Tip Off (19 page)

She proffered biscuits, took a couple herself, and sat down opposite me expectantly.

I composed my face into a sympathetic expression. ‘I'm afraid I've come with some very sad news.'

She reacted at once with a collapsing of her face and a visible tensing of her fleshy frame. ‘Oh, no? What's happened?'

‘Mr Brown was found dead this morning in his flat.'

‘Oh my God!' she almost shrieked, and put down her tea cup.

I let her take a moment or two to recover from the shock. She looked around distractedly. When our eyes met again, I saw that hers were wet with tears. ‘Poor Toby,' she muttered, though I guessed, knowing Toby, that she hadn't been encouraged to call him that. ‘How did it happen? Was it 'is heart?'

‘No, it wasn't. It may have been suicide, but we're not sure.'

‘Oh, my gawd!' she wailed, even louder, and I regretted that I'd told her so soon. But it was out now, and I had a job to do.

‘I'm really sorry to have to tell you, but my partner and I went to the flat this morning and found him hanging from one of those great beams in the drawing room.'

She stared back at me in astonishment. ‘'Anging? How? Why?'

‘The police think it was suicide.'

‘Toby – suicide? Never! He'd never do 'isself in, not in hundred years,' she said with utter conviction.

Here was someone else adamant that Toby wouldn't have taken his own life.

‘No,' I agreed, ‘his mother didn't think so either.'

‘'Is mother?' Mrs Hackney scoffed. ‘I reckon she was'alf 'is problem!'

‘How do you mean?'

She looked at me to see if I was being serious, or just naïve. ‘Well, 'e were an iron-'oof, weren't 'e? And I always reckon that takes a bit of living with.'

‘Yes, of course, I knew he was gay,' I said, primly. ‘But what particular problems did that cause him?'

‘The boys,' she sighed. ‘Well, not boys, like children or anything – he never went in for that sort of thing – but they was always younger, and never 'ad any money. The times I heard him telling 'em – no, they couldn't'ave nothing – then giving in. Of course, if he turned the tap off, they just went, didn't they? And that upset him. “They only want me for my money, don't they, Mrs H?” he used to say to me.'

I took the opportunity to push her a little. ‘If you don't think Toby took his own life, do you think it is possible any of these boys was responsible? Who was the latest, for instance?'

‘Miles? No, it wouldn't have been 'im. He wouldn't'urt a fly. He was a nice, gentle little chap, and ever so good on the piano. That's what he did, played the piano for them ballerinas to practise to. He seemed to have left Toby, though, but not over money, I don't think. He wasn't the sort to ask.'

‘This Miles, did you know his other name or where he lived?'

Mrs Hackney's gaze swept around the small, cluttered room as she grappled to dredge a name from her subconscious, but gave up. ‘No, sorry.' She shook her head. ‘I think I knew it, but it won't come back. I'm sure he wouldn't have done that anyway. Poor old Toby, he was well upset when Miles went.'

‘Perhaps there was another friend, from before that?'

‘There were quite a few, I can tell you, and like I said, some of them right little chisellers. There was the one he went into business with . . . talked Toby into that telephone line that brought him all the bother . . .'

‘What was he called?' I asked, trying to control my excitement at the promise of so much more useful information.

‘Lincoln – Steve Lincoln.' She spat the name out. ‘Nasty feller, always trying to squeeze money from Toby. I reckon he was a gambler who believed he could get his hands on inside information. He helped with the tipping line – Steve was part of that, I'm sure. Then they fell out. It was just after that, every blessed nap Toby gave started coming in.'

‘Hold on a minute,' I said, sure of the connection now. ‘Did Toby call him “Linc”?'

‘Yes, that's right.' She nodded her over-permed grey curls.

‘I see. Was he still on the scene then, in any other sense?'

‘No, I don't think so. Toby'd seen him for what he was and got rid of 'im by then. Didn't stop him coming round, though, 'specially when the line really hotted up. He reckoned he should have been on a cut, being as 'ow 'e talked Toby into it in the first place.'

