Текст книги "A Bespoke Murder"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

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But there was no reply. Questioned about his own involvement, Emmott was frankness itself but he refused to incriminate anyone else. The information that a murder had taken place in Jermyn Street altered his whole view of the enterprise. He would happily admit that he and his friend stormed the premises of Jacob Stein but he would not identify his companions. Keedy knew instinctively that he would get nothing further out of Douglas Emmott. The barman had clammed up completely. Keedy suspected that the newspaper vendor would react in the same way. Convinced that they were political martyrs, the two friends would endure their own punishment while saying nothing about others who’d been part of the mob.

Keedy arrested the barman and took him off. On their way to Vine Street police station, they picked up a newspaper vendor from Piccadilly Circus. Two more members of the mob would face charges.

When her husband broke the news to her that evening, Ellen Marmion was astounded. It was a possibility that had never crossed her mind.

‘You’re going to France?’ she gasped, staring in disbelief.

‘If it can be arranged, love,’ said Marmion. ‘Then we’ll cross the border into Belgium. It’s where their regiment is heading.’

‘You won’t go near the front, surely.’

‘We’ll go wherever necessary to arrest the two men.’

Hand to her chest, she sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘You’ve taken my breath away, Harvey. I mean, it’s such a long way to go.’

‘Scotland would be much further.’

‘It would be a lot safer as well. So many of our soldiers are being killed in Belgium, I find it hard to read the papers anymore. Well, you saw Paul’s last letter. He’s stationed further south, thank heaven, but he’d heard awful things about the battle raging around Ypres.’

‘Joe and I may not need to get anywhere near the town itself.’

‘All the same,’ she said, nervously, ‘I don’t like it.’

‘We can’t let them get away with it, Ellen.’

‘Well, no …’

‘Think how you’d feel if Alice had been assaulted like that,’ he suggested. ‘You’d want me to pursue them to the ends of the earth.’ Giving her a hug, he kissed the chevron of anxiety on her brow. ‘Don’t worry, love. I did go to France once before in pursuit of a criminal, remember, and I didn’t know a word of French that time. I’ll be a lot better prepared now.’

‘Can’t you send someone else?’

‘It’s my responsibility. The commissioner put me in charge of this case, so this is not something I feel that I can delegate.’

‘Why can’t Joe Keedy go there by himself?’

‘One detective can’t arrest two suspects,’ said Marmion, ‘and he certainly couldn’t bring them back alone. When they realise the sentence they’re facing, they’ll seize any chance to escape.’

‘In that case, youcould be in danger.’

‘Stop getting so upset, love. You’ve never been like this before.’

‘You’ve never been to Belgium before.’

He spread his arms. ‘It’s not an ideal situation, I grant you, but I want these two men behind bars. I’ll do whatever it takes to put them there. It’s all part of the inquiry into the looting and burning of Mr Stein’s shop.’

Ellen made no reply. She took a close interest in her husband’s work and – though he kept any unpleasant details to himself – he found it helpful to use her as a sounding board. As a rule, she simply listened and made a few comments on what she’d been told about an investigation. This time, however, she was raising objections.

‘When will you go?’ she asked.

‘We have to wait for clearance first. Sir Edward is taking care of that. It could take a day or two.’

‘And will you and Joe be entirely on your own?’

‘Hardly,’ he told her. ‘We’ll cross the Channel on a troopship. We’ll probably have the protection of a battalion or two of infantry. There’s certain to be reinforcements and supplies going to the front.’

‘Will you travel with them in France?’

‘Yes – we’ll have bodyguards all the way, love.’

She was mollified. ‘Oh, well, that sounds a little better.’

‘The pity is that I won’t get a chance to see Paul while I’m there,’ he said, ‘but his regiment is somewhere near the Somme. We won’t exactly be on a pleasure trip, so we can’t just move around at will. It’s a shame – I’d love to see our son again.’

‘I’d love you to make sure that he’s safe and well.’

