Falls the Shadow Read online

  ‘I reckon that Eddie Cochran may very well have something to do with sending nasties through the post to Sunset Radio,’ I said.

  ‘Why him?’ Chas demanded.

  ‘It fits. He’s such a little turd.’

  ‘But you don’t think he’s The Crawler, though, do you?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. I hadn’t told Chas abut Jim Prescott and his behavioural theories, so I expounded a few for his edification.

  He nodded as I spoke, and when I’d finished said, ‘Pretty good. A psychologist I spoke to pretty well said the same.’

  ‘Great minds,’ I said modestly. ‘But I love Eddie for the other stuff. The little git got right up my nose.’

  ‘You could well be right,’ agreed Chas. ‘But someone will have to prove it. I’d like to see him go down for something myself. If only for lobbing bricks through his wife’s window.’

  ‘You like her, don’t you?’ I said.

  ‘I suppose I do. If you hadn’t been there tonight, I’d’ve been tempted to chin him.’

  ‘Save your strength, son,’ I said. ‘He’ll get his. I’m going to talk to one of the coppers in charge of this whole thing tomorrow morning after I collect those snapshots. If I can find any connection, however small, between Eddie and the parcels, they’ll make life so uncomfortable for him he’ll wish he’d never heard of Sector 88.’

  ‘You think you can?’

  ‘What? Find a connection? I’ll try my best. But I don’t want you putting your oar in.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But, Nick…’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Promise me first crack at it?’

  ‘Course. If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have got this far.’

  Chas smiled. ‘Good enough,’ he said.

  With that we drank up and left to go our separate ways.

  The next morning, Monday, I telephoned Sheila Cochran early.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked when she answered the telephone.

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘Aren’t you at work?’

  ‘I’m going to take a few days off.’

  ‘Are the windows OK?’

  ‘Yes. Your people were very good. That’s one more thing I’m grateful to you for.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s my fault your husband did what he did.’

  ‘If it was him.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was.’

  ‘Did you get to see him?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at his flat, but I have seen him. That’s one of the reasons I want to see you.’

  ‘Like I said, any time.’

  ‘I’ll be over in an hour or so.’

  ‘I’ll see you then.’

  Next I telephoned Brixton police station and caught Charlie Harper at his desk.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.

  ‘The original parcels to Sunset,’ I said. ‘Before John got in on the act. The shit and all that. Was there anything identifiable about them?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Anything that might nail the culprit.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  I heard the rustling of paper and he came back on to the line. ‘Only one thing,’ he said. ‘A thumb print. Or at least a partial one. Nothing known, though. We ran it through all available records, and came up with a blank.’

  ‘Say I brought you a set of prints, you could make positive identification, couldn’t you?’

  ‘What are you up to now?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a hunch. A flyer. But you could?’

  ‘I imagine so.’

  ‘Right. Are you about today?’

  ‘I’ll be around.’

  ‘Then I might have something for you later. If I do, I’ll bring it in, OK?’

  ‘Right now, anything is more than we have.’

  ‘All right, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘Keep a light in the window.’ And I hung up.

  I got shaved and dressed and hit the road to Herne Hill. I was at Sheila Cochran’s address just after nine. She answered the door immediately. I could smell something cooking, and it smelled good.

  ‘Hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘I could be.’

  ‘Bacon and eggs, tomatoes and fried bread.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Go in and sit down then, and I’ll get you some breakfast. Then you can tell me what brings you round here so early.’

  I went into the kitchen. The table was set for one.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ she said, ‘since I cooked breakfast for a man.’ Prior to yesterday it was a long time since anyone had cooked breakfast for me, apart from in a greasy cafe. I could get used to the idea.

  ‘From the way that smells,’ I replied, ‘you haven’t lost the knack.’

  She smiled, and broke two eggs into a pan. The bacon was warming on the grill with two halves of tomato and a fried slice. Within half a minute she’d flipped the eggs over easy, added them to the plate, and put it in front of me.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve eaten, but I’ll have a cup of tea with you.’

  She went over to the dresser and warmed the tea pot, put in a couple of tea bags and added boiling water. Then she put milk into two cups, and turned to me.

  ‘So?’ she said. ‘Tell me everything.’

  I asked her a question instead. ‘Did Eddie ever have anything to do with politics?’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Politics,’ I repeated.

  ‘What kind of politics?’

  ‘Ultra right-wing,’ I said round a mouthful of bacon.

  ‘Well, he was a skinhead when I met him.’ She looked at me. ‘I know. You must think I was mad marrying him. I don’t know why I keep saying that.’

  ‘I’ve met some perfectly delightful skinheads,’ I said.

  ‘But I’m afraid Eddie wasn’t one of them. Why do you ask?’

