A Bespoke Murder

CHAPTER SEVEN

Joe Keedy enjoyed questioning suspects. The process was a battle of wills that he usually won. Marmion had taught him a valuable lesson. Divide and rule. When more than one person was involved, it was important to split them up to avoid collusion. As a result of the names gleaned from Brian Coley, three men from Shoreditch were arrested at their places of work and brought in separately. Keedy interrogated each of them in turn. The first was the easiest to break. After an initial denial, he soon buckled and confessed that he had been in Jermyn Street the night before. A chimney sweep by trade, he claimed that he was accidentally caught up in the attack and had not actually entered the shop. When Keedy pointed out that items stolen from the property had been found at his home, he wilted completely.

The second man was a street trader, a fast-talking cockney who swore that he’d been nowhere near the West End at the time. His girlfriend would vouch for him. After ten minutes of verbal jousting, Keedy exposed his claim as an arrant lie and charged him. It was the third man who gave the sergeant the most trouble. Sidney Timpson was a wily character in his twenties who worked as a glazier. Keedy seized on the man’s occupation.

‘So you came to the West End touting for trade, did you?’

Timpson frowned. ‘What you on about?’

‘That shop window you smashed in Jermyn Street,’ said Keedy. ‘It’s a clever way to get business, Sidney. You break someone’s window then offer to mend it.’

‘Is that supposed to be a joke, Sergeant?’

‘I was never more serious. You were seen outside the premises of Jacob Stein yesterday evening.’

‘I’ve never even heard of the bloke.’

‘Do you deny it, then?’

‘Of course I bloody well do. I was out with friends in Shoreditch. You ask the landlord of the Lamb amp; Flag. He’ll tell you that we were drinking there until closing time.’

‘That was well after the incident in Jermyn Street.’

‘We were there all evening.’

‘Do you know a man named Brian Coley?’

Timpson became defensive. ‘Not really — why do you ask?’

‘What about Tommy Rudge, the barrow boy?’

‘Yes, I know old Tommy. He was boozing with me at the Lamb amp; Flag. Tommy will speak up for me.’

‘I don’t think so, Sidney. According to him, he spent the evening with his girlfriend. That was before I got him to admit the lie. Then he named you as being with him and the rest of that mob.’

‘Don’t listen to Tommy,’ said the other, contemptuously. ‘He makes things up.’

‘Then the pair of you have something in common. Right,’ said Keedy, rubbing his hands, ‘where are we? You don’t really know Brian Coley and Tommy Rudge is a liar. Is that what you’re saying?’

Timpson glared at him. ‘Yeah, it is.’

‘Then there must be some mistake in our records.’

‘Eh?’

‘You’ve been a bad boy, Sidney, haven’t you? Our records show that you’ve been arrested on three occasions for being drunk and disorderly. And the person who was arrested with you,’ said Keedy, reading from the sheet of paper in front of him, ‘was the man you don’t really know — Brian Coley. In my experience, you can get to know someone pretty well when you spend a night in a police cell with him. In any case,’ he continued, ‘you and Coley live in the same street. Can the pair of you really be such strangers?’

Timpson was adamant. ‘I was at the Lamb amp; Flag.’

‘Nobody disputes that. You went there with Rudge and Len Harper — after you’d looted that shop in Jermyn Street. Both of them confirm that.’

‘What’s Lenny Harper been saying?’

‘It sounded like the truth to me.’

‘I know nothing about any mob in the West End.’

‘Then how come I have three witnesses who place you there, three close friends of yours who realise just how much trouble they’re in and who decided to come clean?’ He leant across the table. ‘Do you know what I think, Sidney? You were their leader. Coley, Rudge and Harper all look up to you. I think it was your idea to go on the rampage yesterday.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’

‘You actually led the mob.’

‘Piss off!’

‘When they’d had enough to drink, you stirred them up into a rage then took them off to attack a shop with a German name over it. You probably threw that brick through the window.’

‘No, I never!’ howled Timpson.

‘I bet you were the first to clamber in, weren’t you — the first to grab what you wanted? It was your privilege as the leader.’

‘I wasn’t even there.’

‘Then why do three people swear otherwise?’ asked Keedy.

‘Ask them.’

‘It’s no good lying, Sidney. You were seen. That’s how I know that you were the one who poured petrol onto that fire.’

‘That wasn’t me!’ shouted Timpson, unnerved by the charge. ‘It was that bloke in the dungarees. He brought the can with him.’

When he heard what he’d just said, he put his hands to his face and groaned inwardly. The game was up. Under pressure from Keedy, he’d just confessed the truth. There was no way out.

