‘To show you the ropes,’ the Detective-Sergeant had said, ‘I’ll have you go around a while with our star sleuth, as we all call him. He’s a young feller just about your age, a bit too big in his boots for a detective-constable, and chances his arm rather more than I think is wise even in our little line of business. But he’s a good lad basically, and he certainly gets results. Don’t make the mistake, though, of thinking you can get away with everything he does.’
The star sleuth fascinated Edward: he was born to his function like a thoroughbred to the turf, and although so young seemed to know intimately, by instinct, how the whole machinery of the Force could be made to function. During his military service, Edward had noticed the same thing in some young soldiers: there were recruits of only a fortnight who – except for certain gaps of experience, easily corrected – instinctively knew how the whole army functioned: what were the real rules behind Queen’s Regulations, what duties you could ignore, what prohibited manoeuvres you could safely undertake. In appearance the star sleuth was remarkably nondescript (yet another advantage, Edward reflected!) but not, as he soon discovered, in character or skill.
On their first day out together the star sleuth said, ‘Well, I’ve nothing on, let’s just take a walk around.’ The tone, scarcely disguised, suggested that he had a lot ‘on’, and considered Edward’s company an imposition. As they walked round the streets between the Harrow Road and the railway to the west, his companion said absolutely nothing: being one of those rare men who do not feel the nervous urge to talk so as to establish their identity, and who can remain silent without positively appearing to be rude.
Finding this unbearable, Edward commented on it: ‘You’re a man of few words,’ he said, after fifteen minutes of none whatever.
The star sleuth looked sideways as he walked. ‘I can talk quite a bit when necessary,’ he said.
‘Oh, I believe you,’ Edward answered.
‘I’ll tell you something, boy,’ the star sleuth said, stopping at the end of a short road leading to a brick precipice that overhung the railway lines below. ‘I’m not here to teach you. As a matter of fact I’ll be frank with you, I’m still learning as well and what I discover I like to keep strictly to myself. But: here’s one tip: learn to be silent.’
‘Not shoot off your mouth, you mean? Well, obviously.’
The star sleuth folded his arms upon the wall. ‘More than that,’ he said. ‘Look! Suppose you’ve knocked off a suspect. What do you want to make him do? Talk, isn’t it? Well – and believe me. The best way to do it – and the quickest and the kindest (he grimaced) – is to say not a word to him yourself. Not a bloody word. Make him wait, say nothing, just come in and look at him occasionally. If there’s one thing most human beings just can’t bear – particularly when they’re sitting in the station – that thing is silence.’
‘Sometimes you have to talk to them, don’t you?’
‘Why?’
‘Well! Well – suppose it’s not a suspect, but a nark or someone who’s come to give you information.’
‘Exactly the same!’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes! I’m telling you. Silence.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh – why? You want me to tell you why? Well, that’s a bit hard until you’ve had the experience yourself. But try to get hold of this one.’ The star sleuth stuttered slightly, as if wresting a secret from his breast. ‘All men and women you meet professionally are criminals.’
‘Every one?’
‘All. If you want to get anywhere you’ve got to treat everyone as such.’
Edward digested this as, below his eyes, the Plymouth Belle racketed by. ‘That’s going a bit far,’ he said.
‘Is it? Well, you know best. Wait and see.’
‘You mean … Say someone comes in to report he’s found a bicycle. You suspect him?’
‘Of course. He’s number one on my list.’
‘It’s a thought …’ said Edward.
The star sleuth dusted his arms, and turned round to lean in the sun with his back against the wall.
‘If you start with that principle,’ he said, ‘you really can’t go wrong. And if you stick to it and are true to it, it will automatically stop you making a lot of other silly beginner’s mistakes.’
‘Such as what?’ said Edward. ‘I’m listening …’
‘I hope so – because sonny, frankly, I don’t want to waste all this if it’s going to be wasted on you. Here are some golden rules, then: get out your notebook and write them down if you feel like it. (The star sleuth chortled.) First is – never go to them: make them come to you.’
‘Who?’
‘Anyone. It’s just like football, boxing, bull-fighting – anything. Make them come to you and then you’ve got them.’
‘And if you can’t?’
‘You’re no damn good. Next, never let them get the impression they’re doing the law a favour. Now, suppose someone walks out of that slum there – comes running over – “Officer, I’ve found a corpse!” – this is your big opportunity for a case … don’t thank him, don’t even answer, just make him feel he’s done what he’s got to do.’
