Zip Gun Boogie (12 page)

14

T
he police arrived with all the subtlety of a tower block being demolished.

They came by the car- and van-load, uniformed and plain clothes, and cordoned off the square, the tunnel leading to the car park, the mews, all entrances to the hotel, and cleared the first floor. I was half expecting a couple of helicopters complete with Krieg lights to hover overhead and bathe the place in their million candlepower beams.

By three a.m. the hotel was thick with Old Bill. Chick, Seltza and I, being the last to see Turdo alive, had been separated and were waiting to be questioned.

I was put in the hotel manager's sitting room with a uniformed constable who looked like a health freak and didn't like me smoking. I waited for an hour and five cigarettes before I was attended to.

Two men in suits came into the room and dismissed the constable. One was thirty-five or so in a dark grey double-breasted number and dirty shoes. His hair was greasy and black and not sure whether it was getting long or not. He had the face of someone who'd got a ticket but missed the boat. The other guy was fiftyish, wearing a single-breasted navy blue whistle with waistcoat. His shoes sparkled and his greying hair was cut short. He, on the other hand, looked like someone who always ended up in first class. Ticket or not.

‘Carpenter,' he announced when the uniform had gone. ‘Chief Superintendent. This is my colleague, Detective Inspector Ripley. You're Sharman.'

It was most reassuring to be told. ‘What a relief,' I said.

‘I beg your pardon?' said Carpenter.

‘Nothing,' I said. ‘It's just late, you know?'

‘I'm well aware of the time, Mr Sharman,' said Carpenter. I had a feeling that this geezer knew exactly who I was.

‘Any chance of a cuppa?' I asked.

‘Get some tea in, Mike, will you?' said Carpenter.

Ripley looked pained, went to the door, opened it, bellowed ‘Tea', closed it again and rejoined his guv'nor.

‘Thanks,' I said.

Ripley pulled two straight-backed chairs close up to the sofa where I was sitting and he and Carpenter sat down in front of me. Ripley produced a notebook and a cheap pen. I sat where I was and looked up at them.

‘Tell me about tonight,' said Carpenter.

I told him. Ripley took notes. The only bits I left out were those concerning illegal substances. Halfway through the story the telephone on the table rang. Ripley answered. He covered the mouthpiece and said: ‘Indian, China or Earl Grey?'

Carpenter looked like he'd swallowed a grapefruit whole. ‘Tell them just tea,' he said.

‘Indian for me,' I said.

‘Indian,' said Ripley and put down the receiver.

I finished the story.

‘So the last time you saw Duane Tucker was at approximately nine p.m.?' said Carpenter when I'd finished.

I assumed that Duane Tucker was Turdo. But I checked. Never assume. It can get you into serious trouble. I was right. I agreed that Carpenter's statement was true.

‘And he was going to call his girlfriend, Miss Hillman?'

‘I don't know her name,' I said. ‘But he
was
going to call his girlfriend, that's right.'

‘And you never saw him again?'

‘Not alive.'

‘And you spent the rest of the evening with Miss Landry?'

‘Ninotchka,' I said.

He nodded.

‘Not all evening,' I said. ‘I didn't get to her suite until after ten.'

‘And before?'

‘I had a drink with the roadies and then went upstairs.'

‘To your room?'

‘That's right.'

‘Alone?'

‘Correct.'

‘How long had you known Tucker?'

‘A few hours, that's all.'

‘And the other two members of the entourage, Wallace and Feldman?'

This name business was getting confusing. It turned out that Wallace was Chick and Feldman was Seltza. ‘The same,' I said. ‘I met all three earlier.'

‘And what did they do when you went upstairs?'

‘They said they were going out. To see a band at The Astoria.'

‘Charing Cross Road,' explained Ripley.

Carpenter nodded.

‘So what exactly are you doing here, Mr Sharman?' he asked. ‘You're a bit out of your area aren't you?'

Then I knew he knew me. ‘I didn't think I needed a passport to cross the river.'

Carpenter gave me a dirty look and the tea arrived. It was served by one of Jones' staff accompanied by another uniformed constable – presumably to make sure the waiter didn't slip us a Mickey in with the plate of assorted biscuits. The tea came in bone china on a silver tray. Not like the usual brew-up in the interview room, I thought.

