Episode 18 - The bug

Nigel concentrated on his driving. Gary had taken the family van because Cleo needed the little red car and it was a rather heavy sort of vehicle, though the power steering helped.

“Do you have to come to work in a bus?” Nigel said. He was coping, but cautious.

“I’m glad I got you out of the traffic squad, Nigel. You’re much safer in an office.”

“I’ll get us there, but not in a hurry. I’m not so good on automatic. You wouldn’t want me to crash this vehicle, would you?”

“That’s a moot question and the whole point of automatic is that the vehicle does a lot of the thinking. Tell me who your suspect is, since we’re taking so long to get up Thumpton Hill. I could walk faster.”

“I could, but I won’t,” said Nigel ambiguously as he negotiated the roundabout at the top of the hill and parked surprisingly deftly behind the red car in front of the cottage.

“I’m glad Cleo’s at home,” he said.

“She might not be, Nigel. The car is not umbilically tied to her. She needs it for later, I expect. She may have taken some of the babies out for a constitutional.”

But Cleo was at home. Gary had phoned her earlier and garbled a message on her answering machine that left her too alarmed to go for a stroll.

“What’s up?” she said now, hugging Nigel briefly and Gary a little more intensely before stepping back.

“You smell like a tavern,” she said.

Nigel mimed someone tipping a glass to drink out of it.

“Nigel insisted on driving,” Gary said. “Even though I only had a single.”

“A triple,” said Nigel.

“Since when do you drink at work when it isn’t Christmas?” said Cleo.

“Since he shouted at suspects and stalked out of Greg’s office,” said Nigel.

“I think I’m having a nervous breakdown,” Gary explained.

“Saying that proves you aren’t, Sweetheart. I’ll make some coffee.”

Gary and Nigel filled in the time by billing and cooing at the four babies present: two playing happily in the playpen, and the littlest twins in a rocker.

“They are beautiful,” Nigel admitted. “Sometimes I wish I could go for the ladies.”

“They used to say your preference was glandular, Nigel. Be glad you are contributing to not producing more population the world can hardly feed.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“What are you two talking about?” said Cleo. “Come to the table for the coffee. We’ll brainstorm.”

“Good idea,” said Nigel, patting the heads of Max and Mathilda, who took no notice.

“So what’s the problem?” Cleo asked. “Still Daphne, Ronnie and the rest?”

“Nigel has at least one new theory, and I am out of it. I’m just a hindrance,” said Gary.

“Why don’t you shut up?” said Cleo. “You are no more having a nervous breakdown than I am. You are indulging in a fit of escapism.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that in front of my assistant,” said Gary.

“That’s why he’s here, Sweetheart.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here, Sweetheart. Being an assistant to Superintendent Hurley demands initiative.”

“So spill the beans, as Dorothy would say. Or shall we get her to join us?” said Cleo.

“No. One of Dorothy’s hunches would probably finish me off,” said Gary.

“Be truthful, Sweetheart. You are still smarting from the Price Bureau.”

“What’s that?” said Nigel.

“Dorothy wanted to open a detective agency with her sister Vera, but events have fortunately overtaken her,” said Gary.

“That was the advert in the Gazette,” said Nigel. “Not a bad idea.”

“Not a good idea,” said Cleo. “Dorothy often had to be reined in and she resented Vera’s calmness in difficult situations.”

“I agree. That’s no basis for a business arrangement, is it  Gary?” said Nigel.

“So what do you want to tell us, Nigel?” said Cleo. “That is the reason you’re here, after all.”

“I also wanted to save Gary the humiliation of being classed as a drunken driver.”

“I am not drunk!”

“The breathalizer would argue with that,” said Cleo.

“Don’t pick on me,” said Gary. “What is your theory, Nigel?”

“One of them is Bertie Browne.”

“We’ve already counted him out,” said Gary.

“We’ll have to count him in again,” said Nigel. “His Gazette is a perfect cover.”

“The Gazette has been going for half a century.”

“What difference does that make?” said Nigel. “Ronnie Fish may have approached him with a deal he could not refuse.”

