Текст книги "A Bespoke Murder"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

How had he found her? That was what Irene Bayard kept asking herself. She had never given Ernie Gill her sister’s address in London, nor had she told him about her intention to go there on her return from Ireland. Gill was essentially a friend and work colleague to her, someone with whom to pass the time while they were sailing on the Lusitaniatogether but, on her side, there was no deeper commitment. Irene had never even told him where she lodged in Liverpool. How, therefore, had he managed to turn up on Dorothy’s doorstep? It was disturbing. As far as Irene was concerned, Gill was unwanted and unwelcome, a link with a past she was determined to sever.

He would be back. That much was certain. Gill was nothing if not persistent. She’d had ample evidence of that on board the liner. Rejection only seemed to intensify his interest in her. Since he’d come back in search of her, she needed to have an excuse to get rid of him without even inviting him into the house. Irene rehearsed various possibilities in her mind. Whatever happened, she did not want Gill to meet her sister because it would lead to a flurry of awkward questions from Dorothy. If Irene wanted to preserve the serenity of the house, Gill had to be kept at bay. In her new life, he simply did not belong.

After a second day in search of employment, Irene made her way back home. As she walked down the street towards it, she wondered if he had called again and if Miss James would be waiting to tell her about it. But there was no bell summoning her. All she could hear from the front room was the rhythmical click of knitting needles. She was grateful there had been no second visit from Gill. It gave her a breathing space. While waiting for her sister to get back, Irene sat at the kitchen table and went through the list of jobs on offer. She narrowed the choice down to three. Hearing the sound of a key in the front door, she lit the gas under the kettle then gave Dorothy a smile as her sister entered the room.

‘A busy day?’ she enquired.

‘It’s always busy,’ said Dorothy, wearily, ‘though there’s more trying on than actually buying. We had one woman in this morning who tried on eight pairs of shoes before she decided that she didn’t really need any of them.’

‘I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with someone like that.’

‘It can be frustrating at times, Irene. We’ve had people who dart into the shop to escape a sudden downpour and who pretend they came in search of shoes. All they really want is a place to sit down in the dry.’ She removed her hat. ‘But what about you – have you made up your mind yet?’

‘More or less,’ said Irene.

‘Does that mean you’ve accepted a job?’

‘No, it means that I’ve got three to choose from, Dot. I’m still thinking it over. My guess is that I’ll finish up on the trams or in that toy factory, but there’s a third possibility as well.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I was accosted by a lady this afternoon,’ recalled Irene. ‘She noticed me looking at a job advert and asked if I’d ever thought of joining the WEC – that’s the Women’s Emergency Corps.’

Dorothy wrinkled her nose. ‘They’re all suffragettes, aren’t they?’

‘That’s not true, Dot. Besides,’ said Irene, ‘it wouldn’t worry me if they were. She was such a nice well-spoken lady. I had no idea of the range of the work that the WEC do. For instance, they have a kitchen department that’s aided by the National Food Fund. And they join with another organisation to train unemployed girls for domestic service and so on. They also help refugees from abroad by having women who can speak French waiting at railway stations and at the docks to advise them about accommodation and that.’

‘You don’t speak French, do you?’

‘No, but that’s not the point. The service is there. When they see a need, the WEC moves in to meet it.’

‘I think you’re better off on the trams,’ said Dorothy. ‘I’m sure these other people do good work but they’re too strident for my liking. They’re always demanding this and campaigning for that.’

‘Don’t you believe in women getting the vote, Dot?’

‘I believe in a quiet life.’

‘If we were able to vote, we might even use it to get equal pay one day. Surely, you’d want that.’

‘I get by.’

While her sister took off her coat and slipped it over the back of a chair, Irene began to get the tea things ready. She did not want an argument with Dorothy, who had always been subservient towards men. In Irene’s view, it was a major reason why her sister had never married. She was too deferential. The few men in Dorothy’s life had sought obedience in a future wife but not when it verged on a kind of obsequiousness. It was best to keep off the subject of the WEC for the time being. Irene was about to launch into another topic of conversation when there was a loud knock on the front door.

