‘Is sir interested in the doll?’
‘I might be. What sort of doll is it?’
‘It’s German, known as a bisque head, made circa 1875 from bisque porcelain,’ he said in a posh voice. ‘The matt finish gives it a rather lifelike look, don’t you think?’
‘How much?’
‘Fifty pounds — but if it’s for your good lady I’d be prepared to drop the price to forty-five.’ He smiled at Jane.
‘Fuck off, Jim — I bet you’ve got a box full of replicas in the back of your van.’
He shrugged. ‘I gotta make a fucking living, Colonel.’
‘This is Jane. I’m teaching her the ropes.’
‘I’d listen to every word he says, my dear — if only to see what rubbish he talks.’ He sneered.
The Colonel took a five-pound note out of his pocket and held it towards Jim.
‘You know anything about the Leytonstone job on Thursday just gone?’
‘Not for a fiver I don’t. A score is my going rate.’
‘The Guv’nor cut the funds down. I’ll give you another five out of my own pocket if it’s worth it.’ He took another note out of his wallet.
Jim sighed. ‘It’ll have to do for now, I suppose.’
He went to take the money and the Colonel pulled it back from his grasp.
‘Info first, my friend.’
Jim sighed, then spoke softly. ‘Rumor ’as it a big Irish UDA guy who recently came over ’ere is involved. ’E’s got a reputation for being a fuckin’ nutter.’
Jane noticed that Jim’s accent had suddenly become proper cockney.
‘Age?’ the Colonel asked.
‘Late twenties, early thirties.’
‘Was his name—?’ Jane began.
The Colonel cut her off abruptly, ‘I’ll ask the questions! What’s your source?’ he asked Jim.
‘Pub talk. The paddy was pissed and gobbing off to a mate about turning over a Securicor van.’
‘What pub was it?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Colonel — if your mob start snoopin’ aroun’ in there, I’m brown bread.’
‘This paddy say anything else?’
‘Only that ’e was managin’ a snooker ’all in North London.’
The Colonel didn’t react to any of the information. He paused, waiting for Jim to say more, then handed him the two five-pound notes.
‘Keep digging, Jim. You find out any more, you know where to reach me.’
‘Make it a twenty next time an’ I’ll see what I can do.’
‘It’s up to the Guv’nor — and keep your nose clean on this one.’
Jim raised his eyebrows and spoke in a posh voice.
‘Good Lord, Colonel... Why would an upstanding gentleman like me want to partake in criminal activities?’
‘Because you’re greedy and got sticky fingers.’
Jim shrugged. ‘To each his own, my friend.’
As they walked back up the market the Colonel said nothing.
‘Looks like Jim’s talking about Aidan O’Reilly and the Bruce Grove Snooker Hall.’
The Colonel stopped and looked at Jane.
‘Don’t ever give a snout information like names or they may lead you on. Let them do the talking and never tell them if they’re right or wrong. You run them — it can never be the other way around or they end up tapping you for information.’
‘Sorry, you’re right. I noticed his accent changed during the conversation.’
‘The posh thing is all an act. He used it when he was robbing banks, to fool the victims and police. He started again when he got into the antiques business, where it’s good for selling dodgy gear to naive punters.’
‘He seemed to know his stuff.’
‘Self-taught from books while he did a five stretch in the Scrubs. I’ll see you back at the nick,’ he said as they reached Bethnal Green Road.
Jane thought about the money the Colonel had given Gentleman Jim for his information. If the twenty pounds in the envelope was from the informants’ fund, it seemed he had pocketed a tenner of it for himself and the ‘extra’ fiver from his own wallet wasn’t in fact his. She sighed. It wasn’t significant in the greater scheme of things, but it was still theft of the Commissioner’s money.
Jane had parked her car and was walking towards the squad building when she saw Teflon rush out of the front entrance with car keys in his hand.
‘Kingston said Fiona Simpson is willing to attend albums, so we may as well go straight to the pub to collect her.’
‘What’s the rush?’
‘Cam said Murphy’s on his way in and he’s in a rage.’
‘What about this time?’ she asked, hoping it wasn’t anything to do with the Jones family.
‘Who knows?’ Teflon shrugged as they both got in the unmarked police car. ‘How’d it go with the Colonel’s informant?’ he asked, doing up his seatbelt.
Jane smiled. ‘He’s quite a character. I think he might be on to something with O’Reilly.’
‘Take my advice — let the Colonel deal with his informants on his own.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because his snouts often tread a fine line between giving an officer information about a crime and participating in it.’
Jane thought back to the Colonel telling Gentleman Jim to ‘keep your nose clean on this one,’ and decided it might be best to change the subject.
‘How was Kingston this morning?’
‘I dunno, he’s asleep in his office. He called me from a payphone last night — it sounded like he was in a pub and had had a few. Probably drowning his sorrows with the Colonel as usual.’
‘I was with the Colonel earlier and he didn’t appear to have a hangover.’
‘The Colonel can drink more than the lot of us put together and still be sober.’
‘Kingston’s not doing himself any favors by going on the piss and getting home late.’
‘That’s his problem, not ours. Sorry I snapped at you yesterday; you were only doing what you felt was right.’
‘I was wrong, and I don’t blame you for telling me — in fact, it gave me a wake-up call. I’m going to speak to Murphy after we’ve been to the Yard and tell him what happened.’
‘I’ll do it with you if you want.’
‘It was my screw-up, not yours.’
‘I could have refused to drive you there.’
‘I’d have gone on my own anyway.’
‘Well, I’m not going to blab to anyone in the office about it.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’
Jane repeatedly rang the doorbell at the lounge bar entrance to the Crown pub in Leytonstone High Road, but there was no answer. She checked her watch — it was just after 8:30 a.m. — then she went to the saloon bar entrance and knocked on the door, but still there was no answer. She stepped back into the street to look up at Fiona Simpson’s flat above the pub; the curtains were open but there was no sign of movement. There was a high brick wall, with a thick wooden door leading to the beer garden and rear of the pub. It was locked. She looked through the window and could see the lights were on inside, before returning to the unmarked police car. She tapped on the driver’s window.
‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve rung the doorbell and banged on the door but there’s no answer.’
‘Maybe she had a late night and she’s still sleeping it off.’
‘It doesn’t look like the place has been cleaned up — there’s dirty glasses and unemptied ashtrays on the bar.’
Teflon called the office on the radio and asked Cam to phone the pub.
‘Tell Fiona Simpson we’re waiting outside for her.’
Jane went back over to the lounge bar door and listened to the phone ringing for nearly a minute.
‘Cam said there’s no answer — maybe she’s locked up and gone out already.’