‘Good,’ said Keedy, beaming. ‘I’m glad that we sorted that out. Let’s start all over again, shall we?’

Dorothy Holdstock was both relieved and delighted to see her sister again. Having had no official confirmation that Irene had survived the disaster, she’d been on tenterhooks as she waited for news. It had come in the best possible way — her sister’s arrival on her doorstep. Over a cup of tea, Irene explained how she’d managed to escape drowning. Playing down the role she took in helping others to get safely off the ship, she talked about the chair that she clung to as she waited to be rescued by a boat.

‘It sounds to me as if you owe a lot to your friend,’ said Dorothy.

‘Ernie has always looked out for me.’

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Years and years, Dot.’

‘Is he the one who proposed to you?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Why did you turn him down?’

‘There were lots of reasons,’ said Irene, pensively. ‘First of all, I don’t want another husband. I had a wonderful marriage with Arthur and no man could ever replace him. Second, I discovered that I wasn’t the only female member of the crew that Ernie Gill had proposed to.’ Dorothy was scandalised. ‘And third, much as I like him, he really upsets me sometimes.’

‘How does he do that?’

‘Well, he has a bit of a temper and uses bad language. I think he could turn violent if he was crossed.’

Her sister clicked her tongue. ‘You don’t want that,’ she said. ‘On the other hand, a proposal is a proposal. A woman can’t afford to be too fussy.’

There was deep sadness in Dorothy’s voice because she had never received a proposal of marriage. Irene had been the pretty sister. None of the boys had been interested in Dorothy. Now in her forties, she was a tubby and rather unprepossessing woman who’d given up all hope of finding a husband and settled for being a pillar of the local church, an occasional babysitter and the manageress of a shoe shop. She lived in the little house that she and Irene had jointly inherited at the death of their parents and staved off loneliness by renting out a room to a blind old lady named Miss James.

‘How long can you stay, Irene?’

‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay indefinitely.’

‘What about your job?’

‘I’ve finished with the sea, Dot. It’s had one go at trying to kill me and that’s one too many. I want to keep my feet on dry land from now on.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ said Dorothy. ‘Though I do wish that I’d had all those adventures you enjoyed — sailing on a famous liner, going to America all those times, getting proposals. I mean, it’s so romantic.’

‘That’s not how it felt at the time. If truth be told, it was too much like hard work.’

‘So what will you do now?’

‘Look around for a job in London,’ said Irene. ‘I hope you don’t mind having me back.’

‘No — of course I don’t. It’s a real treat for me. Besides, you own half the house.’

‘Do you still have Miss James here?’

‘Yes, she’s no bother — keeps herself to herself.’

‘When did she first move in?’

‘It must be almost five years ago.’

Irene smiled. ‘You live with someone for almost five years and you still don’t call her by her Christian name?’

‘No, she’ll always be Miss James to me.’

‘And does she still call you Miss Holdstock?’

‘Of course,’ said Dorothy with mock propriety. ‘I don’t allow any familiarity under this roof.’ They traded a laugh. ‘Oh, it’s so wonderful to have you back again, Irene. When I heard the awful news about the Lusitania, I nearly had a heart attack. I went to church every day to pray for you — and it worked. Thank God you came home on my day off so that I was here when you knocked. I can’t tell you how marvellous it was to see you in the flesh again.’ They heard the tinkle of a small bell. ‘That will be Miss James. I’ll go and see what she wants.’

Dorothy got up from the table and went off, leaving her sister to look around the kitchen and see how little it had changed in the past decade. Irene was pleased to be back in the house where she’d been born and brought up. It made her feel safe and wanted. Yet she was not simply returning to her roots. Moving to London would be the start of a new phase of her life, she told herself, and that was an exciting prospect.

By the time he’d finished interviewing the suspects from Shoreditch, Joe Keedy had elicited two additional names of people who took part in the looting of the shop in Jermyn Street. One was a member of the bar staff of the pub where the mob had been drinking beforehand. Another was a newspaper vendor with a regular pitch near Piccadilly Circus. Keedy sent off men to arrest the pair of them. The other three, meanwhile, had been charged and released on bail. They went off arguing furiously, each accusing the others of betraying him.

When Keedy went to Marmion’s office to compare notes with him, he found the inspector poring over a sheaf of papers on his desk.

‘Hello, Joe,’ said Marmion, ‘how did you get on?’

‘I had them singing like canaries in the end.’

‘What did they tell you?’