‘Who can that be?’ wondered Dorothy.

‘I’ll go,’ said Irene, pulling her by the arm to stop her going out. ‘You make the tea, Dot.’

As she went out of the kitchen and into the little passageway, Irene made a point of closing the kitchen door behind her. It was Ernie Gill, she was sure of that. It was just the kind of authoritative knock that he would use. Even if it meant being rude to his face, she would have to get rid of him somehow. His pursuit of her had to be nipped in the bud. Bracing herself for the reunion, Irene put a hand on the knob and opened the front door.

‘I’m sorry, Ernie,’ she said, ‘but I can’t speak to you now.’

The man at the door blinked in astonishment. It was not Gill at all but a dapper individual in his fifties with a well-trimmed beard. Raising his hat, he gave a diffident smile.

‘Good evening,’ he said, politely. ‘I’ve come for Miss James.’

The main problem was to keep them apart. On the return journey, Marmion and Keedy had to make sure that their prisoners did not get close to each other. Their fear was that, given the chance, Cochran would attack his former friend. Now that Gatliffe had given a full confession, Cochran’s denials were meaningless. The only way that he could assuage his anger was by giving Gatliffe a beating but he was never allowed to get close enough to do that. He was either handcuffed to Keedy or, when they boarded a ship at Calais, confined on his own. It was a joyless voyage. Apart from the detectives and the prisoners, the passengers were almost exclusively wounded soldiers being sent home. Their war was over. Many of them had suffered hideous injuries and were in constant pain.

It was a sobering experience for Harvey Marmion. When his son had first joined up, he had been proud of him and sent him off gladly to France, expecting him to be part of a relieving British army that supported French forces in driving out the Germans. Nine months later, the nature of the conflict had been transformed. Casualties on both sides were mounting rapidly and new weapons were doing unspeakable things to the human body. As he looked at some of the amputees lying on deck, Marmion wondered how he and Ellen would cope if their son came home without a leg or an arm. And even if he survived injury, what impact would the horrors he had witnessed have on Paul’s mind? It was bound to change his whole attitude to life.

Keedy strolled across to join his superior at the rail.

‘It’s a pack of lies, Harv,’ he said.

‘Have you been talking to Cochran again?’

‘No, I was thinking about the newspapers. They’re not telling us the truth. We’ve seen what it’s like at the front and it’s not being reported properly in the press. They say nothing whatsoever about the pitiable scenes in the clearing stations, and they never mention the awful smell of death and decay.’

‘They don’t want to scare people, Joe.’

‘Why not?’ asked Keedy. ‘It’s not going to put off new recruits. I reckon that it will do the reverse. If people really know what the Germans are doing to our lads, they’ll want to wipe them off the face of the earth.’ He looked at a wounded man nearby, both legs missing and a bloodstained bandage across his eyes. ‘What sort of life is that poor fellow going to have?’

‘I dread to think,’ said Marmion.

‘Aren’t you glad that Paul’s regiment is not in Ypres?’

‘Yes, Joe, I am.’

Keedy gestured with an arm to take in the whole deck.

‘Are you going to tell Ellen about this? Are you going to describe some of the things we saw and heard at the front?’

‘There’s no point in upsetting her unnecessarily.’

‘What about Alice?’

‘She’s more likely to press for details,’ said Marmion, ‘and I won’t deceive her. Our daughter is not squeamish. She doesn’t get upset easily.’

‘I know,’ said Keedy, fondly. ‘Alice has an inner strength. I think she must get that from you, Harv.’

Marmion’s laugh was hollow. ‘I don’t have much inner strength at the moment. I just feel depressed and humbled by it all.’ He pulled himself together and managed a smile. ‘But we didn’t cross the Channel to act as war reporters, Joe. We had a mission and it was successful. Two men will now be tried for the rape of Ruth Stein. The only disappointment,’ he added, ‘is that they were unable to give us any information regarding the other crimes committed that evening. I believe what Gatliffe told me. They never went inside the shop.’