Paul Marmion had been part of a collective enlistment. When it was announced that those who signed up together would serve together, groups of young men had rushed to the recruitment centres. Paul played for a football team that had volunteered as a complete unit. Knowing that their son was among friends gave Marmion and his wife a degree of reassurance at first. However, as the lists of British casualties on the Western Front steadily lengthened, they had serious concerns for Paul’s safety.

Ellen stood up and Marmion embraced her again. It had been a long day but he had got home in time for the evening meal. The sound of bubbling hot water took his wife into the kitchen to turn down the gas underneath a saucepan. Marmion followed her and sniffed.

‘Something smells tasty.’

‘It’ll be another ten minutes yet,’ she warned him. ‘Tell me about the rest of the investigation. Have you made any progress?’

‘We think so. Joe Keedy interviewed three suspects and got two more names of people who were there at the time. He went off earlier to arrest both of them. I’ll be interested to hear what he managed to winkle out of the pair.’

‘Have you caught the man who started the fire?’

‘There were two, apparently. Witnesses talk of seeing smoke not long after the looting began. Then a second man emptied a can of petrol at the rear of the shop and – boom – the fire really blazed.’

‘It’s such an appalling thing to do.’

‘We’ll get him eventually,’ he said, determinedly. ‘We managed to find the garage where he bought the petrol and the owner remembered him well enough to give us a good description of him. It tallies with what some of the others told us. I issued the description to the press when I made a statement about the murder. That will be tomorrow’s headline.’

‘What about the rape?’

‘We’re keeping quiet about that, Ellen. It’s what the family wants. They also want the body, of course. I had Mr Stein’s rabbi hassling me this afternoon.’

‘When can it be released?’

‘Later this evening, with luck,’ he said. ‘The post-mortem is almost complete. It’s been given top priority.’ He heard a door open upstairs. Feet then descended the stairs. ‘Here comes Alice.’

‘She’s been marking books up in her room.’

‘Has she said anything else about the WEC?’

‘Not a word, Harvey.’

‘Then I won’t bring it up.’ He turned to greet his daughter as she came into the kitchen. ‘Hello, teacher – how are you?’

‘Very well, Inspector,’ she replied, turning a cheek to accept a welcoming kiss from him. ‘You’re back earlier than usual.’

‘Is that a complaint?’

‘No, Daddy, it’s quite the reverse. It’s a nice surprise.’

‘Your father has to go to France,’ said Ellen.

Alice blanched. ‘Going to France in the middle of a war?’

‘It’s all part of the investigation,’ he said.

Marmion gave her a brief explanation. Pleased that the two men accused of rape were being pursued, she was naturally worried about her father’s safety. He did his best to allay her fears.

‘What if they’re actually fighting at the front?’ she asked.

‘I think that’s unlikely,’ he replied. ‘They only set sail today. However, if they are in the trenches when we get there, Joe and I will have to put on a helmet and go in search of them.’ He laughed at the expressions of horror on their faces. ‘I was only joking.’

‘That kind of joke is not funny,’ chided Ellen. ‘I worry about Paul every day. Now I’ll have you to worry about as well.’

‘So Joe Keedy is going with you, is he?’ said Alice.

‘I couldn’t stop him. You know Joe. He loves action.’

‘Make sure you bring him back in one piece.’

‘He can look after himself, I promise you.’

Alice pondered. ‘What are your chances of getting a conviction?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Well,’ she said, seriously, ‘we all know how difficult it is to get a successful prosecution for rape. It’s one of the reasons some women won’t even report the crime.’

‘That’s a fair point,’ he remarked.

‘It would be a terrible shame for you to go to all that trouble to arrest these two men, only to see them walk scot-free from court.’

‘That won’t happen, Alice.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘When a case goes to court, you can never be one hundred per cent certain of the outcome. Juries have minds of their own. They sometimes come up with unexpected verdicts.’

