Khan studied him for a moment. ‘Meaning what? That he never removed it from the doctor’s boot?’
Chalky looked as if he was about to spit on the floor again, then appeared to think better of it. ‘Don’t ask me, mate,’ he said indifferently. ‘I wasn’t looking . . . But the lootenant’s the one that’s got it. It sure as hell ain’t nothing to do with me.’
Khan nodded. ‘That’s pretty much what we thought.’
‘So what am I doing here?’ Chalky asked belligerently. ‘The likes of me have rights, too, you know.’
‘We’re aware of that and we’re grateful for your assistance. You’ve confirmed an important piece of evidence for us. Up until now, we only had the lieutenant’s word that the duffel bag was ever in the boot. The doctor never saw it and, for all we knew, the lieutenant had reasons of his own to invent a bag that didn’t exist.’
Chalky’s black eyebrows drew together in a ferocious frown. ‘I ain’t confirming nothing.’
Khan consulted some notes on the table in front of him. ‘Why did you hole up in Bread Street, Chalky?’
‘None of your sodding business.’
‘Did you open the duffel and take fright when you saw what was in it?’
‘I want a lawyer. I ain’t answering no more questions without a brief in the room.’
‘Sure,’ said Khan easily. ‘Do you have a solicitor of your own or would you rather take one of the duty paralegals? If you choose a paralegal, it’ll be a couple of hours before they get here. You’re welcome to sit in this room with a cup of tea and a biscuit until they arrive.’
‘I’ll take a beer.’
‘This isn’t the Hilton, Chalky. We don’t do alcohol.’
He hunched forward over the table. ‘I should’ve tossed the bloody thing in the river,’ he grumbled. ‘Damn near did as a matter of fact. Only took it in the first place because I thought it had a bottle in it. It’s the kid you should be talking to. His head’s fucked.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He’s a vicious little bastard . . . Got his girls to give me a kicking not so long ago.’ Chalky tugged at his matted beard. ‘He didn’t like me telling ’em they’d do better without a good-fornothing pimp living off ’em.’
‘The pimp being Ben?’
‘Right.’
‘So how come you let him sleep in the alleyway with you?’
‘Didn’t know what he was like the first time I met him. All I saw was a skinny kid taking a kicking himself. He told me the guy was a faggot after a rent boy . . . but I reckon it was someone he’d fleeced. Got stuck with him after that. He used the alleyway as a bolt hole whenever he thought people were after him . . . only reason he kept the location to himself.’
Khan folded his hands over his notes. ‘Weren’t you frightened of him after he attacked you?’
Chalky gave a growl of disgust. ‘Him and his bitches caught me asleep. Told him I’d break his fucking neck if he tried it again. Didn’t see hide nor hair of him till he turned up that night. The lootenant reckoned he was sick . . . Me, I thought he’d been on the receiving end of another thumping . . . Even more so when I looked in his fucking bag after I’d split with the doctor.’
Khan made what he could of this. ‘The duffel bag? Had you seen Ben with it before?’
‘Wouldn’t make any difference if I had or not. He had it that night . . . and in my book that makes it his.’
‘Why did you hang on to it?’
Chalky flicked him an assessing glance, as if to measure how gullible he was. ‘Because I read the newspapers, that’s why. Do you think a meths drinker doesn’t know what’s going on in your piss-ant world? The army’s not good for much – it drops you like a hot potato when you’ve done your bit for Queen and country – but it doesn’t take you on if you’re stupid. Recognized the name, didn’t I?’
‘Harry Peel?’
‘That’s the one. Put it together with the doctor telling me the kid had a murdered bloke’s mobile in his rucksack . . . and knew I’d shot myself in the bloody foot. I should have stuck with the booze and fags and left the duffel bag alone.’
‘All the more reason to dump it somewhere.’
‘Not if you have a conscience, it isn’t,’ said Chalky in an injured tone. ‘What makes you think I like killers any more than you do?’
‘The fact that you never brought the evidence to us,’ said Khan with a faint smile. ‘I’m betting you thought Ben would pay to get it back.’
Twenty-seven
BEALE REACHED FOR HIS radio as a taxi drew up alongside the transit van. ‘Go,’ he said quietly. He made a note of the time –03.17 – then eased his Toyota door open as Jen Morley emerged from the back of the cab and walked towards the door of her apartment block.
She stopped as two plain-clothes policemen converged from the shadows at the side of the building into the light shed by a low-wattage lamp inside the hall. They moved in front of her to stop her entering, holding up their warrant cards. ‘I have a rape alarm,’ she warned.
‘Metropolitan Police, Ms Morley,’ said one. ‘We’re investigating an attack that occurred last Friday in the neighbourhood of Gainsborough Road and we believe you may be able to assist us by answering some questions. We’re happy to do the interview in your flat or, if you prefer, you may accompany us to Southwark East police station.’
She stared him down with surprising coolness. ‘Do I look as if I’ve got “mug” stamped across my forehead?’ she murmured. ‘I can’t even read your cards from here.’
On instructions not to crowd her, both officers stayed where they were. ‘If you have a mobile,’ said the same man, ‘I’ll give you a number to call so that you can verify our status.’
‘The only number I’ll be dialling is 999,’ she said, removing a slimline device from her pocket. ‘Are you sure you want me to do that?’
‘Indeed, Ms Morley,’ said Beale from a couple of yards behind her. ‘Ask to be patched through to Detective Inspector Beale and you’ll find yourself talking to me.’ He held up his own mobile. ‘We spoke a few days ago if you remember.’
She swung round to face him, then backed away a few steps. ‘You’re too close and you’re frightening me,’ she snapped. ‘I want to go into my flat and make the call from there.’
She looked in better shape than Beale had been expecting – make-up still in place and hair rolled neatly in the pleat behind her head – and he wondered if her client had had his money’s worth. ‘That’s not a problem . . . as long we accompany you.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why would I take three strange men into my flat when I’ve already said I’m afraid of you? Either I go in alone or I’ll sue the Metropolitan Police for intimidation.’