‘We have to start all over again, then.’

‘It’s not that bad. I’m hoping that some new ground has been broken while we’ve been away and that we’ll get back to find there’s been some definite progress.’

‘We need to track down Jacob Stein’s two former employees,’ said Keedy. ‘The fact that they’ve disappeared so conveniently could be significant.’

‘We shall see, Joe,’ said Marmion. ‘The main thing is that we have good news to report to the commissioner. Cochran and Gatliffe have been arrested and there’s absolutely no doubt about their guilt. Sir Edward will be able to get Herbert Stone off his back now.’

Ruth Stein sat in the living room with her mother, her aunt and two of her cousins. They had been receiving condolences from a string of friends who called in, one of whom was David Cohen, erstwhile manager of the shop. Ruth was too numb to do anything more than offer a pale smile of thanks to the various visitors. She was still locked in her private suffering, convinced that everyone now knew about her attempt at killing herself and condemned her for it. There had been long and painful conversations with Rabbi Hirsch and with her Uncle Herman. Her mother spared her any more questioning and tried to bathe her in a soothing love. It gave Ruth some much-needed relief but failed to disperse her corroding sense of worthlessness.

There was a tap on the door and Herbert Stone popped his head into the room. When he asked to speak to Ruth, she felt the familiar sickness stirring. He was going to take her to task once more, she thought, and it would be gruelling. Stone escorted her to the room that her father had used as his office and he closed the door behind them. When they were both seated, he put a hand on her arm.

‘I have some news for you,’ he said.

‘What is it, Uncle Herman?’

‘I’ve just taken a phone call from Scotland Yard.’

‘Oh!’ She drew back instinctively.

‘It’s good news, Ruth. You should be glad. Inspector Marmion is in charge of the case. Thanks to the information you provided, he was able to identify the two men who attacked you. They were arrested in Flanders, where they’d gone with their regiment. Both of them are now back here in custody. Can you hear what I’m telling you?’ he asked, squeezing her arm. ‘The crime has been solved.’

Ruth was unsure what to make of the news. The sheer mention of Scotland Yard had brought the whole incident flooding back into her mind. It seemed extraordinary to her that something which had happened in an alley in London had sent detectives abroad in pursuit of the men responsible. Somehow she did not wish to hear any more. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and block out sound.

‘Aren’t you pleased?’ asked Stone.

‘I don’t know.’

‘But they’ll be punished for what they did to you.’

‘Will they?’

‘When they’re convicted, that is. One of the men has already confessed, I gather, but the other is maintaining his innocence. You’ll be asked to identify him in court.’

Ruth’s brain was suddenly ablaze. The notion that she had to confront the man who raped her threw her into confusion. She never wanted to get anywhere near him again. He’d robbed her of something she could never get back and, in doing so, had shattered her confidence. She’d tried with all her might to put the whole incident out of her mind but it was back there with vivid immediacy. There was a choking sensation in her throat and her eyes began to mist over. It was too much to bear.

Her uncle was very disappointed in her response. Expecting a sign of pleasure at his news, he shook her arm hard as if to force it out of her. It produced a very different result. Putting her head back and opening her mouth wide, Ruth emitted a long, hysterical, high-pitched cry and began to shake convulsively.

After listening to his report, Sir Edward Henry congratulated Marmion on his success. As soon as they’d reached Dover, the inspector had telephoned him to say that the two suspects had been arrested, thus enabling the commissioner to pass on the tidings to Herbert Stone. Marmion had now given a much fuller account of what had occurred in the farmhouse near Ypres.

‘It’s a pity we can’t trumpet this in the press,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but the family has begged us not to give it publicity for the sake of Miss Stein. I suggested to Mr Stone that we could release details of the arrest while keeping the name of the victim anonymous but he was not happy with that idea.’

