As Troy was coming into Leman Street police station a man in his early thirties was coming out. He passed Troy without a word, and stood with his back to him, fiddling with the keys to his two-tone – did they come any other way? – Ford Zodiac parked at the kerb. It was, thought Troy, a little surprising that Mr Mazzer did not know him by sight, but just as surprising that he should be able to spot Mazzer merely by Swift Eddie’s description of his suit and his manner. He reminded Troy of a small boy jingling the coins in his pocket. Not that Mazzer was doing any such thing, but something about him amounted to the same effect: a combination of caution and boastfulness. He wasn’t saying ‘Look what I’ve got,’ but he was letting you know it all the same. Eddie was right -in his own words, ‘The suit set him back a bob or two, none of your fifty-shilling tailors’ – but what he hadn’t mentioned was the grooming. Al Mazzer hadn’t got that haircut down the Mile End Road from Shrimp Robertson’s father, or any ex-army barber whose talents extended to short-back-and-sides and no further. Troy could not think from where he got the phrase, but it was appropriate. Mr Mazzer looked like the sort of bloke who would pay for a shoeshine and tip well in restaurants – and these days so few would do either.
Mazzer wound down the window, placed a hand on the door, thinking. Troy could see the manicure now – no bitten or nicotined fingernails. Perhaps that was the secret of wealth you could never flaunt: you spent it on the small things of life, the little things that made all the difference but would be hardly noticeable. Then Mazzer turned the engine over and looked in the rear-view mirror. He must have caught sight of Troy’s Bentley parked twenty or so feet behind him. He looked at Troy now, and for the first time he seemed to recognise him. Troy turned and walked into the police station.
‘You just missed Mazzer,’ Godbehere said.
‘No,’ said Troy. ‘I don’t think I did.’