‘That could happen in this case,’ said Ellen, siding with her daughter. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. What those two men did was dreadful and they should be imprisoned for it. I’m just thinking how it would look in court. On one side, you’ve got two soldiers, fighting for their country and putting their lives at risk. On the other, you’ve got a teenage girl who’s bound to be a bundle of nerves. It will be her word against theirs.’

‘Are you suggesting that we don’t bother to go to France?’

‘No, Harvey, I’m just saying that it could be a waste of time.’

‘We won’t simply be arresting them for what they did to Ruth Stein,’ Marmion pointed out. ‘Several other crimes were committed. We’ll want to question them about their possible involvement in the attack on the shop. They may have a lot to answer for.’

‘I never thought of that.’

‘Mummy’s comment is very apt,’ Alice reflected. ‘What will happen in court? Everything turns on the evidence of the victim. To be cross-examined about what the attackers did to her would be a humiliating experience for any woman. How will this girl stand up to it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marmion.

‘Is she the sort of person who’d convince a jury?’

‘I can’t say, Alice. The truth is that I’ve never met Ruth Stein.’

Staring ahead of her, Ruth sat upright in bed. Her face was drawn and her eyes were pools of despair. Miriam Stein sat on a chair beside the bed, holding her daughter’s hand and trying to temper her criticism with tenderness. Ruth had lost her nerve. Having taken enough of the pills to make her feel ill, she’d abandoned her suicide attempt and turned in a panic to her mother. After treatment in hospital, Ruth had been sent back home again.

‘Suicide is a criminal act,’ said Miriam, quietly. ‘Judaism is very clear on that. Someone who commits suicide is considered to be a murderer. Is that how youwished to be remembered?’

‘No, Mother,’ whispered Ruth. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’d have brought such shame upon the family.’

‘I did it because of my own shame.’

‘Remember your teaching. You must think of your soul.’

Ruth nodded and tears began to form. She was sick, distraught and helpless. Conscious that suicide was anathema in her religion, she had nevertheless been unable to resist the impulse to end her life. She would now have to face further guilt and misery. Her life had become even more unbearable.

Miriam waited a short while then rose to her feet.

‘I’ll send in Rabbi Hirsch,’ she said, moving to the door. ‘After you’ve spoken with him, your Uncle Herman wants to see you.’

Ruth was frightened. Closing her eyes, she started to pray.

CHAPTER NINE

One day in her sister’s company convinced Irene Bayard that she’d made the right decision in coming to live in London. There was a dimension of peace and security there. Dorothy Holdstock led an uncomplicated life. She had a full-time job, a small circle of friends and she shared her home with an undemanding old lady. Miss James occupied the downstairs front room behind thick lace curtains. In spite of her disability, she remained active. She would visit friends on most days and her younger brother would come up from Brighton once a fortnight to take her out for lunch. Much of the time, Dorothy was unaware of her presence. It was only when Miss James emerged to visit the bathroom or to make use of the kitchen that the two women had a proper conversation. A copper bell was the link between them. When it was rung three times, it was a signal for Dorothy to enter her lodger’s domain.

‘Does she still clean her own room?’ asked Irene.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Dorothy. ‘I offered to do it when I clean the rest of the house but Miss James wouldn’t hear of it. She doesn’t like anyone else in there and she’s quite able to spruce the place up.’

‘How old is she?’

‘I daren’t ask and she wouldn’t, in any case, tell me. She gave up having birthdays many years ago.’

‘I admire her independence.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing compared to yours, Irene.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Irene, surprised by the envy in her sister’s voice. ‘I’ve never been really independent.’

‘Yes, you have,’ countered Dorothy. ‘When most women lose a husband so young, as you did, they’re likely to shrink back into their shell. You came out of yours. I couldn’t believe it when you told me that you were going to sail thousands of miles a year across the ocean on a Cunard liner. If that’s not independence – what is?’

