Denial of Murder (20 page)

‘Where was that?' Tom Ainsclough asked. ‘And when?'

‘Why? Are you going to look the murder up,' Anna Day looked at Ainsclough, ‘so you can close a cold case?'

‘Possibly,' Ainsclough replied cautiously. ‘Possibly.'

‘Well, it wasn't in the Smoke, darlin'. I wasn't even in old England.'

‘Scotland? Wales? Ireland?' Tom Ainsclough pressed. ‘Abroad even?'

‘Possibly. Possibly. Possibly.' Anna Day wasn't giving anything away. ‘And as to the when … well, sometime in the last fifteen years. That's when. And that's all I'm going to say. But the point is … the old point is … I've got a victim. I can take another. So don't you two annoy me.'

‘Point taken,' Yewdall replied coldly. ‘So, Cherry Quoshie?'

‘Yes, like I said, I don't know no details but she told me she wiped her hands all over a dead girl.' Anna Day continued to speak in a calm, matter-of-fact manner.

‘She did what?' Yewdall queried. ‘Wiped her hands all over a dead girl, did you say?'

‘Yes, so she told me,' Anna Day continued. ‘She said that the girl was brown bread. I believed her. It was the way she spoke, like she was getting something off her chest so I was listening, wasn't I? Real intently like. She told me she'd wiped her hands all over this boy Gordon's chest and then wiped them all over a dead girl … and then put her hands all over the girl's room and in her drawers and cupboards. Then she took a pair of the dead girl's knickers and dropped them in the boy's room.'

‘Why did she do that?' Ainsclough asked.

‘To get a fix,' Anna Day replied, as if irritated by the question. ‘I told you … she was strung out. She was crawling up the walls.'

‘Yes, but what was the reason she was told to do that?' Ainsclough clarified. ‘That's what I mean.'

‘Beats me, squire, beats me,' Anna Day shrugged. ‘Don't think Quoshie knew either. Tell you the truth, I don't think she much cared either.'

‘Where was Gordon Cogan?' Yewdall asked.

‘In his room, next room to the girl's room, so Quoshie told me.' Anna Day glanced round the interior of the Thames Lighterman. A few elderly isolated daytime drinkers had entered the pub and were keeping themselves to themselves. ‘He'd demolished a bottle of this stuff,' Anna Day tapped the side of her glass of vodka. ‘He was half cut so Quoshie told me … in and out of consciousness. Quoshie said that she wiped her hands all over his body then wiped them on the dead girl, especially round the dead chick's neck. It was a hot day … weather like this,' she pointed to the windows of the pub. ‘The boy was sweating cobs and Quoshie's hands were covered in his sweat and she smeared his sweat all over the dead girl and all round her room. Quoshie told me she could see no harm in it, not at the time. The girl was brown bread, well chilled, and like I said, she was well strung out, so she did it and she was given a wrap. She went straight up to her room in the attic and shot up. She was still out of it when the police came sometime later and bundled the boy into the back of a van. She was of no interest to the Filth. All they saw was a black heroin addict, in a daze, in an upstairs room well away from the action.'

‘So what happened after that?' Yewdall asked, feeling a strong sense of dismay.

‘Nothing. In a word, nothing,' Anna Day spoke calmly, ‘nothing at all. Life went on. The Filth took statements from everyone who lived in that house … in Acton it was, Acton Town, so Quoshie told me but she didn't tell them nothing, the Old Bill just put her down as a spaced out, brain-dead, black as the Ace of Spades heroin addict who lived in the attic. There was nothing they could see linking her to the murder of the girl. She wore gloves, you know, washing up gloves, when she was putting the boy's sweat all over the dead girl, so her DNA wasn't mixed up with the boy's and so the case against Gordon Cogan was solid. Quoshie said he protested his innocence, but she wasn't about to speak up.'

‘But he was convicted for it anyway.' Penny Yewdall sighed and then took a sip of her orange juice. ‘Yes, we know what happened to Gordon Cogan. So tell us what happened to Cherry Quoshie.'

‘Life went on, like I said. She kept on working as best she could. She carried on shooting up. She moved out of that house in old Acton Town and got herself another drum.'

‘Did you know her at the time?' Ainsclough asked.