‘Yes, that seems sound.’
‘Oh, thank you! Now, number three – and that’ll do for today, I think – never answer questions: always ask them.’
‘Oh, I know that one …’
‘Do you? All right. I’m a dear old lady, I come up and say to you, “Constable, can you tell me the way to the Town Hall?” – what do you say?’
‘Don’t I tell her?’
‘Oh – of course! But first you say, “Is it the sanitation department you need, madam, or the rates?” See? Put them on the defensive – always.’
‘Oh. I get it.’
‘No, you don’t – you’ve forgotten something.’
‘I have?’
‘Yes. What else do you say to her?’
‘Well – tell me.’
‘You say, “By the way, madam, it’s more usual these days to say ‘officer’, not ‘constable’.”’
‘Correct, yes, I’d say that.’
‘So there it is. All in a nutshell. Very simple!’
Without warning, the star sleuth started back up the road again. Edward Justice fell in by his side and said, ‘I think some of what you tell me would surprise the old Detective-Sergeant just a little.’
The star sleuth stopped. ‘Oh him,’ he said. ‘What does he know? He belongs to the generation of PC 49: crafty and tough and not a brain in his thick head.’
‘Take it easy, mate.’
‘I do, Constable!’
They started off again. Ted Justice felt the conversation was now closed, but he had one final question. All you said about everyone being criminal,’ he asked. ‘Does that apply to us as well?’
‘Naturally.’
‘To you and me and the Detective-Sergeant?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t even trust your colleagues in the Force, then?’
‘Colleagues! I trust them for one thing, and one only. There are exceptions – but in a fight they’re brave and they’re reliable. Alone in a dark lane with a bunch of Teds they won’t stab you in the back – no, they’ll help you come what may. But otherwise …’
His voice and his whole posture and expression showed Edward clearly that the shutters were now down, and should not be prised open any more.
Out in the Harrow Road the star sleuth stopped to gaze around the vital, squalid thoroughfare, and stood as if sniffing the breeze on a safari. Then he walked half a block, went into a tobacconist’s, bought a packet of Senior Service and paused, undoing it, beside the notice-board outside.
On this were handwritten advertisements, some apparently of great antiquity, which mostly offered lodgings with innumerable restrictions. Others invited the purchase of items which no one (except, perhaps, a film studio shooting a Dickens story) would dream of buying. A third category, sometimes with crude photographs, advertised ‘models’. The star sleuth scanned these, then withdrew a bit with Edward Justice.
‘Whores, I suppose,’ said Edward.
‘The strange thing is though, boy, that quite a lot of them actually are models. In this fair land of ours there’s loads of kinky characters who just like sitting and gazing at a chick’s tits for a couple of quid. Please don’t ask me why.’
‘And that’s quite legal?’
‘More or less, it is.’
‘But some of them are prostitutes?’
‘Of course. Nothing illegal about that, either. Under the new act they mustn’t solicit in the streets, and if there’s more than one of them it’s a brothel. Otherwise … it’s just a business: and believe me, half the time we’re called in to protect them.’
‘From the ponces?’
‘Not usually … In the first place, a ponce with any sense won’t live with his girl: they’ve two addresses, like any other business couple. And in the second – well frankly, most of the stories you hear about brutal bullies putting innocent teenagers on the streets are crap.’
‘But that does happen?’
‘Oh, yes. With young, or mental, or maybe masochistic girls. Most of the girls are tough and quite intelligent, though. They have to be. And girls of that type simply wouldn’t wear it.’
‘But the men do thump them …’
‘Oh, frequently! But that’s part of the kick: it’s all for love!’
The star sleuth took Edward’s arm and said, ‘As we pass again, just take a look at the bottom left-hand corner one.’
BETTINA
Is a Continental girl
and very serious. All
poses by appointment.
VEN 5121.
Further along, the star sleuth said to Edward, ‘Well?’
‘I’d say she’s one.’
‘Of course! But what sort of one?’
‘Go on … Don’t tease me, I’m very willing to learn …’
‘Well. “Continental” doesn’t mean she is, but what she’ll do. “All poses” rams the point home and “by appointment” says you can tell her what, over the blower, to see if your kinks match up. “Very serious”, of course, suggests the sexual slant in this particular case. New Olympia typewriter with a clean ribbon, so she’s possibly expensive.’
‘In this area?’
