“I might find out one day, mightn’t I?” Tommy Jay’s said coldly. No attempt to hide the threat.
“The sort of power that could get a man who owed you money killed? A man like Gerald Trainer?”
Tommy laughed. Something he’d heard that he clearly disagreed with. “Dead men don’t pay, man. Dead men don’t pay.”
“Sends a message though, doesn’t it?” Joseph asked.
“The Royal bloody Mail send messages. Oi, you. Stop. Pay me my money. Stop,” Tommy Jay mocked, the smile back on his face, the menace gone from his voice. “Nah, I don’t buy into that idea that you start killing people who owe you money. Too heavy. Unless you’re in the will, what’s the point?”
“So Gerald Trainer didn’t owe you money?” Ray clearly wanted to make some sort of connection, but Tommy Jay wasn’t playing ball.
“I don’t believe I said that. I do on occasion, out of the generosity of my spirit, extend parts of my fortune to people whom the banks won’t touch with a barge pole. That’s an act of community, though, don’t get that twisted, man. There’s plenty of people the man won’t help. I will. And I’m not in the habit of collecting bodies for that either. Can’t spend dead bodies.”
“So what do you do when they don’t stump up?”
Tommy Jay didn’t an offer an immediate answer; instead, he just flashed a cheeky grin, raised his eyebrows and shrugged playfully. “I dunno, man, I never really had that problem. The money always seems to come in sooner or later.”
“People just always pay?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s wild, isn’t it? You’d think there would be problems. But I guess the people who I employ to collect what’s owed have some excellent techniques. I don’t know. I don’t get into it. The system works; why would they want me tinkering? Best to let my cats get on with what they do best. No one complains and I’ve a lot of repeat customers.”
“Because you prey on the needy.”
“Prey? On the needy?” Tommy spluttered mockingly. “Let me tell you about the needy. People who come to me for money, they’re desperate. They need help. They can’t get it from anywhere else, and do you know why? Because the system isn’t set up for them. It’s not made to make their lives richer. It’s made to keep them in poverty, in bondage, on the bottom of the ladder. It’s made to make them suffer, to keep their lives a perpetual misery. Work. Eat. Sleep. Work. Eat. Sleep. Work. Eat. Sleep. And then the work they do doesn’t cover the basics of what they need. They can’t pay rent. Can’t buy shoes for their kids to go to school. Can’t keep the lights on because they haven’t got coin for the meter. And the banks, these grand British institutions, emblems of our empire, enriched by our reach around the world, they give them nothing. The bowler hat brigade championing our fine island nation as the place to come, to live, to thrive, to be upstanding members of society, they look down on these people. Just like they did a hundred years ago when we took their lands, or two hundred years ago, when we took their liberty.
“We might have opened the doors, but we don’t want to give them any help. Not really. They’re on their own when they get here. They’re not really British, are they? No. So from the moment they arrive, they’re playing catch-up in a game that they can’t possibly win, and I’m the one, the only one, giving them a leg up. A way out of the rat race. To stick it to the man. And if you lot were really interested in justice, you wouldn’t be poking around here dealing with the death of one person, you’d be looking at the whole messed-up system and dealing with the murders, direct and indirect, of hundreds and thousands of working-class people by a system that wants them to work till they drop and nothing more. You dig that.”
“Tell me again what happens when they don’t pay?” Ray leant forward.
“I’m bored now,” Tommy wafted a hand of disdain in their direction. Clearly, whatever amusement they had offered had worn thin. “I’m zoning out of all this. Far more important things in my world than some dead dude down the docks. I wish you luck, gentlemen, but I ain’t the one you want. You see yourselves out, please. Been a blast.”
Ray straightened. “We’ll be in touch,” he warned.
“Of that I have no doubt,” Tommy Jay rolled his eyes.
Ray and Joseph turned and began to walk away. “Oi, gentlemen. Is it snowing down south?” Tommy Jay chirped.
Shame rushed through Joseph as he recognised the comment. Snowing down south. Something said to a woman whose slip showed at the bottom of her dress. A quiet warning, done politely to allow the lady in question a chance to adjust herself. Or in this case, Joseph. Ray shot a confused but annoyed glance at Tommy Jay, then they carried on.
The two bouncers escorted them to the door, then watched as they walked away from the Hearty Goodfellow.
“Do you think he knew Gerald Trainer?” Joseph asked.
“I’m certain,” Ray replied. “I don’t know if he killed him though.”
“I found it interesting, what he said about dead men not paying.”
“You think that he didn’t kill him?”
“Same as you. I’m not sure on that one,” Joseph replied. “But there’s a logic to there being no point killing someone who owed him money.”
“Are you suggesting that there might be another motive if he did kill him?”
“If it’s Tommy Jay responsible, yes.”
Ray took a second to contemplate what Joseph had said. “You’re probably right,” he replied eventually as they turned the corner. “He knew him and if anyone could kill someone at the drop of a hat around here, it’s Tommy Jay. We just need to work out why.”
A dreadful silence engulfed them. Joseph knew what they weren’t saying. The pressure grew inside him until it became unbearable, forcing the words up and out of his mouth.
“That thing at the end that Tommy said,” he began, not really knowing what to say next.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ray replied gruffly, not looking at Joseph, which did little to alleviate his fears. Had Ray worked out what Tommy Jay had meant? He would have known the saying. “Move on.”
Not worrying about it felt impossible to Joseph. He wanted to explain it all to Ray. To tell him what had happened, all the way back to going to the Scotts’ house and how impotent he’d been. That he wanted to be able to face his fear. To be a better cop. But he couldn’t. He swallowed, and he moved on.
11.
When they arrived back at the station, Joseph quickly excused himself and headed straight for the bathroom. There he found a cubicle, removed Dziko’s underwear and stuffed it into his pocket. As he took them off, he knew he’d failed, but he couldn’t risk being spotted again. His fear had won.
Ray sat at his desk typing up some notes when Joseph reached the office. He liked to log every interaction that they had. Another part of his orderly mindset that Joseph tried to keep pace with. As he watched him type, he thought of the meticulous nature of Ray’s notes and wondered whether Tommy Jay’s parting comment would make its way into them.
“Are you okay?” Ray called over eventually, without looking up. Joseph realised he’d been staring idly into space and floundered for an answer.
“Just running a few scenarios through in my head,” he lied.
“Anything come to the fore?”
Joseph straightened up a little and focused. “I still want to know more about the Scotts,” he said honestly. Janet Scott’s affair with Gerald Trainer gave Alfie Scott a genuine motive. Having met the man, Joseph had no doubt that he could be capable of violence. But had he known about the affair beforehand?