‘Yes … yes I did.' Anna Day glanced to her left and nodded at someone she recognized who had just entered the pub. ‘Yes, I knew her at the time, we go back a long way do me and Cherry but it was only a week or so ago that she told me what had gone down at the house in Acton Town all those years back. That was all news to me, darlin', all news to yours truly.'

‘All right,' Yewdall replied, ‘so do you know what, if anything, happened to make Cherry Quoshie want to tell you what she did?'

‘Gordon Cogan only found her, didn't he?' Anna Day responded in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘Like I said … he found her and asked her to go to the Filth with him.'

‘He did?' Ainsclough commented. ‘That's interesting.'

‘Yes, he did, he was a determined little weasel, I'll give him that. Once he set his sights on something he went after it with all he's got.' Anna Day raised her eyebrows. ‘His memory of that night after being out of it on alcohol must have returned, and he went all over London looking for her. When Quoshie heard that Cogan was looking for her she got scared. Like her old past was catching up with her.'

‘But he found her …?' Ainsclough sipped his drink.

‘Yes, it wasn't difficult really. I mean, ten million people live in this city, probably more, but if you want to find someone you use this, don't you?' Anna Day pointed to the side of her head. ‘If you know a little bit about someone, then there's only a few places you need to search. I mean, use your old loaf. You go where they go, don't you? I mean, if you're looking for a bus driver you don't go to the sort of wine bars that merchant bankers use, do you?'

‘Understood.' Yewdall nodded.

Anna Day continued, ‘Quoshie was an old black street worker so he knew to look for her down the King's Cross meat rack. You don't look for lions where the penguins live, do you? So Cogan trawls King's Cross and he asked the girls for Quoshie by name. The girls were well wary at first because he said he needed her help, but eventually they believed him and believed he wasn't going to harm her. They put her in touch with him and after a while they met up with each other.'

‘Where?' Ainsclough asked.

‘That table over there,' Anna Day pointed to a table at the far end of the lounge of the Thames Lighterman. ‘Quoshie wanted me with her as a kind of insurance, and he wasn't going to try anything because we let him know just how good we both were at spitting. It was like … don't try anything little man or your body will begin to fall apart and you'll be getting it from two directions at once. You just won't get out alive. He was well worried and I reckon by then he was more frightened of Quoshie than she was of him. So we came into the Lighterman, they sat over there and I sat here in case I was needed. I didn't hear anything that was said and I don't lip-read so I can't tell you what was said, but he got up after a while and he went away looking happy … Well, he was definitely looking happier than when he arrived.' Anna Day took another sip of her vodka. ‘Any old way, Cherry Quoshie came over to me and said, “He only wants me to go to the Old Bill with him, doesn't he”. That's what he wanted. So I said, “Some hope!” and knock me down with a feather because Cherry Quoshie only says, “Dunno, Anna … I might”. She said she asked him if she could think about it, and he agreed to let her have some time. So I ask why does he want you to go to the Old Bill and she says he wants her to help him clear his name, so she says, “Yes, I remember what I did … but it means I'll go down for conspiracy to murder” and she said she needed time to think about it. So I said, “You're serious?” and Quoshie says she is. She was suddenly coming over all Gandhi, you see, banging on about doing some good in her life for once and she says, “What have I got to lose? I mean, look at me. I've got nothing and no one to be on the outside for … I've got nothing. I'm the lowest of the low, not good looking, HIV positive, black street worker, forty years old soon. I'll make a confession. I'll get five years, out in three. I'll have company, decent food, but I've got to grass up Pestilence … that's the only thing stopping me. I've got to grass up Pestilence Smith”.'

‘Wait!' Ainsclough held up his finger. ‘Are you saying Tony “the Pestilence” Smith was involved in the murder of Janet Frost?'

‘Well, that's what Quoshie told me and she's well frightened of him. From what I have heard about the geezer she's right to be scared of him. He's seriously bad news is Pestilence.'

‘How was he involved,' Yewdall pressed, ‘do you know?'

‘Well,' Day explained, ‘Quoshie told me that Pestilence was her supplier; he was holding back her supply. Like I told you, he had her well strung out, and it was Pestilence who told her to put some washing-up gloves on and then rub Gordon Cogan's sweat all over the dead chick's body.'