‘Why not? Where whores are concerned there is no fashionable section if she’s good – I mean for where her gaff actually is. Anyway, kinky clients like a slum, and respectable gents prefer an area where they’ll not be known.’
‘The notice cost her much?’
‘Pound a week, unless the tobacconist’s an imbecile. For honest landladies, only 2s 6d or something similar.’
‘But, tell me. Doesn’t advertising like that put us on to her?’
‘Why not? It’s legal: and even if not, it’d take every cop in London to trace all the notices on boards … Besides: put yourself in the poor girl’s place. The new laws make it difficult for them on the streets: so how do they contact their clients – tell me that, please?’
‘No, you go on …’
‘Well: best is, take a chance and go on the streets three months or so, and build up a clientele.’
‘And give them the phone number.’
‘Clever boy – exactly. Then, as we know, there’s the notice-board technique. Another one: a good contact in the drinking-clubs or all-night garages: barman, doorman, owner, anybody.’
‘These pimps take a cut?’
‘Don’t waste my time! Then there’s the escort-businesses – know about them? No? All right: you’re a wool-grower from New Zealand, shall we say. You want to meet a nice friendly young lady for a sociable evening out. You’re with me?’
‘That’s legal too?’
‘Who for, the agencies? Well, lots of the dates they make are kosher. But several of these agents have gone inside on procuring charges …’
‘What about Madams?’
‘Ah! Yes, there are those: and respectable clients actually like to deal with them because though it costs five times as much, she irons out all the awkward creases for them. Failing the Madams, a new mystery can also find a successful call-girl who’ll sub-let clients to her at a percentage.’
Edward laughed. ‘We do make it difficult in this country, don’t we!’ he said.
‘That’s probably half the charm: the mugs like it to be awkward and mysterious – but not, of course, too dangerous for them.’
‘So the new laws have made the whole thing harder.’
‘Not really. No, I wouldn’t say so. Who they’ve made it harder for are stupid girls and semi-pros who’ve been knocked out of business because they can’t use the streets any longer. The clever ones have just gone on the phone. And here’s a funny thing: once they’re established with their clients, it’s actually easier for them.’
‘It is?’
‘Well yes, it is. Take gaffs. A crooked gaff with the landlord in the know cost forty a week at least with maybe key money in decent areas – when you could get them. That was for street girls. But once you’re on the phone, you can get a straight place just like anyone else for ten a week or so. Of course, if the caretaker or some friendly neighbour rumbles you – out you go! But you’d really be surprised, if the girl’s discreet and chooses her clients carefully, how little people notice. You see: English people are nosy, sure enough, as we all know; but they’ve also got a great thing about minding their own business. That’s very valuable to the girls. So with the new laws I’d say this: there’ll be just as much vice, just as many millions spent on it, but fewer women. Conclusion: profits per head – or tail – will rise. That’s all.’
Edward was overwhelmed by this expertise: and, like an anxious angler, handled his companion with the utmost care lest an inappropriate reaction or remark might plunge him back into taciturnity. With prudence, though, there seemed little danger of this: like many silent men the star sleuth, once started, was a chatterbox, and opinionated (not without reason), and something of a fanatic: which the speed and urgency of his narrow voice conveyed vividly to Edward as they walked on along the Harrow Road.
‘And what,’ Edward asked, ‘about the ponces?’
‘Those bastards,’ said the officer, stopping by the canal bridge.
‘Yes. How do they fit in?’
‘They come out best of all,’ the star sleuth said.
‘With the new laws?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Like this,’ said the star sleuth, peering at the cats and contraceptives floating on the Grand Union canal. ‘You’re a ponce – right! Your girl is on the streets – yes? Well, if she is she’s certainly had several convictions. But if she’s a call-girl – particularly if she’s started out as one without going on the streets at all – there’s quite likely nothing known against her: no convictions, anyway. Very well. Try proving to a magistrate – let alone a jury – that the male companion of an innocent, unconvicted woman is living off her immoral earnings!’
‘So what can you do about them?’
‘We’re working out techniques to meet the situation. The best is, opinion seems to be, to raid her premises with a warrant for suspected brothel-keeping and sweep him into the net, somehow, in the process. Then, once you’ve got him, a little chat will probably produce results. That is, if you can find him: because the craftier among the ponces are naturally very elusive. And if their woman’s loyal to them it’s going to be tricky in the extreme.’ The star sleuth took out a halfpenny and dropped it in the canal. ‘But not impossible,’ he added.