Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘Did she leave?’

‘Left Bath, yes.’

‘Is she still serving?’

Ingeborg nodded. ‘She did very well career-wise, ending up at headquarters. She’s a DCI now. She was one of the interviewers when I applied for the job here. I remember her telling me it wouldn’t be a bed of roses and by God she was right. But she also said I was lucky to be joining this team because it was the best-led in the county.’

‘She meant him?’

Ingeborg nodded. ‘And she was right about that, too. Watch him with Jack Gull, who’s supposed to be the class act. There’s no comparison.’

Gilbert yawned. ‘I guess we’d better drink up and move on. Is it worth talking to any of this lot?’

‘Didn’t you ask the barman about Anderson?’

He blushed. ‘Sorry. I was deciding which ale I wanted. Took all my concentration.’

‘You could return the glasses and see if he’s heard of him.’

He drained his and wiped his lips. ‘That was something else. Okay, I’ll give it a shot.’

Outside in Walcot Street a few minutes later, he was buoyant. ‘Anderson has a regular steak dinner in the Hudson Bar and Grill up the street. This way.’

‘I know the Hudson,’ Ingeborg said, standing her ground. ‘It’s not cheap. A steak there sets you back twenty to thirty pounds.’

‘So?’

‘Anderson obviously eats well.’

‘He’s not the only one, by the sound of it.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t pay for steak dinners. I was taken there a couple of times. I knew it better as the Hat before it went upmarket. The Hat and Feather. A great pub with a DJ called Dave who was a local legend, the oldest in the biz. The trouble was that the brewers kept putting up the rent, so the pub was always changing hands. And it was a listed building even older than the Bell. At one stage there was a danger of the floor upstairs collapsing. Seeing as the stage was up there and that was where the dancing went on, it was a real headache for the publican.’

Ingeborg’s memories of wilder times weren’t going to help their quest. She seemed to want to linger outside the Bell. ‘Let’s go find him, then,’ Gilbert said.

‘Where?’

‘The Hudson.’

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ she said. ‘It’ll be closed. It’s after 1 A.M.’

He swore. He almost stamped his foot. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘I think I do. Did you say you were police?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘You were being sent on a wild goose chase.’

‘Bloody hell. So where do we go now?’ Gilbert asked.

‘Isn’t that obvious?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Wait and see.’ She took a step back into the shadow of the building next door and tugged at Gilbert’s arm for him to do the same.

They didn’t have long to wait. A tall black man in a suit stepped out of the Bell and into the street speaking into a mobile phone, looked to right and left and waited at the kerb.

‘I didn’t see him in there,’ Gilbert said, in awe of Ingeborg’s foresight.

Immediately the sound of a car with speakers on full volume filled Walcot Street. A white Lexus came from nowhere and halted in the centre of the road. The speed of all this was worthy of a bank robbery except that robbers don’t usually have Black Eyed Peas going at full belt. The nearside door was open and the man was in the act of getting in.

‘Stop him,’ Ingeborg said.

Gilbert didn’t need telling. He had already sprinted forward. Just before the door slammed shut, he dove for the man’s arm and got a grip. The stitching on the sleeve gave way and a wedge of white was revealed at the shoulder. Gilbert’s hand came within a microsecond of being crushed in the door.

The boom of the music stopped and the car window slid down. Gilbert was on his knees in the road.

The man said from inside the car, ‘That will cost you. That was a Savile Row suit.’

Ingeborg caught up with Gilbert. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No problem,’ he said.

‘Is he okay?’ the man said. ‘He just destroyed my jacket.’

‘Are you Anderson Jakes?’ she said.

‘Sure. And you’re the fuzz. It will still cost you.’

‘DCs Smith and Gilbert. We’d like a few words. Do you mind stepping out of the car?’

Anderson took time to think about his options. Meanwhile, Gilbert had got upright and was now standing directly in front of the car to prevent it from moving on — brave, but not necessarily wise.

‘Turn off the engine,’ Ingeborg told the driver. She couldn’t see his face, just his black hands resting on the wheel.

It didn’t happen.

‘Tell him,’ she said to Anderson with more insistence.

Anderson gave a nod and the driver obeyed.

‘I was on my way home,’ Anderson said as he emerged from the car. ‘Can we keep this brief?’ He was at least a foot taller than either of them and he moved as if he spent time in the gym.

Ingeborg had the initiative now and she intended to keep it. ‘What were you doing in there? Not your kind of music.’

‘Bar billiards. The only decent table in my neighbourhood.’

‘I didn’t see you playing.’

He shrugged and the wedge of white increased in size. ‘Changed my mind, didn’t I? There was an unpleasant smell in there … of pigs.’

She ignored the taunt. She wanted cooperation. She was trying to think where best to take him. ‘You say you want to keep it short. Tell your driver to pull in to the side of the street and wait for you.’

This relaxed Anderson a little. He nodded to the driver. Gilbert stepped around the car and joined the other two.

‘We’ll take a short walk up the street,’ Ingeborg said, still reassuring. ‘This isn’t about you. It’s about the officer who was shot on Saturday night. Harry Tasker. You knew him, didn’t you?’

They started a slow stroll in the direction of the city centre.

‘I had no dealings with Harry,’ Anderson said.

‘We were told you might know about some of the people he spoke to on his beat.’

‘Small fry. Kids, mostly,’ he said. ‘They’re the ones need keeping in order, right?’

‘Students, you mean?’

‘Younger than that, sixteen, seventeen. Should be at home, doing their school work instead of making trouble, graffiti and that.’

‘There’s not a lot of graffiti here.’

‘Like I say, Constable Harry kept them in line.’

‘Are there any he didn’t keep in line, the over-twenties maybe? You know why I’m asking, Anderson? Some crazy person was way out of order taking a shot at him.’

He went silent again. His heels had metal tips that clipped on the paving stones. Club XL was on the left, probably the last place Harry Tasker had visited before he was shot. Like most of Bath’s nightclubs, it occupied an old building. In this case a carved stone over the entrance said ESTD 1798. Established as a nightclub ? The security man on the door gave Anderson a nod that was more respect than just recognition.

‘This is your manor, isn’t it?’ Ingeborg pressed him. ‘What’s going on? Walcot is swarming with cops and pressmen. You don’t want that kind of attention.’

‘If I knew who shot the cop, I’d tell you,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked around. Nobody knows.’

‘We’re not suggesting you know,’ Gilbert said, picking up on Ingeborg’s approach. ‘We’re looking for help. Was there anyone who could have felt threatened by Harry?’

‘I’m not a mind reader.’

‘Try.’

‘I told you, man. He was looking out for small fry, juveniles. He had the sense not to mess with grown-ups like me.’

‘Any juveniles in particular?’

‘I keep my distance.’

‘Sensible,’ Ingeborg chimed in. ‘As a grown-up it can’t be any pleasure being questioned about their misdemeanours.’