‘That's one reason,' I said. ‘Room service.'

‘Any others?'

‘A job,' I said.

‘What kind of job?'

‘Security,' I said. ‘I was recommended.'

‘By?'

‘An old client.'

‘Does the client have a name, pray?'

‘McBain,' I said. ‘Mark McBain.'

‘Of course. Why exactly?'

‘They thought they needed it.'

‘It appears they were correct,' said Carpenter dryly.

‘It was a hell of a thing,' I said. ‘Like some sort of vampire film.'

Carpenter looked at me. It was then that he was going to act like a human being and open up to me, or else play the hard man.

‘Unusual,' he said.

‘To say the least. What was that round his neck?'

‘A guitar string. That's what killed him. Someone used it as a garrotte. Then he was laid out on the bed and that stake thing hammered through his chest. It went right through him and pinned the body to the mattress.'

‘It was a drumstick.'

‘How did you know that?'

‘Roger Lomax recognised it and told me.'

‘It must be nice to be musical,' said Carpenter.

I ignored the joke.

‘It was sharpened to a point,' he went on.

‘Pretty strange,' I said.

‘These are strange days. And strange people.'

‘But even so. What time did it happen?'

‘Should I be telling you?'

‘Probably not, but someone will sooner or later, or I'll read it in the papers. I'm sure they're more than interested.'

‘Vermin!' said Carpenter. ‘They're out there now, baying like hounds.' He was beginning to mix his metaphors, but it was late and who was I to complain. ‘It happened about eleven-thirty.'

‘I thought so. There were early signs of rigor in the body when I touched it.'

‘So you've got an alibi.'

‘Do I need one? I'd just had dinner and a few drinks with the man. Christ, we'd just met. I don't usually strangle people and hammer a stake through them until I've known them at least a month.'

Before Carpenter could reply, we were interrupted by a knock on the door. He looked annoyed. Ripley got up and answered it. I saw a uniform outside. Ripley and the owner of the uniform whispered for a minute or so, and Ripley took something from the uniform, then closed the door and came back and handed what he'd taken to Carpenter. He looked at it, smiled sourly and handed it back to Ripley. ‘Your solicitor's here,' he said to me.

‘My solicitor doesn't know where I am.'

Ripley handed what he'd been given to me. It was a large, thick, cream-coloured business card. Not the sort you get from mini-cab firms and tear up to make roaches. It had to be large to accommodate the dozen or so names of the partners engraved on it in black copperplate. Even I recognised the name of the firm. It was so old that Lincoln's Inn probably had still been fields when they first hung their sign out, and so establishment that if the Prime Minister ever got a pull, they'd be the first number he called. I looked at the card, and when I looked up, Carpenter and Ripley were looking at me.

‘Big guns,' said Carpenter.

‘As big as you can get before going nuclear,' I replied.

‘Not your usual firm, I dare say?' he said. He gave me the impression that he thought my usual firm was some shady sort of brief close to disbarment who carried his office around in his hat. He wasn't far wrong.

‘No,' I replied.

‘Well, I think we'll wrap this up for now,' said Carpenter to Ripley. ‘And let Mr Sharman consult his brief, and then get some sleep. I'm sure we don't want to be accused of harassment, especially by a representative of such an eminent firm.' Then to me: ‘Will you make yourself available in the morning?'

‘Don't leave town?' I said.

‘Don't leave the building,' said Carpenter. And he and Ripley got up and left the room.

15

I
sat on the sofa for a minute or two more, then got up and left the room myself. It was bloody late or bloody early, depending on which way you liked to look at it, but the young man standing in the hallway was as immaculate as if he'd had a good night's sleep, a shave, shower, and plenty of time to co-ordinate the outfit he was wearing.

He was dressed in a black suit, cut tight, with a flowered waistcoat, a dark green shirt with a stiff white collar, a flowered tie that matched the waistcoat, and highly polished, pointy-toed black shoes. A white silk handkerchief flopped out of his breast pocket. His hair was short, perfectly cut, with a knife-edged parting on the right-hand side. In his left hand he was holding a black leather briefcase with gold fittings. He was so neat I was tempted to look for the polythene bag he came in.

