The Kings of London (26 page)

He scanned the beach, but the only people he could see were an old couple walking hand in hand towards the Harbour Arm. Looking back towards the town, he scanned the pavements for any sign of Tozer.

A wave splashed against his feet. Cold water filled his left shoe.

‘Damn,’ he said loudly.

Where would you go in a seaside town if you had little money and a boy you had to look after all day? The footsteps were leading towards the old town.

Breen found the library in a red-brick building in the old streets.

The librarian was in her mid-sixties, hair pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. She held a red biro in one hand and said, in a hushed voice, ‘I don’t let them in here. They came once.’

‘Why not?’

‘They made too much noise.’

An elderly man brought a pair of books and placed them on the desk in front of her. The librarian pulled the cards out of the books, stamped them, then handed them back.

Breen said, ‘Too much noise?’

‘Well, I suppose you have to feel sorry for him. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know how to talk quietly,’ she said. ‘But you can’t have it, can you?’

Her pink lipstick had leaked into the creases around her mouth. ‘He
should be in a home, really. It’s not fair on the poor lad.’ She strode away from the desk, calling loudly, ‘Closing in five minutes.’

Breen turned to go. ‘I seen him a couple of times,’ said the elderly man.

‘The boy?’

‘That woman’s a cow,’ said the man, nodding at the librarian.

‘I heard you,’ said the librarian. ‘I’m not having that in my library.’

‘Poor lad,’ said the man. ‘He was no trouble.’

‘You know him?’ said Breen.

‘No talking.’

‘It’s not your ruddy library anyway,’ said the man.

‘I can ban you too, you know.’

‘Hard to miss him, really.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Matinee at two,’ he said. ‘It’s warm in there. He’s there some days with his mum.’

Breen looked at his watch. It was twenty to two now. ‘Where’s the cinema?’ he asked.

‘Shh,’ said the librarian.

Carry On Up the Khyber
and
King Kong Escapes
. Double bill. ‘Enlist in a World of Laughter’, said the poster. Cheap British pap padded out with some dubbed Japanese flick. Now they were putting films on TV on Saturday afternoons, cinemas were dying on their feet.

Breen stood in the lobby behind a pillar, watching the audience file in. As a boy, he had sneaked coins out of his father’s milk-money tin to watch thrillers in the Hammersmith Odeon. It was a brash, loud place, compared to the infuriating quietness of the house he shared with his father. He’d loved it. His father had been disappointed by a boy who showed little interest in books.

The two skinheads came past, all smiles. ‘You found him?’

‘No,’ said Breen.

‘We saw that cripple just now. He was in the queue outside. We told his ma you was looking for him. Should have seen the look she give us. Do we get a reward or something?’

But Breen was already pushing past them. A mum was making her way slowly through the swing door with two small children, each sucking on a lollipop. He had to wait while the boys dawdled in the doorway before he could make it outside. There was a box office in the wall of the cinema. The queue was about twenty people long, but by the time he reached it there was no sign of Shirley or Charlie.

Breen started to run. Which way though? How fast could Charlie Prosser move with his gammy leg? He reached the end of the street, but there was no sign of them, so he turned and ran back the other way.

The small streets of the old fishing town confused him. Which was south?

Dodging between pedestrians, he tripped over a wicker shopping trolley, sending cans rolling into the road. ‘Watch where you’re ruddy going!’ a woman shouted.

A couple of boys came clattering down the pavement on roller skates, forcing Breen into the road. A car honked.

Round the corner.

Look left and right. No sign. And where was bloody Tozer when he needed her?

Breen stood there, panting.

And noticed heads turning up ahead. People laughing.

Breen ran towards them.

He could see from twenty yards away that Charlie was on the ground – panting, eyes wild. He must have tripped. ‘Shirley!’ shouted Breen.

She didn’t turn; she was lifting her son. ‘Help!’ she shouted.

‘Shirley!’

People stood around, not knowing what to do.

‘Oh,’ said Shirley Prosser. ‘It’s you. I thought…’

Charlie was crying, trying not to, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘Who did you think I was?’

‘How was I to bloody know?’ said Shirley.

