‘That kid,’ said Shanker impatiently, ‘Fleetfing, the geezer you fort might be dead. ’E ain’t. ’E gave Dredge a coupla grand to get ’im off ’is back, an’ Dredge let ’im off. Fleetfing wasn’ the one what done the dir’y on Dredge, was ’e? It was ’is mate, what fucked off to Africa.’
‘You’re positive about this?’ said Strike. ‘Rupert Fleetwood gave Dredge a couple of grand to leave him alone?’
‘Jus’ said that, d’in I?’
‘Right,’ said Strike. ‘Well, that’s good to know.’
‘Tha’s not why I wan’ed to meet ya, though,’ said Shanker, lowering his voice.
‘Really?’ asked Strike, puzzled. ‘Why’m I here, then?’
‘Doin’ ya a favour.’
Strike took a sip of beer, then waited, interested in what was coming next.
‘You’re diggin’ where you shouldn’t, Bunsen.’
Strike looked at him, perplexed.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meanin’,’ Shanker lowered his voice, ‘body in silver shop.’
Strike was momentarily struck dumb with surprise. He hadn’t told Shanker anything about the body in the silver vault, only that he wanted to find out whether Fleetwood had come to harm at the hands of Dredge.
‘How the
‘For me to know, innit.’
Strike stared at him, before saying,
‘Knowles?’
Shanker raised his eyebrows.
‘It was Knowles,’ said Strike.
Shanker said nothing.
‘Don’t give me that inscrutable shit,’ said Strike impatiently.
‘What’s that?’ said Shanker, mildly interested.
‘
Bad temper though he appeared to be in, Shanker grinned.
‘You wanna leave it, Bunsen.’
‘
Shanker absent-mindedly clicked his fingers. At last, he spoke.
‘No.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No.’
‘Knowles is still alive?’
‘’Course ’e’s fuckin’ not,’ said Shanker impatiently. ‘’E was a narc. Got what was comin’ to ’im. But he wasn’ in no fucking silver shop.’
Strike stared at him. There were many subjects on which he knew Shanker to be almost impressively ignorant – the geography of anywhere beyond Greater London, how taxation worked, who made laws – but his knowledge of organised crime in London was peerless. The non-specific warning left on the office phone now took on a slightly different aspect.
‘Why’re you warning me off, if it wasn’t Knowles? Lynden doesn’t want me digging into it?’
‘Bunsen,’ said Shanker, lowering his voice and leaning forwards, ‘Lynden finks it’s funny the pigs fink that was Jason. Why would Lynden put ’im in a fuckin’ safe in a fuckin’ silver shop? Thass way more fuckin’ trouble than ’e fuckin’ deserved.’
‘That thought occurred to me,’ said Strike.
‘Ain’t got shit for brains then, ’ave ya?’ said Shanker.
‘So where’s Knowles now?’
‘Gawn to Barnaby’s,’ said Shanker, with a dark smile.
‘The hell’s “Barnaby’s”?’
‘For me to know,’ repeated Shanker.
‘If it wasn’t Knowles, why’m I getting this warning? Because Lynden Knowles doesn’t want me proving it
‘Lynden wouldn’ give a shit eiver way,’ said Shanker, with a shrug. ‘Even if they found what’s left of Jason, they couldn’t pin it on ’im. Thass the ’ole point of Barnaby’s.’
‘Then why—?’
‘’Cause the bloke in the vault’ – Shanker dropped his voice again – ‘was an ’it.’
‘A hit?’
‘Yeah,’ said Shanker, ‘an’ you don’t wanna start fuckin’ wiv the geezer ’oo put out the ’it, awright?’
‘You know who ordered it?’
‘Know enough,’ said Shanker.
‘Who is he?’
‘Don’ know ’im person’ly,’ said Shanker.
‘You know the bloke who carried it out?’
‘We go back a long way, Bunsen, but you keep your side of the street an’ I’ll keep mine, know what I’m sayin’?’
When Strike merely looked at him, Shanker said,
‘Don’ know ’im well. People in common.’
‘And?’
‘’E’s gone to ground. Smart, for ’im.’
‘He’s not usually smart?’
‘’E’s a nutter. Moufy. Still, slick job,’ said Shanker, with professional appreciation. ‘Earned a packet for it, I ’ear.’
‘But he talked, or you wouldn’t know he’d done it.’
‘Well, yeah, ’e’s moufy. Like I said.’
‘So why was the guy in the vault killed?’
Shanker drained his glass, then said,
‘I ’eard he fort ’e could make a fast buck an’ didn’t fuckin’ realise what ’e was up against.’
‘Double cross?’ said Strike. ‘Blackmail?’
‘Ain’t stupid, are ya, Bunsen?’ said Shanker, with a gleam of appreciation.
‘Want another drink?’
‘Yeah, go on,’ said Shanker.
Strike bought two more pints. There were gold baubles strung along the top of the bar. He’d been so absorbed in his conversation he hadn’t noticed the Christmas music playing in the background.
‘How did you know I’m investigating?’ Strike asked, after sitting down again.
‘You was seen,’ said Shanker. ‘Seen where you shouldn’t ’ave been. An’ word got back, an’ the big shot what ordered the ’it ’ain’t ’appy you’re stickin’ your fuckin’ bugle in. S’all I know.’