‘I never did nothing about it. At the time, the Holtzes were just about untouchable, and anyway, I’m not my cousin’s babysitter. If he wants to get involved with people like that, that’s his look-out, but I’ll tell you this for nothing. Both of you. There is no fucking way I’d ever have anything to do with a prick like O’Brien. He’s nothing. And now that he’s out on his own, and without his mates to back him up, he’s lucky I ain’t fucking killed him.’
‘Well, someone has,’ I told him. ‘He was murdered two days ago. I’m surprised that a man with your contacts hasn’t heard all about it.’
Tyndall looked neither surprised nor unsurprised. ‘I’ve been out of town the last few days,’ he said. ‘Down in Marbella. I’ve got a villa there. You can check my plane ticket if you want. So, someone killed him, did they?’ His face broke into a wide, beaming smile. ‘I’m glad. I hope it was slow. He was one geezer who definitely deserved it.’
‘When did you leave for Marbella?’
He furrowed his brow in thought. ‘Must have been Monday night. Yeah, Monday,’ he repeated, nodding. ‘I got the eight-thirty out of Stansted. Came back late last night and went straight to bed. That’s why I ain’t heard nothing about poor old Fat Robbie.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting.’ He turned and started walking back in the direction of the Canonbury Road.
We walked alongside him. ‘We haven’t finished asking you questions,’ snapped Tina. This time it was she who put a hand on his arm, and this time he brushed it away, only stopping to glare at us each in turn.
‘Well, I’ve finished answering them. Whoever’s done over Robbie O’Brien, good luck to them. But it definitely ain’t me. Now, you want to ask me anything else, you contact my lawyer.’ He gave us the name of someone I hadn’t heard of, and once again turned on his heel.
We continued after him, firing off questions that were invariably delivered to the back of his head while he remained tight-lipped, right up to his front door, which he slammed in our faces.
‘What do you think?’ asked Tina when we were back on the street. ‘Would Strangleman really have carried out the robbery without his boss’s knowledge?’
‘I doubt it,’ I answered, watching his front door. ‘I can’t see anything happening within Tyndall’s crew that he doesn’t know about, or authorize. He’s not the sort of boss who lets his workers freelance.’
‘But that story about his cousin. If it’s true, would he really have set something up with O’Brien?’
‘O’Brien’s dead, isn’t he? It’s not that unlikely that Tyndall would have organized the whole thing with him and had him killed afterwards. It would have been a good form of revenge. I expect we’ll find that the story about his cousin’s true, which, like Tyndall’s alibi, would be very convenient for a defence lawyer. The problem is, we’re dealing with people who are good at covering their tracks.’ I shook my head slowly. ‘I think Flanagan’s right. Our best hope’s going to be finding the shooter.’
‘A lot easier said than done.’
I allowed myself a thin smile. ‘Isn’t everything?’
16
It was near enough lunchtime so Tina and I decided that, for once, we’d go Continental and actually sit down and eat. Life’s too fast in London. It’s always go go go, and when your job involves go go going through the heavy tide of human corruption, then occasionally you need to sit back and take a break. We went to a cheap French restaurant I knew near Islington Green where they served moules mariniere with french fries and crusty bread, a meal that always brings back happy memories of childhood family camping trips to the coast of Brittany. And they only charged?4.95 for it as well, so, being overworked and underpaid, I felt doubly rewarded.
When we’d eaten and broken all the rules by washing it down with a glass of white wine each, we left and headed our separate ways: she to talk to Stegs’s boss at SO10, me to interview his guvnor at Barnet nick.
On the way, I got a call from a Mr Naresh Patel of the Police Complaints Authority, telling me that he’d like to speak to me as soon as possible in relation to the shootings at Heathrow. Knowing there was no point putting off the inevitable, I agreed to meet him later that day. He wanted to do it at their headquarters in Great George Street over in Westminster, and though I tried manfully to get him to come to the station instead, he insisted. So we set it for four-thirty, and I phoned through to Flanagan and told him that I wouldn’t be able to make the five o’clock murder squad meeting. Since it was routine anyway, he didn’t mind, but told me to call him beforehand with any relevant information I’d picked up that day. I told him about our meeting with Tyndall and the fact that he’d been out of the country for the last three days.
‘Setting himself up with an alibi suggests to me that he was more involved than not involved,’ said Flanagan, which were my thoughts exactly. ‘But, as I said this morning, it’s facts we need. We’ve got plenty of theories.’
I told him I’d see what I could come up with.
Stegs’s overall boss at Barnet, DCI Tom Clay, was overweight and looked like he’d had it with policework. It’s not an uncommon trait in coppers who’ve been in the job too long, but Clay had it more than most. He was genuinely concerned about Stegs, though, and hoped that he’d be back on duty before too long.
‘I could do with him back here,’ he told me as we sat in his office on the building’s third floor, overlooking the high street. Outside it was drizzling, and I wondered when we were next going to see the sun. ‘He spends three-quarters of his time on SO10 business — not that it’s ever done him any good.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I mean, he gets involved in all these dangerous activities, risks his neck constantly, and it never helps his chances of promotion, doesn’t get him paid any more, and the first opportunity, they hang him out to dry.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘Wouldn’t you? I would.’ He sat back in his seat and it creaked under his weight. ‘He’s suspended from duty; you’re here asking questions about him; and he’s got that arsehole Flanagan to look out for.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, taking a sip from the tepid station coffee Clay had provided me with, and remembering the atmosphere between the two men during the meeting after the hotel shootings. ‘Why would Flanagan have it in for him?’
‘Stegs and Flanagan haven’t seen eye to eye for a long time. Flanagan was the DCI in overall charge of an op him and Vokes Vokerman did once for SO10. The two of them almost got killed. I don’t think it was entirely Flanagan’s fault that things went wrong, but Stegs took a different view and told him that he was an incompetent arsehole who couldn’t do his job properly. I don’t think either of them have ever forgotten the set-to they had, and I doubt if Flanagan’d lose any sleep if Stegs took the rap for what happened Wednesday.’ He took a crumpled pack of Embassy No. 1s out of his pocket and stuck one in his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those new breed who can’t stand the smell of smoke.’
‘Do I look like I’m new breed?’
He managed a smile, his first since we’d shaken hands at the front desk ten minutes earlier. ‘No, not really.’
‘Then please feel free. It’s your office.’
‘They’re trying to ban it everywhere,’ he said defiantly. ‘It makes me wonder why I joined up sometimes. They give the criminals a slap on the wrist, but if you’re law-abiding they’re on to you like a shot. So, where did you say you’re from?’
‘I don’t think I said I was from anywhere, but since you ask, I’m based out of Islington. I’ve been seconded to the inquiry into the murder of Robbie O’Brien, the guy they found dead alongside his grandma yesterday.’