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Authors: J. M. Gregson
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have been planning to expose. They would wait for Lambert to give the lead. Informing was a curious business, and the danger of it had just been vividly underlined.
Lambert said, ‘I have ideas, yes. Proof is going to be very difficult, if the man responsible is the one I suspect. Jim Berridge won’t have done this himself.’ He looked at the picture of the corpse, with its long trail of dark blood running away down the gutter, whilst the other two pondered the name he had given them. ‘There is one thing already from the pathologist. This wasn’t a beating-up that went wrong, a warning-off that got out of hand. The man or men who did this came with a knife to kill Pegg. That was their intention from the start.’
Rushton said, ‘I think you’re right. And I see what you mean. Most grasses get a nasty attack of GBH. To stop their tricks and warn off anyone else who might be thinking of doing the same. Not many of them are actually killed, even today.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking. Even now, not many criminals are prepared to contemplate homicide, if they can avoid it. They know that if it goes wrong there is an automatic life sentence. So they don’t kill, unless they are desperate, or stupid. The way this killing was achieved shows that these men were neither. I think that we are looking at men in the big league, confident and ruthless. And satisfied that we won’t be able to pin this on them, even if we suspect — even if we know — who they are.’
Neither of his listeners offered an opinion on that. If they thought the confidence of these known purveyors of violence was justified, they knew Lambert too well to say so. Instead, Hook said, ‘Amy Pegg gave me Charlie’s little red book.’ He handed over a small, rather battered red notebook, of the kind that could be bought in any stationery shop. It’s pretty cryptic, as you would no doubt expect. It might mean more to you than to me, as you’d been his contact for so many years.’
Lambert thumbed quickly through a few pages. The only things which were definite were a few dates. People were referred to by no more than an initial. He wondered if even those were genuine, or whether they represented some kind of code. But he saw a note on the last of the pages the little man had used which said, ‘Ring L.’ and realized with a curious cold thrill that the entry referred to himself. He said, ‘I’ll go through this later. It might give some idea of the people we’re after, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be anything that would be very convincing as legal evidence. Charlie Pegg was too cagey to leave much around for his enemies.’
On the table behind them, the telephone bleeped, as if giving a signal to kick-start the machinery of the investigation into life. Rushton had the receiver in his hand before it had the chance to sound again. He gave little more than two affirmative grunts to punctuate his listening.
As he put the phone down, he said to the two who waited, ‘They’ve got the man Pegg spoke to in the pub last night. They’re bringing him in now.’
***
Lambert spent an hour poring over the late Charlie Pegg’s little red book. It was an irritating document, full of suggestion but delivering very little concrete information. At the end of the hour, he went off to see the one person who had actually been named in the book.
George Lewis came out to meet him from the porter’s office when Lambert parked his big old Vauxhall in the section reserved for visitors to Old Mead Park. It was impossible to tell from his bearing whether he had been expecting a police visit; perhaps he felt it was his duty to show a presence to all visitors to the block of luxury flats. As the end of the century approaches, the defence of riches is eternal vigilance; Lewis had been made aware by the trustees when he was appointed that he was to be the major and most visible element in that vigilance.
He knew who Lambert was, though they had never met
Lambert said, ‘I have ideas, yes. Proof is going to be very difficult, if the man responsible is the one I suspect. Jim Berridge won’t have done this himself.’ He looked at the picture of the corpse, with its long trail of dark blood running away down the gutter, whilst the other two pondered the name he had given them. ‘There is one thing already from the pathologist. This wasn’t a beating-up that went wrong, a warning-off that got out of hand. The man or men who did this came with a knife to kill Pegg. That was their intention from the start.’
Rushton said, ‘I think you’re right. And I see what you mean. Most grasses get a nasty attack of GBH. To stop their tricks and warn off anyone else who might be thinking of doing the same. Not many of them are actually killed, even today.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking. Even now, not many criminals are prepared to contemplate homicide, if they can avoid it. They know that if it goes wrong there is an automatic life sentence. So they don’t kill, unless they are desperate, or stupid. The way this killing was achieved shows that these men were neither. I think that we are looking at men in the big league, confident and ruthless. And satisfied that we won’t be able to pin this on them, even if we suspect — even if we know — who they are.’
Neither of his listeners offered an opinion on that. If they thought the confidence of these known purveyors of violence was justified, they knew Lambert too well to say so. Instead, Hook said, ‘Amy Pegg gave me Charlie’s little red book.’ He handed over a small, rather battered red notebook, of the kind that could be bought in any stationery shop. It’s pretty cryptic, as you would no doubt expect. It might mean more to you than to me, as you’d been his contact for so many years.’
Lambert thumbed quickly through a few pages. The only things which were definite were a few dates. People were referred to by no more than an initial. He wondered if even those were genuine, or whether they represented some kind of code. But he saw a note on the last of the pages the little man had used which said, ‘Ring L.’ and realized with a curious cold thrill that the entry referred to himself. He said, ‘I’ll go through this later. It might give some idea of the people we’re after, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be anything that would be very convincing as legal evidence. Charlie Pegg was too cagey to leave much around for his enemies.’
On the table behind them, the telephone bleeped, as if giving a signal to kick-start the machinery of the investigation into life. Rushton had the receiver in his hand before it had the chance to sound again. He gave little more than two affirmative grunts to punctuate his listening.
As he put the phone down, he said to the two who waited, ‘They’ve got the man Pegg spoke to in the pub last night. They’re bringing him in now.’
***
Lambert spent an hour poring over the late Charlie Pegg’s little red book. It was an irritating document, full of suggestion but delivering very little concrete information. At the end of the hour, he went off to see the one person who had actually been named in the book.
George Lewis came out to meet him from the porter’s office when Lambert parked his big old Vauxhall in the section reserved for visitors to Old Mead Park. It was impossible to tell from his bearing whether he had been expecting a police visit; perhaps he felt it was his duty to show a presence to all visitors to the block of luxury flats. As the end of the century approaches, the defence of riches is eternal vigilance; Lewis had been made aware by the trustees when he was appointed that he was to be the major and most visible element in that vigilance.
He knew who Lambert was, though they had never met
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