“Fish was just a lover-boy who made the high-spot thanks to evil initiative and inheriting the house that gave him the space to develop his scheme,” said Gary. “He didn’t need the Gazette.”

“I beg to differ,” said Nigel. “The court tried to prove that Bertie’s uncle had been murdered, but there was not enough evidence to go on. Fish knew that, I’m sure and it made Bertie Browne weak.”

“Wow!” said Cleo. “You have been digging deep.”

“The uncle was said to have died of natural causes, the body was released and he was cremated. End of story,” said Gary. “I knew that, Nigel. I'm not just a pretty face.”

“A perfect crime,” Cleo said. “If it was one.”

“I can’t see the relevance,” said Gary.

“Prove it wasn’t,” said Nigel.

“How?” said Gary, feeling better after his strong coffee, although that did not destroy the whisky, only diluted it a little.

“I can try,” said Nigel. “If Ronnie Fish was guilty of murdering his uncle and got away with it, it does not mean that everyone believed his story,” said Nigel. “Bertie reported the case in his rag by actually exonerating Fish, but Bertie Browne had an inside informer and should have been prosecuted alongside the lawyer’s assistant who had passed information on to him. He might thus have known for sure that the old man had not died of his own free will.”

“I’m not sure I understood all that,” said Cleo.

“It’s all speculation, Nigel,” said Gary. “There was no proof then and there won’t be any now. Of course, Bertie might have tried to blackmail Fish”

“Wouldn’t Bertie be dead if he’d done that?” said Cleo.

“He might be on the death list,” said Gary. “We really should get to him first.”

“I agree,” said Nigel. “So you are taking me seriously for once and it’s it’s worth bearing in mind that there could be two death lists compiled by two different persons.”

"I always take you seriously and I’ll bear that in mind," said Gary.

“So Fish must have offered Browne a far more lucrative source of income,” Cleo completed. “What happened to the informer?”

“Fired under a cloak of secrecy, no doubt,” said Nigel. “Lawyers don’t usually employ informers.”

“How secret?” Cleo wanted to know.

“She was given a new name and location. That’s how volatile the situation was at that time,” said Nigel.

“That was high drama for a market town the size of Middlethumpton,” Cleo commented.

“So Bertie Browne could even be guilty of murder,” Nigel concluded.

Gary was impressed by Nigel’s argument.

“I have to admit that you have a point,” he said.

“Sure,” said Cleo. “Bertie Browne would not want anything to connect him with Fish or his organization.”

“Of course, he wouldn’t want to put in an appearance as a corrupt editor either,” said Gary.

“Those girls ran a little business of their own,” said Cleo. “Why didn’t Bertie put a stop to it? He must have known. He knows everything that goes on within the Gazette office walls. So he wanted them to do their own thing.”

“And who better to get silly young women to go for what they thought were castings,” said Nigel. “The receptionists probably got a reward for their discretion and kept their jobs. Bertie got rich.”

“But it’s all theoretical,” said Gary. “I can’t go there accusing Bertie Browne of collusion or blackmail without evidence. This is only a think tank. Fortunately, we don’t have to make decisions.”

“You don’t have to go to the Gazette, either,“ said Nigel. “Send Greg!”

“We need an undercover agent; someone with an unknown face.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” said Cleo. “I thought you’d given up the case.”

“On second thoughts…”

“… and being of sound mind,” Nigel added.

“ Any suspect is better than none,” Gary finished, giving Nigel an annoyed look. “You could go there yourself, Nigel, but talk it through with Greg first and take someone with you.”

“Bertie knows I’m a cop.”

“It’ll scare the wits out of him knowing you are there and not me. He’ll invent a story to save his own skin, especially if you suggest that he helped to organize Fish’s murder.”

“It’s all Agatha Christie,” said Nigel. “What do I do about any story he tells? He'll probably say the gardener did it.”

“Or Fish’s lawyer,” said Cleo. ”Have you considered that?”

“I was just about to mention him,” said Nigel. “I don’t think Jasper Collins can be straight if he worked for Fish.”

