that he had even perfected the expressions–the surprise, fearfulness and relief–that were appropriate for the various beats of the tale.

“Come on, Doc,” Joseph said with a expectant look on his face.

Edward looked around the table. They were all waiting for him. “This was in Burma,” he began, “I was on patrol with the rest of my platoon. We had the Japs on the run. I can remember it like it was yesterday–it was in the middle of the monsoon, unbelievable amounts of rain, you don’t know rain until you’ve been stuck in one of those”–Joseph nodded his agreement–“and visibility was awful. We were on the approach to a bridge over the Irrawaddy River. The road cut through the jungle and there was dense vegetation on both sides. We wandered right into the middle of an ambush–they had machine guns set up in the trees. They strafed us, most of the boys got hit before we knew what was happening. I took one in the foot of all places, but I managed to get into cover. The firefight must have lasted twenty minutes. I managed to crawl through the shrub to around twenty feet away, maybe a little less, close enough to toss a grenade right into the middle of them. When it was finished, all of my platoon and all of the Japs were dead. I was the last one standing.”

“You killed all of them?” Billy asked. He accompanied the question with a tilt of his head that suggested that he found the story dubious.

“Of course not, but I was the only one alive at the end of it. I managed to find my way back to the battalion and they sent scouts to confirm what had happened.”

“How incredible,” Sophia said.

“Isn’t it,” Billy said. “Incredible.” He barely disguised the sarcasm but gasped in pain just as he was about to continue and, from the steady glare on Sophia’s face, Edward guessed that she had kicked him in the shins.

Edward ignored him. “I didn’t do it for the medal,” he said. “You find yourself in a situation like that, you just react. There isn’t really even time to think. I did what any soldier would have done.”

“He’s too modest,” Joseph said. “You know how rare the Victoria Cross is? They only give them out once in a blue moon.” He raised his glass and proposed a toast: “To Edward,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

Edward was fit to burst with happiness. He smiled around the table at all of them. Sophia and Evie giggled at some shared comment. Chiara looked at him with a hopeful look in her eyes. He imagined the speculations of the sisters: Is he single? He can’t be single, surely. He’s so reserved and private, so mysterious.

The waitress, Eve, returned with clean champagne flutes. She reddened again as she distributed them, Joseph beaming at her the whole time she was at the table. When she finally departed it was with what looked like a mixture of relief and reluctance.

Edward touched glasses with the others and sipped the champagne. His anxiety about the evening looked silly now. Joseph was a natural when it came to directing the mood of a gathering. When he was in this kind of garrulous, easy-going form, it was possible to watch others as they became infected with his good temper. He had an easy charisma and could be completely beguiling when he wanted to be.

Bottles of spirits appeared and the drinking picked up pace. Joseph excused himself from the table and went across to the bar. He poured Eve a drink and they started to talk. It was quickly obvious that they knew each other. There was an easy familiarity to their body language, Joseph resting his fingers on her forearm and Eve touching the back of his hand. She was too shy and he was too garrulous for their conversation to be anything other than one-sided, but it was obvious that he was putting everything into an attempt to impress her and, inevitably, he was meeting with success. It wasn’t long before she was laughing freely at his jokes.

Edward was still smiling at it as Chiara Costello came to his side.

“Have you had fun?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes. It was a wonderful evening. And you?”

“I’ve had a lovely time.” Her eyelids lowered elaborately and then rose again languorously, her electric eyes sparkling.

“It was nice of you to come.”

“You came to my birthday, didn’t you? I had to reciprocate. Only polite.” Edward felt himself relaxing into her company. “What have you been getting up to?”

He looked at her sharply, wondering what she knew, but her expression was open and guileless. “This and that,” he said.

“Have you thought what you’re going to do now you’ve settled back into things?”

She must have known that he was busy with her brother. It was obvious: the clothes, the fact that they were living together, none of that could possibly be funded by the job with Ruby Ward, no matter how good he might be at it. Of course, he had stopped going to the garage. He had handed in his cards. There didn’t seem to be any point now that they were doing so well. Surely she would have been made aware of that? And, yet, despite it all, he did not feel comfortable acknowledging any of that to her. He didn’t want her to disapprove and he knew that she would. “I don’t really know,” he said.

“Medicine, surely?” she said, continuing her wilful blindness. “Could you continue with your studies?”

“I suppose I could.”

“But you don’t want to?”

“I don’t know. I suppose”–he fished for the right words–“I suppose I’m enjoying myself at the moment. Working with your brother.”

Working? That was a poor choice of word. Edward realised at once that Chiara would know what kind of “work” Joseph was involved in and pretending it was something else must have been insulting to her. She had warned him against it, too, but if she was offended she didn’t show it. She nodded thoughtfully, and said, “I know I mentioned this before, but please do be careful. What Joseph does–it doesn’t have a future. It’s dangerous. The police might seem hopeless, but they’re not. They watch us all the time. They’ll get there in the end. They always do. There’s nothing I can do about him. He’s too set in his ways. You just accept that he’ll be caught eventually, and then he’ll go away. But I’d hate to see that happen to you. It would be such a shame. You’ve got so much going for you.”

Edward wanted to say something but he felt uncomfortable discussing their criminal exploits with her. Despite her knowledge, it didn’t feel right. A question of manners, he supposed. Something as foolish as simple decorum. But that wasn’t it, or at least not all of it. There was something else, too: he was feeling the tiniest flicker of guilt. Chiara had been blinded by the false image of himself that he had been peddling and he felt guilty at that. He was surprised. Guilt was not something with which he was familiar.

She saw that he was abashed although she did not realise why. “Goodness, I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m lecturing you. I don’t mean to.”

“No, of course not.”

“It’s just–well, I wouldn’t anything bad to happen to you.”

Edward didn’t know what to say to that. They both sat, fiddling with their glasses.

“I’ve put my foot in it again, haven’t I?” she said.

“No, no–not at all.”

“I was wondering, perhaps we could talk some more–properly, you know, without any distractions. Perhaps you might like a trip up to the house? There’s so much I haven’t shown you yet. There’s plenty of lovely countryside–perhaps we could go for a walk?”

He was a little thrown by her forthrightness, but he was flattered. “That would be lovely.”

“Only if you’d like to,” she added tentatively.

“I would. Of course. That would be charming, I’m sure.”

“Next weekend? Are you available then?”

“I believe I am.”

“Well then, that’s settled. I’ll see you on Saturday?”

They talked for a while longer, Edward listening politely and complimenting her opinions whenever she paused to take a drink. He saw that she was a little drunk and she talked freely, ranging easily across a range of subjects: her schooling, Halewell Close, her family, Joseph and the others, the best shows to see in London, her favourite restaurants. There was very little effort required on his part to keep up and, so, as he sipped the excellent champagne, he allowed himself to daydream about his future. The guilt was easily subsumed within the anticipation of his improved prospects as he planned where he went from here.