Read Online Deep Cover by Peter Turnbull - Free Book Online Page B

tidying up, making the tea for the working crew . . . that number.’
    â€˜You paid him in cash?’
    â€˜Yes, he preferred it that way.’
    â€˜So he could claim dole money?’
    â€˜Yes, the old, black economy number.’ Pilcher paused. ‘Mind you, it was peanuts, his pay really was his rent-free accommodation, and that was worth a few hundred pounds a week.’
    â€˜How long did he live at Claremont Road?’
    â€˜On and off for a good few months, possibly about a year. He took up with a woman in North London somewhere and then returned – kept a girl in the room so I believe. Really it was J.J. that handled it; I had more important issues to work on.’
    â€˜Alright, we’ll go back and have another chat with Dunwoodie, because you see there is a little more to it . . .’
    â€˜Oh?’
    â€˜Yes, the girl you mentioned . . .’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Well, she is also deceased.’
    â€˜Oh, my, what has been going on at that house?’
    â€˜That’s what we want to know; also the other tenants are in custody and won’t be going anywhere soon. So, what do you know of the girl?’
    â€˜Nothing about her. I heard that she was living with him but I have no interest in employees’ private lives. The purpose of the people in the ancillary properties is to keep the squatters out and do some occasional unskilled work. Like I said, I am a businessman and I am focused on other issues. If that is all . . .’
    Vicary and Brunnie stood. ‘Yes, that is all . . . for now.’
    â€˜For now?’ Pilcher also stood.
    â€˜We never know what might develop, so yes, “for now”.’ Vicary smiled and walked to the door. He then turned and said, ‘Oh, just one thing . . .’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜When “Irish Mickey” Dalkeith died, face down in the snow on Hampstead Heath, he had no food in his stomach, yet the pathologist said he was well-nourished.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜So, a well-nourished man with no food in his stomach is a puzzle.’
    â€˜It is?’
    â€˜It suggests that he had been starved of food for a day or two before he died.’
    â€˜Dare say it might suggest that.’
    â€˜Well, it might mean something, it might not. Very early days yet and we’re in no hurry, but we are very dogged, eh, DC Brunnie?’
    â€˜We are that, sir.’ Brunnie smiled at Pilcher. ‘Just as dogged as dogged can be. We don’t give up easily.’
    â€˜But you know, he did us a favour,’ Vicary continued.
    â€˜Oh?’ Pilcher seemed attentive, more so than hitherto, thought Vicary.
    â€˜Yes, you know, he fell down right on top of a shallow grave. Might just be a coincidence, but as one of our constables said, it might also be that he was leading us there, right to the grave . . . a young adult female, quite short, about five feet tall, been there a few years . . . ten to fifteen years buried, something like that.’
    Pilcher paled. His brow furrowed.
    â€˜You don’t know anything about that?’
    â€˜No!’ His reply was aggressive, defensive.
    â€˜We’ll find out who she was soon enough, and all roads will lead to Rome. If there is a connection between the late “Irish Mickey” Dalkeith and the deceased woman who lay concealed under his dead body, we’ll find out. Well, we’ll say good day, Mr Pilcher. Thank you for your time.’
    Driving back to central London, Vicary asked Brunnie what he thought of Pilcher.
    â€˜A nasty.’ Brunnie glanced to his left as the car slid by the wealth of north-west Surrey, ‘too hard to be a stockbroker, like Durham E-wing hard; too ready to get rid of us and too frightened when you mentioned the fact that Dalkeith had died as if leading us to the shallow grave. Frankly, it would not surprise me one little bit if Pilcher was