Keedy gave him an attenuated version of the three interviews. The most important development, he felt, was that all of the suspects had described the man with the petrol can and actually seen him pour the liquid out before using his cigarette to ignite it. None of them had known the man’s name but all said that he worked somewhere in the West End and knew the area intimately.

‘I’ve had the report from the fire brigade,’ explained Marmion. ‘They found the petrol can amid the debris but there was no way of identifying where it was bought. The intense heat had melted it and caused it to buckle.’

‘We’ve drawn a blank there, then,’ said Keedy.

‘My guess is that it was sold by a garage nearby. Nobody wants to carry a full can of petrol any distance. It would be too heavy. I’ve sent men off to check at any garages in the locality.’

‘That’s very wise, Inspector.’

‘Wisdom is like sciatica, Joe — it comes with age.’

‘You’re still a young man at heart.’

‘I don’t feel young. When I look at our Alice and realise how old she is now, I feel quite ancient.’

‘How is Alice?’

‘I’d like to say that she’s very well but she’s got this weird idea into her head that she’d like to join the WEC.’

‘What’s so weird about it?’

Marmion sighed. ‘Alice worked her socks off to get qualifications to teach, Joe. I don’t want her to throw all that effort away. In any case, the WEC is not short of recruits, whereas schools are certainly short of good teachers like my daughter.’

‘It’s her decision and she is over twenty-one.’

‘We accept that, Joe. At the end of the day, we’ll support her in whatever she does — as long as she doesn’t join the Women’s Police Service, that is. Apparently, that’s what you advised her to do.’

‘I did,’ said Keedy. ‘I think she’d make a good policewoman. Alice is bright, hard-working and she’s got a natural authority. I know there’s a lot of opposition to the Women’s Force but I think girls like Alice could do certain things much better than we can.’

‘That’s exactly what I thought when I visited the Stein house,’ recalled Marmion. ‘I was following up that rape allegation. I never actually spoke to the victim herself — she was still in shock — but I felt very awkward as I talked to her mother. It was exactly the sort of situation where a woman would have come into her own.’

‘You should have taken Alice with you.’

‘She is not going to join the police.’

It was Marmion’s turn to recount details of an interview. He told Keedy how struck he was by Miriam Stein’s dignity and by her steely determination to seek justice for her daughter. At a time when she was coping with one family catastrophe, she had the strength to deal with another one. She’d been able to pass on two significant details about Ruth’s attackers. Keedy was interested to hear of them.

‘It took one phone call to find out what I wanted,’ he said. ‘The only soldiers who embarked for the Continent today were members of the East Surrey Regiment. They’re going to Ypres as reinforcements.’

‘Then they’re brave men. Ypres is a real hellhole.’

‘The two people we’re after are not brave, Joe. They’re cruel, heartless bastards and their names are somewhere on this list.’ He indicated the sheaf of papers in front of him. ‘I had this sent over from the War Office. They were very reluctant at first, then I threatened to set the commissioner onto them. That did the trick.’

‘Have you discovered who the two men are?’

‘Not yet, I haven’t. Bring that other chair over and help me.’

Keedy picked up an upright chair, placed it behind the desk and sat beside the inspector. Marmion spread the pages out.

‘How far have you got?’ asked Keedy.

‘I’ve had a first glance through the names and there are four Olivers in the regiment. One is a major, so I think we can discount him immediately. We’re looking for two uncouth characters. They’ll be somewhere in the ranks.’

‘What was the other name Mrs Stein mentioned?’

‘Gatty.’

‘Could that be short for Gareth or something?’

‘If it is, we’re stumped. There’s no Gareth on the list.’

‘Let me see.’

Keedy pulled the pages closer so that he could scan them. When he’d been through the Christian names of all the men, he went quickly through the list again and concentrated on the surnames. Finding what he was after, he jabbed a triumphant finger at the name.

‘That’s him,’ he decided. ‘John Gatliffe. I’d put money on him being called Gatty.’

‘You could be right, Joe.’

‘I am right. There’s no other surname like it.’

‘If Gatliffe is our man, we can soon unmask his friend, Oliver.’

‘How can you do that, Inspector?’

‘By comparing addresses,’ said Marmion, opening a folder to take out another list. ‘Friends usually live close to each other. Let’s see where our three Olivers live, shall we?’ It took him less than a minute to identify the man. ‘Here he is — Oliver Cochran. He lives in Ewell and so, by a strange coincidence, does John Gatliffe. It has to be him, Joe. Oliver Cochran was the one who actually carried out the rape. Gatliffe held the girl down.’

‘Then they’re both culpable.’

