He reached into the pocket of his jeans for his phone and called up a contact number. The recipient answered almost at once.
‘Make this quick, I told you not to call again on your own phone.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I had to speak to you right away.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Yes, It’s Bella,’ Freddie began.
Eighteen
Vogel called Det. Supt Clarke just as Saslow turned off the M4 onto the slip road leading towards Hounslow and Brentford. He checked his watch. The time was 10.40 a.m. The traffic had been heavy around Heathrow, heading into central London, as Vogel had expected, it nearly always was nowadays, even past what would normally be regarded as the rush hour.
‘I reckon we’re about twenty minutes away,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at the scene,’ replied Nobby Clarke. ‘Come to the Brewery Tap, in Catherine Wheel Road. It’s right by the canal. The postcode is TW8 8BD. Your satnav should take you straight there. You’ll want to meet the landlord. I’ll get him to open up for us. Seems almost certain he saw George Grey very shortly before he died. May well be the last person to have done so, apart from his murderer — assuming he was murdered, of course.’
Vogel sat up straight in the car seat.
‘Well, that sounds interesting,’ he said.
‘Indeed. And it appears that Grey wasn’t alone either. Look, I’ll tell you when I see you.’
By the time Vogel and Saslow arrived at the Brewery Tap, Nobby Clarke, accompanied by a young black man Vogel did not recognise, was already at a table by the window.
She waved to Vogel and Saslow who made their way to join her. Nobby greeted Saslow warmly. Vogel was glad that there was clearly such mutual liking and respect between the two women. Saslow could only be helped by the support and friendship of a senior officer like Clarke. Vogel was well aware that the events of the previous year, which had had such a profound effect on both he and Saslow, had made the young DC wonder if she would, or even could, remain on the force. He was extremely glad that she had decided to stay on, and now seemed so determined to overcome any disquiet she might still be experiencing.
‘Nice to see you again, DC Saslow,’ said the detective superintendent at once. She didn’t mention that case. But then she wouldn’t. Vogel knew that Nobby Clarke’s philosophy of policing was very simple. The only way to effectively proceed was to move on after every setback. And then move on again.
She greeted Vogel with casual affection, introduced the two officers to DC Lloyd Springer, then turned to Saslow again.
‘What are you drinking?’ she asked. Adding with a grimace and gesturing towards two cups on the table: ‘We’re on the coffee.’
Vogel smiled. Nobby Clarke liked a drink. Malt whisky for preference. But eleven a.m. in the morning was just a tad too early, even for her, it seemed.
He and Saslow also both asked for coffee. Clarke led them to the bar, ordered, then introduced them to the landlord, Peter Forest.
‘Peter, I’m sorry to ask you this,’ she said. ‘But do you think you could go over again with DI Vogel here what you told my DC last night. We believe the deceased man found in the canal was one George Grey, whom Mr Vogel was seeking in connection with a very serious case of arson in the west of England. I think you know that?’
Peter Forest nodded his assent. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘No problem. I’m happy to help. Shall we sit down?’
He gestured to the table where DC Springer remained sitting, then led the way over.
Vogel opened the proceedings. ‘So, I understand Mr Forest, that you think you may have seen the deceased on the day that he died. Indeed, quite possibly very shortly before he died. Is that so?’
‘Yes, I’m pretty sure I did. I’ve seen a photograph of him, and if it wasn’t him it was his double. He came in here about eight o’clock, or thereabouts, the night before last. The football had just started, you see...’
‘Mr Forest, this is a busy pub. What makes you so sure? Was there something that made you particularly notice the man you believe to have been George Grey?’
‘Yes, when he came in I thought he might be already drunk. Or on drugs. I’m careful about that sort of thing. So, I watched him, studied his face. Then I realised it probably wasn’t drink or drugs. Not recreational, anyway. He was ashen. He walked with a limp. He looked ill. I wondered what he was doing out visiting a pub, but that was none of my business. As long as he didn’t die on the premises of course—’
Peter Forest stopped himself abruptly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean...’
‘That’s quite all right, Mr Forest, I know what you meant. What else can you tell me? How long did George Grey stay? What was he drinking, that sort of thing?’
‘He stayed about an hour I think, maybe more. He was drinking whisky, large ones. But the chap he was with was doing all the buying. George Grey just sat there, same table we’re at now...’
‘Ah yes, the chap he was with?’ queried Vogel, glancing sideways at Clarke.
‘Don’t worry we’re on it,’ said the superintendent quietly. ‘I’ll fill you in later.’
‘So, will you tell me about this other man?’ continued Vogel, looking back at Peter Forest.
‘Yeah, I didn’t take so much notice of him to tell the truth,’ said the landlord. ‘I remember he was bearded and wearing a baseball cap, so I couldn’t see his hair, or his face properly really. Anyway, I was more interested in your George Grey. Didn’t like the look of him at all. Although the other man did seem to be taking care of him. Seemed quite solicitous, and like I said, did all the drink buying. Except the first one. Grey ordered that himself when he came in.’
‘So, you did speak to him?’
‘Barely,’ said Forest. ‘All he said was, large whisky, please. Then he went and sat down over here. So he wasn’t any trouble. I did ask the other man if he was all right. Said I was a bit concerned.’
Forest didn’t look as if he was going to say anything more.
‘What was the reply to that?’ Vogel prompted.
‘Oh, he said your George Grey had just been to the dentist and was a bit wobbly, that he’d be all right after a few drinks.’
‘Didn’t you think that was a bit strange, Mr Forest?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Mr Forest,’ Vogel continued. ‘If someone is a bit wobbly after a visit to the dentist they don’t normally go to a pub and down large whiskies, do they?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, you get all sorts in here.’
‘How many whiskies do you think he had?’
‘At least three. Maybe four.’
‘In an hour or so?’ queried Vogel. ‘Enough to make most people woozy, don’t you think, even someone who didn’t already look ill and unsteady on their feet.’
‘Yes,’ Forest agreed a little reluctantly, ‘I suppose so.’
‘Do you know what time he left the pub?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. Sometime after nine, I would think. But I had to change a barrel, and the connector was playing up. Then my brother phoned me, I was out of the bar for about fifteen minutes or so.’
‘And I take it you didn’t recognise either of the men when they came in to the pub.’