Riley walked up Camden High Street and found Munster parked outside Camden Town tube station. He got into the car beside him.
‘What’s the plan?’ he said.
‘Plan?’ said Munster. ‘Find him. And then talk to him.’
‘Are we bringing him in?’
‘We’ll talk to him first.’
The car pulled up before reaching the pub. Munster gazed up at the black façade and shook his head with distaste.
‘I used to like heavy metal when I was a kid,’ said Riley. ‘I’d have loved this place.’
‘When you were a kid?’ said Munster. ‘Right. Do we know what he looks like?’
Two young women, dressed from head to foot in black leather, both with shaved heads and multiple piercings, were seated at a table outside.
‘Well, they’re not Billy Hunt,’ said Riley, cheerfully. ‘Unless Billy’s a girl’s name.’
At the other table a man was sitting alone, with a half-drunk pint of beer and a cigarette. He was thin and pale, with tufted dark hair, wearing black jeans and a rumpled grey jacket.
‘That might be him,’ said Munster.
They got out of the car and approached him. He didn’t notice them until they were a few feet away.
‘We’re looking for a William Hunt,’ said Munster.
‘Only my mum calls me William,’ the man replied. ‘And then only when she’s angry with me.’
The two detectives sat at the table.
‘Billy, then,’ Munster said. ‘We’ve been talking to a man named Jeremy Burgess. He runs a jewellery store just up the road from here.’
Hunt stubbed his cigarette out on the table, took another from a packet and lit it with almost feverish concentration. ‘I don’t know him.’
‘William,’ said Munster. ‘Now I’m getting angry with you.’ He took a printout from his pocket and spread it on the table. ‘He told us that you came in with this and he bought it from you.’
Hunt turned the paper around and looked at it. Munster saw that even his hands, even his long fingers, were thin and pale. The nails were bitten short but even so they were dirty and stained. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ said Munster. ‘Is all this Georgian silver becoming a bit of blur?’
‘Are you going to buy me a drink?’
‘No, I’m not going to buy you a drink. What do you think this is?’
‘If you’re looking for information, there should be something in it for me.’
Munster turned to Riley, then back to Hunt. Riley was smiling. Munster wasn’t. ‘You’re not a potential informant. You’re a suspect. If you don’t answer questions, we can take you straight into custody.’
Hunt ruffled his hair so that it stood up even more than before. ‘Every time there’s some bit of property goes missing,’ he said, in a whine, ‘people like you come and hassle me about it. Have you ever heard the expression about giving a dog a bad name?’
Munster looked at him in disbelief. ‘Is this the dog that keeps being put in prison for hitting people and selling things that other people have stolen? And while we’re on the subject, these bits of property don’t just go missing on their own. People like you nick them. Don’t mess us around, Billy. We’ve heard about you. You’ve got a drug habit and you steal to pay for it.’
Hunt took a gulp of beer, followed by a deep drag on his cigarette. He looked at Riley, who was grinning. ‘I don’t know what’s so funny,’ he said. ‘I only got started when I was inside. There’s more gak inside than there is on the streets. And that wanker, Burgess. Everyone comes round and bothers me and there’s Burgess with his fucking shop. Why does everyone let him carry on?’
‘Billy,’ said Munster. ‘Shut up. Where did you get the silver?’
Hunt paused. ‘There was a guy. He had some bits and pieces, bits of silver. He was desperate for cash, so I gave him some and passed it on to Burgess. End of story.’
‘Did you ask him where he got it?’
‘No, I didn’t. I’m not the Antiques fucking Roadshow.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know. Dave, I think.’
‘Dave,’ said Munster. ‘Dave what?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t really know him.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘South of the river, I think. But I’m not sure.’
‘Dave. South London,’ said Munster. ‘Possibly. Do you know how to get in touch with him?’
‘It doesn’t really work like that. You run into people. See them around. You know how it is.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Munster. ‘And while we’re at it, could you tell me where you were on Wednesday?’
‘When? The one just gone?’
‘Yes. The sixth.’
‘I was out of London. I was down in Brighton. Had a few days away.’
‘Is there anyone who can confirm that?’
‘I was down with a friend.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘His name?’ said Hunt. Quite slowly, he stubbed his cigarette out and lit another. ‘Ian.’
‘Second name?’
‘He was always just Ian.’
‘But you can tell us his address?’
Hunt looked doubtful. ‘I’ve got it written down somewhere. Or I did have. It was at a friend of Ian’s. Ian won’t be there. He moves around a lot.’
‘Arranging work for people,’ said Munster.
‘For his friends.’
‘I can’t believe I’m actually bothering to say this out loud,’ said Munster, ‘but have you got Ian’s phone number?’
‘It was on my phone. I’m not completely sure where my phone is.’
‘You realize what we’re asking?’ said Munster. ‘You’ve been here before. We want you to point us in the direction of someone who will say to us: “Yes, Billy Hunt was with me in Brighton on Wednesday.” Is there such a person?’
‘This isn’t right,’ said Hunt. ‘This is a matter of … What this is about is … is … that I’m not like you. Or you,’ he added, looking at Riley, who seemed bemused. ‘You’ve got your nice homes and all your insurance and your water bills with your names on them.’
‘My water bill?’ said Munster.
‘And you’ve got all your nice friends and you go out to dinner with them. You all look out for each other and – and you can just prove where you were all the time and you’ve got a job and a pension and paid holidays.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘We’re not all like you. Don’t you read the papers? Some of us are having to struggle to get by.’
‘Will you shut up?’ said Munster. ‘I don’t care about any of this. But I’m finding it a bit difficult to pin anything down. Do you have an address?’
‘You see, that’s just what I’m talking about. People like you, you always have an address.’ Hunt drew imaginary quotation marks with his fingers around the word ‘address’.
‘All right. Let’s make it simple. Where did you sleep last night?’
‘Last night?’ said Hunt, thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. I stay with different people, with friends. I’m looking for somewhere permanent.’
‘Like you’re looking for a job?’ said Munster.
‘Like that.’
‘One more thing,’ said Munster. ‘And this is just a formality, so that my colleague can write it in his notebook.’
‘What?’
‘It wasn’t by any chance you who stole the silver from sixty-three Margaretting Street?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘All right,’ said Munster.
‘So we’re done?’ said Hunt.
‘No, we’re not. I’ve had enough of this. You’re coming with us.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, just for a start, you’ve already admitted receiving and selling stolen goods.’