“Do we have to dance now?” Cyril wheezed with laughter, as did the man he was playing opposite, which only made Joseph uncomfortable.
“I’d love to ask you a couple of questions.”
“I bet.” More wheezing laughter from the two of them. Not their first drink of the night either. Joseph stood still, waiting for them to stop and respond properly. Cyril looked up at him, still grinning, then he gave a half groan and turned to his dominoes partner. “You give me two minutes with the Babylon here?”
“Go right ahead, brother,” the other man replied in a thick West Indian accent.
Cyril eased himself up out of his seat slowly, picking up the remainder of the drink he already had, and started towards the door, beckoning Joseph to follow. “Every bush is a man,” he said. When Joseph looked blankly at him, he laughed and said, “Come on now, if I got to talk to you, best do it outside.”
The rain still fell, but Joseph didn’t want to put the umbrella up, in case it either looked rude to Cyril, or in case Cyril decided he wanted to get under it as well. Cyril swigged from the glass, then searched in an inside jacket pocket, before bringing out a tin with some pre-rolled cigarettes.
“You want one?”
Joseph shook his head.
“This man who came in,” Jospeh began. It was all the prompt Cyril needed.
“Asking about Gerald, he was. I don’t even want to begin to guess why. Surprised me it did. Can’t say I ever believed that I would see the day that Gerald got mixed up with people like that. Can’t say I thought I’d see the day that someone be wanting him dead. But that all starts to make sense, I guess. Put the two together and you get a recipe for disaster.”
“The two what? What do you mean ‘people like that’?”
“Gangsters, man. What do you think I mean?” Cyril chuckled as if telling a joke.
Joseph looked at him in expectation. Did he mean Tommy Jay? Could Banks really ignore them now? “How do you know this man was a gangster?”
Cyril laughed. Not the wheezy laugh of before, but a more gentle, slightly derisory one. “I seen them sort of people all my life. Back home, over here. People always looking to make a racket. And they all look the same. Not like in faces and stuff. But how they are. The way they walk. The way they talk to you. Like you’re just something for them to use to get what they need. It gives off this… I don’t know what you want to call it. This thing. Like a darkness inside them. You have to learn it, so you know to keep out their way.”
Joseph felt deflated. “But you didn’t recognise the man himself?”
“Oh yeah. Of course I did. I seen this one before. Seen him out and about with his boss man. Never seen him doing things that he shouldn’t, of course. I’d be in a lot of trouble if I had. But seen him. Definitely seen him.”
“Do you know his name?” Joseph reached for his notebook now, but Cyril saw him.
“Hey now, put that away. I can’t be talking to you and letting you take notes. Not about this. I’ll talk. You listen. If you forget, it’s because God wants you to forget. Maybe he wants to save my soul.”
Joseph nodded. “The name?” he insisted.
“I don’t know that, sorry.” Cyril sighed, leaving Joseph frustrated and wondering why all the palaver with the notepad.
“You don’t?”
“No,” repeated Cyril, who did sound genuinely disappointed in himself.
He felt like admitting defeat, when he remembered what Cyril had said. “What about his boss? You saw them together.”
“I did.” Cyril still sounded defeated.
“So do you know who his boss is?”
The wheezy laugh returned. “Oh my goodness,” he said shaking his head. “What a fool. I could tell you that. It’s that Christopher Peters fellow. The one who think he some big lord of the manor or something like that. Lord of the manor. Fool of a man.”
“Are you sure?” Joseph tried not to sound shocked, but Christopher Peters’ name hadn’t been anywhere near this case.
“As sure is sure. One of Christopher Peters’ men was out here asking about Gerald and everything.”
“Could you recognise him?”
“Of course.”
30.
It had been a long time since Joseph had been so excited that he could barely sleep. The most recent occasion would have been his wedding day. Before that, he had to go back to his childhood. Struggling to sleep before his birthday, which admittedly never lived up to the expectation of the night before. Those nights had stretched on endlessly as he struggled to get to sleep before the first licks of light slipped in through his window.
At this time of year, darkness didn’t leave in a hurry. After a few furtive attempts at sleep, he gave in, getting himself out of bed a little before half past four. He dressed quietly, not wanting to disturb Dziko. She had never been one for late wake-up calls or lie-ins either, but he knew the difference between waking early and being roused in the middle of the night.
He made himself a bowl of cereal, taking great care to ensure that the spoon didn’t scrape or clink against the porcelain bowl. He ate gingerly and slowly, before placing the bowl and spoon side by side in the bowl of their sink. Easing out of the front door, he pulled it slowly to behind him, taking care to hold his bunch of keys together to muffle any rattling.
He arrived at the station a little before six. There were few people about, certainly not Ray, who he most wanted to share the information with. But he had hoped to find WPC Small and ask her to begin to look for photographs of the known associates of Christopher Peters. She hadn’t made it in yet. His enthusiasm appeared unmatched by the others. He berated himself as he sat at his desk drinking his second cup of tea of the day. They had no idea he had anything to share.
He did his best to maintain his early morning energy, but he quickly began to flag. After an hour and half in an empty office, he took a brisk stroll around the block to wake himself up. The rain of the previous evening had eased down to a fine drizzle that came in almost like a mist, so that by the time Joseph returned, he was decidedly damp.
“You look a bit soggy,” WPC Small smiled as Joseph made his way back into the station. She stood at the reception, talking to another WPC that Joseph didn’t recognise. He wanted to be able to say something witty and disarming back, but the walk had done little to enliven his mood and words failed him.
“I have a job I need you to do,” he said, snappier than he’d intended, so he added a quick, “if you would, please.”
WPC Small missed his rudeness or ignored it. She smiled again. “Of course,” she said, nodding a goodbye to her colleague, before falling in behind Joseph as they walked into the station.
“Can you find photographs on all known associates of Christopher Peters?”