‘Her name will have to be mentioned when the case comes to court,’ said Marmion, ‘unless we can persuade Cochran to plead guilty and save everyone a lot of trouble.’

‘What are the chances of that?’

‘They’re rather slim, Sir Edward. He’s a bloody-minded fellow.’

‘We see far too many of those in our line of work,’ said the commissioner, dryly. ‘All the more reason to ensure that he’s exposed in court in his true light.’

‘Gatliffe’s confession makes his friend’s position untenable but there are some people who, even if caught red-handed, will never admit guilt. It’s an article of faith with them. Oliver Cochran falls into that category,’ said Marmion.

‘What – even after his assault on Sergeant Keedy?’

‘That never took place, apparently. Cochran is now claiming that hewas the victim of an unprovoked attack.’

‘That’s palpably absurd!’

‘But I take your point about publicity, Sir Edward,’ continued Marmion. ‘Rape convictions are so rare that it would be good to send the message that we take the crime seriously. With so many soldiers on leave in London, looking for a good night out, it’s more than likely that there’ll be other young women like Ruth Stein who are in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Sadly, I must endorse that prediction.’

When Marmion went on to ask what had been happening in their absence, the commissioner was glad to report that there had been no more incidents of mob violence in the West End and that the many roaming gangs in the East End seemed to have died away. It was a pattern repeated in other cities. In the immediate aftermath of the sinking of the Lusitania, summary justice had been sought by people with an anti-German bloodlust. It had peaked in ports like Liverpool, then slowly subsided. Police and other authorities were still involved in cleaning up the gigantic mess left behind. What they could not tidy away was the aggressive impulse latent in so many British people and liable to be aroused by the next enemy outrage.

‘Needless to say,’ explained Sir Edward, ‘there’s been universal condemnation of the sinking. America is especially critical, of course, because so many of the victims were American citizens.’

‘What have the Germans said in response?’

‘Their argument is that the ship was carrying armaments and that it was therefore an acceptable target for their submarine fleet.’

‘ Werethere armaments aboard?’ asked Marmion. ‘It seems highly unlikely.’

‘The Germans are basing their claim on the fact that only one torpedo was fired, yet there were two explosions. According to their propaganda, the second blast could only have been caused by the presence of explosive materials in the hold.’

‘What response has there been from Cunard?’

‘A firm denial,’ said the commissioner.

‘Then the German excuse can be dismissed out of hand.’

‘That’s my feeling, Inspector.’

‘Had there been intelligence in advance to the effect that the vessel wascarrying material destined for the war front, then every U-boat in the blockade would have been ready to ambush the Lusitania. Yet that isn’t what happened,’ argued Marmion. ‘She was hit by a solitary torpedo when she was assumed to be a passenger ship with no armaments aboard. That’s a violation of maritime neutrality.’

‘There’ll be more repercussions to come, I suspect.’

‘More disorder in our streets, you mean?’

‘I was thinking about international responses,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but there’ll be further work for the Metropolitan Police, I’ve no doubt.’

‘You told me that everything had quietened down.’

‘That could be a temporary respite, Inspector. There’s still so much danger in the air,’ said the commissioner, sucking his teeth. ‘We’ve not done with this business yet.’

St Saviour’s church gave Irene Bayard a warm welcome when she attended morning service there on Sunday. She was introduced to the vicar, the churchwardens and to a number of her sister’s friends. When they discovered she was a survivor of the Lusitaniadisaster, people crowded round to offer their sympathy and to ask for details of the event. It served to give Irene an eminence she neither sought nor relished. After the service, Dorothy, as its secretary, needed to discuss the next meeting of the Parochial Church Council. Leaving her sister behind, Irene slipped out and made her way back to the house alone. In spite of the attention she was given, she was glad that she had gone to church. It was as if she had touched a spiritual base that had been lacking in her life for some time. She felt restored.

