A Kind of Hush by Richard A. Johnson

the biggest name by far was that of an MP.
    We also checked out the Fotojoy UK membership card.  The address on the back took us down to Croydon. It was a dingy little photo-developing shop that did your photos in twenty-four hours or your money back. We went in and Mick flashed the card.
    An old guy behind the counter looked at the card, smiled at us and disappeared into the back of the shop. He returned a few seconds later with a large brown envelope and handed it to Mick.
    'I hope they are to your liking, gentlemen/ he said.
    'How much do I owe you?' said Mick.
    'Oh no, sir, it's all part of the service,' he said, and wished us good-day. We went back to the car and opened the envelope.
    Now we'd both seen all sorts of porn photos before and we honestly thought that we could never be shocked, but these were terrible. The envelope contained pictures of kids with men, women, animals, bottles, vibrators, bananas, cucumbers, everything that you could imagine. We drove straight home and burned them. At least, we now knew what Fotojoy UK was.
    The last thing to check was the keys. There were five of them, like old-fashioned car keys. The label had a number six on it and was stamped Haringey Borough Council.
    'Garages,' said Mick, 'did your old man have a lockup?'
    'Dunno, I don't think so,' I said.
    'Ring Jen and ask her,' he said. I jumped to the phone and dialled.
    'Bingo,' I said as I put down the phone. 'She said that he took over one of those around the back about three years ago.'

    We were there within the hour. Number six had a blue door. One of the keys opened the lock, the door then swung up and over. There was a motor inside covered with one of those big grey plastic car covers. Against the wall were four old filing cabinets. Mick lifted the corner of the car cover.
    'Sheeeit! Check this out.' He whipped off the cover and there stood an immaculate Ford Orion 1600 GL, brand spanking new, the road tax still had eleven months to go.
    'Where the fuck did he get that?' I said. Mick was already inside checking it out.
    'I don't believe this,' he said. 'Come and look, Stu.'
    I opened the passenger door and watched as Mick pulled out the contents of the glove box.
    'Look,' he said, a look of wonderment on his face. The car keys and the fucking log book. Was your old man some sort of prat or something?'
    'Whose name's on the log book?' I asked.
    'Fotojoy UK,' said Mick. 'It's a company car.'
    'He must have worked for them then,' I said.
    'Right,' said Mick. 'Seems a pity to leave it here, Stu.'
    'Who said we're leaving it? No one knows what's happened and no one's looking for it.'
    'That's what I like to hear. It'll be a change driving a motor with a proper tax disc on it instead of a Guinness label.' He laughed.
    The other keys fitted the filing cabinets, but I wished they hadn't. They confirmed that he was working for Fotojoy UK. Pictures, pictures and more pictures. Hundreds, no thousands of them, just as bad if not worse than the shit that we had got earlier that day, and all of them in large brown envelopes. I locked them away  again, thinking that later they could provide the evidence that the Old Bill might need.
    We both felt very sick and very angry. Everything that we had been doing over the years suddenly seemed right. If we had had any doubts, those photos wiped them out completely. No way could we allow people like that to continue.
     

  Chapter Seventeen

     
     
     
     
    ‘Police today confirmed that the body of a man has been found in the debris of a fire that took place in Hackney during the weekend. It is thought that the man was the victim of a gangland-style execution. A police spokesman said, “We believe that this man was killed by members of his own gang” and dismissed rumours of a war between rival factions of Triads.’
    ‘Wait till they see the house,’ said Mick as he flicked the telly off. ‘That’ll get them buzzing.’
    We were all at Mick’s planning what to do.
    ‘It’s too big,’