37
The Fighting Cocks was throbbing, for want of a better verb. Big Val swayed like a tipsy queen, her lilac Bet Lynch a tower of quivering candy-floss. Bev smiled ruefully. The big woman had more hair-pieces than Madame Tussaud’s; shame they hadn’t rung a bell earlier. Bell, it turned out, had quite a collection himself. They’d found the dreadlocks behind a false wall at Annie Flinn’s place. Bev tried not to think about it; this was supposed to be a party.
Cassie was missing the fun, and Jules’s hand-me-down grapes weren’t much compensation. Still, Jules and the rest of the girls were out in force, come to that, so was the force. Even the guv had said he’d try to pop in for a swift half. To Bev’s way of thinking, if he didn’t show he still hadn’t forgiven her for nearly getting herself killed.
Frankie hadn’t. She’d gone apeshit. Looking at her now, it was hard to believe such profanities had passed such lips. She was on the floor, sheathed in slinky black, belting out Search For The Hero.
Bev’s mouth twitched. Val was already exploring. Her fingers were tracing lines along Ozzie’s thigh. Politely, he kept removing them but back they’d creep. Bit like Bev’s thoughts. She shoved them aside and laughed perhaps a touch too loudly.
She glanced round the table. It wasn’t exactly tarts and vicars, but who needed dog collars at a knees-up? She downed the rest of her Grouse.
“Get you another, Sarge?”
It was more plea than request. She looked at Ozzie, spotted Val’s latest digital foray, winked and said ambiguously: “I’ll give you a hand.”
It was a parting-of-the-waves job to get to the bar. Once there, Ozzie propped it up and looked back appreciatively. “Your mate, Frankie. She’s got a cracking voice.”
Bev nodded. “Crystal. Twenty paces.”
He cocked his head in the direction of their table. “What about the Spice Girls? Same again?”
She glanced over. Jules was regaling Patty and Smithy with a blow-by-blow account of her big scene in the park, heavily bandaged hands adding weight to the drama. Jo and Chlo? were taking the piss, aping every move.
She nodded, smiling. “And Oz,” she added mischievously, “don’t forget Val’s pork scratchings.”
He swallowed hard, wiped his top lip with a paisley handkerchief. “Shame Vince isn’t here. Get on like a house on fire, him and Val.”
“Hot, isn’t she?” Bev murmured.
He shoved a couple of drinks across the bar. It was the only answer she was getting.
“Cheers, Oz.” Val relieved him of the tray, then patted the bench at her side. “Been keeping it warm for you, chuck.”
Bev grinned. Last time she’d seen him so flushed was at Marlene’s place. Mind, the lights had gone out at Marlene’s. They’d been pulling plugs all over the city. All those massage parlours and covert film studios. All part of Charlie Hawes’s 21st Century F*cks. They’d seized enough movies to keep Blockbusters going for years; not that Blockbusters would be in the market for them. Charlie had other clients, of course. Customers he had by the short and curlies. Big time. Talk about a money spinner. Come into my parlour.
“Penny for them, Bev?” She turned to see whose hand was on her shoulder. The woman looked even more stunning without the white coat.
“Believe me, doc, you don’t want to know.” She glanced round, motioned to a chair. “Grab a pew. Glad you could make it.”
“How you doing?” It was more than small talk. The woman’s gaze was on Bev’s neck, and it wasn’t admiring the scarf.
Bev flapped a dismissive hand, tried not to flinch. “Flesh wound, mate. Just a little prick.”
Val had obviously caught the tail end. “Had a few of them in my time, kid.”
Doctor Thorne drew up a seat and plonked a bottle of Bolly on the table. “That’s for later.”
The wild applause was a bit OTT, then Bev realised Frankie had finished the song. The whistles and catcalls were for the opening bars of Money’s Too Tight To Mention.
Jules drawled, “Tell me about it.”
“Glad to see you’re feeling yourself,” Bev said.
“All I will be feeling with this lot.” The beer-stained bandages looked worse for wear. Bev reckoned the girl was secretly proud of them.
“Where’s your boss, then?” The doc’s question was casually posed but it didn’t fool Bev. She’d love to see him walk through the door herself.
“The night is young.” She smiled to hide a sadness that wasn’t just down to Byford’s absence. Shell and Louella would never be coming back, and there was another missing face. Vicki was still refusing all Bev’s calls. She mouthed a toast to absent friends and drained her glass, made a mental note to switch to mineral water. When it boiled down to it, Vick’s attitude was the same as Val’s. “You’re a great bird, Bev, but you’re still a cop.”
It partly explained why Val hadn’t played straight. She’d been a damn sight more scared of Charlie than she had of the Bill. She’d lied through her bridgework for Hawes: the death threats; the Brighton line; Vicki’s baby. Christ, she’d even minded the kid one night. Charlie might be banged up, but Bev still hadn’t persuaded the big woman to give evidence against him. Mind, she was working on it.
“Cheer up, chuck. It might never happen.”
Bev lifted her glance from the bottom of her glass. What if it already had?
“My round, I think.” The doc was on her feet. “Bev?”
“Large Grouse. Cheers.” The mental abstinence note was lost in a stack of others. Taking work home was one thing, bringing it here was something else. Again she tried switching off but it was still ticking over.
She glanced at her watch. 10.20. The guv was cutting it fine. He’d come down a notch during the day, from seething to steaming. He’d let her sit in on a couple of interviews, and take a look at the tapes. Talk about frightening the horses. She could see she’d been well out of order, going off on her own. On the other hand, the buried treasure equalled a closing case. Make that cases. It would be months before they got to court and God knew how many worms would crawl out of the woodwork before then. Ferguson the Confessor had crept back to his hole. His fifteen minutes of fame had been forced on him. Charlie had propelled him into the spotlight with a lethal combination of threats and promises. Hawes had been playing for time. Ferguson would get done for wasting it.
