‘Well, I do, Jimmy. I think plenty. First of all, I think you’d better tell me the contents of the messages you carried between Childs and Davis. So let’s have it.’
He stared at the Formica table top for a while, then said, ‘I’d like that drink now, if you don’t mind.’
He was playing for time, trying to calculate how much would satisfy me, how much he could keep concealed.
‘Uh uh,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Later. You’ll enjoy it a lot more.’ I drained my glass and pushed it to one side, waiting.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘I was inside, got a message from Childs to come up to Yorkshire as soon as I was free and ring this number. Somewhere near Wakefield, he said it was. Told me there might be a bob or two in it for me, one day. So I did.’
‘And what was the message?’
‘Noffing much. Davis had to ’ide the stuff somewhere-’
The stuff?’ I interrupted.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘Did he say what it was?’
‘No. Just the stuff.’
‘But you had a good idea what he meant?’
‘I knew what ’e was inside for, Mr Priest.’
‘OK. Davis hides the stuff. Then what?’
‘He’d to give me half of the ’iding place. Childs was scared that Davis might snuff it while he was inside, but he didn’t want anybody else to know where it was. I took ’im half of it, someone else took ’im the other half.’
‘Who was the someone else, Jimmy?’
‘Lord ’elp me, Mr Priest, I don’t know.’
So that was it. McAnally only knew half of the story, so there was no harm in stringing me along. And the other guardian of the holy grail — Morgan — was already safely dead. McAnally had nothing to lose. I picked up my glass, realised it was still empty and pushed it away again. ‘I’m not interested in you, Jimmy,’ I told him. ‘I knew the dead girl, Lisa Davis. This is personal. I want to find that gold before anyone else finds themself breathing through their larynx. You’d better tell me the rest of it.’
‘I’m sorry about the girl, Mr Priest, I really am, but blimey, I’ve told you everyfing I know, so ’elp me.’
‘Well, for starters, you could tell me your half of the hiding place.’
He waved his hands in the air, agitated. ‘It didn’t make sense, Mr Priest, honest it didn’t.’
‘Jimmy,’ I said. ‘All this “Mr Priest” is making me feel old. Call me Charlie. Don’t read too much into it — I’m still the cop and you’re still the cheap ex-crook, but call me Charlie. OK?’
‘Right. Fanks, Charlie.’
‘So what was it?’
‘Like I said, it didn’t make sense.’
‘Go on,’ I urged.
‘It was just…St Sebastian, that was it. The martyrdom of St Sebastian. Crazy, innit?’
‘The martyrdom of St Sebastian?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re right, it doesn’t make much sense. Maybe if we knew the other half…’
‘Yeah, well, that’d be different. We’re only singing off ’alf the hymn sheet, ain’t we?’ He leant forward on to the table and smiled for the first time. A load was off his shoulders, and he hadn’t disclosed anything worthwhile. He’d confirmed what we’d guessed, and given us a cryptic clue that was about as much use as a Teflon flypaper.
I hit him with, ‘Tell me all about Johnny Morgan.’
He slumped backwards in shock, as if a sniper across the street had taken him out. ‘J-J-J…’ he stuttered, then shut up.
‘Johnny Morgan,’ I reminded him. ‘The two of you shared a cell. I’ve heard that you can become quite close, banged up like that. Happen with you and Johnny, did it?’
‘Johnny’s dead,’ he whispered. ‘You brought a ghost up, that’s all.’
‘He was the courier for the other half of the message.’
‘Was he? I didn’t know. Anyway, he’s dead.’
‘He’s dead and you lost a leg in a car accident. Any chance the two are linked?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nah, no way. He was knifed by a Paki in a pub brawl. I got ’it by a young bird in a Lada. She was Brahms and Liszt. Just the luck of the draw.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I conceded. ‘But I don’t believe you’re being straight with me, Jimmy. Look at it from my point of view. Two old pals, you and Johnny, have the key to a ton and a half of gold. All you have to do is go and dig it up. Then you could live in luxury, anywhere in the world, for the rest of your naturals. Are you seriously asking me to believe that you didn’t compare notes? Pull the other one, Jimmy.’
‘Johnny’s story died wiv ’im, Mr Priest. I swear it.’
‘And I’m the Princess of Wales.’
We sat watching each other across the table. The landlord came and took my empty glass, giving us a look that said, ‘If you aren’t drinking, piss off.’
‘Can I go?’ McAnally asked. ‘I’ve work to do.’
‘How old are you?’ I said.
‘Fifty-three.’
‘Fifty-three and still dreaming of the big time, Jimmy.’ I waved a hand round. ‘This is it, Jimmy. This is reality. You’re as far as you’ll ever get, and so am I. I’ll retire soon, make do with my pension. You’ll sell your fish for a few more years, then retire to your little bungalow with Mrs McAnally. Surely that’s better than living on the Costa del Crime or somewhere, drinking yourself to death, never sure when the knock’s coming on the door. It’s time to abandon the pipedreams, Jimmy, and accept your lot in life. I’d say it wasn’t a bad lot. Plenty I know would be glad of it, and I’m talking about policemen.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. I got a good ’un when I married the missus. We weren’t evil, Charlie. It was a way of life if you were born where I was. I did a bit of fieving, some receiving, that’s all. I’ve paid me debt. Never had noffing to do wiv Hartog-Praat, I swear it.’
‘So what was Morgan’s half of the message?’
‘I told you. It died wiv ’im.’
I hadn’t wanted it to go this far. I fingered a beer mat, wiped the wet circle my glass had left. When the table was as clean and dry as it would ever be I said, ‘N-CIS have you down as the driver, Jimmy. That makes you an equal partner.’
‘Oh no,’ he groaned, his face whiter than the cod fillets his wife had been preparing.
‘A twenty would make it unlikely you’d ever come out again. As long as Childs knows where the gold is and keeps shtoom it’ll be full terms for everyone. Like I said, your file is mighty thick. I’ll tell you something, though.’ I leant forward. ‘N-CIS are always on the lookout for bigger premises, just because of all the paperwork. You know all about the price of property in London, I imagine. A big file like yours, they’d just love to lose it. A little bit of cooperation, Jimmy, and I could ask them to stamp NFA on the front cover. Next time they had a clear-out, it’d be thrown in the skip. I can’t guarantee someone wouldn’t find it on a rubbish dump near the Epping Forest, but it couldn’t hurt you anymore.’
‘NFA? What’s that?’ he asked.
‘No…further…action.’
A little bit of the old twinkle came back. ‘And that would be…that?’
‘No promises, but I can’t see why not.’ Especially as we didn’t have anything on him. The fat file I’d told him about was half a line in Cliff Childs’ curriculum vitae.
Through the open door I could see the landlord polishing glasses. ‘Fancy that beer now?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, please. Pint o’ bitter.’
I fetched two while he did some thinking. Sometimes it pays to give them no time, keep the questions coming, pile on the pressure, but Jimmy was a professional. His instinct would be to clam up completely. I wanted him to realise that he had nothing to lose by talking to me.
I placed the glasses on beermats on the table. ‘Thought you lot drank light and dark, or some other muck,’ I said, sitting down.
‘Nah. ’Aven’t you heard? We got Tetley’s now.’
‘Civilisation has reached you,’ I declared, taking a long appreciative draught. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
‘So what was the purpose of the third visit, eighteen months ago?’ I asked him.