Her sense of well-being only lasted until she turned the corner into her street. Coming towards her was the unmistakable figure of Ernie Gill, wearing his best suit and strutting jauntily along. When he spotted her, he whisked off his hat to wave at her. Irene stopped in her tracks. He was the last person she wanted to meet but, for old times’ sake, she steeled herself to be pleasant to him.

‘There you are,’ he said, rushing towards her and kissing her on the cheek before replacing his hat. ‘Miss James said that you went to church with your sister.’

‘That’s right, Ernie.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Oh, Dorothy had something to sort out with the churchwarden.’

‘I was looking forward to meeting her.’

‘That … won’t be possible,’ she said, guardedly.

‘I bet you’re wondering how I found you,’ he said, grinning at his cleverness. ‘When we parted in Liverpool, I knew I’d want to see you again and so I followed you back to your digs. I saw you go in and thought I’d let you recover for a day or two before I turned up again.’

‘Mrs Hoskins gave you this address, didn’t she?’ guessed Irene.

‘Yes – your landlady took a bit of persuading, mind you, but she told me you’d come to London. She was used to forwarding letters and things when you were staying with your sister.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s a nice little house.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

‘No, Ernie, it’s … not convenient.’

‘But I was hoping to meet your sister.’

‘Dorothy won’t be here for ages and I have lots to do. I’m sorry but this is a bad time for you to call.’

‘That’s no problem, Irene,’ he said, cheerily. ‘I’ll come back another time. Just you name the day.’

It was the moment when she ought to have told him that she didn’t really wish to see him again but the words simply wouldn’t come out. Instead, Irene stood there and gesticulated nervously. Sensing rejection, Gill spoke with subdued anger.

‘You’re ashamed of me, is that it?’ he challenged.

‘No, no, it’s not that, Ernie.’

‘I’m not good enough to meet your precious sister.’

‘You’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Then why aren’t you pleased to see me?’

‘I am – in a way,’ she lied.

‘I’m not Miss James,’ he retorted. ‘I’m not blind like that old biddy. I can see it in your face, Irene. You don’t even want to speak to your old shipmate, do you?’

‘Of course I do, Ernie.’

His anger was surging. ‘Then why are you giving me the cold shoulder? I’ve got rights, after all, and I don’t just mean that we sailed together so often. Have you forgotten what happened when we jumped overboard?’ he said, wagging a finger. ‘I didn’t have to come to your rescue, you know. I could have thought only of myself. But I didn’t, Irene. I looked around for you then swam over. I saved your life. Is this all the thanks I get? Don’t you think you oweme something?’

There was hurt as well as accusation in his voice and it melted her resolve. Gill hadcome to her aid in the water. She would always remember that. After all they’d been through together, it was both wrong and unfair to antagonise him. Irene accepted that now. Reaching out a consoling arm, she touched his shoulder.

‘I would like to see you sometime, Ernie,’ she said with a degree of enthusiasm, ‘only it can’t be today and it can’t be here.’

His chirpiness returned. ‘That suits me,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a date, shall we? Give me a time and place and I’ll be there.’

Joe Keedy was delighted to be invited to tea with the Marmion family. Ordinarily, he would have spent Sunday afternoon with the nurse he’d been courting for some months but she had decided her skills were needed on the Western Front and had volunteered for army service. Sad to see her go, Keedy had admired the impulse that took her across the Channel but they’d made no arrangement to meet up again on her return. The romance was over. In practical terms, it meant that what might have been a pleasant day with his girlfriend had now turned into a yawning chasm. A visit to the Marmion household was the ideal way to fill it.

They had clearly made efforts on his behalf. The place had been thoroughly cleaned, the meal was excellent and the conversation never flagged. Keedy always enjoyed seeing his colleague in his domestic setting where Marmion could relax, smoke his pipe and put the world to rights from his armchair beside the fireplace. Ellen and Alice were so hospitable that he almost felt like a member of the family. There was one proviso to the visit. Ellen insisted that it was a social occasion and that the detectives were not allowed to talk about their work. It was a condition to which both men readily acceded.

