Free Dead Beat by Patricia Hall

clans of weather-beaten blonds, must be gypsies, and their lives were made a misery accordingly. Ray had been handy with his fists even as an eleven year old, and he was prepared to use them not just on his own account but to protect his brother and Harry Barnard as well. The local lads quickly learned the hard way to leave the evacuees alone.
    Ray glanced at the remnants of Barnard’s sandwich. ‘Any cop?’ he asked.
    â€˜Lousy,’ Barnard said.
    â€˜Yeah, well, I’ve got a table booked at one of my clubs,’ Robertson said. ‘So what can I do for you, Harry? You know I’m always willing to help an old mate.’
    Barnard showed him the photograph of Jonathon Mason, and explained how he had been found.
    â€˜Yeah, I heard there’d been some unpleasantness. A knife, was it?’
    Barnard nodded. ‘We can’t get any information on where he came from, who he was living with, friends, contacts. He’d been in his flat six months, went to Cambridge University apparently, but before that it’s a complete blank. No background, no family we can trace, nothing. And I’ve not found anyone in Soho who seems to know him.’
    Nancy-boy, was he?’ Robertson asked, curling his lip.
    â€˜Bloody perverts,’ his brother muttered from opposite.
    â€˜Actor,’ Barnard said.
    â€˜Bloody perverts,’ Georgie said again.
    â€˜That’s as may be,’ Barnard said mildly. ‘But we don’t want throats cut on our manor, do we? Gets the place a bad name.’
    â€˜Messy way of carrying on. I don’t know anything about it, but I’ll put the word out,’ Ray said, draining his Scotch in one. ‘But if it’s a knife man you’re looking for, I’d guess the Maltese, wouldn’t you? You could do worse than ask the Catholic priests up at St Aidans. They hear all sorts, they do.’
    â€˜But won’t tell,’ Barnard said.
    â€˜Don’t you believe it,’ Georgie said unexpectedly. ‘They’ll tell if you ask them the right way.’ And he offered Barnard the teeth-baring rictus which passed for a smile with him. A flash of irritation crossed his older brother’s features before he too smiled, patted his belly and buttoned up his camel coat.
    â€˜Nice to see you, Harry, but I’m famished,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in touch if I hear anything.’ He got to his feet and allowed his two bodyguards to push tables and chairs out of his way to ease his lumbering passage. ‘I’m having a little party at the Delilah on Friday night, charity do. I’ll drop a couple of tickets in at the nick if you’d like to come. Formal togs, you know the score. Bring a lady friend. Should be a good night. Government minister and his latest paramour, Christine, I think she’s called, and some theatre people. They might know your dead actor, a lot of them like it up the backside.’ Both Robertson brothers laughed loudly and Barnard could see a couple of fellow customers looking anxiously towards the door, not sure whether to stay or attract attention to themselves by leaving. As the Robertsons moved off they decided to stay, but gulped down their pints nervously.
    Barnard sat in his seat for a while longer until the disturbed air left behind by the departing quartet had calmed and the barman had stopped staring uncertainly in his direction. The Robertsons had been part of his life for so long that he had almost ceased to see the effect they had on others. But at the back of his mind he recognized Georgie’s increasing instability and he reckoned Ray did too. Ray’s empire was large and growing larger, spreading from the East End into Soho and even the West End, and becoming ever more profitable. But he knew that Ray’s modus operandi was to use the threat of violence rather than actual violence to get what he wanted. The odd bar or club might get trashed, but generally no one