‘Understood, sir.’
‘But apart from that, I want professional detachment, no personal agendas. . allowing that always muddies the water and turns cops into zealots.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So I want you to team up with DC Yewdall — pick up the Rosemary Halkier case from where I left it yesterday afternoon.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘The next step there is to interview her best mate who now lives in Mill Hill. She contacted me this morning following my visiting her mother yesterday. She’s very happy to talk to us about Rosemary. We need to know what was happening in her life when she disappeared, and especially who the man she was seeing was.’
‘So, Swannell and Ainsclough, I want you on J.J. Dunwoodie’s murder. That is recent. Very recent. Give it priority, but also dig the case about Charlotte Varney’s murder out of the void, press some buttons on that one when you can.’
‘Got it, sir.’ Ainsclough glanced at Swannell.
‘Yewdall.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m also putting your name alongside the murder of Gaynor Davies.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We need to know about her, and you’ll have to represent the police when her parents view her body. That’s a single-hander. But don’t go near the address in Kilburn.’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘Right.’ The phone on Vicary’s desk rang and he picked it up. ‘DI Vicary.’ He paused and listened, and then said, ‘Alright, thank you,’ and replaced the phone. ‘That’s A-Ten to see you, Frankie.’
Brunnie nodded.
‘They’ll just take a statement in the first instance.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘After that, pick up the Rosemary Halkier enquiry.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘For myself, I am going to read files and pick brains. I want to know all I can about Mr Curtis Yates. Right. . meeting closed.’
Detective Sergeants Swannell and Ainsclough sat in DC Meadows’ unmarked car that was parked at the kerb in Kilburn High Road, close to the junction with Messina Avenue, and close to the alley in which J.J. Dunwoodie was beaten to death. It was a cold day with intermittent showers that fell from the low grey cloud which hung over all London. The pedestrians on the greasy pavements huddled in overcoats, and many women had plastic covers over their heads. Occasionally an aircraft was heard, but not seen, flying overhead on its final approach to Heathrow airport.
The police officers sat in a calm, relaxed silence with Meadows in the driving seat, Swannell beside him and Ainsclough in the offside rear seat. A traffic warden approached and tapped on the front nearside window. Swannell wound down the window and, without speaking, showed the traffic warden his ID. The traffic warden nodded and walked on.
‘That sort of thing could blow a surveillance operation,’ Meadows commented.
‘We’d allow for it.’ Swannell replaced his ID. ‘It just wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t park like this, three geezers in a car on a yellow line. Any boy scout could figure us for the law, let alone the nasties.’
‘Suppose,’ Meadows replied and glanced at his wristwatch, which showed the time to be mid-morning. ‘She’ll be arriving any time now; she’ll be wanting her breakfast. The supermarket took all the sell-by date expired stuff off the shelves last thing before they closed, and they take it to the skip mid-morning. So that’s when they arrive.’
‘They?’
‘The skip-divers. . like these three.’ Meadows indicated three pale, sickly, ill-clad youths weaving through the foot passengers and making their way to the alley. ‘Early birds,’ he explained, ‘out to get the worm. It might help them, it might not.’
‘No?’
‘Well, they don’t look hard enough to fight their corner. . three delicate waifs. . some heavier boys will be able to muscle them aside, especially if they are hungry. But I dare say it’s worth taking the shot. You can live out of skips if you have a mind to do so. You can get some nice bits of meat, and salad, fruit. . all still wrapped in cellophane. . nothing wrong with it at all. Eat out of skips, work for cash in hand at night — it makes the dole money liveable on. In India they talk about the “slum dogs” in cities. You don’t think we have that here? Not to the same extent or same extreme. . but. .’ He paused as a red London Transport double-decker whirred and hissed past them, by which time the three youths were standing against a wall taking what shelter they could.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only when Meadows said, ‘Here we go. .’ and Swannell and Ainsclough saw two young men in supermarket smocks carrying armfuls of food from the supermarket towards the alley in which stood the refuse skips. The supermarket workers then stopped by the youths and, looking round nervously, allowed the youths to help themselves to what food they wanted. The youths took food and then melted into the crowd, and the supermarket workers carried on to the alley, carrying what food they still held, and put it into the skip.
‘Never seen that before,’ Meadows commented, ‘taking pity on feral youth. Good for them in a sense but they’re dropping the supermarket in the soup, legally speaking.’
‘They are?’
‘Yes, my understanding is that the supermarket is legally obliged to ensure that all food past its sell-by date is properly disposed of, and that means putting it in a skip. The supermarket is not then liable in the eyes of the law for any food poisoning that might occur if someone then removed the food from the skip, but giving it to hungry people is not disposing of it — that is a public health issue, no matter how charitable it might be and no matter how safe.’
‘I see,’ Swannell growled.
‘Don’t know what to do.’ Meadows sighed. ‘Part of me likes the supermarket employees for doing that, but it’s the sack for them if they’re seen, and, like I said, there is the public health issue.’
‘Quiet word with the supermarket manager,’ Ainsclough suggested, ‘on the q.t., no names. . possibly just a phone call. Leave it for a day or two so the manager won’t be able to identify the workers concerned.’
‘Yes.’ Meadows half-turned to Ainsclough. ‘Yes, I’ll do that, that will be the best thing to do. The ferals can still get good food from the skip, they’ll just have to scavenge for it and the workers will keep their jobs. Ah. . here she is. See her. . black girl in the green waterproof?’
The officers watched as the girl approached the alley and then, instead of going to the alley and searching the skips as the officers had expected her to do, stood contentedly waiting on the pavement.
‘Strange,’ Meadows whispered.
‘That she isn’t skip-diving, you mean?’ Swannell watched the girl.
‘Yes. . as if. . as if. .’
‘Anyway, let’s pull her, we can’t wait all day.’ Swannell made to open the car door.
‘No!’ Meadows laid a hand on Swannell’s arm. ‘Let’s wait, see what she’s doing. My old copper’s mind is working now. Appreciate you’re investigating a murder but you can afford to wait a minute or two.’
‘A scam?’ Ainsclough commented from the rear seat.
‘Possibly. Those two supermarket workers may not be so charitable after all.’
The three officers continued to sit in the car, and then soon after the black girl had positioned herself at the entrance to the alley the same two supermarket workers appeared — two young men; one with distinct fiery red hair, the other overweight and prematurely balding, but both carrying boxes of food. When the two workers reached the girl, the red-headed one stopped and handed her the food, whilst the other carried on and put the food he was carrying into the skip.
‘Dare say something has to be seen to be thrown away.’ Meadows spoke softly as the girl put the food into a hemp shopping bag and then walked, conveniently, towards the car in which the officers sat. As she approached, Swannell got out of the car, grabbed the girl by the arm and showed her his ID. He opened the rear door of the car and bundled her on to the back seat next to Ainsclough. The girl tried to open the car door but could not do so.