The crowd of shoppers paused, stared a little more, muttered, then moved on.

And suddenly Tozer was there too, arm around Charlie. ‘You OK? I saw you running. You can’t half shift.’

‘Where were you?’ said Breen. He hadn’t seen her appearing out of the crowd.

‘I was looking for you, weren’t I? Say sorry to Charlie, Paddy,’ said Tozer. ‘You frightened him.’

‘What?’ said Breen. ‘I needed you and you disappeared.’

‘No need to be shirty. Say sorry. He thought you were someone bad, didn’t you, Charlie? That’s why they ran. He was scared.’

Breen looked from Tozer to Charlie. ‘Sorry, Charlie. It was a misunderstanding. I just need to talk to your mother, that’s all.’

Charlie shook his head from side to side, a gob of dribble on his chin.

‘He doesn’t like you,’ his mother said. She stood there, arms folded, looking at Breen suspiciously, still not convinced. ‘What do you need to talk to me about?’ She was different. Stiffer. More cautious.

‘I meant it. I’m sorry we gave you a fright,’ said Breen.

Shirley nodded. Her skin was grey; she was thinner than she had been last time he had seen her. Her hair was greasy and unwashed.

‘You found out where I was?’

‘Yes. Helen did.’

‘Why?’

‘You were going to the cinema, weren’t you?’

Charlie glared.

‘So why doesn’t Helen here take you to see the film? That way I can talk to your mum.’

Charlie looked at Tozer suspiciously.

‘I’d like that, Charlie,’ Tozer said. ‘And you could get your breath back.’

‘What about?’ said Shirley.

Breen paused. A plastic windmill fluttered in the wind outside a newsagent. Here on the street, with her son next to her, he couldn’t explain why he thought her brother was dead. ‘Something important,’ said Breen.

Shirley bit her lip. ‘OK. Fancy that, Charlie? Going to the flicks with Helen? It might be nice, mightn’t it?’ She leaned forward and kissed her son gently on the forehead. ‘I’m sorry, lovely. Didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Get off,’ Charlie mumbled. ‘Not scared,’ he said.

After Tozer and Charlie had disappeared into the auditorium, he and Shirley found a bench in the foyer. There were sweet wrappers all over the floor. A dollop of dropped ice cream.

‘I’m sorry about your husband,’ said Breen. ‘It must have been a terrible shock.’

She nodded.

‘It’s probably not the right time to say it, but I enjoyed going out with you. It was good.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

They sat awkwardly, side by side. ‘You should have got in touch with me, at least. Let me know where you were. I’ve been worried.’

She gave a small, sad laugh. ‘You’ve been worried? I’m sorry! I’ve been scared out of my wits.’

‘Because you know who killed him?’

She shook her head. No words.

‘No idea at all?’

‘The other police asked me that. Over and over,’ she said.

‘No suspicion of anyone?’

She looked at him fiercely. ‘What about you, Paddy? Did you kill him?’

Breen shook his head. ‘No. God, no. I was with you when he was shot.’

She nodded again, as if she accepted this.

‘I want to find out who did. After he left the police he didn’t tell anyone where he went. Why was he hiding? Was he scared of something?’

She looked away.

‘I think he must have been frightened,’ she said. ‘If you’re a policeman, no one can touch you. But once you’re on your own, it’s different.’

Breen frowned. Leaving the police meant that Prosser had no longer been safe. So had he, in some way, been responsible for Prosser’s death by forcing him to leave the police force? Did she hold him responsible for that?

‘The police who interviewed me said you were suspended. How come you’re doing this?’

‘Until I can show that it wasn’t me that killed your husband, I’m still a suspect.’

A small, tired laugh. ‘So this is all about you, then?’

‘I know you’re scared. But if we find who killed your husband, then you can be safe. You and Charlie won’t have to keep running away. Do you want to spend your life like this?’

She looked down, shook her head. ‘I couldn’t even trust my own husband.’ Then she reached out and put her hand on his. ‘I’m sorry,’
she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be like this. I don’t think you did it. I’m scared, that’s all. I’m tired.’