‘It’s not as wonderful as it sounds,’ warned Irene. ‘I was a member of the crew and I had no independence at all on board. If I’d been a passenger, of course, it would have been a different matter.’

‘Weren’t you afraid when you sailed from New York this time?’

‘No, Dot, I wasn’t.’

‘But there were threats to all shipping from the Germans.’

‘I ignored them and got on with my job.’

‘What would you do if the same situation arose again?’

Irene was brisk. ‘It won’t arise,’ she said. ‘I never wish to go to sea again. My home is here now. All I need to do is to find a new job.’

‘There’s no hurry – you’ve earned a rest.’

‘I’m not the restful type.’

Dorothy laughed. ‘I discovered that years ago,’ she said. ‘You’re always on the go. I could never keep up with you.’

It was late evening and the two of them were sitting in the living room with a glass of cheap sherry apiece. As she looked around, Irene saw that the wallpaper was fading and that the paintings chosen by their parents were still on the wall. Time had stood still in the house. It was at once comforting and saddening. If she was to live there on a permanent basis, Irene thought, she would insist on redecoration. But that could wait. All she wished to do now was to ease back into an old existence.

Dorothy glanced at the evening paper on the arm of the sofa.

‘Did you find anything that tempted you?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Irene. ‘There are plenty of jobs advertised but I’d like to know a bit more about them before I commit myself.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I wanted something that gets me out and about. I’d like a job that helps me to meet new people all the time.’

‘Then you should work in our shop,’ said Dorothy, chuckling. ‘We have all sorts coming through the door.’

‘I’m not sure it would suit me, Dot.’

‘Then what would?’

‘Well,’ said Irene, reaching for the newspaper, ‘one of the adverts that caught my eye was to do with trams.’

‘You mean, working as a conductress?’

‘I might start as that but I’d really want to be a driver. Apart from anything else, they earn more money. The tram that brought me here had a woman driver.’ Having opened the paper to the correct page, she passed it to her sister. ‘There you are – down at the bottom. I put a circle round it.’

‘There are four or five circles.’

‘Those are other jobs I might go after.’

‘Here we are,’ said Dorothy, finding the advertisement and reading the details. ‘Well, why not? A job on the trams would give you continuity.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s another form of transport. You start off on ships then you move on to trams. You’d certainly meet lots of people that way.’ There was a twinkle in Dorothy’s eye. ‘You might even get a proposal of marriage out of one of them.’

Irene smiled wanly. ‘No, thank you. That’s all behind me.’

‘You never know.’

‘Oh yes I do. My future is here with you and Miss James.’

‘She was thrilled when I told her you were back.’

‘Good – it feels so right, Dot.’

‘Let’s celebrate with another glass, shall we?’

Putting the newspaper aside, Dorothy topped up their glasses from the sherry bottle. It was such a long time since she’d been able to share a companionable drink with anyone. Indeed, very few people were even invited into the house. Such as it was, Dorothy’s social life took place elsewhere. She regarded her sister through narrowed lids.

‘What was he like, Irene?’

‘Who?’

‘I’m talking about the chap who fell madly in love with you.’

Irene gave a half-laugh. ‘I don’t know about falling in love,’ she said. ‘Ernie wasn’t romantic in that way. He just wanted a woman and I happened to be the one on hand.’

‘There must have been more to it than that.’

After thinking it over, Irene gave an affirmative nod.

‘There was, Dot.’

‘Well?’

‘It no longer seems to matter. Ernie Gill belongs to a past life before the ship went down. Everything is different now. I’ve no regrets about what I did. I just don’t want to dwell on it.’

‘In other words, I’m to mind my own business.’

‘I’d just like you to give me more time to … settle down.’

‘I understand,’ said Dorothy, sweetly. ‘You want to forget.’

‘This sherry will help me to do that.’

They clinked their glasses then sipped their drinks. After they chatted for another hour, Dorothy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw how late it was.

