“The Christopher Peters? The gentleman gangster?” she repeated. WPC Small liked to do that, to ensure she hadn’t misunderstood. Some people found the habit annoying, but Joseph appreciated it. Double-checking information ensured no mistakes. Others on the office floor had complained that she needed ‘telling twice’. One or two had even suggested that the usual way to tell a woman twice would be with a cuff round the ear, but of course, they’d laughed as they’d said it, so they probably didn’t mean it.
“Yes, that one. How long do you reckon that might take?”
WPC Small hummed for a moment. “Give me half an hour? That should give you time for a cuppa and to warm up,” she said, again smiling happily at him.
“Thanks,” he said, feeling even sorrier for his original snappiness as Karen hurried off to carry out his request and he made his way to his desk.
“Morning,” Ray said, lifting his mug and offering it to Joseph. “I’ve already had one waiting for you. Thought you might have been in by now.”
“Sorry,” Joseph said, taking the mug and not wanting to explain that he had been in earlier.
Five minutes later they both had a warm brew in their hands. Joseph could finally impart what he’d found out. Ray listened and nodded, looking genuinely impressed as he did so.
“Well now,” Ray said, rolling up his sleeves and standing up. “That really does throw the old cat among the pigeons, doesn’t it? Why would Christopher Peters be asking after a dead man?”
“Maybe he didn’t know he was dead?”
Ray shook his head. “There’s not a lot that goes on down that dockside that Christopher Peters doesn’t know. Same as our friend Tommy Jay. They’re too wired in. Got enough bobbies on the beat in their pockets for something like that not to have been served up for him with his morning papers.”
“That makes even less sense then.” Joseph struggled to understand just why Christopher Peters would be asking after a dead man.
“It’s certainly a conundrum,” Ray sighed and stared into the distance. “Question on anything involving someone like Peters is, what does he stand to benefit? What could he possibly hope to find out?”
“There’s a chance Gerald Trainer worked for him. Could have been holding out on him for something, so he had him killed. Then he starts asking questions of other people after the fact, hoping that someone lets slip something that reveals its whereabouts.”
“You said yourself that he didn’t ask much in the way of detail. Just the basics about Gerald,” Ray said. “Feels to me that if Gerald did work for Christopher Peters, that wouldn’t be the sort of thing he’d need to ask.”
“Could all have been a misdirection?”
“But then why not follow it up with something else?”
“Maybe we’ve not spoken to the right people. Maybe they didn’t speak to the right people either.”
“Maybe,” Ray didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe it’s something else though. Maybe he wanted to know, genuinely, about what sort of person Gerald was. No misdirection. Just building up the profile of the man. Like we’ve been doing.”
“To what end?”
“Same reason we do it. To try and work out who killed him. I would imagine that would be of great interest to Christopher Peters, especially if he found out that the murderer was a rival of his, or at the very least, could lead back to a rival of his.”
“A rival like Tommy Jay?”
“Indeed. And if he did find something out, would they be willing to share it?”
*
WPC Small provided them the pictures inside of the half an hour she had promised. Seventeen individuals all with links to Christopher Peters, although she had separated five out from the main pile, as they were all, according to the records she had available, currently serving sentences at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Ray had kept the five pictures all the same, just to throw into the mix, should anyone want to try and identify someone who couldn’t possibly have been in the pub that night. “Always good to know who’s being a bit of a fizzer,” he said by way of explanation.
The pub wasn’t open when they got there. Ray pounded loudly on the door. Phyllis rolled her eyes as she opened up and saw them. She had her hair tied up inside a yellow and black spotted handkerchief and she wore a brown apron that showed a patchwork of different stains on the front of it, some which looked old enough to buy their own pints. “The boys in blue again,” she groaned, sounding as if she’d not long woken up. Perhaps there had been a bit of a lock-in at the Grazier’s Arms after closing last night.
“Won’t keep you long, ma’am, just wondering if you could make an identification of the gentleman who came looking for Gerald Trainer, please,” Ray asked politely, in stark contrast to the way he’d pounded on the door.
“Didn’t I tell you enough yesterday?” Phyllis looked towards Joseph.
“We just need to confirm a few things.”
Phyllis shook her head but stepped back. “You lot are going to cause me nothing but bother, you know that?”
The bar seemed different empty. All the chairs and barstools stood upside down on the tables, the legs rising upwards like bars on a gate or cell. A strong smell of bleach fought in the air with the resident smells of stale tobacco and beer slops, making for a less-than-pleasant combination. Phyllis went to one of the tables, taking the stools off and turning them the right way up on the floor. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”
She sat at one of the stools; Ray and Joseph took the others. Joseph had the photographs in a brown envelope that he carried with him. He placed it on the table, removing the pictures, and turning them in a pile face up.
“I’m going to go through these one by one…” he began.
“Him.” Phyllis thumbed the top photograph. “That’s the chap that came in.” She reached inside her apron, bringing out a worn-looking packet of cigarettes.
“Would you mind going through the rest for us?” Joseph asked.
“Why?” Phyllis lit a match, placing it to the end of the cigarette. Clearly, as far as she was concerned, her work here was done.
“Because we’re police officers and we asked you to,” Ray’s politeness hadn’t lasted long.
Phyllis tilted her head to look at him, the cigarette hanging from her lips. She sighed and shook her head softly, but out of resignation as opposed to refusal. “Go on then.”
Joseph turned each picture over one by one, leaving them long enough for Phyllis to look at them, before shaking her head to them all. To her credit, she seemed to be looking at them thoroughly.
“No, definitely just him,” she said as the first photograph returned to the top of the pile.
“Thank you, Karen,” Ray said as Joseph began to put the pictures back into their envelope, aware of the ash falling from Phyllis’s cigarette. He would have hated to have to go back to the station and ask WPC Small to find them some more.
