The Body in the River (32 page)

Brookes turned back to Gill Foreman.
‘
What does the City Road collator say about that, Liz?
’

She shook her head.
‘
Nothing, sir. If I
’
m brutally honest, I got the impression the uniform there steer well clear of Silver and his business.
’

Brookes nodded and shared a look with Middlemiss.
‘
Go on, Stumpy.
’

‘
That
’
s about it, boss; the two bouncers both have form for violence but just small stuff.
’

Brookes sat for a moment, thinking. There was an awful lot missing from what Gerrard had said. But he knew this would not have been the DC
’
s fault; Brookes trusted the man implicitly.

He phrased his next question carefully.
‘
On a scale of one to ten, Stumpy, how good was the co-operation you got from the City Road police?
’

Gerrard looked uncomfortable; clearly he was not happy criticising fellow police officers.

Brookes encouraged him,
‘
You can be totally honest, Stumpy, you
’
re among friends here.
’

Gerrard glanced at him.
‘
Probably a five, boss.
’

Brookes nodded.
‘
OK, let
’
s move on. What about his brothels, who was looking into them?
’

DI Eric Brown said,
‘
That was my team, boss. We
’
ve found two, both on Bethnal Green
’
s patch. Neither of the premises are in Silver
’
s name. Both are above shops and draw very little attention. In fact, The Green have had no complaints at all about either place. He
’
s also got a sex shop in Roman Road. They run pretty close to the line but so far there have been no convictions.
’

Brookes frowned.
‘
Is that it?
’

Brown looked embarrassed.
‘
That
’
s all we
’
ve found so far, boss. But we
’
ll keep looking.
’

Brookes was thoughtful for a long moment. Finally, he spoke.
‘
We know that Silver has made millions out of his enterprises because he bought all those properties abroad. From what we
’
ve uncovered he couldn
’
t possibly have accumulated that sort of money; we
’
re missing something here. Keep looking. One other thing; no one has mentioned his accountant. Any ideas?
’

A few of his detectives shook their heads.

Brookes looked towards DI Short.
‘
Get onto Richard Mann of the Fraud Squad, he might know something about that. One last question, people: you
’
ve reported what you
’
ve found out. What
’
s the word on the street, what are the rumours about this man?
’

Gerrard cleared his throat.
‘
He likes young women, sir, and he likes to hurt them.
’

‘
How reliable is your source, Stumpy?
’

Gerrard shook his head back and forth.
‘
On a scale of one to ten, boss, I
’
d say five or six.
’

Brookes asked if there were any questions; there were none. He finished by saying,
‘
OK, keep searching, there
’
s still a lot we don
’
t know about this man and knowledge is power. We
’
ll meet again same time tomorrow.
’

*

‘
Good, but not religious good.
’

Thomas Hardy

Thames Magistrates
’
Court dated back to 1860. Since then, it had dispensed justice to petty criminals of all descriptions, as well as committing those charged with more serious offences to the Crown Court. The old stone-faced building dating from that time was finally replaced in 1990. Brookes
’
early police career started in the East End, and he cut his teeth on cases heard here and courts like it.

Arriving at the front desk and reporting to a clerk, he smelled the same smells as he had as a young constable. The smell of fear, nervousness, and anxiety were as they had always been and even modern disinfectants couldn
’
t fully disguise them. The courtroom was modern but had lost none of its air of tension. Even though the case he was appearing in was of a minor nature, Brookes still felt the excitement he always had before giving evidence.

He and Middlemiss made contact with the young solicitor from the Crown Prosecutor
’
s office who was to present their case, Brian Curry. In his late twenties, tall and slim, Curry seemed unusually nervous. During a five minute conversation, Brookes found out why; Silver was represented by a QC, a full blown barrister from a well-known firm, one Simon Brough-Hughes.

Learning this, Brookes smiled. He smelled the scent of battle and, no matter how minor the matter, the adrenalin would help his performance.

There were just the four prosecution witnesses: he, Middlemiss, and the two DC
’
s. Curry said he would call them in that order.

Brookes said,
‘
Do you have his list of previous convictions?
’

‘
Yes, of course,
’
Curry replied,
‘
and copies for the court and defence.
’
He stood up a bit taller, trying hard to appear more experienced than he was.
‘
You can leave that to me.
’

Brookes nodded, careful not to make the man more nervous than he was.
‘
Do we know the order in which the cases will be called?
’

‘
Yes, we are on first.
’

‘
Good. As soon as the beak arrives, we
’
ll pop outside until you call us.
’

‘
Yes, that
’
s what I was going to suggest.
’

Brookes exchanged glances with his DS; this lad was raw. They took seats behind the prosecutor
’
s desk and watched as Silver was brought up from the cells below. He gave Brookes a filthy look. He was wearing a smart suit and tie and a large bandage on his right index finger. Brookes couldn
’
t suppress a smile.