He looked down. The contact of a woman’s hand. Breen said, ‘Whatever your husband was up to, I need you to believe that I am not involved.’ He was going to say he was ‘not that sort of copper’, but he stopped himself. ‘I only found out your husband was on the take by accident. I wasn’t involved in any of that. I had no idea until a few days ago, until I talked to you, that he was into anything bigger than that. You have to believe me. The only way we can stop this is by figuring out what was really going on.’ He took a breath and said, ‘I’m worried about your brother, too. Do you know where he is?’

She didn’t answer.

‘It’s important.’ He paused. He didn’t want to be the one who said this to her, but there was no one else. ‘I think something has happened to him.’

When he looked back up he saw that tears were streaming down her face. Awkward, Breen offered her his handkerchief.

Behind the sweets stand, a moon-faced teenage girl in a brown nylon uniform watched her impassively, as if this kind of thing happened all the time in Margate. Maybe it did, Breen wondered.

She looked away and said, ‘I think he’s dead.’

‘Johnny, you mean? Your brother?’

She nodded, and began to cry again. ‘I haven’t had anyone to talk to about this for so long,’ she said.

‘Tell me.’

She looked up at the ceiling. ‘Johnny disappeared. Vanished. Back in September. He just stopped answering calls and letters. I’ve been to his house, but there’s no one there. He just vanished.’

He felt that guilty thrill of being on the right track. Facts were finally starting to come into focus.

‘Your brother…’

She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You think he’s dead too… isn’t he?’

‘I think so.’ Breen nodded. ‘And I think your husband might have had something to do with his death.’

It was not even a human noise that came out of her. A feral howl, almost. Breen wished Tozer was here too. She would be able to handle this better. Women knew this territory.

The woman at the sweet counter glared at Breen. ‘If you two are arguing, I’ll call the manager,’ she said.

Breen ignored her.

‘What do you think the connection is between your husband’s death and your brother’s?’ he pressed her.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m tired. We don’t get much sleep in that boarding house.’

‘You have to think,’ he said.

‘I can’t.’ She was crying again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He offered her a cigarette, which she took without saying anything. She took two large quick puffs on it and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand before she started talking. ‘This all started with Johnny. Johnny got himself mixed up in something way out his depth.’

‘And your husband was in on it too?’

‘Not at the start. All this is my fault. All of this wouldn’t have happened…’

The lights came on outside the cinema. Through the doors, Breen could see the shine of neon on the pavement.

‘My younger brother. The successful one of the family,’ she said. ‘He went to college. None of our family had ever gone to college before. Had his own house at twenty-eight, and everything. We were all so proud of him. Poor little Johnny.’

‘What happened?’ said Breen.

‘About six months ago, Johnny came to me for help. Knocking on my door. He was drunk. And he was just talking all this stuff about the cost of materials. Steel and concrete. My little brother.’

‘He had got involved in something illegal?’

She nodded.

‘He’d been false-accounting?’

‘I’m not sure. Some kind of fraud. One of the companies he worked for.’

‘Morton, Stiles and Prentice?’

She looked shocked. ‘So you do know, then? You’re just stringing me along, pretending?’

‘I looked through your brother’s letters. It was a guess,’ said Breen. ‘I know he had been working for them.’

Her eyes were wider now.

‘What about a man called Harry Cox? Your brother was working for him.’

She frowned, looked at him, then shook her head. ‘I never heard him say any names,’ she said.

‘He’s a large man. Flashy.’

‘No.’

‘Was Michael interested in rugby, then?’

‘Rugby? Not really. He preferred football. Crystal Palace.’ She put the hand with the cigarette in it to her mouth, eyes big. ‘Christ sake. You’ve been investigating these people? Do they know you’re looking for Johnny?’

‘What?’ said Breen.

‘Nothing. Only…’ The hand was shaking, ash dropping onto the dirty floor. ‘If you found out where I am, they could too. Michael, Johnny: if they’re both dead…’

‘Nobody needs to know where you are,’ he said.

‘How did you find out? It’s Charlie, isn’t it?’

He nodded. Hard to hide when you have a son like Charlie.