‘When did he last come, then?'

‘I wouldn't know for sure. I only does four days a week there. Toby paid me, mind, like it was a full week, and no tax, and nothing to stop me drawing me Social.'

‘All right, but when did you last see him yourself?'

‘Let's think.' She adopted her mind-searching posture again, eyes ranging back and forth across the room. ‘He certainly come up Friday. Just after dinner, it was, and 'e was well pis—drunk,' she corrected herself. ‘Yellin' and shoutin' and telling Toby he knew what had been going on and how he had to have some money. Poor old Toby tried to shut 'im up so I wouldn't hear, then he sent me out to go shopping at Fortnum's for 'im, which 'e often did if he was 'aving a conversation he didn't want me to 'ear.'

‘So on Friday, this Steve turned up, still thinking he could ask for money?'

‘Yes.'

‘And do you know if he got any?'

‘I wouldn't know, but I doubt it. One thing Toby could be was stubborn as a mule if the mood took him.'

‘Do you know where this chap lives?'

‘Nope.' She shook her head decisively. ‘His mum had a flat up Kilburn but as far as I can tell, he used to doss down around the place. That's one of the reasons Toby couldn't stand it no more.'

‘Never mind, I'll see if I can find him. Now, you said earlier that Toby's line was causing him trouble. What sort of trouble was that?'

‘I don't know, really. I don't know much about what went on – only snippets I'd hear. He just seemed worried – not about Steve, but just before he packed it up. He thought the bookies was gunning for 'im. Then I think he agreed with them to stop.'

‘Did he tell you that?'

‘Well, no, not exactly. But, you know, I was in there quite a bit when he was, and he trusted me not to blabber – and I never did, not till now, when he's gone and you're his friend.'

‘Do you know who I am, then?'

‘Oh, yes. He mentioned you from time to time – you're not a very good jockey, are you? You was at school with him, wasn't you? There's a picture of you and him, when you was both kids.'

I was amazed that Toby had talked of me to this woman who, by the sound of it, was a close confidante, though she probably didn't know it.

‘Yes, we go back a long way,' I agreed. ‘I know his mother well, too, and my girlfriend Emma has known him all her life,' I added, wanting to make it clear to her that my concern over Toby's death was sincere. I put my empty tea cup down and got to my feet.

‘Thank you so much for helping me. I'll let you know what's going on. Of course, if you think of anything else, just ring me or leave a message and I'll come right round. But I suggest, for the moment, you don't go back to Toby's flat. If he was paying you in cash, without tax, it's probably best not to let the police know, eh?'

She nodded. ‘You won't tell them, will you?'

‘No, of course not, and you've been a great help to me. I'll make sure my partner and I find out what happened, and we'll let you know, without bringing you into it. Now, I shouldn't take up any more of your time, unless there's anything else you want to tell me?'

She stood up too and started to gather up the tea cups. ‘Well,' she said, thinking hard, ‘I can't tell you where you can find Steve Lincoln, but I can show you what he looks like, if that's any use?'

‘It certainly is.'

She put the tea cups down and opened the door of a small sideboard. From this she took out a large brown envelope and pulled out a few photographs and flipped through them. As far as I could see, they were mostly of Toby with various famous people with whom he'd come into contact over the last few years as he himself had become better known.

‘I loved seeing him with celebrities,' Mrs Hackney said fondly. She stopped at one of the photos and handed it to me. It showed three men standing in a row at some kind of ceremony.

‘Where was this taken?' I asked.

‘When they started the tippin' line. They had a bit of a party for the papers and such.'

One of the men in the shot was Toby, beaming with knowing confidence; one was a top-ranking flat trainer, well-known for turning up at any press event if the envelope of cash on offer was fat enough. I put a finger on the third man. ‘I presume that's Steve Lincoln?'

Mrs Hackney nodded. ‘That's 'im – nasty little shyster!'

‘May I take this and have a copy made?'

