Chapter 5

I didn't hear from Diane for some days. Perhaps she was avoiding me as she wasn't ready to talk about whatever it was that held her back. From what she had said when we were together that afternoon her feelings for her husband were quite dead. So what was stopping her?

Bob Parrathwaite invited me out one evening for a drink. He proposed that we should tour the local clubs and pubs that catered for the more sleazy cliental. Coppers needed to know about the places where the criminal fraternity would gather, and needed to put names to faces. I was doing the driving for obvious reasons. We had made visits to a number of pubs with Bob drinking steadily but not to excess, I was on my usual water. Eventually we came to a night club I had heard of, 'The Abacus'. I doubted that the proprietor knew what an abacus was, however he knew how to make money. We signed in as members for the evening, paying fifteen pounds each for the privilege. The guy on reception would qualify as a gorilla, his well worn and greasy tuxedo stretched tightly over his shoulders and chest. As I signed the members register I, like all coppers, scanned the names of those who had signed in before. It's amazing how many 'Smiths' and 'Blacks' there are as well as one or two who I believed were dead. I am sure that A. Hitler and N. Bonaparte had left this mortal vale. We entered the club, it had been converted from a large old house, and the ground floor rooms had been knocked into one. To the one side there was a bar, to the right of that a plinth and sound desk for the disc jockey. Around the rest of the room were arranged small tables with two seat sofas either side, and some alcoves also containing small tables and sofas. The lighting was minimal, a low wattage bulb in a small table lamp for every table. There were spotlights over the small central area where dancing was possible but only if you wanted to slink around in the same spot. Bob headed towards a table that commanded a view of the whole club, but was tucked away in a corner in semi darkness. He moved the lamp so our faces would be in shadow. A waitress approached, she wore a black dress but there was little of it, the price for our drinks, a sparkling water and a gin and tonic, would have covered the cost of material in her dress easily. A flyer on the table told us that there would be an exotic entertainment later. Bob explained about the club.

"It started up about five years ago aimed at the young kids, but it didn't make money, so it was sold to the present owner, Eric Baddley. He wanted to turn it into a pole dancing club, but the licensing people wouldn't allow that, but he managed to get a licence for music and entertainment. The entertainment is usually a singer, a comedian and occasionally a stripper, but they are never described as such in the advertising. The waitresses may be on the game, but if so they are very discreet. The club attracts some naughty characters, so we like to look in from time to time to see who is talking to whom. The bloke on reception drops information from time to time."

"Is he on the register?" I asked. The regulations call for all informants to be logged so that payments can be made. They are on the police computer where such information can be accessed by other Forces and the Home Office. The problem is that some Civil Servants in the Home Office are very casual about security and don't seem to understand that informants are constantly in danger. A few years ago details of some informants were leaked. Those identified as 'grasses' were attacked shortly after, badly beaten up and a couple even murdered. That system is still in place, but some coppers knowing the laissez-faire attitude of the Civil Servants towards security keep secret their best snouts.

Bob shook his head at my question. "No he's not. Not that it would be dangerous for him, can you imagine anyone picking on him?" Good point, anyone stupid enough to try would undoubtedly end up in hospital. We sipped our drinks and Bob grimaced at his Gin and Tonic. "It's a bit stupid to try that trick this early in the evening." He called the waitress. He explained civilly that the glass should be held under the Optic to get the measure of Gin, not stood upside down in the saucer just to get the flavour around the rim. She had the grace to blush. I was aware of the trick. Stand a glass on its rim in a saucer with a little Gin in, then when someone asks for a Gin and Tonic, just pour tonic into the glass. It may not fool everybody, but someone who had indulged for the evening would be unlikely to spot the con.

Bob would point out to me faces of men known to be involved in criminality, but for the most part the customers were single men and couples who had got up enough courage to brave the seedy side of life. He was spotted a few times by those who for one reason or another had dealings with the police. Those who did recognise him took seats well away, one furtive guy, took one look at Bob and promptly turned around and left.