She looked away, towards the doors of the cinema where her son was with Tozer. She chewed her bottom lip for a few seconds. Took a last tug from the cig.

‘Tell me about your brother Johnny. You said he came to you asking for help.’

‘It happened a few times after that. He’d get drunk and tearful and come around mine. I tried to get it out of him. What was wrong? One day he told me. Some people in that company – he never told me who – had put pressure on him to overestimate materials for jobs. Just a little bit here and there. No harm done. The councils never check properly. Happens on every building site. Only with some of the jobs they do now, that starts to add up to a lot of money. And they were putting pressure on him to get more and more money out of it. So he said.’

‘Never any names?’

She looked at him briefly, then shook her head. ‘No. He never said anyone’s name.’

‘Your brother came to you because your husband was a policeman?’

‘Good old Michael.’ She nodded. ‘Good old fucking Michael.’

‘He wanted to find a way to end it?’

‘Johnny thought if he went to the police they could tidy it all up and he’d be OK.’

‘Only your husband wanted in on it?’

‘I don’t know. Michael said he’d handle it. That’s all.’

Breen nodded. She reached out and laid his hand on his again.

‘Thing about Michael was, he loves Charlie – loved Charlie. I suppose he wanted to show he could look after him. If he could get money, he thought I’d love him. Or at least stay with him. He knew I didn’t love him. I never did. I just got pregnant by him.’

‘So instead of helping your brother take his story to the police he blackmailed him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Yes, maybe.’

Breen had to sit and think about this. Johnny Knight had been part of some syndicate skimming money off the top of building projects in London. With so much construction going on in the city, there was always scope for fraud. He tried to imagine what had gone on. At first it would have been small amounts – fifty pounds here and there – but with that much money being paid out, there was always potential
for someone to get greedy. As the sums increased and the total grew larger, Johnny had started to panic. The figures were becoming too significant not to be noticed, perhaps. And he was the first person they would come to for an explanation. He could lose his lovely house, his lovely life. He was a star pupil. An achiever. He would have tried to find a way out. He imagined him thinking about his sister’s husband, a policeman. He would have approached him, asked him if he could investigate it, perhaps even get a reward for letting the police know. Golden boys like Johnny always imagined there was some way they could come up smelling nice. But Michael Prosser wasn’t that sort of policeman. He would have seen it as an opportunity. He would have wanted a cut, maybe, for adding his own police protection to the racket.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘Why didn’t you report him missing? Why didn’t you tell me about this last time I came to see you?’

A gulp of air. ‘I loved him,’ she said. ‘He was my brother. He’d been planning to run away to Spain. He’d talked to me about it. Said he’d be in touch when he found a place. I thought maybe he had. See, if I’d gone and told the police he was missing people would start looking for him.’

She took her hand away from Breen’s. ‘But I’m starting to think,’ she said, looking at Breen, ‘that he didn’t. You know. Get away.’

‘I don’t think so either,’ said Breen. A long pause. The quiet popping of corn in the machine. A wave of muffled laughter from the cinema. ‘Who do you think killed him?’

She didn’t answer. That’s when the crying started again. She leaned forward, put her face in her hands and cried, shoulders trembling. Still unsure, Breen reached out a hand and laid it carefully on her shoulder.

When the sobbing had stopped, she said, ‘I’m scared.’

Breen looked at her. She looked half exhausted, half starved. Her husband was dead. Her brother was probably dead too. They had both been involved in the same scam. She had reason to be frightened. If her
brother had been killed for threatening to tell the police about it, she had just done exactly what he had been killed for.

He said, ‘If it was just you maybe you could run away from whoever has done all this. But it’s not just you, is it?’

She shook her head, smiled a little, and laughed. ‘No. It’s not just me. Sometimes, I wish to God it was. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?’

‘No. Not really.’

‘You know what? This is the first time I’ve not been with Charlie since we went out for dinner. That was the first time I’ve had a break from him in almost two months. I’ve been with him every minute of the day. Every hour. You’re not a father, are you?’

‘No,’ said Breen.

‘Since we left Michael he’s had no school. No nothing. Every minute of the day. Just me. And that’s what makes me cry.’