‘Your boss has been known to do a bit of damage to his friends,’ Darbishire pointed out. Billy Hill was famous for it. Sudden, vicious violence. Plentiful blood and scarring. He enjoyed it, and it was the main reason he’d been the top dog in the London underworld for ten years and counting.
Jimmy assented. ‘Ah, well, that’s the thing. You know Mister ’Ill. ’Ow ’e likes to operate.’
‘I do. He likes a knife. And one was found in Rodriguez’s eye,’ Darbishire added. Jimmy clearly knew it already and had something to tell.
‘But what kind of knife?’ Jimmy asked. ‘That’s the thing. The one in the eye was a flick knife, wasn’t it? From America, or Italy?’
‘Germany, in fact.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Mister ’Ill, as ’e will ’appily tell you, prefers the ’umble chiv. Nothing like a nice little razor blade to do the job. Slice down the face, always down, and you make your mark without doing something dangerous, like nicking an artery. You don’t want to do that, because you might kill someone, see? Billy may be up for a fight – we know ’e is – but ’e doesn’t like murder. Too many consequences. It isn’t what you might call ’is “modus operandus”.’
‘So you’re trying to tell me he didn’t kill Rodriguez, or get anyone in the gang to do it?’
Jimmy leaned back, relaxed. ‘That’s the ticket. No reason to – like I said, they was friends. Plus, if ’e did ’ave a knife like that, ’e’d know what to do with it. See what I mean? Any one of us would. Not stick it in ’is side like some sort of ’andle.’
‘How’d you know about that?’ Darbishire asked.
Jimmy smiled. ‘We’ve got friends at the Yard, same as you.’
‘I see.’
Suddenly, Jimmy leaned forward until his face was right up in Darbishire’s, and the smile was replaced with a snarl. ‘I’m not sure you do see, Inspector. Mister ’Ill’s played nice all these years, looking after ’is patch in London, keeping ’is ’ead down. And what’s ’appened? The police are tapping ’is telephone! That’s ’ardly cricket, is it, Fred? Can I call you Fred? ’E’s fed up with it. Up to the back teeth. ’Is girlfriend’s in jail, for a minor altercation. Those injuries’ll ’eal without ’ardly a mark. ’E’s thinking of moving out of town, and believe me, you won’t want what’s coming next, Fred. It’ll make us look like choirboys.’
Darbishire took a sip of green gloop and swallowed. He tried to maintain a steady tone.
‘Even so, I’d still like to know what Rodriguez was doing over here. And how he got involved with the Raffles agency.’
‘What makes you think I’d know about that?’
Darbishire decided to show his hand a little. He and his team had been very busy recently. If Jimmy realised how much they knew, perhaps he’d be rattled enough to give some more. Billy Hill obviously wanted some sort of deal, or Darbishire wouldn’t be here at all.
‘Rodriguez was a gambler,’ he pointed out. ‘He liked to spend time in a club in Tangier called the Chamberlain, overlooking the Mediterranean. That club is partly owned by a company that has an interest in the Raffles escort agency. At least one of your associates is a regular customer of Raffles, and Rodriguez also liked to visit when he was in town. You can see the connections, Jimmy.’ He raised his hands. ‘What am I supposed to think?’
Jimmy took a sip of water, cleaned the top of his glass with a napkin, and sat back with a look of amusement.
‘Looks like you’ve got it all worked out,’ he said. ‘A man likes to make a bet, and ’e’s got an eye for the ladies, ipsus factus, ’e must be in with another man wot likes a bet and likes the ladies. I see your reasoning. Very clever, Fred. Well done.’
Darbishire tried to imagine how an actor like Dick Powell would look in this scenario: sardonic, inscrutable. He’d be hiding the fact that his adversary had never looked less rattled. That Jimmy had pointed out the holes in his best argument. That maybe there was no deal.
‘We’ll find out who owns those companies.’
‘You go ahead, Fred. But just remember . . .’ Jimmy leaned in again and patted Darbishire gently on the cheek ‘. . . the skin on their little boat races was pristine, from what I ’eard. No chiv. Wrong knife. No argument with Billy that you know of – or you’d ’ave told me. And I can assure you, there wasn’t one. Never ’eard of the blonde. Billy’s only got eyes for Gypsy, and she’s black-’aired, as you know. Raven.’ He sat straight and added, ‘I like the sound of that nightclub, though. In Tangier, you said? I’ll tell Billy. ’E’s looking for somewhere new.’ He yawned and nodded to the gorilla at the door. ‘Nice chatting to you, Fred. It’s always good to clear the air. You can see yourself out.’
With a final, defiant gulp of the green gloop in his shot glass, Darbishire did.
Chapter 25
Joan made sure it was her turn to collect the red boxes from Her Majesty in the morning. The Queen looked up from the last paper, before slipping it inside.
‘Is there any news?’
‘Not exactly, ma’am,’ Joan admitted, knowing she meant her suspicions about the plot to undermine her. ‘But I’d like to suggest a name.’
‘Go ahead.’
Joan named Jeremy, the press secretary.
The Queen nodded gravely. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘To be perfectly honest, ma’am, no one in your Private Office likes me working here, but Jeremy pretends he does. Both Sir Hugh and Miles have given me good advice, whatever they think of me. Jeremy’s brother propositioned me last night.’
The Queen’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Tony Radnor-Milne did?’
‘You know him?’
‘Not well. Poor Topsy. And I’m sorry. That can’t have been pleasant.’
‘No. But I’m afraid that’s all I have. It isn’t really proof of any kind. Is it Jeremy who you had in mind, too?’ she asked.
The Queen fiddled with her pen. ‘It is. I saw him surveying the room in Paris, where I was surrounded by excited Frenchmen and women, and he looked both disdainful and slightly furious. It’s supposed to be a good thing if we’re popular. He seemed to disagree.’
‘He could have quite easily organised the disappearance of your speech,’ Joan suggested. ‘He has the senior ladies in the typing pool wrapped around his finger.’
‘He might well have, but that’s not how it was done, supposedly.’
‘Oh?’
The Queen hadn’t told Joan this part yet. ‘Sir Hugh looked into it for himself when he got back from Paris. Apparently, the instruction had come directly from the Embassy there – and it had come from Sir Hugh himself.’
‘Oh!’
‘A junior girl swore that Sir Hugh had spoken to her personally on the telephone. If someone was doing an impression, it was a good one.’
Not Urquhart, Joan thought. His impressions were terrible. But Jeremy Radnor-Milne was good.
‘And any of the three men could have slipped a message about my food preferences to the chefs at the Hôtel de Ville,’ the Queen went on. ‘Just as they could have typed that message about Ingrid Kern. Well, I’m not entirely sure Hugh or Miles has ever typed anything, but if it was part of a conspiracy, they could find someone who can.’
Joan agreed that none of these things was hard. ‘The question is, why would they want to?’
‘Quite. And until we know that, I don’t want to interfere by starting a proper investigation. Whoever he is, he’d just stop for a while. I need him to carry on so we can find him. Ideally, before he does any real damage.’
Joan nodded. ‘I’ll do whatever I can.’