Sculby was surprised to find his secretary still in the office. She ought to have gone to lunch long before.
‘You shouldn’t have waited,’ he said.
Betty eyed him over the sheet of paper which she was feeding into her typewriter.
‘I had to. Guess who’s in there.’
Sculby did not need to guess. Royston was the only ‘client’ who regularly came in at lunchtime without an appointment. It upset the routine when he called because the office in Milward Street was small; only Sculby and his secretary worked there, so that one of them always had to be around if a stranger was present. The other seven partners in the firm of Sculby O’Connor & Co worked in plush City offices with a pretty receptionist to protect them from the outside world. Sculby preferred Whitechapel, though. He liked being the boss.
‘What is it this time?’
‘Says it’s the kids. She’s threatening to take them with her and go off with that karate instructor.’
Sculby nodded morosely. The advantage of his secretary was that she pried.
‘Rough morning?’
He nodded again.
‘Want a quickie before you go in?’
‘No. I’ve had a couple.’
‘Yes, I thought so.’
This time Sculby smiled. ‘Shows, does it?’
Betty grinned at him and started to type. Sculby removed his macintosh and hung it on one of the cheap metal hooks provided for the use of clients. The only other garment on the rack was a faded, thin overcoat, the pockets of which overflowed with soiled kid gloves and an old scarf.
‘Don’t wait any longer. See you at two-thirty. Oh, leave me a line through, will you?’
‘Okay then. Bye.’
As Betty picked up her bag and made ready to lock up she heard the beginning of Sculby’s usual opening remarks before the office door closed behind him.
‘Now then, Mr Royston, what can I do for you? Cold day, isn’t it, sorry to hear from my secretary…’
Royston stood up as Sculby entered. The two men shook hands formally.
‘Good of you to see me without an appointment, Mr Sculby.’
‘Not at all, some things won’t wait, will they? If you’ll just hang on a minute…’
Sculby began to shuffle papers across the untidy desk, trying to replace chaos with a semblance of order. When he was tired of that he sat back in his chair and gazed across the mess at Royston, as if expecting him to say something. Sensing this, Royston opened his mouth to speak, but Sculby held up a hand. For a moment they sat there, frozen, silent, until afar off they simultaneously heard the sound of the street door closing and the clink of keys.
Sculby loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt and pushed with his feet against the desk until he was able to rest his legs on the top and slump back in his chair. For a moment he did nothing except raise his hand to his forehead and massage it gently. It helped to ease the muzzy pain which the gin he had drunk earlier had done nothing to alleviate.
‘My God, Michael, I don’t want any more mornings like that one.’
Royston smiled. ‘How’d you get on?’
‘Oddly. It’s all on tape. Which reminds me…’
Sculby stood up and went to fetch the briefcase which he had let drop to the floor on entering the office. ‘Here.’
Royston picked up the tape. ‘Anything to interest me?’
Sculby didn’t answer at once; instead he took a long, cool look at the man sitting opposite him. On the whole he liked Royston. He was an excellent control, one who worked in full sympathy with his agents. But in six years of emphatic co-operation Royston had never learned that there were some questions which couldn’t be answered, at least not in the same language as the questioner used.
‘He’s crazy. And he scares me witless.’
Royston sat back in his chair and thought about that. He knew that what Sculby had just told him might be exaggeration born of nerves. But it might be streetwise instinct. And you didn’t ignore that.
Royston tossed the little cassette in the air, caught it and pocketed it.
‘Tell me,’ he said softly.
Sculby quickly ran through the morning’s events.
‘When I found him in the cells afterwards the surgeon was about to stick a needle in him. I stopped that, of course. It seems he thought as long as he shut up and didn’t incriminate himself he’d get bail. That’s all he cares about, for the moment. When it didn’t happen he couldn’t take it. That’s a hell of a frightened man you’ve got yourself there, Michael. Says he’s innocent, it’s a fit-up. Fair enough. I can’t do any more until I’ve seen the police depositions. I suppose it’s no use asking you what’s going on?’
Royston was silent for a moment.
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Go to the judge in chambers.’
‘Come again?’
‘Get bail. You appeal against the magistrate’s decision by going to a High Court judge sitting in private, in chambers.’
‘I’m only guessing,’ said Royston, ‘but I think you may find the police don’t oppose on appeal.’ Noting Sculby’s sour look he added quickly, ‘It was nothing to do with me that Loshkevoi didn’t get bail. Five are still clearing up, that’s all.’
‘Five are cunts,’ said Sculby. ‘And you’re another’ hung unspoken in the room between the two men. ‘What happened to my inquest, anyway?’
‘Never mind that for a moment. I’m going to tell you all you need to know, Laurie.’ Royston drew his chair closer to Sculby. ‘And not a word more. That’s for your own protection. Last night, Five found a whole heap of arms and other stuff on Loshkevoi’s premises. We’re leaving them there, pretending we haven’t noticed anything, in the hope he’ll lead us up the line. This handling charge is just to give us something on him for now. You understand? All you’ve got to do is worm your way into his confidence. When I give the word, you’ll be the one to make the pitch. Safety in exchange for hard information, that’ll be the name of the game. And for now that’s all you need to know.’
Royston stood up, and Sculby realised he wasn’t going to learn any more.
‘You’re all right for cash on this one?’
Sculby nodded. ‘Loshkevoi’s loaded.’
‘Then I’ll be off.’
Sculby was overtaken by a burning desire to score over Royston, something, anything…
‘Just one thing, for when you next come, Michael. That coat outside, the suit you’re wearing… they’re all great, no one would think you weren’t a client. But those shoes…’
In spite of himself Royston had to look down.
‘…It’s not that they’re filthy. Quite a lot of my clients have dirty shoes. But you don’t see that much suede on Milward Street, Michael. Hope you don’t mind me mentioning it.’
While Royston was formulating a reply the phone rang.
‘Hello… hold on, please.’
Sculby held his hand over the receiver and frowned across at his companion. ‘For Christ’s sake, who knows you’re here…?’
Royston snatched the instrument from Sculby’s hand.
‘Hello… yes.’
Sculby watched curiously. Royston’s mouth had developed a tic. Suddenly he went very white.
‘He did… what?’