“His bureau is in Oxford,” said Gary. “He must have accomplices here.”

“Or he planted a bug that told him where Fish was, and then eliminated him because a respectable lawyer would think twice about looking after the affairs of a guy like Fish,” Cleo suggested.

“I was going to say that,” said Nigel.

“Has Fish been checked for bugs to the Collins office?” Cleo asked.

“I doubt it,” said Gary. “I’ll check, shall I? Let’s get this spook out of the way.”

***

Gary’s phone-call to Chris produced the startling information that Ronnie Fish had indeed been the wearer of a spying device, tucked into a biro in an inside pocket of the leather jacket that he had been wearing when he left HQ. I’d never seen one that small before. Those Chinese guys are clever.”

“How come you did not find it first time round?”

“How come he wasn’t properly searched when he was detained, Gary?” said Chris.

“That’s a damn good question,” said Gary. “Was HQ security also in Fish’s employment?”

“You’re the cop. You tell me,” said Chris.

“Maybe he thought the bug was for relaying his dialogues with his employees to someone. He probably knew he was a possible target for assassination and wanted his lawyer to be a step ahead.”

“Or he didn’t know about it. Gary. It looks like an ordinary biro. I think he was set up by that lawyer of his. He was asked to write something down and then told he cood keep the biro as a souvenir,” Chris said.

“Where’s the device now?”

“Out of action, Gary. We don’t leave suspicious items where we find them.”

“Can we track who was listening in?”

“That’s unlikely. We don’t even know if it was a double bluff.”

“Let me know if you think of anything new, please.”

“Will do.”

***

Cleo and Nigel had been listening in.

“What does ‘double bluff’ mean then?” Cleo said.

“He might have thought it was in his interest to have someone know where he was, and all the time he himself was being trailed by someone else,” said Nigel.

“That points to his lawyer,” said Cleo.

“We’ll have to get him in,” said Gary.

“Now?” said Nigel.

“Soon. I’ll have to talk to Greg first, I suppose.”

***

Jasper Collins was known for his excellent defence strategies for even the guiltiest of villains. His record of achievements was celebrated far and wide by felons who could afford the stiff fees he demanded for his services.

It was worth it. Slips of a legal kind abound where accusations are being made in a court of law, and Jasper Collins pounced on them and had been gratified to see his clients released even before the magnitude of their offences became widely known. Many a QC had been humiliated by Jasper Collins who, contrary to his straight-faced diplomacy in court, liked to be thought a benefactor and was called ‘Jazz’ affectionately by his clients.

Jasper Collins alias Jazz knew all the tricks of the trade including those pertaining to self-preservation, so it was not far-fetched to think that he could have planted a bug on Fish with or without his consent. Fish would have taken off his jacket and quite possibly left it draped over a chair or hanging on a hook in Collins’s office, or even his own, and left the room for one reason or another. That would provide an opportunity to plant the device surreptitiously, though the strategy Chris had come up with was certainly feasible.

So had Collins employed assassins to follow Fish when he left HQ? He had definitely left the premises before Fish because there were numerous formalities to be completely before a suspect was released. That would be time enough to organize his killers, who would presumably already be on hand since Collins had driven from Oxford to secure Fish’s release. It would be interesting to know if the Norton brothers had provided the killers, assuming there were two of them.

Gary arranged to be at HQ early on Thursday morning. Nigel would organize a meeting between him and Greg and they would discuss strategies.

Was there a link between Fish and Bertie Browne beyond the use of the Gazette, or rather, the receptionists working there, to procure young women for the fake casting scheme? Had the young women been checked? Garrulous young ladies often spill the beans!

Irene Smith had been murdered in the flat belong to Daphne. Jet Black had given Fish the key so that Fish could ostensibly organize a tryst with Irene and she had played into his hands, probably thinking that her absence had made her irrelevant to the procurement system running at the Gazette, but attractive to Fish, who had found out that she was back and was anxious to get her out of the way. Did that explanation of Irene’s murder ring true?