The usher called the court to order and the magistrate walked in. Brookes recognised him and heaved a sigh of relief. The stipendiary, Cyril Blaketon, had been doing the job for over twenty years and would stand no nonsense. Brookes was not enamoured of the whole legal system but there were one or two people in it he trusted; Blaketon was one of them. Silver would get a fair trial, but so would the public. Brookes and his DS left the courtroom and joined the crowd in the corridor outside.

In fact, Brookes was there no more than two minutes. A bailiff appeared and called his name. He walked through the doorway and made his way to the witness box on the left of the magistrate. Taking the bible in his right hand, he read the oath.

Curry was on his feet; he said,
‘
Please state your name and occupation.
’

‘
John Brookes, Detective Superintendent.
’

‘
Were you at The Venus Club in Shoreditch High Street last night?
’

‘
Yes, your worship.
’

‘
And why were you there?
’

‘
In the course of my duty. I went there to interview Mr Raymond Frederick Silver regarding a case I was investigating.
’

‘
Please tell the court what happened.
’

Shit!
thought Brookes. Curry should have asked why he went
there
to meet him; it wasn
’
t the place he would usually question a suspect. He knew he would have to improvise and get it in somehow or the defence would make something of it. But first, he must get permission to refer to his notes. A formality, but one that had to be gone through.

He said,
‘
May I refer to my notes, your worship? They were made within an hour of the incident at City Road Police Station.
’

The magistrate nodded. But Brough-Hughes was already on his feet.

‘
If it please your worship, may I see the officer
’
s notebook?
’

Blaketon frowned.
‘
For what purpose?
’

‘
To see there are no erasures or crossings out. There are police who will do this, your worship.
’

Brookes smiled inwardly as he saw Blaketon bristle; the QC was doing himself no favours. They all knew this was simply a tactic to put Brookes on the back foot. The usher took Brookes
’
notebook and passed it to Brough-Hughes. He made a cursory examination of it and handed it back.

At a nod from the magistrate, Brookes commenced his evidence. He said,
‘
At approximately 9.50pm last evening, accompanied by DS Frederick Middlemiss, I went to The Venus Night Club in Shoreditch High Street. I needed to interview Mr Raymond Frederick Silver.
’
Brookes nodded to where Silver sat.
‘
The accused. His address was shown as the club and there was no private access that I could find to his actual home.
’
He waited for comment, but there was none. He continued,
‘
I handed a business card to a waitress and asked that she give it to Mr Silver. There being nowhere else to wait, my DS and I stood at the bar.
’

Curry said,
‘
And how long did you wait there?
’

‘
Approximately half an hour.
’

‘
Then what happened?
’

‘
A large group of men arrived and headed for the bar.
’
Brookes smiled.
‘
Judging from the size of some of them and the number of cauliflower ears, it looked like a rugby team out on the town.
’
Brookes noticed a half-smile from Blaketon. He continued,
‘
To make room for them, my colleague and I moved away from the bar and sat at an empty table. A few seconds later I felt a hand on my right shoulder. But this was by no means a gentle gesture, your worship. It leant heavily on me and the fingers gripped my shoulder muscles. Looking up, I saw it was one of the floor-walkers, or bouncers.
’

Brough-Hughes was on his feet in a flash.
‘
Objection, your worship, the term
‘
bouncers
’
infers that they were roughnecks.
’

Blaketon looked at the QC over his glasses.
‘
How would you describe them, Mr Brough-Hughes?
’

‘
Waiters, your worship, they were waiters.
’

Blaketon smiled ironically.
‘
Waiters who behave like roughnecks then. Go on, Superintendent.
’

Brookes nodded.
‘
Thank you, your worship. I told him to remove his hand.
’

Again Brough-Hughes was on his feet.
‘
What were your actual words? Tell the court how you provoked him.
’

Blaketon banged his gavel.
‘
Order, order. I
’
m surprised at you, Mr Brough-Hughes. You will get your chance to cross-examine the witness later. Until then I suggest you keep your mouth shut and listen.
’
Turning to Brookes, he said,
‘
Please carry on, Superintendent. But I too would like to hear what you actually said and why.
’

Brookes nodded.
‘
The man was trying to bully me, your worship. What I actually said was,
‘
you have ten seconds to take your hand away.
’