‘I have to leave early in the morning,’ she said, ‘but you deserve a long lie-in. You can spend the whole day in bed, if you like.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Irene. ‘I’ll be up at the crack of dawn. When you go off, I’ll probably come with you. I may have a lot of doors to knock on tomorrow.’

It took two days to gather all the documentation together. Before they departed, Sir Edward Henry insisted on speaking to Marmion and Keedy in his office. He handed over passports, warrants and a letter from the War Office.

‘I can’t tell you what a struggle I had to get authorisation,’ he said, clenching his teeth. ‘I had to contend with some blunt speaking at the War Office. One man went so far as to claim that any young unattended woman out at night is more or less asking to be molested and that Miss Stein had effectively provoked the rape.’

‘That’s a revolting suggestion,’ said Marmion, angrily.

‘There was worse to come, Inspector. The same fellow had the gall to ask me which was the more important – a deflowered Jewish virgin of no consequence or a pair of gallant soldiers ready to lay down their lives for their country? I gave him a flea in his ear.’

‘That was very restrained of you, Sir Edward.’

The commissioner nodded. ‘In retrospect, I think it was,’ he agreed, ‘but I got my way in the end. However, let’s put that aside, shall we? We must consider practicalities. What will happen while you’re away?’

‘The investigation will continue along the lines we’ve set down,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ve briefed my team. They’ll search for other people involved in the incident but the main focus will be on identifying the killer.’

‘Mr Stone keeps ringing me to ask about progress.’

‘What do you say?’

‘I’m suitably vague but mildly encouraging.’

‘Have you told him about our trip to France?’

‘Yes, Inspector – it’s the one thing of which he approved. He voiced his disapproval of just about everything else.’

‘I’m surprised that he has time to hound you, Sir Edward,’ said Keedy. ‘His brother’s body has been released to the family. I would have thought he’d be preoccupied with the funeral arrangements.’

‘Mr Stone seems to think that he has to bark at our heels to get any results.’ The commissioner gave a forbearing smile. ‘Given what happened to his brother and to his niece, the fellow is under intense pressure. We must make allowances for that.’

He looked down at the report in front of him and flicked through the pages. It had been prepared by Marmion and gave details of all arrests, interviews and names relevant to the investigation. Marmion and Keedy had spoken to everyone who worked for Jacob Stein, as well as to some of his rival tailors. They’d built up a much fuller picture of the deceased. What they had not so far been able to do was to track down the man who had been dismissed and the one who left Stein’s employ of his own accord. Nor had they managed to identify and arrest the arsonist with the can of petrol. Newspapers had carried a detailed description of the individual and a number of names were put forward by members of the public. Though they were all checked, none of them belonged to the man in question and so he remained at large.

‘Who was the ringleader?’ said Sir Edward. ‘That’s what I really want to know. Was he also the killer?’

‘That’s possible,’ said Marmion, ‘but none of the witnesses picked out one particular person. All they remembered seeing was a chanting mob coming along the street.’

‘One of whom had a petrol can,’ added Keedy.

The commissioner pursed his lips and shook his head sadly.

‘Murder, rape and arson,’ he said, ruefully. ‘It’s not what we expect of the West End. Were the crimes related?’

‘We won’t know until we’ve interviewed the two soldiers,’ said Marmion. ‘One of them was certainly guilty of rape and might also have been responsible for the fire. But I think we can absolve the pair of them of the murder.’

‘On what grounds do you say that, Inspector?’

‘I’m going on what the victim told us – or, at least, on what her mother was able to tell us on the girl’s behalf. Ruth Stein left her father upstairs and went off to raise the alarm. The two men pounced on her in the alley. They could have come from the shop, of course,’ reasoned Marmion, ‘but they definitely did not come from the upstairs room where Mr Stein was murdered. After the rape, they went off in the opposite direction. The fire had taken hold on the shop by then.’

‘Somebody else killed him,’ concluded Keedy.

The commissioner sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

‘Do you have any theories about who that might be?’