As for Powell, he had a little of it on his hands. The DI had been sent home, pending an internal inquiry. Word was, that while interviewing Ferguson he’d mentioned the tenners in Michelle Lucas’s shoe. Short of divine inspiration, it was just about the only explanation for Ferguson knowing. Powell denied it, of course. Bev didn’t know what to think. The man was a plonker, but she didn’t have him down as a bent plonker. It was possible – however unprofessional – that he’d let it slip accidentally. She glanced at Oz, recalled the night in her place and Henry Brand’s tape in her player. Anyone could make a mistake.
Brand certainly had. They were still working on the charges he’d face. Enid Brand’s overdose was one they might have to drop. Brand still insisted it was self-inflicted. Bev had doubts. Fact was, the woman was worth more dead than alive. A tempting prospect for a man with a faulty cashflow.
It all looked puny compared with Bell’s charge account. Bev wrapped the scarf gently round her neck and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. Ridiculous. The sleaze ball was behind bars. Mind, he’d been on her back long enough. It was Bell who’d been in New Street that day. She hated to think how he long he’d been trailing her. Paid off for him though. Not only had she led him to the spoils, she’d even dug the bloody things up for him. Still. Bell would be going down: two counts of murder and the attempted murder of a police officer.
“’allo, ’allo, ’allo. Evenin’ all!” Vince Hanlon’s bulk was blocking the light. “Room for a little ’un?” he asked.
“Brought one wiv yer?” Jules countered.
“Sit here, Sarge,” Ozzie offered with alacrity. “I’ll give the doc a hand.”
Bev grinned as she caught what sounded like “Hello, big boy” from Val. She glanced round. She’d never seen the place so full. Frankie was on good form.
“You givin’ up the day job then, Bev?” The question was from Jules, but all the girls were smirking.
“Be a shame,” said Patty. “Now we’ve shown you the string.”
“Ropes, Patty, ropes,” they chorused.
“Have to ask the boss ’bout that,” Bev said.
“That’d be a first.”
She glanced up; Byford was at her shoulder.
“Ask the boss about what?”
Bev jumped to her feet. “Guv. Sit down. What you having?”
“It’s on its way.” He nodded as Ozzie and the doc made their way back with a couple of trays.
“Not sure you’d make it,” Bev said.
“Press got wind of the story. I’ve been doing interviews.”
“You gonna be on the telly?” asked Jo.
“Maybe.” He smiled, then looked at Bev. “Makes a change from the rack.”
“Cheers.” She lifted her glass. The Grouse was working its magic. She relaxed for the first time in ages; sat back, watched her mates, listened to the music. Frankie finished with Holding Back The Years. The song always had the same effect on Bev.
“You okay, chuck?” Val asked.
“Bit smoky in here.” They were all looking. She changed the subject. “Another, anyone?”
“My shout,” said Byford. “Same again, Bev?”
Better not. She was sure to regret it. “Large Grouse, guv. Ta.”
The horrific events were beginning to recede. She was moving from ‘Life’s A Bitch And Then You Die’ into ‘All This And Heaven Too’. A touch of the hard stuff always softened her up. Good job Frankie was about done or she’d be joining her at the mike.
The girls clapped louder than anyone and Smithy’s two-fingered whistle warranted earplugs. Jules shuffled along the bench to make space for Frankie, which had a knock-on effect on Val and Vince. Bev listened to the chat, lounged back further, lost herself in the amber glow.
“Still with us, our Bev?” Val tapped her knee. “It’s last orders. Want another?”
Better not. “Yeah, why not?”
“Large one, Sarge?” Oz asked.
No way. “You bet.”
She could feel an Indian coming on. She smiled; with Oz around, that wasn’t the best way of putting it.
“What’s tickled you, Bev?” Jules asked.
“Nothing.” She was still grinning.
“This’ll give you a giggle.” Vince reached into a pocket, brought out a neatly folded piece of paper.
“What you got there then, Vince?” she asked.
“Hold on. Just have a listen.” He cleared his throat, lifted a hand for silence.
“There was a young sergeant from Highgate
Who went off one night on a blind date.
She’d been warned by her mummy
Don’t mess with a dummy
And ever since then she’s been celibate.”
When the catcalls eventually died down, Bev pursed her lips. “That is the biggest pile of dog-doo I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t rhyme. It doesn’t scan. It’s not even funny.”
“Me thinks the lady dith protest too much,” Oz intoned.
“Doth,” she corrected automatically. “Hold on a minute.” She’d heard that somewhere before. She narrowed her eyes, kept them on Oz. “Who did you say wrote that crap, Vince?”
“Dunno. No name on it.”
She was still glaring at Oz, but the man had no shame. He asked Vince what the prize was.
“What’s it to you, Constable?” she snapped.
“Just wondered,” Oz said.
“Now then, children.” Vince was at his avuncular worst. “The winner gets a balti for two. Jewel in the Crown.”
Bev’s glare was now a glower. “Make that snake in the grass.”
Into the silence, Patty piped up with a timorous, “What’s celibate?”
No one answered. Or if they did, it got lost in the laughter.
Bev still had a smile on her face in the morning. Her memory of the night before was a little hazy. She vaguely recalled the guv leaving the pub with an arm round the doc’s waist. Or it might have been a dream. Waking in the arms of a celebrated bard was definitely not a dream. He was still here, sleeping like a baby. Though when she considered the potential complications, it could turn into a nightmare. Bit late now. She snuggled closer. “Celibate,” she whispered, “I don’t think so.”