search, fanning off from the ditch where the dead man still lay as the CSI took their photographs and their films. A large detective with a thatch of white-blond hair came up the hill slowly, plastic baggies still on his shoes. He took off the blue latex gloves he was wearing and we shook hands.
‘Where would we be without you dog walkers?’ smiled DCI Flashman of New Scotland Yard. ‘I don’t think we’d ever find any dead bodies without you lot.’
I sipped the triple espresso that someone had brought me from the café in Kenwood House. It was pretty good.
‘Dogs are handy like that,’ I said. ‘You don’t get that with a goldfish.’
I waited for him to ask me the questions that a DI from his Murder Investigation Team had already asked. I was keen to get it over with and get Scout home. I wanted her away from this place of death. I didn’t want her anywhere near it.
‘So you didn’t see anyone legging it when you found our man?’ Flashman said.
I shook my head. ‘A few runners but they were a way off and taking their time. Real runners. And some more dog walkers.’
He looked over my shoulder at the DSU officer and Scout laughing together as they watched the three dogs.
‘And your daughter didn’t see anything?’ Flashman said.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I want to keep her right out of it. She was nowhere near it. She didn’t see this mess.’ I indicated the dead man in the ditch. A CSI was leaning in to take a close-up of the horrific wounds on the ruined mouth. ‘Can we go now, sir?’
‘In a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to keep you. You’re on leave, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I heard your mob got knocked around bringing down the Slaughter Man. Your Detective Inspector – the black guy – got badly hurt, didn’t he?’
I nodded. ‘DI Curtis Gane,’ I said. ‘He broke his first and second vertebrae.’
DCI Flashman shook his head. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means his spine and his head are no longer connected. It means he will never walk again.’
DCI Flashman nodded thoughtfully. He spared me the platitudes and words of polite sympathy and I was grateful for that. They wouldn’t do Curtis any good.
‘I’m sorry I can’t give you more of a lead,’ I said.
‘We’ve got our leads,’ DCI Flashman said. ‘We clocked his ID. This old lag is Vic Masters. He was an enforcer back in the good old days when you could leave the doors open in the East End and Reggie and Ronnie Kray were keeping the streets safe – when they weren’t nailing your granddad to the carpet.’
Now the dead man in the ditch had a name and something resembling the shape of a life.
‘Vic Masters,’ I said. ‘Before my time. But he must have been out of the game for a while?’
‘But Vic made a lot of enemies in his day. One in particular we’ll take a look at. They had a long-term beef, these two old faces. I mean it went on for years. Decades.’
A blacked-out mortuary van was rumbling across the Heath. They were ready to take Vic Masters away. DCI Flashman indicated the dead man’s ruined face, and what someone had done to his mouth. ‘You don’t get one of those when someone’s mugging you for your pension.’
‘What did it?’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Flashman shrugged. ‘Some kind of sword. A long blade, anyway. You know what they call it? When they open your mouth right up like that?’
‘They call it a Chelsea smile,’ I said. ‘It’s old school.’
‘The Chelsea smile,’ DCI Flashman said. ‘I never thought I’d see a Chelsea smile.’
I turned away from the sight of Vic Masters. I was sick of looking at him.
‘Anything else I can do for you, sir?’ I asked DCI Flashman.
The big detective thought about it.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘You could look after Vic’s dog.’
2
Death Bed
‘You would be doing me a favour,’ Curtis Gane said in the darkness of his hospital room.
His voice was hardly more than a whisper but
‘Where would we be without you dog walkers?’ smiled DCI Flashman of New Scotland Yard. ‘I don’t think we’d ever find any dead bodies without you lot.’
I sipped the triple espresso that someone had brought me from the café in Kenwood House. It was pretty good.
‘Dogs are handy like that,’ I said. ‘You don’t get that with a goldfish.’
I waited for him to ask me the questions that a DI from his Murder Investigation Team had already asked. I was keen to get it over with and get Scout home. I wanted her away from this place of death. I didn’t want her anywhere near it.
‘So you didn’t see anyone legging it when you found our man?’ Flashman said.
I shook my head. ‘A few runners but they were a way off and taking their time. Real runners. And some more dog walkers.’
He looked over my shoulder at the DSU officer and Scout laughing together as they watched the three dogs.
‘And your daughter didn’t see anything?’ Flashman said.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I want to keep her right out of it. She was nowhere near it. She didn’t see this mess.’ I indicated the dead man in the ditch. A CSI was leaning in to take a close-up of the horrific wounds on the ruined mouth. ‘Can we go now, sir?’
‘In a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to keep you. You’re on leave, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I heard your mob got knocked around bringing down the Slaughter Man. Your Detective Inspector – the black guy – got badly hurt, didn’t he?’
I nodded. ‘DI Curtis Gane,’ I said. ‘He broke his first and second vertebrae.’
DCI Flashman shook his head. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means his spine and his head are no longer connected. It means he will never walk again.’
DCI Flashman nodded thoughtfully. He spared me the platitudes and words of polite sympathy and I was grateful for that. They wouldn’t do Curtis any good.
‘I’m sorry I can’t give you more of a lead,’ I said.
‘We’ve got our leads,’ DCI Flashman said. ‘We clocked his ID. This old lag is Vic Masters. He was an enforcer back in the good old days when you could leave the doors open in the East End and Reggie and Ronnie Kray were keeping the streets safe – when they weren’t nailing your granddad to the carpet.’
Now the dead man in the ditch had a name and something resembling the shape of a life.
‘Vic Masters,’ I said. ‘Before my time. But he must have been out of the game for a while?’
‘But Vic made a lot of enemies in his day. One in particular we’ll take a look at. They had a long-term beef, these two old faces. I mean it went on for years. Decades.’
A blacked-out mortuary van was rumbling across the Heath. They were ready to take Vic Masters away. DCI Flashman indicated the dead man’s ruined face, and what someone had done to his mouth. ‘You don’t get one of those when someone’s mugging you for your pension.’
‘What did it?’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Flashman shrugged. ‘Some kind of sword. A long blade, anyway. You know what they call it? When they open your mouth right up like that?’
‘They call it a Chelsea smile,’ I said. ‘It’s old school.’
‘The Chelsea smile,’ DCI Flashman said. ‘I never thought I’d see a Chelsea smile.’
I turned away from the sight of Vic Masters. I was sick of looking at him.
‘Anything else I can do for you, sir?’ I asked DCI Flashman.
The big detective thought about it.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘You could look after Vic’s dog.’
2
Death Bed
‘You would be doing me a favour,’ Curtis Gane said in the darkness of his hospital room.
His voice was hardly more than a whisper but
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