Yewdall and Ainsclough sat back in their chairs and looked at each other. ‘Well, well, well,' Ainsclough said, to which Yewdall echoed in reply, ‘Well, well, well.'

‘Is that important?' Anna Day asked.

‘It's a link,' Yewdall replied, ‘and it's a stronger link than the fact that they were living in the same house at the time that Janet Frost was murdered.'

‘Well, it was fear of Pestilence that was stopping her going with Gordon Cogan to the Old Bill. Pestilence can get at you anywhere, so people say, even if you're on the inside. He can still get at you. Anyway, they said they'd meet up later and that's how they left it. Then she vanishes and her body is found in Wimbledon, of all places,' Anna Day sighed, ‘Wimbledon.'

‘You read the newspapers?' Yewdall asked. ‘That's how you know where her body was found?'

Anna Day shook her head. ‘I'm a lazy girl, I saw it on there.' She pointed to a plasma screen which was attached to the adjacent wall showing the Test Match from Trent Bridge. ‘This is my seat, at this time of day anyway. I get the news here each day. So poor old Cherry Quoshie ends her days in Wimbledon … leafy, posh old Wimbledon. Who'd have thought it? Proper funny … she had to die to go up in the world.'

‘These are the Filth.' The man sneered at Brunnie and Swannell. ‘You'll learn to hate them. You will really learn to hate them.' He clasped his hand on the younger man's shoulder. ‘They're not called the Filth for nothing.'

‘Yes, Grandad.' The youth stood beside the older man and also viewed Swannell and Brunnie with hostility, ‘but what's all this “I'll learn”? I hate them already, Grandad. I really hate the Filth. I have nothing to learn in that respect.'

‘You're a good boy, Pancras, a very good boy. A real scout.' The older man turned and beamed at the younger man.

‘Ah …' Frankie Brunnie nodded to the younger man, ‘so you'll be Pancras Reiss. We were told you'd pass for a nineteen- or twenty-year-old. Our colleague was correct … I wouldn't have guessed that you're still shy of your sixteenth birthday.'

‘Yes, he's a big lad,' Tony “the Pestilence” Smith said proudly. ‘He's a Smith, different surname but he's a Smith and that's what matters. In his blood he's a Smith.'

‘Yes,' Swannell observed, ‘I can see the family resemblance … he definitely takes after you, Tony.'

‘Yes, he does,' Tony once again patted Pancras Reiss on the shoulder, ‘and being big helps a lot in our line of work …'

‘And what, may I enquire,' Brunnie asked, ‘would be your line of work?'

‘Whatever comes along,' ‘the Pestilence' replied. ‘We don't have a particular speciality. Whatever we can make a profit out of. If it earns, we'll do it. If it's not an earner we won't do it.'

The four men stood in the living room of Tony Smith's house in Southgate. Swannell and Brunnie stood side by side, facing Tony “the Pestilence” Smith and Pancras Reiss who also stood shoulder to shoulder. Victor Swannell read the room in a single sweep of his eyes and thought there to be little depth to Smith's house, in terms of the decoration and the taste in furnishings. It was, he felt, clearly the home of a very materialistic homeowner. The brightly coloured wall-to-wall carpeting, the designer chairs and settee, the huge, flat-screen television mounted on the wall, shiny metal objects in a glass display case, the glass-topped coffee table, and all with an everything-in-its-place neatness. There were no comforting shelves of books or prints of famous paintings, no human touch of any kind that Victor Swannell could detect, like a loosely folded-up newspaper resting on the coffee table or an open magazine resting on the arm of a chair. The house had been found to occupy a corner plot on the junction of Maxim Drive and Vera Road, and appeared to exhibit the same square inch by inch perfection on the outside that the officers found within the house. The house had clearly been built in the thirties. It was detached, and an extension had been built on in the form of a double garage with living space above. There was seen to be a balcony above the main door with access clearly only from the master bedroom. A tall chimney rose from the side of the house, on to which had been bolted a satellite dish. Unlike any of his neighbours, Tony ‘the Pestilence' Smith was not at all concerned about advertising to the world that he had nothing better to do with his time than to soak up twenty-four hour television. The garden surrounding the house had a similar appearance, with not a blade of grass, not a flower out of place, again totally in keeping with the interior of the house.