Maureen was killed by Ivan Davis’s cocktail of rum and coke plus an injected curare type poison , though an identity parade had yet to be held so that Aggie Flint could confirm his identity. There was a slim chance that Olaf was the culprit, but Gary knew that Ivan was responsible for security at Fish’s villa.

***

Gary’s sluggish reaction to events had not been helpful. The identity parade could have been held sooner. Better late than never? That burnout recurrence that Gary was worried about might not just be a figment of his imagination. Cleo’s criticism was painful.

Ronnie Fish had been put out of action by that same nerve poison as was used on Irene and Maureen. but he was also shot in the back with a small ladies’ pistol that was unlikely to be in the possession of a professional assassin. Or was it? Could the assassin have been female? Thanks to the nearby street camera being out of action, there was no footage of the assassination that could have confirmed who was near Fish when he was attacked.

Before leaving for HQ, Gary phoned Nigel and asked him to send a car to collect Aggie Flint from the hospital. She would probably be in the kitchen cleaning vegetables and would be agreeable about attending the identity parade that morning especially if a fee was offered. A couple of other men would join the line-up. Ivan and Olaf were fortunately still in custody. Nigel suggested searching the two again in case they too were bugged. He would be happy to do that himself and would ask Len Wolfe to help. Gary gave his blessing.

***

Greg was understandably confused by Gary’s sudden enthusiasm for the case he had passed on to him. Nigel explained why that had happened, in his view, so the meeting was relatively friendly, though Greg was quite resentful as he perceived that he was back in Gary’s shadow.

Greg was disgusted at Gary’s conduct the previous day, but did not refer to it. Gary did, saying that he had been too hasty, and would help to rectify the situation. He had ordered Aggie Flint to attend an identity parade to that end. Had Nigel told him?

Nigel hadn’t.

Greg wished he had thought of that first. How could he hang on to a case when Gary was now thinking more constructively?

The identity parade was scheduled for 10 a.m. Security collected the two suspects; three passers-by had been recruited to make up the line and Aggie was led into the neighbouring corridor to study the men through a one way mirror.

“That’s him,” she said, pointing at the 4th of the five. “They all look like villains, but it’s Number4 that I saw going into that patient’s room.”

“Two are harmless members of the public and one works in the canteen kitchen,” Nigel explained, “but you’ve done a brilliant job here, Aggie – I can call you Aggie, can’t I?”

“I’m Agatha to my friends,” the woman said.

“What a pretty name,” said Nigel. “I’ll take you to the canteen for a drink, pay you your fee and then drive you back to the hospital, Agatha,” he said. “But first you must sign this form to confirm that Number 4 was the person you saw that night.”

Formalities completed, Nigel texted Gary to confirm that Ivan Davis had been identified by Aggie Flint. He would take her back to the hospital after they’d had a drink if that was OK. Affie had signed written confirmation.

Gary texted OK back to Nigel.

“So we can wind up the Maureen case,” he told Greg. “Aggie Flint has confirmed Lewis’s identity.”

“Congratulations, Chief,” Greg said through his teeth. “I’ll do the honours, shall I?”

“It’s still Gary, and please do! I’ll concentrate on our corrupt lawyer. I’d have to anyway, since Jasper Collins would insist on seeing the top brass, and it seems to be me for the time being.”

Greag thought Gary was pointing out his authority and did not like it, but he was obliged to accept it pleasantly.

“Isn’t that Ronnie Fish’s lawyer?”

“That’s him,” said Gary, who was aware of Greg’s resentment.

“Do you suspect him of collusion?”

“At the very least. Haven’t you read Chris’s newest report?” said Gary, employing a little one-upmanship. There were times when he disliked Greg.

“No.”

“Ronnie Fish was bugged,” said Gary.

“Oh,” said Greg.

“Aren’t you surprised? I was because it had not occurred to me. The security searches leave much to be desired, Greg.”

“So they could fail to find something incriminating for a consideration, couldn’t they?. Is that what you mean?”

“Corruption here is all we need,” said Gary, “But we probably have it.”