Marmion gathered up the pages. ‘I promised to have these sent back at once to the War Office. They’ve fulfilled their purpose.’

‘What’s the next step, Inspector?’

‘The commissioner will have to go into battle for us.’

‘Do you think there’ll be opposition?’

‘I’m certain of it, Joe. The army won’t want any of its men subject to a police investigation. They need every soldier they can get. Sir Edward will have to use his full weight,’ said Marmion. ‘We must have warrants for the arrest of those men and documents that give us access to them. Apart from the rape, they may have also been guilty of looting the shop.’ His jaw tightened. ‘Gatliffe and Cochran are in for a big surprise.’

They had never been abroad before and the sheer novelty of France diverted their minds from the uncertainties that lay ahead. Private John Gatliffe and Private Oliver Cochran of the East Surrey Regiment were amazed by the long straight roads lined with trees and by the quaint villages through which they were driven to the cheers of the locals. When the procession stopped for refreshment and everyone hopped out of their respective lorries, the friends were able to have a quiet chat together. Gatliffe lit a cigarette then used its tip to light the one he’d just given to Cochran. After inhaling deeply, they blew out smoke in unison.

‘It’s so different, Ol, isn’t it?’ said Gatliffe.

‘Yes,’ said Cochran, gloomily. ‘We’re heading for a war zone.’

‘I was talking about the countryside and the people.’

‘The countryside is all right but I don’t like the look of the people. All we’ve seen so far are scrawny old men and ugly peasant women. I loathe the French.’

‘But they’re our allies.’

‘That doesn’t mean I have to like them.’

‘I’m hoping to learn some French while I’m here.’

Cochran was mystified. ‘Whatever for?’

‘So I can talk to them in their own language.’

‘That’s stupid, Gatty. If they want to talk to us, let them learn English. The only time we might need French is if we go on leave and find a brothel. Two words will do — “How much?” That’s unless we can get it free, of course.’

Gatliffe was uncomfortably reminded of the incident on their final night in England but he did not bring it up again. Cochran had told him to forget all about it and that was what his friend was trying and failing to do. After another pull on his cigarette, Gatliffe looked ahead.

‘What do you think it will be like, Ol?’

‘Where?’

‘At the front.’

‘I’ve got no idea.’

‘You hear such terrible stories.’

‘I just ignore them,’ said Cochran, airily.

‘Aren’t you afraid of the Germans?’

‘No, Gatty, I’m more afraid of the bloody Frenchies. They’ll let us down. They can’t even defend their own borders. If it wasn’t for us, the Germans would have occupied Paris by now.’

‘Why did you join up?’

‘You know why.’

‘I know you got that white feather — so did I. But was that the real reason? I enlisted because my cousin was badly wounded at Mons. They shipped back what was left of him and he hung on until this year before he died.’ Gatliffe hunched his shoulders. ‘Pete was just nineteen. When he first came home, I couldn’t bear to look at him. He’d lost both legs and an eye. I wanted to hit back at the Germans who’d done that to him.’ He went off into a reverie for a few minutes. When he jerked himself out of it, he turned to Cochran. ‘What about you, Ol?’

His friend blew out a smoke ring. ‘I was bored, Gatty.’

‘What — bored with living in Ewell?’

‘I was bored with everything. I was bored with my job, for a start. Mending roofs all day is no fun, I can tell you. I was bored with living at home and arguing with Dad time and time again. Most of all, I was bored with being asked by people why I hadn’t joined the army and gone off to fight for my country. In the end, I just wanted a bit of adventure so, when you decided to enlist, I did so as well.’

‘Weren’t you scared of the danger?’

‘No,’ said Cochran, emphatically. ‘You’re used to danger if you work as a roofer. I’ve seen two men badly injured after falling from a ladder and one killed when he slipped off a church roof. It can’t be much more dangerous than that at the front.’

‘Nothing ever seems to frighten you, does it?’ said Gatliffe, enviously. ‘I wish I was like that.’ A memory stabbed him like the thrust of a bayonet and he winced. ‘I also wish that we hadn’t bumped into that girl in London.’

‘Are you still worrying about that?’

‘I keep seeing her face, Ol.’

Cochran laughed. ‘I keep feeling her body and tasting her lips and remembering how I shot my spunk into her. It was terrific, Gatty, every second of it. You don’t know what you missed.’

Ruth Stein sat on the edge of the bath with the box of tablets in her hand. In her febrile mind, they seemed to offer an escape from the ruins of her life. She opened the packet, put a tablet in the palm of her hand and stared at it.