‘Go on, you’re among friends.’
‘I. . well. . a colleague and I visited yesterday, looking for something he had touched. . Pilcher had touched during one of his visits to WLM Rents.’
‘To get his prints?’
‘Yes.’
‘Unorthodox but it happens all the time.’
‘Yes. . I know. . I know. . but not with these consequences. You can’t use the prints obtained in that way to prosecute but you can identify the person concerned — let’s us know who we are dealing with. Anyway, it turns out that Pilcher is a bit of a green-fingered sort of geezer — a lot of nasties have a soft side. . dogs, cats, pigeons. It seems that in Pilcher’s case, he likes plants, and he waters the potted plants in the offices of WLM Rents with a little red watering can. .’ Brunnie took a deep breath. ‘So I bullied J.J. Dunwoodie into letting me take the watering can away and told him to get another one, an identical one; told him his boss would be no wiser. He said he couldn’t do it, and I said he could and took the can. Called this morning to find that he had been replaced by a hard-nosed looker who works in another of Pilcher’s little enterprises — an import/export outfit down the East End. She was there filing her claws ’cos Dunwoodie had “gone sick”, she said. Then I saw a green watering can.’
‘Oh. .’ Meadows caught his breath. ‘I see your problem.’
‘Yes, so at some point Pilcher visited, probably noticed the red can had been replaced by a green one and asked questions, and Dunwoodie told him. Dunwoodie seemed to worship Pilcher for some reason. He might even have told him about the watering can before Pilcher noticed it had been replaced.’
‘Not good.’
‘Not good at all; not good for Dunwoodie’s health, not good for my promotion prospects and very not good for my conscience. I have made a few mistakes I have to live with and I am trying not to accumulate any more.’
‘Reckon we are all in the same boat on that score.’
‘So if Pilcher is a nasty, and I believe he is, he’ll want a victim. . and I-’
The phone on Meadows’ desk warbled. He let it ring twice, and then picked it up, identified himself and listened attentively, a worried look appearing on his face as he did so. Eventually he said, ‘Thank you, you’d better get back here.’ He replaced the handset gently. ‘Well, Pilcher got his victim alright.’
‘He’s dead!’
‘Yes, they called it about ten minutes ago — massive heart attack brought on by the assault.’
‘So it’s murder?’
‘Yes.’ Meadows sat back in his chair. ‘We’ll be passing the file to your boys now.’
‘Yes, but I’d better come clean with my boss.’
‘There’s things we have to do yet, so you’ll have time. . wrap up the paperwork, get a copy of the death certificate, notify his widow.’
‘Yes, that will give me time.’
‘I’ll have to record your visit. I’ll say you were enquiring about his employer, but anything about the watering can and removal of same-’
‘Don’t compromise yourself, so record what it was I told you. . everything.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Yes, I am sure. I’ll get to my governor first; make sure he has the full S.P. before the file arrives.’
‘But he gave you the can. . Dunwoodie I mean. . he gave you the watering can.’
‘Yes, though it was more in the manner of me bullying him into letting me take it.’
‘But he did not prevent you from taking it, or say you could not remove it from the premises.’
‘No. . no he didn’t.’
‘Reckon you’re covered. If he was stupid enough to tell his governor what had gone down, then it’s his lookout.’
Brunnie stood. ‘Even so, even so. I’d better go back to the Yard and talk to my governor.’
Tom Ainsclough glanced at the computer screen and smiled, ‘Well, well, well, that’s a turn up for the books and no mistake.’
‘What is?’ Penny Yewdall turned away from the window, where she had been pondering the dull, overcast weather which had settled, stubbornly it seemed to her, over London town, and smiled at Ainsclough. ‘What’s a turn up?’
‘Pilcher. Frankie Brunnie’s guess was correct, he is a felon.’
‘The prints from the watering can?’
‘The prints from the watering can. . and I mean, is he known or is he known?’
Yewdall walked from the window and sat in her chair opposite Ainsclough’s desk. ‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘Yates. . he is yclept Curtis Yates.’
‘That name rings bells.’
‘So it should. He’s done time. . murder reduced to manslaughter. . he got out after doing five of a ten stretch; that’s what you get for volunteering to clean the toilets and joining the Christian Union.’
‘Cynic.’ Yewdall smiled. ‘Probably quite true but you’re a cynic just the same.’
‘He was part of a team who robbed a security van taking a payroll to a large company — killed a security guard. Poor guy had only been in the job for a few weeks. That was fifteen years ago. He’s been off the radar since then but he’s flagged up as being of “great interest” — believed to be behind a lot of high-profile jobs in the Greater London area.’
‘Mr Big?’
‘Seems to be.’ Ainsclough continued to read the computer screen. ‘His wife disappeared shortly after he was released from Wandsworth ten years ago.’
‘That’s also about the time Rosemary Halkier disappeared.’ Penny Yewdall sat back in her chair and absent-mindedly straightened out a paper clip.
‘So it is, both women went missing at the same time. He has a neat way of getting rid of unwanted partners. Oh, my. . one Charlotte Varney. . she was reported missing before he went to prison, but she is cross-referenced to him because she was his partner at the time.’
‘Three women!’
‘One of whom is known to have been murdered. There’s a long list of criminal associates, one of which is none other than Slick Eddie “The Dog” Vasto and another is “Fulham Fred” Morrissey.’
‘Eddie “The Dog” Vasto — he was believed to be responsible for the building society job down in Kent a few years ago, I’m sure it was him.’
‘It was. Twenty million smackers and it’s still missing — won’t turn up now it’s been well laundered — and if I am right, “Fulham Fred” Morrissey was thought to be the brains behind the bullion robbery at Stansted Airport. If he’s moving in circles like that, explains why he doesn’t like coppers.’
‘What explains who doesn’t like coppers?’ Frank Brunnie entered the room, peeling off his raincoat as he did so.
‘This does.’ Ainsclough jabbed a finger in the air towards the monitor screen. ‘Your guess was right. . well done.’
Brunnie stood beside Ainsclough, bent forward and read the screen. ‘I see. . I see. .’ he murmured, ‘a breakthrough, but I have little to smile about.’
‘Why? You got a result.’
‘Possibly, but it was at the cost of an innocent seeming office manager being battered to death.’ He sank into his chair.
‘Who?’ Yewdall gasped.
Brunnie told Yewdall and Ainsclough about J.J. Dunwoodie, and a silence fell on the room. Eventually Yewdall said, ‘But he let you take it. I said in the car that I wasn’t happy with what you did, but he didn’t protest or put up any objection. I witnessed that. Alright, you pressured him, but he still allowed you to remove the watering can from the office.’
‘That’s true, but I am still pushing the envelope of reasonable conduct. . fair play. I am going to have to tell Harry Vicary. Is he in?’
‘No.’
‘When is he due to return?’
‘Not known. May not be until tomorrow now, he’s making enquiries in respect of Rosemary Halkier.’
‘Alone?’
‘Just background information — not interviewing anyone as such.’
‘Ah. . I need a drink. . how I need a drink.’
‘We got a second result while you were out.’ Yewdall patted her notepad.
‘Oh?’
‘South Wales Police contacted us. They suggested the ID of the murdered girl in Michael Dalkeith’s room in the house in Claremont Road, Kilburn.’
‘Oh?’ Brunnie repeated.
‘A fifteen-year-old runaway from a children’s home in Pontypool; they’re sending her prints to us.’