Page 39 of Copper Script
CHAPTER EIGHT
AWEEK LATER, AARONwas still feeling like a bloody idiot in his spare time.It could be his new hobby.
He just suggested a pint, you could have gonewas circling round in his brain, withHe all but suggested going to your placeandYes, he did, he wanted toandJob, career, reputationhot on its heels.The only thing that shut the parade down briefly wasWait till the results.He’d never cared more about the results of an examination.He’d rarely cared more about the results of a case.
Which was stupid.Suppose numbers three or seven turned out to be the culprit and the graphologist was vindicated: that wouldn’t make it safe for him to take Joel Wildsmith out to dinner, with his reckless smile, his sharp tongue, his gloriously scowling eyebrows, the indomitable, endlessly belligerent attitude and the vulnerability it hid.Because he had a conviction for indecent behaviour to go along with those things, and a decided problem with the police, and of all the men on whom Aaron might risk his career, his life—
All what men?There weren’t any.He’d made bloody sure there weren’t since he’d joined CID: at that point, illegal fumbles in dark streets or back rooms were far too weighted with catastrophic consequences.He’d experienced the humiliation of exposure at school, when Paul had caught him with another boy and made sure everyone heard about it.That had been bad enough; a CID sergeant arrested for indecency would be all over the papers.It would be career-ending.
Career-ending.The thought sat in his stomach like suet pudding, with a whole lot of other thoughts floating around it.Maybe you oughtn’t be a policeman if you can’t obey the lawwas one, and alsoWhy did you do all this if you’re going to throw it away?, and of course the throbbing, unexamined question that was always at the back of his mind, which he never looked at because if you didn’t look, it might not be that bad.
You wouldn’t have to get caught, a little voice wheedled.A meal with a friend at a little place in Lisson Grove?Who’s to know if he comes back to your flat after?
Joel Wildsmith would know, that was who.And if he was indeed a fraud, a sufficiently clever one, it was entirely possible the approaches were aimed at trapping Aaron into a position where he couldn’t denounce the fellow.
Aaron didn’t really think Wildsmith was like that.He was also very aware that his thoughts were unfounded, unhelpful, and clouded by wanting, and it would be a lot easier if the many and worrying voices in his head would shut up for a bit.
So he set himself doggedly to work.At least it kept him busy.
The job was more frustrating than usual at the moment.Among his many other tasks, he’d looked into whether there had been a complaint about demands for protection money from a Pentonville pawnbroker, and been slapped down hard by Detective Inspector Davis, suggesting he do his own work before interfering in other people’s.
That was partly due to the Gerald Marks investigation, which was hopelessly mired.None of the leads that had seemed so enticing had gone anywhere.Marks’s increased spending money had, it seemed, been paid in cash and there were no records of where it had come from.His notebooks still hadn’t turned up, and nor had any recent client.
“Absolutely nothing, sir,” Challice summarised.“I checked back with Mrs.Trotter, and I asked at his bank.He doesn’t have a safety deposit box or anything lodged there.”
“Well, it was a good idea.”
“And...”She hesitated a fraction.“Sir, you remember Mrs.Trotter said he worked on a miscarriage of justice case?I looked it up.”
Aaron had meant to do that, and forgotten.He kicked himself mentally.“What was it?”
“It was during the war—early seventeen.A man called Thaddeus Knight—wealthy art dealer—was beaten to death in the course of a robbery.He’d had a labourer, Sammy Beech, doing some work in his garden.A young chap, not bright, but everyone said he was a nice enough fellow.”She made a face.“They found Beech dead drunk, with a bloodstained poker and a pile of cash under his bed.Beech had never been in trouble before, but there was just too much against him.He hanged.”
It was a sad story, but not out of the ordinary.“Where’s the problem?”
“The investigating officer had played cards with the victim a few times—in private homes, of course.He reported that at the outset of the case, but it was a very slight acquaintance, and neither owed the other money, and there was a war on and a shortage of manpower, so they left him in charge of the case.The defence barrister made quite a fuss about that in court.He said it was entirely inappropriate and the officer should have stood down, and that seems to be what the Beech family stuck on.”
This was definitely ringing a bell.“Wait.The investigating officer—”
“The DDI, sir.It was Mr.Colthorne.”
“Right,” Aaron said.“Right.Was any substance found to the family’s complaints?”
“None, sir.They spent a few years paying Marks and writing to the Home Secretary and so on, but the conviction was considered solid.The family gave up eventually, and left for Canada two years ago to start a new life.I asked Mr.Colthorne if he recalls anything about Marks—”
“You asked him that?”
“It seemed sensible,” Challice said, looking a touch alarmed at his tone.“He might have remembered something.But he didn’t know the name at all; he looked quite blank.Should I not have done?”
Aaron would have strongly preferred that she hadn’t, but there was no point saying so now.They tossed around a few other ideas, but got nowhere.It was frustrating enough that Aaron took a long lunchbreak to walk off his annoyance.
When he got back, there was a message for him to call Sergeant Hollis.
***
“DONE AND DUSTED,” HOLLISsaid jovially.They’d gone to a quiet pub, not one frequented by coppers, where you could reliably get a seat and a bit of distance to talk.That meant the beer was awful, but swings and roundabouts.
