Skinner grimaced, as he nodded. ‘I’ve been checking the investigations that I was involved in around that time, and in the period leading up to it. From those files, the name that jumps out highest is Tony Manson. If it was him, he’s dead, and he can’t answer for it. But that doesn’t matter; I still have to know.’
He paused. ‘This thing may have happened before you went to work for Tony, but I have to ask you this. Did he ever mention anything to you afterwards, about me, or about this? And if he did, will you tell me now?’
Lennie Plenderleith closed his eyes and threw his head back, so that his thick brown hair fell on his shoulders. He sat like that for almost three minutes, as if he was searching his memory, or weighing up a decision.
At last he looked at Skinner once more, full in the eye. ‘This is between us, Bob, yes? No hidden mikes or anything. Nothing leaves this room?’
‘On my honour.’
The great head nodded. ‘Okay then,’ he said. ‘You got your timing wrong as far as I was concerned. In fact, eighteen years ago, I had just gone to work for Tony. Eighteen years ago you were indeed giving him grief. Everything was shut down, the girls, the drugs everything.
‘One day Tony called me in to see him. He said that he had had an ultimatum from his major drug supplier in London. Reopen the market or else, the guy had told him. Tony told him that he should sit tight, that the informant who was spilling his guts to you would be taken care of, and that you would run out of leads and patience. But the London man said no. He told Tony to have you killed, or else.’
Lennie smiled. ‘Tony Manson had very definite views about things, you know. He wasn’t as powerful in those days as he became, but even then, no-one threatened him, or gave him “or else” orders. Also, he had very definite views about harming policemen in general, and you in particular. He knew that if you were hit then there would be nowhere for him to hide; no, not even him.’ He paused. The smile faded and he took a deep breath, as if he were about to dive into a very deep pool.
‘Tony gave me my instructions. He sent me to the man in London to make him see sense. So I went down there, I followed the man home one night, I broke his bodyguard’s neck, and I made him see sense, the fool who had threatened Tony Manson, by driving a big knife right through his brain.’ He reached across and tapped the left side of Skinner’s head. ‘Right here.
‘I felt like a million dollars. I was just a lad, and Tony had trusted me that much, to give me such an important job.’
Skinner sat, motionless and silent, as Big Lennie in his soft voice, finished his story. ‘Tony Manson didn’t try to kill you, Bob. He saved your life. Between the two of us, you have my word upon it.’
It was the policeman’s turn to throw his head back. He hissed out a long sorrowful sigh. ‘Sssshit!’ he whispered. ‘This doesn’t get easier.’
Lennie frowned. ‘You believe me, don’t you.’
‘Hah!’ said Skinner. ‘That’s the trouble. I do. It’s just that for the second time in as many days, I haven’t had the answer I wanted. I was hoping that it was Tony, and that I could have closed the book on it.
‘Now, I have to go on, and I’m left with only one obvious alternative. My problem is, I can’t make myself believe that it was him either.’
60
‘Sorry to bother you, sir, but I can’t raise DS Donaldson, and I felt I should pass this on for further instructions.’
‘That’s all right, Maggie,’ said Andy Martin, into the telephone. ‘What have you got?’
‘Two of my Detective Constables have just finished the check of Jackie Charles’ property company, the one that owns the flats. It looks as if we’ve got a problem with the theory that Charles might have used one of them to store any records relating to his illegal business.’
‘How come?’
‘Because all the flats are occupied, sir. By legitimate, bona fide tenants with no obvious connection to Charles. They’re all managed by a reputable agent, all the tenants have rent books and tax is paid on the net income.’
‘Ah well,’ sighed the Head of CID, ‘another chased hare goes to ground. I must admit I didn’t think that Jackie would leave himself as exposed as that again, not after those two earlier tip-offs that we had.’
‘That’s one point that did emerge from our search,’ said Rose. ‘The records showed that each of the flats we raided had been untenanted for a considerable period leading up to each raid, but that both were let immediately afterwards. That does sort of hint that the theory could have been right, up to that point; at least so far as to indicate that Charles did keep flats for his private use.’
‘Mmm. Could be. That is the only property company that Charles owns now, right?’
‘Yes. He used to have three, but he rolled them into a single company a year or so back. For tax reasons, I think.’
‘Okay, Maggie, thanks for letting me know. I’ll think it through to see if there’s anything else we can do to keep that line of enquiry alive. Meantime, you concentrate on Douglas Terry. Have you found the other two Willies yet?’
‘Macintosh is in London, we believe, sir, but we’ve arrested Easson. I haven’t interviewed him yet. He knows why he’s been picked up, but I’ve left him to sweat on it, until we get McCartney and Kirkbride back up here.’
‘Could he have been part of the team that snatched the Brummies, d’you think?’
There were a few moments of silence on the line. ‘I don’t know, sir, but the people who lifted him said he seemed scared shitless. Maybe that was why.’
Martin smiled grimly to himself. ‘Time will tell, Mags. Time and maybe Willie Easson himself.’
He paused. ‘Listen, are you using young Pye for anything just now?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Send him up here, then. I’m going to see a man, and I need company. You’ve heard the story we were told by Quinn, the taxi driver, about picking up a hire in Seafield Road, a bloke who said that his car had broken down.’
‘I heard that, yes.’
‘Well, McIlhenney’s come up with a name through the AA. Dominic Ahern, 32 Mountcastle Gardens. I’ve decided to see him myself, so have Sammy here inside half an hour, as my back-up.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Martin replaced the telephone and stared out of the window. The skies were even more ominous than before, heavy and with the purple tinge of snow clouds as they moved steadily eastwards. Outside a few flakes fluttered to the ground.
Suddenly Martin sat bolt upright and picked up the telephone, dialling an internal number. ‘Pamela?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The Boss isn’t back yet, is he?’
‘No. I don’t expect him for a while yet.’
‘Good, because I’d like to commandeer you for a while. There’s a search I want made, in a fair old hurry. I know that Mr Skinner will approve, so if you come along here, I’ll brief you. When he gets back I’ll let him in on the secret.’
61
‘This is Mountcastle Gardens, all right, Sammy, but I’m damned if I can see number 32.’ Pye, at the wheel of his white Peugeot 205 peered out of the window, as he cruised slowly along.
‘Well look, sir, that’s 26, then there’s the church, then there’s . . . number 34.’ His voice tailed off in puzzlement.
‘Hold on,’ said the Chief Superintendent. ‘Got it. That must be it, set back from the road. You can hardly see it for the trees.’
Pye swung the car in a U-turn and parked in front of the long, tree-lined path which led up to 32 Mountcastle Gardens. As he climbed out of the car, a strange feeling of unease came over Martin, deepening quickly into frustration. His brow furrowed as he and Pye walked up the long pathway, up to the big red stone villa at the end, with its brown-painted door and guttering, and its austere brown velvet curtains.