‘Yes, 'course you can.'

 

‘You've made some headway.' Matt sounded impressed as we headed back through the West End.

‘Up to a point,' I qualified. ‘Finding Lincoln isn't going to be easy. I don't suppose you fancy cruising the gay bars with his photograph?'

‘No more than you. But maybe the other chap will know where to look.'

‘You mean Miles, the last boyfriend?'

‘Yes. At least we have an idea where he works. There can't be too many professional ballet studios in London.'

‘They won't be functioning today, though,' I pointed out. ‘I'll start on them tomorrow.'

‘Fine.' Matt nodded. ‘But we'll have to go back to Toby's now.'

‘Why?'

‘Because,' he said, about to spell out the obvious, ‘we forgot to pick up our tape this morning.'

We pulled up outside the grand front door of the building in Hay's Mews. I rang the caretaker's bell. There was no answer over the intercom, but a few moments later the door was opened by a burly man in a security company uniform who looked out at us blankly.

‘Afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?'

‘Is Mr Tilbury there?'

‘Mr Tilbury's been relieved of his duties for a few days. He's had a bit of a shock recently.'

Of course, we should have known that events would move on even though it was, incredibly, just seven hours since we'd first arrived at this same door that morning.

‘We were here earlier,' I pressed, not holding out much hope of gaining access to the flat. ‘We found Mr Brown and contacted the police. We're old friends and would like to take a quick look around his flat again.'

‘I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir. We've strict instructions not to let anyone unauthorised into the premises for the time being.'

‘But we are authorised – by Mr Brown's next-of-kin.'

‘Then you'll have a document to that effect?' he asked with exaggerated patience.

‘No, of course not. We didn't think it would be necessary. For heaven's sake, this man's taken his own life. His mother wants some of his personal effects. That's not unreasonable is it?'

‘I believe the CID have temporarily removed most of that sort of thing, sir. But anyway there'd be nothing I could do, I'm sorry. I suggest Mr Brown's mother contacts the CID at Charing Cross Road. Detective Superintendent Howard is in charge of the case.'

‘Let's leave it,' Matt said to me, recognising the blank wall of official obduracy. ‘He's not going to budge.'

‘Hang on,' I said. ‘Is Mr Tilbury in his flat?'

‘I couldn't say, sir.'

‘Would you mind if one of us just popped down? There was something I wanted to see him about.'

The man looked doubtful, but his instructions had been to stop anyone from entering Toby's flat, not from visiting the resident caretaker. ‘All right,' he said. ‘It's through there.' He nodded at the door at the back of the hall which led to the back stairs where we had hidden our recorder.

I found it and concealed it as best I could under my jacket. On the way out, I shook my head at the guard. ‘No luck. Never mind, I'll try again another time.'

 

As soon as we reached my sister's house we went down to the office. We'd decided to listen to the tape there, amplified on good speakers and in the best possible listening conditions, so that we didn't miss any sound or remotely audible nuance.

Matt sat down at the table, pulled the recorder from its leather case and flipped it open.

‘Oh, no!' He gave an anguished gasp. ‘There's no bloody tape in here!'

My blood froze. Two seconds before, I was certain I'd replaced the last tape; now I just couldn't be sure.

‘Oh, God, Matt!' I spluttered and felt my cheeks burn at the stark shame of knowing I might have mucked up a vital source of evidence.

He lifted his head and gave me a withering look. ‘Did you put one back in?'

‘I'm certain I did.'

I could see him fighting to control his temper. To his credit, he succeeded. He let out a long sigh that made me feel even worse than I already did.

‘I don't know what to say, Matt. I guess I was in a hurry, maybe I forgot to replace it. I can't remember.'

He snapped the machine shut. ‘Oh, well, there it is. If we haven't got it, we haven't got it. We'd better take a look at our photographs – if you haven't chucked all the film or wiped the discs.'

I couldn't very well object to his jibe and silently got together all the shots, digital and on film, so that we could make an exhaustive analysis of them.