‘Mr Sharman?' he said, and stuck out his right hand. ‘James Prendegast at your service.'

I looked at the card I was still holding. James Prendegast was listed as one of the partners. ‘My new brief?' I said.

‘In one.'

I shook his hand. His grip was firm and warm and reassuring.

‘Courtesy of the band, I assume?'

‘Right again. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

‘The feeling's mutual,' I said. ‘You must be pretty scary. You certainly got those coppers off my back in double quick time.'

‘Sometimes the mere mention of the old firm has that effect.' He laughed. ‘But I'm afraid I'm rather sailing under false colours. The James Prendegast on the card is my father. I'm just a junior in more ways than one, and I'm not alone here tonight. One or two of the partners are dotted around the place. I'm afraid you rather got the booby prize.'

‘Better than no prize at all,' I said. ‘And you seemed to have the required effect.'

‘That's an admirable attitude, I must say. Can we go to your suite? I'd like a little chat.'

‘It's very late,' I said.

‘I won't keep you long, I promise. Just a few words and I'll pop along.'

‘Come on then,' I said, and we went towards the lifts together. We met Wilfred in the hallway outside my door. He was full of questions about what had happened and stories about being accosted by journalists on his way to work and then getting through the police lines to get into the hotel. ‘I've got my breakfasts to cook, I told them,' he said. ‘I've never missed getting the breakfasts in eleven years and I'm not about to start now.' He had some late editions of the tabloids with the story of Turdo's murder splashed all over the front page. I relieved him of a couple of them and he promised fresh coffee in less than five minutes.

‘Brilliant, Wilfred,' I said. ‘I don't know what we'd do without you.'

‘Drink Perrier, sir,' he said. ‘I'll be with you directly.'

I let Prendegast Jr into my suite and he sat down at the table and took a notebook out of his briefcase and a huge black and gold Mont Blanc fountain pen out of his breast pocket. I sat on the sofa.

‘Well, Mr Sharman,' he said. ‘It seems as if we have a few problems.'

‘We?'

‘The ancillaries to
Pandora's Box.
'

‘Well, that's one way of describing me, I suppose,' I said. ‘I've heard worse.'

He smiled again. ‘Do you intend to stay?'

‘Stay?'

‘Do you intend to continue with your employment?'

‘I've come this far.'

‘Splendid. I think they're going to need someone like you around over the next few days.'

‘They'd probably do better with someone like you. I don't make big strong coppers vanish at the mere mention of my name. Just the opposite, in fact.'

‘Ah, but you have other qualities.'

‘Right now I wouldn't like to have to list them,' I said. There was a knock on the door. I went and opened it. Wilfred was outside carrying a steaming coffee pot, cups, milk and sugar on a tray. I held the door open for him. He put the tray on the table and poured us a cup each. ‘Thanks, Wilfred,' I said wearily.

‘I take it you've had no sleep, sir?'

‘No.'

‘Do you intend going to bed?'

‘No.'

‘Then these may help.' And he took two turquoise and grey capsules from his waistcoat pocket.

‘Are those what I think they are?'

‘Amphetamine, sir,' he said. ‘I find them invaluable after a late night and an early start.'

‘You amaze me, Wilfred. Are they street legal?'

‘Perfectly, sir. I have a prescription from my medico.'

I took them from him. ‘Well, here goes nothing,' I said. ‘What's a little more speed on an empty stomach?' And I swallowed the pair of them and washed them down with a mouthful of coffee. Prendegast Jr watched the whole transaction without a word. Wilfred left with a wink and I sat down on the sofa again with the remains of my coffee.

‘Tell me what happened last night?' said Prendegast Jr.

So I told him as the speed kicked in and I began to feel better.

We finished the pot as I talked. Prendegast Jr was pretty non-committal. Before he left, just as seven o'clock struck, he asked me to call him if I came across or remembered anything relevant. I agreed to do so. ‘Stir up the place,' he said as he stood at the door. ‘You're pretty good at that, I believe. I'll keep in touch.' And we shook hands again.

After he'd left I took a shower, shaved, put on clean clothes and took a wander to see what I could see.