“There is corruption everywhere,” said Greg. “I’ll move on now, shall I? Should I charge Ivan Davis with Maureen Bishop’s murder or simply detain him further?”

“Charge him and reserve the right to add to that charge, Greg. We don’t know who killed Fish, and we don’t know if Fish told Lewis to kill Irene.”

“Nasty,” said Greg as he left Gary’s office.

“Yes. Nasty,” thought Gary as he battled with the communal coffee machine on the third floor. If he was going to stick to this job, he’d have to get an espresso maker like the one he had jovially bequeathed to his old office.

***

Early that afternoon Jasper Collins was accompanied by Nigel to Gary’s 3rd floor office.

The lawyer was angry. Did Gary know that he had clients waiting in Oxford?

Gary thought it better not to enter into some kind of apology. He had seen how ebullient the lawyer could be when he had secured Fish’s release, but had decided that it was Collins’s way of getting what he wanted for his clients, and he had not had a strong enough argument against releasing the client on an amount of bail that was probably just peanuts to Fish. There was also the consideration that Collins had managed Fish’s release so that he could be assassinated. In fact. That is exactly what Gary suspected. The current situation called for a strictly authoritative tone and straight talking.

“Did you bug Ronnie Fish?” said Gary.

“What are you talking about, man?” said the lawyer, his eyes darting form left to right and back again. He was aware that Nigel was witnessing the interview and taking notes although a digital camera was recording the questioning. Collins was good at dramaturgy, but so was Gary.

“A bug was found on Ronnie Fish’s person, Mr Collins. Did you know about it?”

“First, it’s Dr Collins, and second, I didn’t.”

“Don’t prevaricate! We can trace the source, Dr Collins, but wouldn’t you rather explain why he was carrying a tracking device?”

Collins still did not admit to supplying the bug, but he did say that he thought Fish had been in danger because a lot of people had it in for him.

“Would you like to say who, Dr Collins?”

“That would only be an opinion,” said Collins.

“You’d be going on what he told you, I assume,” said Gary.

“I’d be going on that and on personal observation, Superintendent.”

“So you’ve been to Fish’s establishment, I assume.”

“I went there once and that was enough,” said Collins. “Defending someone who runs a brothel and calls it a casting agency is a challenge,” he added, and Gary thought he detected a note of revulsion in Collins’ voice.

“So you were not a client,” said Gary, aware that he would incite the lawyer with that comment.

It did.

“How dare you assume that I consort with the felons I defend,” he said.

“The clients at Fish’s establishment were not felons, Dr Collins. They were usually older men like you looking for a bit of skirt. I’m not even sure how many of them knew they were in a brothel. They were acting, indulging in role-play. That’s quite a common sex angle.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“But Fish must have explained what was going on.”

“He paid me over the odds to look after his interests,” said Collins.

“That would be a good reason for planting the bug. Did he know about it?”

“Yes,” said Collins after a pause. He had reasoned with himself that cooperating with this arrogant superintendent to a certain extent was the easiest option.

“Of course, you already know Fish is dead, don’t you?” said Gary. “Who told you?”

“I have my methods of keeping track of my clients,” said Collins.

“But you did not stop his assassination, Dr Collins, and that’s why you are here now. I need to know who was actually keeping tabs on Fish at the time he was murdered.”

“Surely you aren’t waiting for me to tell you.”

“Just confirm my suspicions and you can go back to your clients, Dr Collins.”

“What suspicions?”

“Our local gangsters, Dr Collins.”

“The Nortons?” shouted Collins. “The hell I will. I’d like to survive this debacle.”

With those words he got up, snatched his briefcase and made for the door.

Collins had given himself away.

Nigel thought Gary had missed a trick when he did not ask Collins if he had been tuned in to Fish’s bug device, but surely he must have been. And if he had the timing of Fish’s killing under control, he was just as guilty as the killers themselves.

Nigel instinctively made for the door, intending to block Collins‘s exit.

“Not so fast, Dr Collins,” said Gary.”I’m detaining you until further notice.”

“The hell you are,” Collins shouted, pushed Nigel out of the way and left.

