A Donation of Murder by Felicity Young Page B

looked up with a sharp breath. ‘Good God, Singh, what are you doing here?’
    The sergeant carried a small tea tray in one hand, his other bound up in a sling.
    â€˜I’m sorry, sir, I was unable to knock.’
    â€˜That’s hardly surprising. But you shouldn’t be here at all, the doctor told you to take a week off work.’
    â€˜He did, sir, but I—’
    Pike waved his hand. ‘No need to explain.’ He knew full well that while Singh’s promotion had earned him greater respect from the men he had still failed to assimilate with the residents of the police section house — the unmarried men’s quarters. Not only was he a foreigner, he was the oldest man there and a family man at that, meaning he had little in common with the younger officers. After his wife had died he’d transferred from the Indian police to the English police in order to makeenough money to provide his children with a decent education. They lived with his parents in India to whom he sent most of his pay.
    Pike found he could relate to Singh on many levels, and if not for the diversity of their ranks he knew they would have been friends by now. Fraternising with other ranks, however, was as against the police code of conduct as it had been in the army. Funny to think that friendship between himself and the incompetent back-stabbing Shepherd would be condoned. There was no reason to it.
    Singh broke into Pike’s thoughts. ‘No sign of the young gentleman known as Tommy the Tadpole, sir.’
    â€˜Hardly a gentleman, Singh.’ Pike reached for the book of mug shots lying on his desk and flicked through the pages until he came to a picture of Tommy.
    â€˜Why, he is but a child,’ Singh exclaimed.
    â€˜He was eleven years old when that photograph was taken. He assaulted an old woman in broad daylight. When she wouldn’t let go of her bag he slashed her arm so badly she almost lost it. I was undercover at the time and broke out to arrest him, which was a mistake given the circumstances that followed. He was a member of a criminal gang even then.’
    â€˜Then why was he not imprisoned?’
    â€˜A good lawyer — provided by the gang’s leader, no doubt — got him off. They look after each other.’
    â€˜Which gang might that be, sir?’
    â€˜The Anchor Men,’ Pike said with no hesitation.
    â€˜Strange name.’
    â€˜Maybe you’ve not been around long enough to have heard of them. Named after the Anchor and Whistle in Hackney, where they used to meet in the old days. They say the gang’s been operating for over two hundred years. A man called John Giblett leads it now, “Gentleman John”. We’ve been after him for years but have never been able to pin a thing on him. He commands amazing loyalty from his men; no one’s ever been willing to grass him up. They’ll go to prison for him, knowing he’ll look after their families while they’re away.’ Pike rubbed his chin and contemplated the three bodies in the tenement, shot execution-style through the back of the head. This could hardly be called ‘looking after’ his men. He stole a glance at the phone. ‘They never used to resort to such violence though,’ Pike continued, thinking aloud.
    â€˜Perhaps the necklace was stolen by another gang?’
    â€˜Perhaps, but . . . but why would Tadpole strike up an allegiance with another gang after all the Anchors have done for him? If not for Giblett, the lad would still be in prison. I won’t know for certain until we identify those bodies, of course.’ Pike shrugged. ‘It might help also if we can link this crime to recent similar heists that have remained unsolved, for example the Brighton train robbery and the Croydon jewellery robbery. Liaise with the forces involved, Singh. I want to know how the investigations are going and I want dates. I want to know when the Anchors changed