Slider listened patiently – he agreed with much of what Sweyback said, but hearing him saying it was a useful lesson to take on board about not sounding like a disgruntled old fart. He waited for him to run down (it was never much longer after the ‘I’m a copper’s copper’ bit) and occupied the unused part of his brain with wondering whether Duggie’s teeth were natural or not. They were so white and even, it either suggested tremendous lifelong care, or the old Royal Doulton job.
Eventually Sweyback reached the bit about having had it up to here and thinking about early retirement, and Slider was able to say, ‘Go on with you, you’ll die in the saddle. What would you do with retirement – play golf and collect beer mats? You’d miss Woodley South too much.’
‘Miss it? It’ll be the death of me!’ But it was enough of a reminder. Sweyback pulled himself together and said, ‘You’re interested in one of my home-grown villains, aren’t you? Young Michael Carmichael.’
‘Yes, what can you tell me about him? What’s he like?’
‘Cocky young devil. Too much of this.’ He flapped his hand in the ‘mouthy’ gesture. ‘Too clever for his own good, that’d be my verdict. He’s bright enough, could have made something of himself, but like all these kids he’s lazy – wants everything now. So he goes the easy route.’
‘He’s been in trouble for possession, I understand.’
‘Yes, and I’d bet my last biccie he’s dealing, but we’ve never been able to nail him for it. He can spot a ringer too easily, and he seems to know by instinct when we set up a surveillance, and just melts away. But I know for a fact he supplies his mum. Well, who else’d do it? Lilian – Lilly – Atwood’s her name. She’s a big user.’
‘Not Carmichael, then?’
‘I don’t know that she ever married Michael’s dad. He calls himself Carmichael, but anyway what’s in a name, as the Bard says. Atwood’s her third, the one after Carmichael. He’s inside now – Atwood is – doing a ten stretch for armed robbery. He was the one that was around while Michael was growing up. Her first one, O’Dade, he’s dead, killed in a pub fight donkeys’ years ago. That was about my first case when I came to Woodley Green. Old Lilly was quite a looker in those days, not that you’d know it now. She’d already started drinking too much and putting herself about when O’Dade snuffed it. Then she had this brief thing with Carmichael. Could have gone respectable at that point – he was a rep for a paper company, Bowman’s of Bracknell. But he took off when she got in the club. He’d seen the future and it didn’t work. Then not long after she had young Michael she fell in with Atwood. That was her downfall. He’s a nasty, violent piece of shit. In and out of chokey, drunk more often than not, belted her and the kids – she had three more by him, one whenever he was out. They’re in care, now. First she went on the sauce, and now she’s doing drugs. She’s hanging round the pubs most nights, bumming for drinks.’
‘Prostitution?’ Slider asked.
‘She used to make quite a living that way. When she’s not monged she’s one of those women they call lively – which means she’s noisy, got a foul mouth and she laughs a lot – but there’s a lot of men on the Woodley South don’t ask for more. But she’s not often straight enough these days to make a living at it. It’s low-level stuff now. She’ll do it down an alley or in a car for the price of a wrap. We’ve taken her up for soliciting a few times – more to move her on than in hope of a prosecution. But she’ll do it anywhere with anyone. They call her Lilly the Pink. I’ll leave you to work out why.’ He paused a beat, and added in conclusion, ‘Not too much of a surprise that young Michael went wrong.’
‘He’s still living there, is he, with his mother?’
‘You tell me,’ Sweyback said, scratching delicately at his pate. ‘I haven’t seen him about as much the last few months, but he’s still there sometimes. Bringing her the doings, I suppose. Who knows where these youngsters hang out nowadays. It’s not like when we were kids – they all sleep on each other’s floors. Anywhere’s home. To be frank with you, if he’s not on my radar I’m not worrying about him. He’s the kind of lad that, when he finally goes over, it’ll be big trouble for everyone. You know some kids just potter along being a low-grade nuisance, and in some ways they’re the worst because you can’t do much about ’em. But there’s others marked out for glory, as the Bard says, and they eventually go down hard for something really big. Carmichael’s that sort. He’s a storm brewing, he is. A disaster waiting to happen.’
‘Is he violent?’
‘Quick-tempered, I’d say. Quick to take offence. And handy with his fists. Well, with a dad like Atwood it’s not surprising. That’s all he’s known – when in doubt, lash out. He’s been in a lot of fights but we’ve never had him for anything more than that. And being a fighter’s kept him out of the gangs, which is one blessing: the only thing we’ve got over them is they’re all pig stupid, and someone like Michael could pull ’em together into a real menace, if he was interested. What’s your interest in him, by the way?’ He gave in at last to the curiosity that had been burning him for the last ten minutes.
‘We think he might have known our latest murder victim.’
‘Oh, that girl on the Scrubs? I saw that in the papers, wondered if it was yours. You fancy him for it, do you?’
‘Haven’t got that far. But he was going out with her at one time.’
‘Was he? Sinning above his station, eh?’
‘Did he have a reputation that way?’
‘What, for girls? They couldn’t get enough of him.’
‘And did he smack them around?’
‘Never had any complaints against him. Of course, he grew up seeing it at home, and often they repeat what they know. But he never had to force anyone, I can tell you that. Good looking, leery sort of lad. Always had a girl on his arm. But I’ll say this – I can see him killing a girl in a temper, if she got across him the wrong way.’
Slider nodded. ‘It looks like that sort of murder.’ Except for the tights, he thought uneasily. The tights were a real thorn in the woodpile, as Porson might say. ‘Well, thanks a lot, Duggie. You’ve given me quite a graphic picture of him. A great help.’
‘Murder, eh?’ Sweyback said thoughtfully. ‘Well, I said when he went, he’d go big. Are you going round his mum’s house?’
‘Yes, in the hope that he might be there. What does she do, by the way?’
‘Drugs? Well, she’ll do anything she can get. Dope, coke. Scag – she smokes that. Booze when she can’t get anything else. Haven’t seen the boy around lately but he comes and goes, and you might get something out of her about where to look. Probably a good time to catch her,’ he added, looking at his watch. ‘After she wakes up and before she goes looking for the next fix.’