“I’ll raise the alarm, shall I?” said Nigel.

“Let him go, Nigel. He’s scared. He knows the Norton brothers and almost admitted that he had consulted them. That’s all we need to know for the present. It should not be hard to find him if we need him. He would not do a disappearing act. That’s the advice he gives to most of his clients. Absconding is almost an admission of guilt.”

“You’re taking a risk,” said Nigel.

“Calculated,” said Gary.

“That’s about as cool as it gets,” said Nigel, not sure whether to be impressed or panicstricken..

“Get Bertie Browne in, please. We’ll confront him with evidence of collusion between him and Collins.”

“But we haven’t got any,” said Nigel.

“Then we’ll invent some,” said Gary. “I’m sure Browne will have been informed that Collins was here. That will confirm the personal link between them, I should imagine. After that it will be plain sailing.”

“Are you going to let Greg into this?”

“No.”

“Wow,” said Nigel. “This is getting to be like a Hitchcock thriller.”

“Sometimes, you have to stick your neck out, Nigel.”

***

Bertie Browne was not pleased to be visiting HQ. He did not like Superintendent Gary Hurley, mainly because he was one of the few people who seemed to keep a step ahead of him. It was in Bertie’s genes to be ahead. He owed that to his Gazette readers and he knew that Hurley knew that he had few scruples about jumping the guns to achieve that.

So Gary decided to broach the subject of Dorothy’s advert as a way in.

“That insert of the Price Bureau advert before it was meant to be entered into your rag was not a nice gesture, Bertie,” he said in a gentle voice. “Miss Price was quite sure she did not want the advert inserted early.”

Bertie Browne was the small time editor of a small time local freebie inherited from his father. His dream of turning it into a national bi-weekly had been dashed by the internet. He now sold adverts for everything, not just cars, and simple mathematics revealed just how near the edge of insolvency Bertie would be if he did not have other sources of income.

The selfmade man Bertie thought he was, seemed rather subdued and less garrulous than usual He wondered why Hurley was boiling cabbages twice. Browne did not trust the soft approach. This upstart’s office had grand dimensions and the furnishings were quietly elegant, whereas Bertie’s office was small and flat-pack furnished. What had once been a general staff-room was now, thanks to Bertie Browne’s delusions of grandeur and power, a holy-of-holies where he could hold one-to-one face-downs with the underpaid receptionists who kept things going. He kept up his standards by payments for other services than small adverts. Bertie hoped Hurley’s questioning would not include specifics.

Up to now, Gary had turned a blind eye on the goings-on at the Gazette office, thinking that anything connected with Browne would only be notable for its triviality, but Bertie had overdone it this time. He could not be allowed to get away with whatever he had done or not done in connection with the killings that had occurred during the last few days..

“Who pays you, Bertie? The peanuts you earn on adverts don’t keep you, do they?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Bertie replied, suspecting that Gary had mmore awkward questions in line. He was not disappointed.

“Let’s leave Miss Price’s advert out of it. You know exactly which one I mean. For reasons best known to yourself, you were really getting at my wife’s agency. You don’t like the idea of a cop’s wife investigating where cops fear to tread, do you?”

“It’s not my responsibility if those scatty girls get the dates wrong,” said Bertie.

“Two of your scatty girls have been murdered, Bertie. Doesn’t that make you think?”

“About getting new girls?”

“I wouldn’t have thought you were that naïve and I’d be surprised if you thought you could get away with acting stupid with me.”

“I’m stupid enough not to know what you are getting at, Superintendent.”

“OK. Gloves off, Bertie. Were you involved in Ronnie Fish’s casting enterprise?”

“I left that to the girls.”

“Why didn’t you stop them? You knew it was immoral.”

“Because they already knew too much about Fish. He would never have let them go and might have destroyed my business, too.”

“Was he that powerful?”

“His lawyer is.”

“Do you think Collins ordered Fish’s assassination?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Were you expecting Maureen Bishop to be killed?”

“I had told her to get out before it was too late. In fact, I told them all that, but they liked the extra pocketmoney and it kept wages down.”

