Wainstone slammed the door behind them. ‘I’ve already told you everything I know about Daryl Woodley. I wish the bugger had never set foot in here.’
‘I expect he does too.’
The smell of stale beer and dust hung about the shabby pub with its threadbare carpet, the original colour and pattern of which was a mystery to be solved only by the person who had laid it, if he was still alive, which Horton doubted. It looked as though it had been down since the pub had been built in the 1920s. This was the pub the brewery had clearly forgotten, which was probably a wise move on their part. Why spend money refurbishing something they hoped would be demolished by the council if the area was scheduled for some upmarket development? But the council knew that would mean re-housing hundreds of tenants and there was nowhere to put them in an island city that was fast becoming standing room only.
‘I don’t know why you’re bothering me again. Haven’t you got anything better to do?’ He crossed splay-footed to the bar.
‘Tell us about Daryl Woodley,’ Horton said.
‘For fuck’s sake, I’ve already told you lot hundreds of bloody times.’
Eames stood poised with her notebook and posh-looking pen. Horton had no difficulty placing her in the Netherlands analysing data, but he did have difficulty with her being here. She looked too neat, too healthy, too attractive. Not that she showed any reaction to Wainstone’s manner or language. On the contrary she looked as though this was an everyday occurrence for her.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Wainstone snarled. He turned and poured a whisky from the optic behind the bar. Horton didn’t bother looking pointedly at his watch; the gesture would have been wasted on the alcoholic landlord. Wainstone didn’t offer either of them a drink and even if he had neither would have accepted. After swallowing a mouthful Wainstone gruffly continued, ‘He came in about nine-’
‘How do you know that?’ Horton interjected sharply.
‘Because I looked at the clock.’
‘Why?’
‘What do mean, why? I can look at the clock, can’t I? I saw that it was about nine. He ordered a pint and took it to that seat over there.’ Wainstone jerked his head at a table to the right of the door and not far from the gents’ toilets. Horton knew this already. If he’d been hoping that Wainstone would deviate from his story it looked as though he would be disappointed.
Eames looked up. ‘And he stayed there all night?’
‘It was busy.’ Wainstone tossed back his whisky and wiped his mouth with the back of his tattooed hand. ‘He might have gone out or to the toilet. I wasn’t watching him every minute of the bleeding night.’
Horton eyed the landlord closely, there was something he wasn’t telling them, but then that was nothing new. Nearly everyone they’d spoken to was keeping quiet about something. Was it drugs? Hans Olewbo of the drugs squad had claimed there was nothing going down here. Vice could throw no light on the matter either. That didn’t mean though that it wasn’t drugs, porn, prostitution or all three, just that they had no intelligence on it being that.
Wainstone was saying, ‘He came in, ordered a drink and sat drinking it. I didn’t see him talk to anyone and I didn’t see him leave. He was still there when I called time at eleven so he must have left just afterwards and before I threw out the regulars.’
‘Who were?’
‘I’ve already told you. You’ve got a list of their names.’
Eames said brightly, ‘Maybe there are a couple you forgot to mention, sir, easily done when you’re busy. For example, this man.’
She thrust across a photograph of Reggie Thomas.
‘No. He wasn’t here.’
‘Have you seen him before?’
‘No.’
‘Or any of these people?’ Eames showed him a photograph of Woodley’s mourners taken from Clarke’s video.
‘No.’
‘If you could just take a closer look, sir, to make absolutely certain, then we won’t ask the health and safety inspectorate to pay you a visit, or the vice or drugs squad, and neither will we alert the RSPCA or the endangered species crime team about the parrot you have in the back room.’
Wainstone looked alarmed. ‘I’ve had Percy for years.’
‘I’m sure you have, sir. And I’m sure that he is kept nowhere near food. Food and Hygiene Act, sir. It could affect the renewal of your licence.’
Horton was impressed.
Wainstone’s eyes were shifting between them. Then he studied the photograph. ‘I’ve never seen any of them before. OK?’ He stormed around to their side of the bar, making sure to close the door that led into the back room and his living quarters and swiftly crossed the pub where he threw open the door. ‘Now bugger off. I’ve got work to do before I open up.’
Horton stayed put for a while and watched Wainstone shift uncomfortably. Then crossing to the door he nodded at Eames, who retrieved the photographs of Salacia from the pocket of her jacket and put them in front of Wainstone’s bleary eyes.
‘Have you seen her before, sir?’
‘No I bloody well haven’t.’
‘Or you might recognize her in this picture with fair hair.’
Wainstone dashed a glance at it. Angrily he said, ‘I wouldn’t recognize her if she was stark bollock naked, because I’ve never seen her before.’
Horton said, ‘Her body was found at Tipner Quay yesterday morning.’
‘So? That’s nothing to do with me.’
‘I never said it was,’ Horton answered smoothly. He held Wainstone’s eye contact. Then said brightly, ‘Do you have a menu?’
Wainstone started with surprise. ‘Yeah, why? Want to book a table?’ he sneered.
‘If I wanted a colonic irrigation. Menu. I’d like a copy.’ He held out his hand.
Wainstone gave an exaggerated sigh and whipped one from the table nearest him.
Horton took the greasy piece of laminated card. ‘We might have to return to ask you further questions. This is a double murder investigation.’
‘I’ve told you. I’ve never seen him or her.’
Horton looked him steadily in the eye. ‘For once, Mr Wainstone, I’m inclined to believe you.’ He turned on the threshold, unable to resist an exit line. ‘After all, what would a nice woman like her be doing in a shit hole like this?’
EIGHT
‘Burger and chips; sausage and chips; egg and chips; cod and chips. It’s not exactly gourmet food,’ said Eames, reading the menu Horton had handed her.
‘And you’d know all about that,’ he quipped.
‘It was one of the subjects taught on my Higher Certificate in Finishing in Switzerland.’
He threw her a surprised look. Was she joking? Maybe not. ‘Didn’t think there were any finishing schools left in these emancipated times.’
‘Oh, yes, and places are in great demand, more so than ever. But I am partial to cod and chips.’
Perhaps she expected him to buy her some. ‘I’ll send Walters next time. It’s his kind of food but it doesn’t sound like the type of last meal Salacia would have eaten.’ They were still waiting on the analysis of stomach contents from Dr Clayton. ‘What was all that about parrots and endangered species?’
‘The tattoo on his hand extending up his arm was of a parrot and I saw the cage through the open door. Last year I worked on a case on trafficking in endangered species. We managed to identify and apprehend a group of criminals illicitly trading exotic birds from South America. It might not sound much but there’s big money to be made and sadly it’s a growing area with the involvement of organized crime groups. Many of the routes used for smuggling illegal immigrants and drug trafficking are also used for smuggling rare animals, corals and valuable plants. Maybe Victor Wainstone does more than keep a parrot for himself, and it’s always good to throw in the line about endangered species, gets them nervous.’
‘I’ll remember that.’ It was a good piece of observation but he had no need to tell her that. ‘I think he’s telling the truth when he says he’s never seen Salacia or any of Woodley’s chums. I want a quick look around the area before we return to the car.’