‘We do, Sir Edward.’ Keedy glanced at Marmion. ‘As it happens, the inspector and I have slightly conflicting theories.’

‘What’s yours, Sergeant?’

‘Well,’ said Keedy, seizing his chance to impress, ‘we know for a fact that the property was attacked because it had a German name over it and obscenities were being chanted against all Germans. However, that may not be the explanation for the murder. I have a feeling – and it’s no more than a feeling, mark you – that Jacob Stein was killed because he was a Jew, and not because of any association with the enemy.’

‘What leads you to think that?’

‘I’ve been looking at some of the riots in the East End where they’ve been far more prevalent. The main targets were shops and houses owned by people of German origin. But they were not the only victims,’ said Keedy. ‘Some people took advantage of the situation to attack Jewish immigrants in general, especially those from Russia.’

‘You’ll no doubt remember the activities of the British Brothers’ League,’ said Marmion. ‘They organised constant demonstrations against Jewish immigration at the start of the century.’

‘I remember it vividly,’ said the commissioner. ‘They made a lot of noise until they got what they wanted – the Aliens Act. But that was ten years ago,’ he went on. ‘I thought the BBL more or less disappeared after 1905.’

‘So did I, Sir Edward,’ said Keedy, ‘but some of its members formed much smaller groups under other names. Jews continue to be their scapegoats. They blame them for everything. I’m wondering if Jacob Stein was killed by a member of one of these rabid anti-Semitic groups.’

‘It’s an interesting theory. What do you think, Inspector?’

‘It’s a line of inquiry that needs pursuing,’ said Marmion, ‘and I have men doing just that. But I still hold to the view that there’s a personal aspect to this case. Stein was murdered by someone who knew him and his routine at the shop. It was someone with an axe to grind, someone with a score to settle. Above all else, it was someone who knew where that safe was kept.’

‘That points to a present or former employee, then.’

‘We can discount the present ones, Sir Edward.’

‘What about former ones?’

‘There are two who’ve aroused our interest. One was middle-aged and left after a long time with the firm. The other was much younger and was – according to Mr Cohen, the manager – very angry at being dismissed. We’re urgently seeking both of them.’

‘You say that one was middle-aged, Inspector. Would this man have been physically capable of stabbing Mr Stein to death?’

‘Possibly not, Sir Edward.’

‘Then how can he be held culpable?’

‘Because he stage-managed it,’ said Marmion with growing certainty. ‘He knew the confusion that would be created by the attack on the shop and he hired someone to take full advantage of it. Jacob Stein was not killed accidentally, Sir Edward. His death was plotted and paid for in advance. In my opinion,’ he decided, ‘what confronts us is a bespoke murder.’

There had been a heady excitement when they first joined the army. They were treated as heroes by their families and friends. When they marched in uniform through the streets, they were cheered to the echo by large crowds. That was all in the past. There was no cheering now, only the distant boom and whizz of artillery. Oliver Cochran and John Gatliffe found a moment to have a cigarette together. They were camped with their regiment to the west of Ypres where hostilities were continuing apace. Gatliffe had seen some of the wounded British soldiers being stretchered from the front.

‘It turned my stomach, Ol,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Keep away from that field hospital unless you want to spew up your dinner. I saw men with arms and legs missing and others who’d been blinded. One was crying because they’d shot his bollocks off.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘I don’t know how the stretcher-bearers can do their job.’

‘We do far worse to the Germans,’ insisted Cochran.

‘It’s not what I expected at all.’

‘War is war, Gatty. We’re not here to play ping-pong.’

‘The noise never stops – and I hate that terrible stink in the air.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘There was something else,’ said Gatliffe, ‘and it really scared me. They’re using poisonous gas, Ol. The Germans are attacking us with gas bombs.’

‘So? We’ll probably have gas masks to wear.’

‘I’d hate to be poisoned to death.’

‘Stop getting so upset, will you?’ said Cochran, irritably. ‘A fine bloody soldier you are – giving up before we’ve even started. We’ve already fought one battle at Ypres. That was last year and we won it.’

