Fatal Quest by Sally Spencer

man in it?’
    â€˜There was
two
men, this time. And I don’t fink neiver of ’em was the man wot usually comes.’
    â€˜What did they look like?’
    â€˜They was big blokes, wiv their ’ats pulled down over their eyes.’
    â€˜So how do you know one of them wasn’t the man who usually comes?’
    â€˜â€™E’s smaller. There’s a few inches between ’is ’ead and the roof of the car, but these two was scraping it with theirs.’
    I wish all witnesses were like you, Lene, Woodend thought.
    â€˜What did these two men do?’
    â€˜They knocked on the door, o’ course, and when the Jones woman answered it, they barged straight in.’
    â€˜You’re sure about that, are you, Lene? You’re absolutely certain that she didn’t
invite
them in?’
    â€˜Invite ’em in? I should say not! The first one pushed straight past ’er, an’ nearly knocked ’er flying. Then the second one sort o’ jostled ’er inside, and closed the door behind ’im.’
    â€˜An’ what happened next?’
    â€˜About ten minutes later, the door opened again, and one of the men stepped out onto the pavement. ’E ’ad a suitcase in ’is ’and, ’e puts the suitcase in the boot, then gets inside the car and starts the engine. Once it’s running, ’e gets
out
again, and looks up and down the street, like ’e’s making sure there’s nobody about. Then ’e makes a “come on” sign with ’is ’and. That’s when the uvvers come out of the ’ouse.’
    â€˜Mrs Jones an’ the second man?’
    â€˜Course, it was them. ’Oo did you
fink
I’m talking about? King George and Queen Elizabeff?’
    Woodend grinned. ‘No, that would have been unlikely,’ he admitted.
    â€˜Anyway, this second bloke is ’olding on to the darkie’s arm. ’E ain’t exactly
dragging
’er, if yer see what I mean. It’s more like ’e’s guiding ’er. ’E leads ’er over to the motor car and opens the back door. ’E points into the car, and she gets inside. ’E follows ’er, and then the one in front drives away.’
    â€˜So you think she was reluctant to go with them, but not
that
reluctant?’ Woodend suggested.
    Lene looked at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking to her in an exotic foreign language.
    â€˜Yer wot?’ she asked.
    â€˜She wasn’t exactly keen on gettin’ in the car, but she didn’t fight against it, either,’ Woodend rephrased.
    â€˜No, she didn’t fight against it,’ Lene agreed. ‘If yer ask me, she was too bleeding terrified to fight.’
    The Royal Albert public house was on Rotherhithe New Road. With its sign hanging over the main entrance and the name of the brewery etched in its frosted-glass windows, it was, in theory, like any other pub in the area. In practice, however, the only people who entered it were those who had been invited to do so, and the two men standing in the doorway – one big, and the other
very
big – were there to ensure that this practice continued to be observed.
    When Woodend showed the two men his warrant card, and asked to speak to Greyhound Ron, the bouncers looked less than impressed.
    â€˜Mr Smivvers is a very busy man,’ one of them said.
    â€˜â€™E don’t even ’ave the time to speak to chief superintendents, never mind detective
sergeants
,’ the other added.
    â€˜I could get a search warrant,’ Woodend pointed out.
    The bouncers thought this was hilarious. ‘Ain’t you ’eard?’ the bigger one asked. ‘Mr Smivvers is
fireproof
.’
    It was probably true, Woodend thought. He had, earlier in his career, taken a conscious decision to avoid having anything to do with the Serious Crime Squad himself, because it was well known – though impossible to prove