‘He must be wealthy to be able to buy up that many clubs,’ said Coburg.

  ‘Yes, well, the word is that he doesn’t pay the market price.’

  ‘Extortion?’ asked Coburg. ‘Threats and menaces?’

  ‘But there’s no proof that’s how he does it,’ admitted Dancy ruefully. ‘No one wants to talk. Certainly not the people he bought the clubs from. Not after one of them, Jake Pond, had an accident. That shut the others up.’

  ‘What sort of accident?’

  ‘He was found in a backstreet. He’d been run over. And not just once. It looked like he’d been run over at least three times, the car going backwards and forwards over him. The message was out, hence the silence over how he’d got the clubs in the first place.’

  ‘Let me guess: fights breaking out, break-ins, burglary, a bit of arson? All very expensive.’

  ‘And backed up by some very heavy people Buttons brought with him from Birmingham.’

  ‘Has he ever been arrested?’

  ‘Not in London, as far as I know,’ said Dancy. ‘But if you want my advice, it might be worth talking to Birmingham CID.’

  ‘That’s a good tip,’ said Coburg. ‘Thanks.’

  Joe Barker and Ernie Morris turned away from the door of the small terraced house in Paddington where Dan Reeves lived. There’d been no answer to their repeated knocking, and Morris had been reluctant to agree with Barker’s view that they kick the door in and search the place.

  ‘He’ll report it as a burglary,’ Morris had said.

  ‘No chance,’ snorted Barker. ‘He’s a crook. He’s not going to want to get involved with the police. He’s got our money stashed in there.’

  ‘Why would he take a chance like that?’ asked Morris. ‘Anyone could break in and snaffle it. He’ll have it stashed away somewhere else.’

  Ernie Morris hated violence, both to himself or to other people. That’s why he’d been upset when Joe Barker had belted that general bloke. Not just because it meant that the law would get involved, but because it meant that Barker was unstable, on the edge, and likely to do dangerous things. Like that business of him sticking a gun in the fence’s ear and threatening to blow his brains out. He knew that had really worried Billy Dodds. If Barker could do that to the fence, he could do it to any of them. Just like what he was intending to do to Dan Reeves once he’d got the money off him. Kill Reeves, that’s what Barker was intending, and Morris wanted no part of it. The only reason he’d come along with Barker in search of Reeves was because he hoped to stop him killing him. Talk him out of it. As it turned out, there hadn’t been any need of it because Reeves hadn’t been in. But that hadn’t satisfied Barker.

  ‘I bet he’s at that bird’s place,’ he said grimly. ‘Alice Martin’s. He spends most of his time round there. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that’s where he’s got our money stashed, hidden somewhere in her place.’

  ‘I don’t know, Joe,’ said Morris doubtfully. ‘We don’t want to involve someone like her in our business.’

  ‘I bet she’s already involved,’ said Barker grimly. ‘Are you coming, or not?’

  Very aware of the pistol in Joe’s pocket, and also aware that he was perfectly capable of using it, Morris reluctantly nodded.

  ‘Alright. But no trouble, Joe. We just ask her where Reeves is.’

  ‘And if he’s there?’

  ‘We tell him we know about the six hundred and we want it.’

  ‘Right.’ Barker nodded. He patted his pocket. ‘And if he don’t hand it over, I’ll wave this bad boy in his face.’

  When they got back to their office at Scotland Yard, Coburg put a phone call through to Birmingham CID. When he was connected, he introduced himself and asked to speak to a senior officer.

  ‘How senior?’ asked the man at the other end.

  ‘A working inspector rather than a superintendent,’ said Coburg. ‘And someone who might have had experience of man called Shelley Buttons.’

  ‘That’ll be me,’ said the man. ‘DI Bill Rodgers at your service.’ He paused, then asked, ‘Coburg? Are you the DCI Saxe-Coburg who married Rosa Weeks?’

  ‘I am,’ said Coburg.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Rodgers. ‘We saw it in the paper. My wife and I have always been fans of hers, that’s why she spotted it. We saw her a couple of years ago when she was appearing here in Birmingham. Pass on to her how much we like her singing and playing, and ask her when she’s going to be on the wireless again.’