When the meal was over and the hours had rolled by, Alice offered to do the washing-up and Keedy insisted on helping her. Alone with him in the kitchen, Alice broke the embargo.

‘What was it like when you went after those two men?’

‘I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about work.’

‘That was Mummy’s idea,’ she said, ‘not mine.’

‘Hasn’t your father already told you?’

‘He’s told me bits of what happened, Joe, but I had the sense that he was holding a lot back. What he did mention was the fight you had with one of the men.’

He was modest. ‘It was over so quickly, Alice.’

‘I don’t believe that. Tell me what happened.’

While she washed the dishes and he wiped them dry, Keedy gave her an abbreviated but straightforward account of their visit to Ypres. He admitted how shocked he was by what he saw at the front and how he feared for the lives of some friends who were fighting there. One particular man came to mind.

‘I wondered if Palm Tree was still alive,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘His real name was Detective Constable Ralph Palmer but we called him Palm Tree because he was so tall and skinny. The day that war was declared, he resigned his job and joined the 5 ^thField Company, Royal Engineers. They’re real heroes, Alice.’

‘Are they?’ she asked.

‘They were the unit that dug our army out of Mons then provided them with trenches during the long retreat. They blew up bridges to hinder any pursuit, then they had to rebuild them when the Germans drew back and our lads were able to reclaim territory that they’d just given up. And all this, remember,’ said Keedy, taking another wet plate from her, ‘was done in full view of the enemy infantry. Palm Tree and his company deserve medals.’

‘Where are the Royal Engineers now?’

‘They’re where we left them, Alice – in Flanders. They dug those trenches in Ypres.’

‘Did you never have the urge to join up yourself?’

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but I’d just been promoted and I felt there was important work to be done on the home front. Well, the current investigation is a case in point.’

‘You’ll never catch allthe people in that mob.’

‘That won’t stop us from trying.’

‘What about the killer?’

He was adamant. ‘Oh, that’s one crime we willsolve.’

‘How can you be so categorical?’

‘I’m working with your father,’ he said, grinning. ‘And Inspector Marmion has never failed yet. You should know that.’

As they chatted happily, their shoulders touched and both of them enjoyed the proximity. Keedy had always been attracted to Alice but had held back from seeking a closer acquaintance with her because of the age gap between them and because he felt that her father would disapprove. For her part, Alice was very fond of him, though she had never entertained serious thoughts about a closer relationship. Working side by side with him, however, she was increasingly drawn to Keedy and hoped that the pleasure was mutual. It was not the most romantic setting. With her hands in a bowl of water, she could never be seen at her best, and he was hardly at his most dashing while buffing plates with a tea towel. Yet it was companionship of the most satisfying kind. They were at ease with each other.

‘Have you decided to join the WEC yet?’ he asked.

She pulled a face. ‘I can’t make up my mind, Joe.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you. Your father says that you’re the most decisive woman he’s ever met.’

‘What that amounts to is that I argue with him a lot.’

‘It’s good to have a mind of your own.’

‘Not every man thinks that about a woman. A lot of them prefer quiet and submissive types who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’ She handed him the last saucer. ‘What about you, Joe?’

‘Oh, I could never be interested in any woman afraid to stand up to me,’ he said, drying the saucer before putting it on the pile. ‘An occasional argument adds spice to a friendship.’

‘It always ended the friendships that I’ve had with men,’ she admitted.

‘Then perhaps you chose the wrong kind of men.’

Facing each other as he spoke, they were only inches apart and each felt the urge to reach out and embrace the other. Keedy gave her a dazzling smile and her eyes twinkled in response. There was far more than companionship now. There was affection and need. Before either of them could make the first move, however, the door opened and Marmion put his head into the kitchen.

‘Come on, you two,’ he said, pipe still in his mouth. ‘We’ve got the cards out. It’s time to play.’