Free Death of a Nobody by J. M. Gregson

previously. And he seemed to have heard about Pegg’s murder, for he nodded curtly when the superintendent told him why he had come, then took him swiftly into the warm little cubicle which was his private domain against the comings and goings of a busy world.
    The room had a radiator, which was heated by the boiler which warmed the public sections of the block, so that there was no need for a fireplace in the room. If the room had a focal point, it was no more than the small cupboard on which stood an electric kettle and a tray with assorted mugs. There was a coloured plan of the flats on the wall above this, an adaptation of the architect’s original drawings, which showed the disposition and ownership of the apartments on the different floors.
    Lewis had long since ceased to need it, but it came in useful occasionally for directing visitors arriving in the place for the first time. Beside it there were the small red lights of a complicated electronic alarm system, which would sound in here as well as elsewhere if any of the rooms around and above him were entered illegally. George considered its presence here was a visual deterrent to any thief who might come in with the idea of establishing his bearings; certainly there had been little trouble in the two years since the flats had been completed.
    Lambert, studying the plan and the alarm system surreptitiously, could have given him another opinion about that, but that was not why he was here. He said, ‘You knew Charlie Pegg? Your name is in his book of notes.’
    ‘Yes, I knew him. Pretty well.’ For a moment, it seemed that Lewis was going to say something more. Then the kettle came to the boil and he poured the scalding water carefully into the teapot. ‘I was able to put him in the way of some work here, when he was getting going on his own.’
    ‘And his work was satisfactory?’
    ‘More than that. Charlie was the best. He knew what he was about, and he was prepared to spend the time, even if it took longer than he had thought it would when he gave his price.’
    Lewis had the air of a man who had sponsored a protégé and is proud of the results. Lambert was reminded for a moment of an ageing impresario he had interviewed years earlier, who had claimed to have given Tony Hancock his first billing. He wondered how best to phrase his next enquiry. ‘You were quite happy to let him work in the flats on his own?’
    Lewis’s eyes narrowed for a moment; then he decided to smile rather than take offence on his friend’s behalf. ‘I knew about Charlie’s record, if that’s what you’re hinting at. Between you and me, I even did the odd bit of thieving with him myself, for about six months after we came out of the army. Before I got married and saw the light.’ He looked at Lambert; rather to his disappointment, the superintendent’s face registered no surprise.
    ‘But Charlie’d been going straight for a long time. If I hadn’t known he was safe, I’d never have recommended him — more than my job’s worth. I went in with him at first, but I’d have done that with any workmen who came, if the residents were out. And Charlie would never have let me down. We go back a long way, you know.’
    Lambert, thinking of the cryptic entries in that little red book, suspected that there were other, more intangible things than property which might have been at risk from Pegg’s observant presence. ‘How many of the residents did Charlie work for?’
    George Lewis looked at him suspiciously. ‘Six, perhaps seven.’ He glanced up at the plan on the wall. ‘I could give you a list. But I told you, Charlie would never have—’
    ‘Charlie Pegg was murdered, Mr Lewis. All I want to do is to find out who killed him.’
    Lewis looked at him for a moment as if he did not believe that, as if he was seeking for some other, more convincing motive for this questioning. Then he nodded, pushing a mug of tea into the hands of the seated Lambert. ‘All right. I want that