  I told her. The whole story.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, when I’d finished. ‘He was always vanishing. Sometimes for days on end. He could have been anywhere. Doing anything. He certainly never mentioned it to me. But then, he wouldn’t, would he? I’ve voted Labour all my life.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘With that sort of background, I doubt that he would. Has he ever been in trouble with the police?’

  ‘Never,’ she said positively. ‘Why?’

  ‘It was just a thought. Have you got anything here that might have his fingerprints on it?’

  ‘What!’

  ‘His fingerprints,’ I repeated. ‘Something glass or plastic or metal that only he touched.’

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Of course, if you don’t want me to pursue it…’

  ‘Oh, I do. It’s just a bit of a surprise, that’s all.’

  ‘I know. And I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m not trying to protect him. If he’s done something wrong, he deserves all he gets. I might have something upstairs. Cough mixture. He bought it last winter. The bottle’s still upstairs in the medicine cabinet. I’ve never touched it. Would that do?’

  ‘That would be fine. As long as it hasn’t got his name on it.’

  ‘It wasn’t prescription. Just a linctus.’

  ‘Lift it up by the top,’ I said. ‘Don’t touch the glass.’

  She left the table and went upstairs. I heard her moving about, then her footsteps on the stairs, and she came back into the kitchen carrying a brown medicine bottle carefully by its plastic cap. She put the bottle on the dresser next to the tea pot.

  ‘Have you got a bag I could put
it in?’ I asked.

  She knelt down, opened the cupboard under the sink, delved around, and came out with a Tesco’s carrier bag. I got up from my seat, took the bag from her, and carefully put the bottle into it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  ‘Take it to the police station for comparison. It’s probably nothing, but you never know.’

  ‘Do you think he’s got anything to do with those bodies?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘If it’s anything, it’s the other stuff.’

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ she said. ‘Even I didn’t think he was that bad. Sending…’ She paused. ‘Stuff like that through the post. It’s horrible.’ She shivered at the thought, and held herself tightly.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘it may not be him. It’s just a thought.’

  ‘Not a very nice one. Then, he wasn’t a very nice man. More tea?’

  I nodded and sat down again and she took my cup and refilled it.

  When I’d finished, I took the bag and left, promising to keep in touch.

  By then it was past ten o’clock, and I headed for Chas’s office opposite Streatham Hill Station. I spoke to one of the charming blond receptionists at the front desk, who called through to him at his desk, and he came down to see me.

  ‘Morning,’ I said. ‘Has young Piers come up with the goods?’

  ‘He’s just left. Come on up and take a look for yourself.’

  I followed Chas through the maze of the building to the tiny cubby hole he called home. On top of the mess that he referred to as a work station were laid out two dozen or so photographs of various aspects of the Sector 88 meeting. There were some dark pictures of the bouncers. A good shot of the sign by the table, a whole bunch of snaps of the hall itself, and the audience, and, finally, at least fifteen photos of the committee members.

  ‘These are good,’ I said, shuffling through them.

  ‘But there’s better,’ said Chas, and gave me a large brown envelope. Inside were three blow ups of Eddie Cochran, taken from the best group shot that Piers had got. The photo was black and white, sharp and clear.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘Can I have one?’

  ‘Sure. Take whichever you like.’

  I selected one and slid it back into the envelope.

  ‘Thanks, Chas,’ I said.

  He shrugged in reply. ‘I said I owed you several. That’s one.’

  I declined his offer of coffee. ‘No, I’ve got to go,’ I said. ‘People to see.’

  ‘Are you going to be at Sunset tonight for the late show?’

  ‘When do I ever miss one? I’ll be there.’

  ‘Keep an ear out for any good angles. This is the story of a lifetime.’

  ‘I will, Chas. But if those coppers find out I’m feeding you information, they’re going to kick my arse from here to Christmas.’

  ‘Then don’t let them find out.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, made my farewells and left.

  21

  I went straight round to the police station and delivered the medicine bottle. I left the photo of Cochran in the car.

  Harper came out to see me personally. ‘So, do you have a name?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘And an address?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Want to give it to me?’

  ‘He might be an innocent man. Let’s leave it for now.’

  ‘But you think he might not be?’

  ‘I’ve found that anything’s possible in this world.’

  ‘Then we’ll give it a go.’

  ‘It’s a thousand to one against,’ I said.

  ‘At the moment, they’re good odds.’

  ‘Nothing turned up?’

  ‘Not a sausage. And people in authority are getting impatient.’

  ‘I just bet they are. So hope that this one comes up trumps.’

  ‘I’m giving you an awful lot of leeway,’ he said. ‘I could get heavy with you, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I could keep you here until you tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘And I could drop this on the floor,’ I said, referring to the bottle in the bag I was carrying. ‘And if you do keep me here, there’s a good chance Peter Day won’t go on air tonight.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said.

