‘I was in the bog,’ said Todd again. ‘I ’ad the door closed, ’cause if you leave it open it gets in the way of the stairs an’ the vault. I ’eard Kennef open up the vault. Then I ’eard ’im shout. I says, “you all right, Ken?” Pamela yelled somefing down the stairs, then I ’eard ’er comin’ down. Then she made a weird noise an’ all, so I says, “what’s goin’ on?” and I wen’ out to see.’
Todd took a sip of his pint before continuing.
‘Fuckin’… they did a proper job on ’im. Stuff carved on ’im, an’ ’ands gone, an’ then, when they flipped ’im over… terrible business.’
‘Who turned him over?’ said Strike.
‘Police. They come, an’ then we weren’ allowed to leave the shop. Copper on the front door, keepin’ the public out. We was stuck there, nearly all day. They brung us sandwiches. Forensics come, takin’ photos, an’ they turned ’im over, f’r us to see… Pamela nearly puked. They’d cut ’is eyes out, smashed in ’is face an’ ’is dick was gone.’
‘His penis had been cut off?’
‘Yeah… fuckin’ terrible… then they bagged ’im up an’ took ’im out, an’ we was allowed to go ’ome.’
‘Did anyone tell the police John Auclair had been there, right after the body was discovered?’
‘Yeah, I fink Ken did.’
Strike made another note, then said,
‘Would you happen to know anything about how Wright was hired? There was a disagreement about how he got shortlisted for interview, wasn’t there?’
‘Know about that, do ya? Yeah, I ’eard ’em arguin’ about it.’
‘Kenneth and Pamela?’
‘Bofe of ’em blamin’ the ovver one for puttin’ Wright’s email down instead of some ovver bloke’s.’
‘Who would you say that was most like?’ asked Strike.
‘What d’you mean?’ said Todd, frowning.
‘Which of them would you say would be most likely to put the wrong email down by mistake? Pamela or Kenneth?’
‘I dunno,’ said Todd, but then he added, ‘Ken, probably.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘’Cause… I dunno, ’e can be a bit careless. ’E’s a good guy, though, Ken,’ said Todd, as though Strike had been suggesting the contrary. ‘There’s nuffing wrong wiv Ken.’
‘But you think he could have made a mistake?’
‘Anyone can make a mistake,’ said Todd.
‘True,’ said Strike. ‘Would you happen to know anything about an unsigned email sent from Ramsay Silver to a man called Calvin “Oz” Osgood?’
‘No,’ said Todd, looking Strike fixedly in the eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Ever used the computer there yourself?’
‘No, I already told you that,’ said Todd, still unblinking. ‘I’m the cleaner. What would I be doing on the bloody computer?’
‘Not a crime, is it, using a computer?’ said Strike. ‘You don’t know a man called Osgood, then? Or “Oz”?’
‘No,’ said Todd pugnaciously. ‘I don’t.’
‘Nothing else you remember about Wright? Anything he might’ve let slip?’
‘He wasn’ gonna let anyfing slip, was ’e?’ said Todd.
‘But he told you he’d gone to look at Temple Seventeen.’
‘Lyin’, probably,’ said Todd. ‘Wan’ed to look up all abou’ silver.’
‘Well, this has been very helpful, thanks,’ said Strike. ‘Just a couple of things—’ He flicked back a page in his notebook. ‘Why did you call William Wright a “silly tit” earlier?’
‘What?’ said Todd.
‘You said “it’s on her” – Pamela – “if the silly tit was using the computer”.’
‘Well, what was she upta, always leavin’ Wright in charge while she naffs off?’ said Todd. ‘Silly mare. ’Oo buggers off an’ leaves a fief in charge?’
‘But why “silly tit”?’ said Strike.
‘Well – bloody stupid to go lookin’ up stuff like that, at work.’
‘Stuff like what?’
‘Like… wha’ever that website was. What was it?’
‘Abused and Accused,’ said Strike.
‘Just silly, tellin’ your employer you bin up to somefing.’
‘The people on that website all claim to be innocent,’ said Strike.
Todd’s only response to that was a faint ‘huh’.
‘And you said “who was he?” earlier,’ said Strike, turning another page, ‘with regard to Larry McGee.’
‘So?’
‘“Who was he?” as opposed to “who is he?”’
Todd stared at him.
‘Larry McGee’s dead,’ said Strike. ‘Did you already know that?’
‘No. ’Ow would I know? ’Oo was ’e, ’oo is ’e – same diff’rence.’
‘Always lived in this part of London?’ Strike asked, as he slipped his notebook back into his pocket.
‘’Ereabouts,’ said Todd, who now seemed definitely aggressive.
‘And always cleaning?’
‘Done diff’rent fings,’ said Todd. ‘’Andyman… diff’rent stuff.’
Strike judged Todd to be in his mid-sixties, and therefore soon to qualify, or just qualified, for his state pension. He wore no wedding ring. The man’s desire for piecemeal work that might well be hidden from the taxman, and the uncomfortable living conditions he’d just described, suggested he had neither savings nor family, but it might point to other things, too.