  ‘I will,’ said Coburg. ‘She’ll be very pleased.’

  ‘But you want to know about Shelley Buttons,’ said Rodgers. ‘What do you want to know, exactly?’

  ‘Anything you can tell me about him,’ said Coburg. ‘What sort of character he is.’

  Rodgers gave a harsh mirthless laugh, then said, ‘He’s one of the most vicious characters I ever met.’

  ‘Did he do time?’

  ‘Only as a juvenile. Borstal.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Violence. As a teenager he was working as an enforcer for a loan shark here in Birmingham. He was caught using a razor on a bloke, cut him about the face. That was the last time he was behind bars. He learnt that if he wanted to stay out of jail it was necessary to intimidate his victims and any witnesses into silence. And that’s what he did. Once people realised that there was a chance of them or their loved ones ending up in a canal, they shut up. You know what things are like; you can’t protect everyone twenty-four hours a day.

  ‘What we started to do, though, was pick up his lieutenants. Some we managed to put away; others we …’ He hesitated then chuckled. ‘Let’s just say we neutralised them. They got as good as they gave out. The warning was clear to Buttons. We may not be able to get witnesses to put him away in jail, but he was still only human with bones that break. Which is why we think he decided to leave Birmingham and move down to London with his mob. How are you getting on with him? I assume, as you’re phoning, he’s causing trouble.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Coburg. ‘I was curious to learn a bit about him before I start talking to him, find out what sort of person he was.’

  ‘Like I said, vicious. And aggressive. He’s got a chip on his shoulder about something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No idea. To be honest, I’m not interested in trying to get in touch with his inner self and rehabilitate him, like the psychiatrists tell us. I just wanted him out of Birmingham. The other thing is that he ran drugs here, and on a big scale.’

  ‘What sort of drugs?’

  ‘Everything. Morphine. Heroin. Cocaine. Marijuana. Pills. Whatever people wanted, he dealt. He had a nightclub up here where he used to deal them. We raided it when we could, but we only found drugs on the premises once. I think the other times he’d been tipped off his club was about to be raided.’

  Coburg replaced the receiver, looked at Lampson and asked, ‘Did you hear anything of that?’

  Lampson grinned. ‘I think they might have heard right along the corridor. These Brummies have got loud voices.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ said Coburg. He got up and took his outdoor coat from the peg. ‘I think now’s a good time to bring Mr Buttons in to answer a few questions.’

  Alice regarded the two men on the doorstep with wariness.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re friends of Dan’s,’ said Barker. ‘He’s sent us to pick something up.’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s between us and Dan,’ said Barker menacingly.

  Alice began to shut the door on them, but Barker shoved his boot in the gap.

  ‘We’re coming in either nicely, or the hard way,’ he snapped.

  He pushed the door open and he and Morris entered the passageway.

  ‘First floor, as I remember,’ said Barker, and he and Morris mounted the stairs, Alice following, feeling helpless. Dan should be here, she thought angrily.

  She’d left the door to her room unlocked while she’d gone downstairs to answer the ring at her doorbell, and Barker and Morris just walked in and stood surveying the room.

  ‘Where’s Dan?’ asked Barker.

  ‘He’s at work,’ replied Alice.

  ‘When will he be back?’ asked Barker.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alice.

  Barker spotted the decorated jewellery box on the table. ‘I recognise this!’ he said, and he strode to the table and picked the box up.

  ‘You can’t touch that!’ said Alice, alarmed. ‘That’s Dan’s.’

  ‘No it isn’t, it’s ours,’ said Barker. ‘I was there when we took it.’ He tested the weight of it. ‘Loads in here,’ he said to Morris. ‘It looks like Dan’s been holding out on us.’

  ‘That’s ours!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘Mine and Dan’s. It’s our perks.’

  ‘Shut up!’ snarled Barker. ‘Where’s the key?’

  ‘I haven’t got it,’ said Alice quickly.

  ‘Lying bitch,’ snorted Barker derisively. ‘No problem. I’ve got a hammer that’ll open it.’

  He tucked the box under his arm and headed for the door. Morris, uncomfortable, moved to follow him.

  ‘You can’t take that!’ shouted Alice desperately. ‘I’ll tell Dan!’