‘Yet look at how many thousands of our men were killed in the battle. And they were regular soldiers, blokes who’d fought in the Boer War and that. They were professionals, Ol. We’re just raw recruits.’

‘I’m not raw. I’m as good as any fucking Hun.’

Snatching up his rifle, he jabbed at an imaginary enemy then pulled out his bayonet before stabbing a second one. As he showed off his proficiency with rifle and bayonet, there was a zestful fury about Cochran that lifted his friend’s spirits. Gatliffe, too, picked up his weapon and went through some of the moves they’d learnt during bayonet drill. It felt good to have a rifle in his hands. Confidence returned. He looked forward to the time when he could fire at the enemy. With Cochran beside him, he was ready for the fight.

Tossing his cigarette butt to the ground, Cochran sliced it apart with a thrust of his bayonet. Like Gatliffe, he was having misgivings about his decision to join the army. While his friend was honest about his fears, however, Cochran suppressed his apprehension beneath a mixture of boasting and bravado. He would never show a hint of trepidation to Gatliffe because it would undermine his strong hold over his friend. Cochran was the acknowledged leader and he was determined to retain his leadership.

‘Know what, Ol?’ said Gatliffe. ‘You ought to be a corporal, even a sergeant.’

‘Nah!’ retorted Cochran with a sneer. ‘It’s a stupid idea.’

‘You’d be really good at it.’

‘NCOs are all wankers, especially the ones we’ve got.’

‘I could just see you with three stripes on your arm.’

‘You’re off your bleeding head, Gatty. There’s only one thing worse than being a sergeant and that’s being a fucking officer. Look at the idiots we got in command. You wouldn’t catch me mixing with silly sods like that. They all talk as if they got a plum in their gobs.’

Gatliffe scratched his head. ‘It was only a thought.’

‘Well, don’t bleeding think it again,’ said Cochran. ‘I’m where I want to be and I’ll stay right here, OK?’ A slow smile spread across his face. ‘If you want something to think about, remember what we did on that last night in London. She was an ugly little thing but she had a good body, I’ll give her that. I had a great ride on her and you could have done the same.’

Gatliffe was reflective. ‘I’m beginning to wish I had now.’

‘You got cold feet, Gatty, that’s your trouble.’

‘I was afraid that somebody would come and catch us.’

‘You didn’t want it enough, did you? Whereas I did,’ bragged Cochran, ‘and so I bloody well had it. That’s the thing about women. You got to grab them when you get the chance.’ His smirk broadened. ‘And there’s something special about virgins like her. It means I was the first. She’ll always remember me.’

Ruth Stein felt imprisoned in her own house. They never left her alone. When her mother was not watching her, she was kept under surveillance by her Uncle Herman or by a member of his family. She was not even allowed to sleep by herself. One of her cousins shared the same bedroom. Nobody ever mentioned her suicide attempt in so many words but it was neither forgotten nor forgiven. Everything they did was informed by it. At one and the same time, she was being punished for her crime and smothered by their collective love. It was agonising. Her father’s funeral was over now and they had entered a seven-day period of bereavement called shiva when Ruth and the other chief mourners did not leave the house. It all served to heighten her sense of incarceration. When she joined the others in the thrice-daily recitation of Kaddish, she could barely mumble the words.

Armed with their documentation, and carrying a pair of handcuffs apiece, Harvey Marmion and Joe Keedy took a train to Dover and boarded a ferry. Standing on deck, they were the only passengers not in uniform. Inevitably, Marmion thought about his son who had crossed to France with his regiment the previous year. Since then they’d only seen him once on leave. Paul Marmion’s letters from the front were eagerly seized on by every member of the family. They were not always comfortable reading. Joe Keedy had many friends who had enlisted in the army, several of them from the police force. But they were not in his thoughts at the moment. What interested him was the large number of horses on the vessel.