Chapter Nineteen #2
“If you reckon the snitch was telling the truth, Chief,” said Ernie, “you wouldn’t catch me betting against you.”
“Instinct honed by experience,” Tom said profoundly.
“Blimey, Sarge, you’ve said a mouthful!”
They all laughed.
“I won’t ask whether you’d bet on me, Ernie, or how much. I’m just certain enough to put a bit of pressure on if Shadd makes difficulties.”
“Which is why we’re all here,” said Mackinnon, “wi’ orders to look like plain-clothes coppers.”
That was good for another laugh.
A couple of minutes later, Alec said, “All right, Tom, off you go, or the boozers will be ready for their second rounds. Five minutes.”
They both checked the time. Tom got out into the rain, now coming down in a steady drizzle, then leant back into the car. “Don’t leave me out in this any longer than you have to, Chief!” He disappeared into the alley.
The second hand of Alec’s watch moved with agonising slowness. Both the others also kept their eyes on the time.
“Four minutes, Chief,” Ernie reported at last. “It’ll take us a minute to get round there. Save Mr. Tring sixty seconds in the wet.”
“Let’s go.”
Alec entered the tiny lobby first. Two inner doors faced him, separated by a cigarette machine.
The upper halves were glazed with small panes, none too clean.
The one on the right was marked PUBLIC. Peering through, he saw a tall, thin man behind the bar, presumably the hired barman, whom Tom had described as a beanpole.
Through the left-hand door he made out a shorter, burlier red-faced citizen serving at the saloon bar.
He looked to be in his late forties, thinning hair, a bit of a paunch but beefy with it.
He was laughing at something a customer was saying, but when he stopped laughing, his face settled into an anxious expression and he glanced at the door.
Shadd.
Pushing through the door, Alec felt like the sheriff in a Wild West film, entering a saloon with his posse to round up the outlaws. At least the likelihood of a gun-fight was nil; neither he nor his deputies owned—far less carried—a trusty Colt six-shooter.
So strong was the impression that it took an effort not to adopt a Wild West lawman’s swagger as he walked up to the bar.
“Mr. Shadd? I’d like a word with you. Somewhere quiet.”
He nodded, resigned. “It’ll have to be the stockroom. The wife and kids are upstairs. Just let me tell Alf he’ll have to take care of this side, too.”
“I’ll tell him, sir.” Ernie had already rounded the end of the counter, opened the flap, and gone through.
Shadd stood back to let him get to the swinging door connecting the two bars. Then he indicated another door, in the back wall. “In here,” he said to Alec.
Alec followed him into a room dimly lit by a dangling, unshaded bulb and crammed with crates and boxes. Ernie stood in the doorway.
“D’you want me to fetch Mr. Mackinnon, Chief?”
Considering the lack of space and Shadd’s apparent docility, Alec said, “No, that’s all right. Just tell him he can get himself a pint as long as he keeps his eyes open.”
“Have a heart, guv,” Shadd protested. “You’ll be chasing all me customers orf, leaving a bloody rozzer out there, sticking out like a bloody sore thumb.”
“If that’s the way you want it. Go ahead, Piper.”
Ernie went back into the bar, closing the door behind him. Looking round in the dimness, Alec saw that the aisle between the crates led to a wide door at the rear.
He pointed. “To the alley, Mr. Shadd? Is it locked?”
“Wouldn’t have any stock left if it wasn’t, would I.”
“The key, please.” He held out his hand. “I’ve another man out there, and he might as well come in out of the rain.”
“Blimey, brought half the bloody force, did you?” The landlord took a bunch of keys from his pocket, sorted through them, picked out one and made for the back door.
Alec let him go. If he had any thoughts of escape, Tom would change his mind, but as he hadn’t already scarpered he probably wouldn’t try.
He opened the door. “Come and join the party, mate,” he invited sardonically. “Make yerself at home.”
“Thank you. Mr. Shadd, I presume.” Tom came in, large and damp, keeping his eyes on Shadd in case he tried to dodge past.
He didn’t. He swung the heavy door shut against a spatter of rain, turning as Mackinnon and Piper entered from the bar. “Take a seat, gents. Might as well make ourselves cosy.”
The only seats available were on the crates, so that was where they perched.
“I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Shadd,” said Alec. “I’m—as I expect you’ve worked out—Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, in charge of the Epping Forest case.” He introduced the others. “Could we start with your full name, please, and your address—you live above the pub?—for the record.”
“Victor Shadd. I live upstairs, me and the family, like I said. You found me, so you know the bloody address. As for cooperating, we’ll see about that. Alf told me the rozzers was asking for me, but I dunno what for. I’m a law-abiding citizen and I got me rights.”
In the dimness, his expression was unreadable, but he didn’t sound indignant, as he surely would if he really had no idea what they wanted. Alec’s spirits rose. The anonymous rat had not been talking through his disreputable hat. He might have earned his quid, possibly even a bonus.
“You’ll get your rights, Mr. Shadd. We’re acting on information received. Our informant claims you told him you have a very good idea of who committed the Epping Forest murders.”
After a long silence, Shadd said cautiously, “Well, I may’ve, mayn’t I.”
“Is it true, or not?” Alec insisted.
“Kind of.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“That’s what I told him, all right. Ferrety bloke I never seen before and don’t never want to set eyes on again.
I dunno what come over me, and that’s the truth.
It was his mate and me being stuck in the same trench, that’s what it was.
Took me back a bit, I’m telling you. And that other bloke—he’s a regular—talking about the bodies you found in the Forest. Made me think. ” He stopped.
“And what you thought was that you knew who had killed them.”
“I wouldn’t put it as strong as that, guv! I’d read their names in the paper, see, and I put two and two together, but—”
“But why in heaven’s name didn’t you come to us?”
“Because I’m only guessing, aren’t I,” Shadd said uneasily. “Two and two don’t always add up to four, and I wouldn’t want to get a pal in trouble over nothing. I bet you lot at the Yard aren’t that keen on people that come running to you with guesses.”
“It depends on the person and what led him to that conclusion.” And, to be honest, on how desperate they were for any little scrap of information. “You’re a respectable business man. We would have listened. We’ll listen now.”
“I dunno—”
“Mr. Shadd, this ‘pal’ of yours may be a multiple murderer!”
“But it’s not like he’s picking off targets at random. If he was, I’d’ve never’ve guessed.”
“Explain. Now.”
“Well, I hope you’re comf’table, then,” the landlord said with a sigh, “because it’s a long story.”