  ‘You do that, and tell him that if he wants this back he’d better give us the cash he stole from us. Tell him Joe Barker said he’d spoken to Dan’s fence, so I know how much he got for the last lot. He owes us six hundred quid and counting.’

  With that, he left the room, Morris following him.

  Alice stared after them for a moment, then slammed the door shut and fell on the bed, sobbing with tears of rage and loss, and panic about what Dan would do to her when he arrived.

  Coburg and Lampson made their way down the wide staircase and were walking across the reception area when a call of ‘Mr Coburg, sir!’ from the reception desk stopped them. They walked to where the desk sergeant, Derek Whitten, was waiting for them, a concerned expression on his face.

  ‘Sorry to call you, sir,’ said Whitten, ‘but you know those two blokes you gave the pictures out of. The drawings.’

  ‘Yes, sergeant. And now we know who they are: Henry Punt and Wally Maples.’

  ‘They’re also dead, sir.’

  Coburg looked at the sergeant in surprise. ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘Shot,’ said Whitten. ‘Their bodies were pulled out of the canal at King’s Cross. They were only found because they got caught up in a barge going upriver.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘I got the report about fifteen minutes ago. I tried phoning you in your office, but your phone was engaged. I was just about to send a message up to you.’

  ‘Thanks, Derek. Where are the bodies?’

  ‘They were taken to UCH.’

  ‘Can I use your phone?’ asked Coburg.

  Whitten nodded and handed it to Coburg, who asked to be put through to University College Hospital. Once through, Coburg left a message asking for photographs of the two men whose bodies had recently been brought in, found shot dead in the canal at King’s Cross. ‘Just the faces,’ he said. ‘When they’re ready, can they be sent to Scotland Yard, marked for the attention of DCI Coburg. And I’d appreciate it if this can be treated as urgent.’

  He hung up the phone, then turned to Lampson. ‘I’m re-thinking pulling in Shelley Buttons. From what Riley told us, he gave the impression that Buttons was behind Rosa being abducted by Punt and Maples. Now he may be lying, or there may be truth in it. Whichever way, I suggest we leave confronting Buttons until we’ve got the photos of Punt and Maples. I want to see his face when I show him the pictures.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Lampson. ‘One thing’s for sure, it can’t have been Riley who shot them. He hasn’t left his club except to go home. And we had him in for questioning yesterday after Rosa was freed.’

  ‘Not straight away,’ pointed out Coburg.

  ‘You still like Riley for the shooting and having Rosa lifted?’

  ‘He’s certainly in the frame as far as I’m concerned,’ said Coburg. ‘But so’s this Buttons character, if he was working with Punt and Maples, as Riley claims.’

  One glance at the look of abject misery on Alice Martin’s face when he walked into her room told Dan Reeves that something was seriously wrong.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Two of the blokes you’re on the fire crew with came here, looking for you.’ And the thought of it brought tears to her eyes once more. ‘They took the box with the jewels in.’

  He stared at her, shocked. ‘You left it out!’ he raged.

  ‘No,’ she defended herself. ‘They went through the cupboards and things and found it.’

  He stepped towards her, and she flinched and backed away from him.

  ‘You stupid cow!’ he snarled. ‘I told you to keep it out of sight.’

  ‘I did!’ she protested.

  He grabbed her roughly by the arm. ‘Who were they?’ he demanded.

  ‘You’re hurting me!’ she said, trying to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong for her.

  ‘I’ll hurt you properly if you don’t tell me who they were,’ he snapped.

  ‘The one who took the box said to tell you Joe Barker wanted the money you stole from them.’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘He said it was six hundred quid. He said he’d been to see your fence to find out how much he’d given you for the last lot.’

  Reeves released Alice’s arm. ‘The bastard!’ he muttered.

  ‘What are we gonna do, Dan?’ asked Alice. ‘That box was our way out of this hole. You should have sold it and turned it into money before.’

  ‘No,’ said Reeves fiercely. ‘Jewels go up in price. The longer we could hang on to them the better.’ He paced the room, deep in thought. ‘I’m gonna get them back. It was me and my hammer that opened those safes. I shared any cash with them, but by rights those jewels are mine.’