  ‘Anyway, I knew you wouldn’t get heavy with me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You’re a good policeman. Even I can see that.’

  He smiled thinly. ‘A case of it doesn’t take one to know one.’

  I smiled thinly back. ‘I’d hoped you were never going to bring that up.’

  He shrugged. ‘Some things are meant to be. So where are you today?’

  ‘About,’ I replied. ‘You’ll probably get me at Sunset, or at my office, or at home.’ I gave him my card with both phone numbers on it.

  ‘And if you’re not in any of those places?’

  ‘Leave a message.’ And with that I left.

  My next stop was Sunset Radio. There were still reporters outside the front doors, but fewer than on Friday. I drove past, parked at a meter on the other side of the market, loaded it up with coins enough for a two-hour stay, and walked back to the station. I went in the back way again.

  There were a few reporters and photographers in the entrance to the back alley when I got there. One was Piers.

  We slapped palms like old mates, and he drew me aside.

  ‘Photos all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Perfect,’ I replied. ‘I hope you haven’t told anyone about them.’

  ‘Not a chance. If they tie in with this lot,’ he gestured at the building, ‘I’m set to make a few bob.’

  ‘The best of luck,’ I said, and left him. But not before he’d captured me a couple of times for posterity with his motor drive. Some people are all business.

  There were two bored-looking coppers standing by the back door talking to Stan, Stan, the security man. He was holding a clip board with a load of names typed on it.

  ‘Morning, Stan,’ I said.

  He looked dolefully at me. ‘You haven’t caught anyone yet, then?’ he said.

  ‘Nor have the combined forces of the Metropolitan Police,’ I remarked. But quietly. So that the coppers couldn’t hear.

  Stan cracked a smile. ‘They’re not very happy.’

  ‘So, am I on the guest list?’ I asked, nodding at the board he was holding.

  ‘Yep. You’re one of the privileged few. You can go straight in. This one’s all right, boys,’ he said to the two uniformed police, who just nodded.

  Stan opened the door into the building and ushered me in.

  I went looking for Sophia.

  She was in a tiny room adjacent to Hillerman’s new quarters. She looked all neat in a dark suit and black stockings, with her hair up and her glasses on the end of her nose.

  I closed the door behind me so that no one outside could hear. ‘That’s my favourite fantasy,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Messing up a woman dressed like you are.’

  ‘You’re such an adolescent. And you dare!’

  ‘I plead guilty as charged. Couldn’t I just rumple your hair a little? Ladder one of your stockings?’

  ‘Nick, stop it.’

  ‘Why. Am I getting you hot?’

  She sat in her seat and laughed. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  ‘I’ve got a few ideas. Meet me at the back of the bike sheds and I’ll give you a demonstration.’

  ‘Nick!’

  ‘OK. Your loss.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  ‘So what are you doing later?’

  ‘How much later?’


  ‘After you’ve finished whatever you’re doing today.’

  ‘Sadly, that won’t be until after Peter comes off the air tomorrow morning.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I won’t be through until about four.’

  ‘So, come round.’

  ‘You’ll be asleep.’

  ‘Wake me up.’

  ‘All warm and tousled from your bed. Hair unkempt, and wearing nothing but a wincyette nightie. What a thought!’

  Now it was my turn to get hot.

  ‘Will you?’ she asked.

  ‘Course I will. I’d be crazy to turn down an offer like that. I’ll be counting the minutes,’ I said. Then I changed the subject. ‘Is the boss around? I think maybe I’d better have a word.’

  ‘He’s next door.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see you later. What are you doing for lunch?’

  ‘I thought I’d get something sent in. Those damn reporters are getting on my nerves.’

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t rather have a drink?’

  ‘You’re a glutton for punishment.’

  I let that one pass.

  ‘Well?’ I said.

  ‘I could get away for an hour.’

  I named the bar where I’d first met Peter Day, and we arranged to meet at lunchtime. So what with one thing and another, by the time I knocked on Tony Hillerman’s door, I was feeling pretty chipper.

  ‘Sharman,’ he said when I entered. ‘Got any good news?’

  I declined to mention the free publicity he was getting, and Day’s upward ratings spiral.

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Not right now. Nothing’s definite.’

  ‘We’re paying you.’

  ‘So you are. Just have some patience. It’s a long shot, but there’s a name in the frame.’

  ‘Who?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not until it’s confirmed. I’ll probably know later today, or tomorrow at the latest. You’ll have to wait until then. Just in case it’s a no-no.’

  ‘Who’s confirming it?’

  I just grinned and shook my head.

  He wasn’t happy, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it.

  ‘Will you sit in with Peter tonight? He seems to trust you,’ he asked instead.

  ‘He does,’ I said. ‘And I hate to say this, but the money you paid me last Tuesday runs out today.’ Remember what I said about some people being all business?