Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [113]
He knew several such men, that was not a problem. The difficulty was to find one willing and able, and whose loyalty he could ensure, either by payment or some other kind of obligation. He did not like using fear; it gathered a harvest of dislike, and sooner or later some kind of revenge.
He slept only fitfully. At six o’clock, the summer daylight awoke him and he got up. If he were to find anyone, it would have to be before tonight. In fact, it would have to be before he went in to Bow Street for the start of the day.
He had two possible thieves in mind. Either would be difficult to find, and even harder to persuade. He dressed in his oldest clothes, in order to pass unnoticed among the labyrinths he would follow as he made his way east.
He bought a ham sandwich from a stall on Hackney Road, then walked south to Shipton Street. He knew where to find Pricey, who had had that nickname for as long as Tellman had known him. He had no idea whether it was derivative of his given name, or a comment on his fees for the nefarious services he performed for his clients. Tellman had never arrested him—that was a satisfactory state of things between them—and they had a good relationship that he could now call upon.
Pricey, having been out all night, was still asleep when Tellman knocked on his door. His rooms were at the top of a narrow staircase up from a quiet, broken cobbled courtyard. Had Tellman been less urgent in his need of help he might have been nervous being here, even though it was now broad daylight out in the street.
After several minutes there was a disgruntled voice from inside demanding to know who was there.
“Sergeant Tellman!” he answered. “I need a favor, which I’m willing to pay for.” There was no point in being evasive, nor was there time for it.
A bolt slammed back, then another, and the door opened slowly in well-oiled silence. Pricey was standing in his blue-and-white striped nightshirt, his feet bare on the wooden floor, a nightcap covering most of his lank, black hair. His sulky face was aquiline and lugubrious. On seeing Tellman dressed not in his usual suit and white shirt but inconspicuous grays, his expression sharpened with curiosity.
Tellman pushed his way in and closed the door behind him. He had been here before and he knew his way to the kitchen, such as it was. It was the only place with chairs on which they could sit, and with luck Pricey might even offer him a cup of tea. The ham sandwich was making him thirsty.
“Well I never,” Pricey said with interest. “Wot brings you ’ere at this hour, Mr. Tellman? It must be good.”
“It is,” Tellman replied, sitting gingerly on a wooden chair, which immediately rocked under his weight, little as that was. “I need a piece of evidence finding, and stealing. I expect it to be in someone’s house, probably in a safe or a locked desk drawer.”
“ ’Ow’ll I know when I see it, then?” Pricey asked, screwing up his face dubiously.
“That’s the awkward bit,” Tellman answered. “I’m going to find out more about that today, and I’ll tell you before you go. I’ll need to meet you somewhere convenient.”
Pricey weighed it up, watching Tellman with hard, bright eyes. “Wot sort of evidence is this, then? Why are yer sneakin’ it, then, instead o’ goin’ in an’ takin’ it, like reg’lar police? ’Oo’s got it, an’ wot d’yer want it fer? If yer asks me, it in’t square, or yer’d be doin’ it easier, an’ cheaper. I don’ work fer nuffin’. ’Oo’s payin’? You or the police, eh?”
Tellman knew he would not escape with a lie to Pricey, and if he tried he would offend him. His pride mattered intensely.
“Yes, it’s very dangerous,” Tellman admitted frankly. “I don’t want anyone else to know I have the evidence, especially the police.”
Pricey looked startled. “You bent, then, Mr. Tellman? Go on! I never thought it. I’m disappointed in yer, I am.”
“No, I’m not!” Tellman snapped. “It’s a bent policeman I want it stolen from. It’s proof of a crime, and he’s blackmailing someone to go on doing worse things, with the threat of using it. At least