  ‘Ours, Dan,’ Alice corrected him. ‘You said they were for us.’

  ‘And they are,’ said Reeves. ‘If Joe Barker took them, it means finding out where he’s stashed them. He’s cunning, is Joe. And dangerous. He carries a gun.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I might have to lean on the other two, Ernie and Billy, to find out what Joe’s done with the box. They ain’t so dangerous as Joe.’ He looked grimly at Alice. ‘And when I find them, I’m gonna have to finish Joe off, otherwise he’ll come after us.’

  ‘How will you do that?’

  ‘I’m gonna have to get me a gun. It’s the only thing that will stop Joe.’

  Coburg had the two musicians, Johnny Kepple and Sam Watson, who’d played with Benny Martin at the Riff Club on his last night alive, brought in to Scotland Yard. He knew that the Riff’s regular employees, barmen, doormen and such, could be found at the club, but musicians were notoriously itinerant. Kepple and Watson lived in Notting Hill, each in a bedsitting room in two of the large and crumbling houses that proliferated in the area.

  ‘We’ll take them one at a time,’ Coburg told Lampson. ‘Then compare notes to see how their statements match up.’

  The first one brought in to the interview room was the saxophone player, Johnny Kepple, a man in his late forties.

  ‘How come you and Sam Watson and Benny Martin were playing together that night at the Riff Club?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘Actually, at first it was just going to be me and Sam,’ said Kepple. ‘Johnny and Sam, sax and drums. But around lunchtime, me and Sam were taking some refreshment in Archer Street. It’s where all the guys tend to gather looking to pick up gigs. We bumped into Benny, who was there just hanging out. We know Benny from jamming with him. Benny asked if there was anything we knew happening, and Sam suggested he join us for the gig at the Riff Club that night. He’s good on that guitar of his, doesn’t try to take over like some of these kids, show off and that.’

  ‘How did he seem to you?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Did he seem worried? About money?’

  Kepple laughed. ‘Man, we’re all worried about money. But it don’t do to dwell about it, just get out there and try and earn some.’

  ‘Did he tell you he was worried because he was in debt to some heavy people? We heard he was looking to borrow some money to deal with it.’

  Kepple shook his head. ‘No, but then he wouldn’t, not with me and Sam. He knows we’re both broke. You talk to your boys who came to pick us up, ask us about the shitholes we’re both living in. We wouldn’t be living there if we had money.’

  ‘How much did you get for the gig?’

  ‘A tenner each for me and Sam, a fiver for Benny.’

  ‘Did you see if Benny was with anyone? Did he go off with anyone after the gig ended?’

  ‘I can’t help you there,’ said Kepple, and he grinned. ‘There was this woman there in the audience who liked what I did and she invited me for a private performance at her place. I picked up our money from Pat Riley, gave Sam and Benny theirs, then me and this chick made for the outdoors.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s one of the perks of being a featured player.’

  After Kepple, Sam Watson was brought in. Watson was a pasty-faced, thin young man in his twenties, who chain-smoked throughout the interview. Coburg suspected from his nervous, edgy demeanour that the young man used drugs and it had been some time since his last fix.

  ‘Would you roll up your sleeves?’ Coburg asked.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Watson warily, but Coburg could tell he already knew the reason.

  ‘Because I’m a police officer and I’m empowered to ask you to,’ said Coburg calmly.

  Watson hesitated, then unbuttoned the cuffs of his rumpled shirt and rolled his sleeves up, exposing the needle marks on his forearms.

  ‘I’m a diabetic,’ he said defensively.

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Coburg blandly.

  ‘Can I roll my sleeves down now?’ asked Watson. He shivered. ‘This place is cold. I get sick easily.’

  Coburg nodded, and Watson rolled his sleeves down.

  Coburg asked Watson the same questions he’d asked Kepple, and got the same answers: Watson and Kepple meeting Benny in Archer Street and agreeing he’d join them for that night’s gig at the Riff Club. When Coburg asked Watson if Benny had mentioned owing some heavy characters money, Watson shook his head and gave the same response that Kepple had given: ‘He wouldn’t bother asking us if he was in money trouble; he knows we’re both flat broke.’

 

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