By raising himself slightly off the seat, Dillon could see through the slit. Another Black Maria had pulled up in the yard, and Cliff was stepping down, handcuffed to an officer. He seemed more bewildered than frightened, and Dillon wanted to yell out, tell him to keep stum. If the kid lost his nerve, did something stupid, he could land them all in it.
'Sit down,' the bear with no neck said. 'Sit - down!''
Dillon slowly sank back, but then leaned forward sharply. At the wheel of his black Jaguar Sovereign, Newman was rolling to a halt. He slid the window down and reached out his hand, a faint smile on his thin lips. Detective Chief Inspector Jenkins strolled forward. Dillon stared as the two men shook hands. He pressed himself closer to the slit, feeling the flesh of his face tight to bursting, and a large hand shoved him roughly back onto the bench.
'Sit! You deaf?'
Dillon slumped down, his heart trip-hammering in his chest. The door opened and a sheaf of folded release papers was thrust in. The door was closed, the handle locked, and the officer banged on the side to indicate all present and correct. The van jerked forward, dragging Dillon by his handcuffed wrist against the guard rail, and moved off. Dillon hardly felt it. What he did feel was a crawling panic in his bowels. Barry Newman and the cops, all mates together. Was he being fitted up? What was Newman telling them? What the fuck was going on?
CHAPTER 41
'Believe me,' Newman said, 'if somebody had broken in here I'd know it. Besides, who'd want to nick this stuff, weighs a ton.'
Jenkins looked along the aisles, at the racks and racks of artifacts which to his eye were the kind of cheap trash you might see in a fairground, prizes for getting three double-tops in a row or potting clay pipes with a.22 that had had its sights doctored. Three of his uniforms were poking about, but probably they had less idea what they were looking for that he had.
'What about the office?' he asked, nodding towards the partitioned glass-panelled enclosure.
'Follow me!' Newman beckoned, the good citizen only too happy to co-operate with the law. 'Watch your footing, I've had problems with the sprinklers.' As they walked along he pointed up to the cables running along the walls. 'Alarm system. Anyone trying to get in here and this baby would go off like a time-bomb.' With an indulgent wave of the hand, Newman called across, 'Any of you lads got kids, take what you want. Business is bad, I can't give this gear away.'
A few paces behind, Jenkins said casually, 'Your boy was a Para, wasn't he? A soldier…'
And noted the stiffening of Newman's spine. Newman stopped to face him, but he wasn't angry or defensive, the inspector saw, he was proud, even a little defiant.
'Yes. I got a medal to prove it! He was killed in a club, he wasn't even on duty. Nineteen years old.' Newman looked away, and in profile the hollow cheeks and scrawny neck made him look old and haggard, a distinguished roué long past his sell-by date. 'His mother never got over it… his name was Billy.'
'So you know Dillon then?'
Newman walked on. 'He was his sergeant! I met up with him when he first came to civvies, while back now.'
'Meet some of his pals too, did you?'
Newman paused at the office door. He turned slowly, gave Jenkins his full dead-eyed stare. Touched a spot there, Jenkins thought, half-expecting a flat denial, but didn't expect what he got, an acid, withering bitterness, a raw open wound that had never healed and never would.
'Look, this Dillon. I tried to give him a leg-up, know what I mean? The thanks was, he borrowed my motor and totalled it, an' that's been my only interaction with him. Maybe I should've tried to do somethin' for him, but that was thirty grand's worth! I reckoned whatever he'd done for my boy, we were quits – an' I'm not a charity.' Newman held up his thin hand, pointed a long skeletal finger. 'I'll tell you who should watch out for these lunatics, the ruddy government. Most of them need rehabilitation, they're all screwed up.'
Whatever lies he might tell, whatever descriptions he might perpetrate, Newman was on the level with this, Jenkins thought. It came straight from the heart, no question. Newman gestured brusquely. 'Here's my office, come on through.' Jenkins followed him inside.
She wouldn't cry. Susie had made this promise to herself. She had to keep Frank's spirits up. The last thing he wanted to see was a red-eyed bawling wife. But it took every ounce of self-control as the woman police officer led her into the interview room not to let the calm outer surface crack wide open. It was the sight of him sitting hunched in the chair, hands clasped on the bare table, shackled by handcuffs. He looked so lost and helpless. From somewhere Susie summoned up a pallid smile. She sat down opposite him, while the WPC took up a position behind her and a male officer stood with arms folded at the door, like a bouncer itching to sort out the troublemakers.
'I've been here every day but they wouldn't let me see you. Mr Crook arranged it in the end.' Susie wore a plain dark skirt and a pale yellow blouse under her coat that she knew Frank liked, but he hadn't even looked at her. She reached out, not quite touching the bunched hands, fingers squeezed tight. 'Are you all right?'
'This is all a mistake.' Dillon stared sullenly at the table. His cheeks were smooth and pale, freshly shaved, dark rings under his eyes. 'I haven't done anythin' wrong. They can't keep me here without chargin' me.' His lips thinned. 'I haven't done anythin'.'
'Mr Crook's tried for bail, Frank, but it was turned down at the Magistrates Court. He said he'll have to wait a few more weeks before he can apply again -'
'You think I don't know?' He raised his head sharply. His mouth twisted as the anger spilled out. 'He's a useless twat!'
Susie hesitated. 'He says you're not helping.'
T didn't do anything wrong!' said Dillon hoarsely.
'You know Cliff told them about Newman?' Dillon glared at her. 'What are you protecting him for?' Susie asked, genuinely puzzled.
'You don't understand.' Dillon was nodding to himself, an ugly smile smearing his features. Tm gonna give you some names, friends, if that bastard shows his face-'
'Frank!' Susie leaned towards him. 'He said you never worked for him, he says his place was never broken into… that it was lies, all lies.'
'Marvellous innit – they believe that villain, but not me? I told Cliff to keep his bloody mouth shut. Typical. But what can you expect, he was only on transport, he's never seen any action. They won't get Harry to -'
Susie's fist drummed impotently on the table. 'I can't believe I'm hearing you right! Cliff was going to be married, don't you care? He's in a terrible state… Shirley's pregnant.'
'You think I'm allowed to see him? See Harry?' Dillon didn't hear, didn't care. His eyes were a bit wild, his brain locked on the single track it had been on, ceaselessly, every waking moment. 'Bastards have segregated us. Four lineups they had me in – I been in four line-ups, for what? They're tryin' to pin every robbery pulled in England on us. It's crazy, it's all crazy…'
He calmed his breathing and looked at her from under his brows. 'They not said anythin' about anythin' else?' he asked uneasily. 'Have they… Susie?'
A fist rapped on the door. The officer unfolded his arms. He waved to Dillon to stand. Susie pleaded, 'Ah, not yet! Please, not yet…!'
The officer got Dillon on his feet. He opened the door. Dillon said desperately, 'Are the kids all right?'
'Yes…' And the promise she had made herself was broken as a sob came up, nearly choking her. Still she struggled to hold on. Dillon tried to turn back. The officer would have none of it. He had Dillon under the armpit, and the officer outside grabbed the other arm and he was bodily hauled away.