“But you have just said that the girls could not get out alive.”

“Maureen’s murder proves my point, doesn’t it?”

“Did she try to get out?”

“I don’t know. She went to the house and stayed there overnight, didn’t she?”

“She was given a cocktail of drugs, Bertie, and rendered defenceless.”

“Good God!”

“That’s what they did, Bertie. They had girls prancing around in frilly underwear thinking they were auditioning, then drinking the special cocktail that made them high, sleepy and unconscious in that order , after which they were abused and assaulted by men who presumably could not ‘function’ normally. They got their thrills from symbolic corpses.”

“That’s disgusting, Hurley. I never knew it was that bad.”

“It was.”

“Why didn’t you warn me, Hurley?”

“Because I didn’t know either, Bertie.”

“ What about Olaf?”

“He organized the so-called casting agency via those girls in your office.”

“Just doing his job, I suppose,” said Bertie, who was visibly shocked by what he had been condoning.

“Don’t make it all sound harmless,” said Gary.

“Are you sure it was really like that?”

“I’m sure it was,” said Gary.

“Was Olaf one of Fish’s killers?”

“You tell me. He was in and out of your office, Bertie, so you must have got to know him.”

“You’re wasting your time, Hurley. I’m clearly not the person you should be interviewing.”

“Who is, then?”

“Daphne’s friend.”

“Jet Black?”

“That’s him. He took Irene to Italy and she came back without him and was killed. He was about to shack up with Daphne. He is not a sports freak and playing in a small-time pop band is a cover. He’s really a small-time gangster with big ideas about stepping into Fish’s shoes.  He was also touting for girls for Fish’s scheme. Did you know that?”

“It had crossed my mind. Do you think he killed Fish?”

”No, but he helped to kill Irene.”

Gary kept his astonishment well hidden. He had already counted Jet out. The guy was a consummate actor if what Bertie had said was true.

“Who told you that, Bertie?”

“Simple to work out. He gave Fish the key of Daphne’s flat, didn’t he?”

“That rules him out.”

“It doesn’t. He had two keys and you know that. He had spotted Daphne and passed her on. Maybe he had scruples after all and decided to see what Fish was doing in Daphne’s flat. He went there and found Irene half dead. I think he helped Fish to finish her off. That gave him a reason to blackmail Fish.”

Bertie hesitated. He was speculating and wondered why Hurley did not interrupt him.

“Go on, Bertie.”

“The rest is history.”

“It isn’t. Jet black should be dead, not Fish.”

“That Ivan guy hated Fish and also wanted the business. He cut a deal with Black and Fish was eliminated. I assume that Ivan was planning to deal with Jet Black later.”

“That would mean that Collins was only protecting Fish, but failed. I can’t believe that.”

“Collins lived on income supplied by gangsters, Hurley. He would not kill them off.”

“You’ve given this case serious thought, Bertie, and I’m starting to believe in some of your arguments, but where’s the proof?”

“I can’t supply you with that and I’m not sure that Black knew Fish was meeting Irene,” said Bertie. “Jet might have been checking to see if Daphne was actually meeting Fish at her flat. Finding Irene half dead was probably a shock but it could have been convenient from Black’s point of view.”

“But he had saved her from Fish by taking her to Italy.”

“I’m sure you have no proof of any of that.”

Gary reflected on the truth of what Bertie had just said.

“Let’s leave this little chat where it’s got to, Bertie. Keep me posted if you think of anything new. I’ll get back onto Black.”

“OK. Are you convinced that I’m not embroiled in the mess now, Hurley?”

“I never was convinced, Bertie. It isn’t your style.”

***

“That was futile,” said Nigel when he and Gary were alone.

“He had his theories at the ready, didn’t he?” said Gary.

“He’s put the blame on everyone else. Gary.”

“He’s nervous and I would be, too. He was desperate not to be an informer, so he theorized, leaving me to read between the lines, though he spelt things out pretty clearly.”

“And what did you read?”

“A link between Ivan Davis and Black, Nigel, and that’s where we’re going from here.”