Instrument of Slaughter

CHAPTER TWELVE

After a hectic morning in the lorry, Alice Marmion drove it back to the depot and brought it to a juddering halt. She looked across at Vera Dowling.

‘I don’t like the sound of the engine.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Vera. ‘Something is wrong.’

‘Let’s see if we can find out what it is.’

Alice switched off the engine and got out of the lorry. Vera went to fetch the toolbox in the back of the vehicle. By the time she brought it to her friend, Alice had lifted the bonnet and was peering underneath it.

‘Don’t touch anything,’ warned Vera. ‘It will be piping hot.’

‘I’m afraid that it could be something serious.’

‘We could always go to that garage and ask the mechanic to help us.’

Alice was derisive. ‘Ask a man to bail us out?’ she said. ‘This is the WEC, Vera. We sort out our own problems.’

‘Well, don’t expect me to do anything. I don’t know the first thing about engines — except that they get very hot after a while.’ She wiped perspiration from her brow. ‘They’re a bit like me.’

They’d spent several hours delivering bedding to various emergency accommodation sites. It had meant loading and unloading the lorry a number of times and they were tired. While Alice continued to scrutinise the engine, Vera leant against the side of the vehicle. Hannah Billington emerged from her office and marched across to them.

‘What seems to be the trouble?’ she asked.

‘We don’t know, Mrs Billington,’ replied Vera.

Alice was more positive. ‘We’ll soon find out when the engine cools down,’ she said, turning to the newcomer. ‘It was starting to pull and making a funny noise.’

‘It was a bit scary.’

‘There was no danger, Vera.’

‘You never know. It might have been sabotage.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Hannah. ‘Who would sabotage our lorry?’

‘I was only thinking of what my friend told me about the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps.’

Hannah was reproachful. ‘Oh, come on, please. You should have mastered the initials by now. And what did this friend from the WAAC tell you?’

‘Well,’ said Vera, discomfited by the rebuke, ‘when she first started driving a thirty-hundredweight van, the men were very jealous.’

‘Why aren’t we surprised?’ asked Alice, jocularly.

‘They did all sorts of things to slow her down. They cut her petrol pipe halfway through, they unscrewed valves, they even changed over the leads on the sparking plugs. What upset her most, however,’ she went on, ‘was that they emptied the paraffin out of her lamps. When it got dark and she tried to light them, nothing happened. That was a cruel trick.’

‘Nobody would dare to do that to my drivers,’ said Hannah. ‘Any vehicles parked here are watched carefully day and night. Luckily, we’ve got enterprising young women like Alice who can turn their hand to vehicle maintenance as well as to driving. You should follow in her footsteps, Vera.’

‘Not me — I’m all fingers and thumbs.’

‘Learn from Alice. It’s only a question of application.’

‘I’ve tried, Mrs Billington, I really have.’

‘You must make more effort, woman,’ said Hannah, curtly. She summoned up a smile. ‘Anyway, what have the pair of you been up to this morning?’

Alice delivered her report and earned a nod of approval. Vera was too nervous to venture anything more than the occasional word. Hannah looked from one to the other as if weighing something up.

‘You’ve done well,’ she said. ‘You’ve done very well, in fact. I trust that the lorry will be ready for action again this afternoon.’

‘Yes,’ said Alice, confidently. ‘I’ll have that engine singing like a bird.’

‘That’s the attitude — every problem can be solved.’

‘It certainly can — even if it means oily fingers and a lot of tinkering.’

The older woman gave her braying laugh then promptly changed the subject.

‘What do you think of the food here?’

‘It’s all right, Hannah.’

‘Do you agree, Vera?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said the other. ‘It’s better than I expected.’

‘But it’s rather bland and repetitive,’ said Hannah. ‘We can’t blame them for that. We’re subject to rationing like everyone else. I just wondered if you’d like a chance to eat something more appetising for once.’

‘We’d all like that,’ said Alice.

‘Then you and Vera must come to tea sometime. Cook makes the most wonderful scones and her chocolate cake is almost sinful.’

‘Thank you, Hannah. We’d love to come.’

Vera was less certain. ‘Yes … thank you for asking us.’

‘I’ll find a time when we’re not so busy and let you know.’

After flashing a smile at them, she turned on her heel and marched off. Vera waited until she was well out of earshot. She could be honest with a friend.

‘I don’t want to go, Alice.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable,’ said Vera. ‘I’ve never been to a house with a cook before. Mummy and I make the meals at home. I’d be on tenterhooks. I’ll find an excuse not to go. I hope that won’t stop you.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Alice. ‘I’d love to go. I’m much nosier than you.’

They met in Marmion’s office at Scotland Yard and were able to review what they’d learnt that morning. Marmion talked about his visit to the library and his conviction that Eric Fussell had enough hatred inside him to drive him to murder. Keedy told him about the second encounter with Stan Crowther and how the landlord had confirmed the alibi given by Robbie Gill. Marmion was more interested in the information that Crowther’s mother had been there and that she’d hotly denied that Waldron had arrived for a tryst with his spade.

‘So where did he leave it?’ wondered Marmion.

‘Maybe he took it back to his digs before he went to Maud.’

‘Why bring it home in the first place? Surely he keeps it at the cemetery. It would have been a bit late to do some gardening.’

‘P’raps he used it to bash Ablatt’s head in.’

‘You’ve met Waldron. Can you imagine him doing that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Keedy. ‘He’s mean and dangerous. When he’d had enough beer inside him, I can well imagine him killing someone. What I can’t believe is that he’d do that and then go off for a rendezvous with a lady.’

‘He could have done it after he’d seen Maud Crowther.’

‘Her son told me he looked unusually clean when he got back to the Weavers Arms. That doesn’t sound like a man involved in a brutal murder. There’d have been specks of blood over his clothing.’

‘That’s speculation, not evidence.’

‘It’s all we’ve got.’

‘So where does that leave us, Joe?’

‘We’re still very much in the dark.’

‘There are only two possible suspects so far and, although they were known to each other, they’re the most unlikely accomplices. Waldron may have been in the right place at the right time but all he was thinking about, I fancy, was knocking on Mrs Crowther’s door.’

‘What about the newspapers? Did they bring in any witnesses?’

‘They brought in much more than that,’ said Marmion. ‘I was wading through the messages when you go back here. There were two cranks who claimed that they’d actually done the murder, but then we always get bogus confessions at a time like this. One woman reckons that her husband was the killer because he came home with blood on his face and there was a man who insisted that he witnessed the murder even though he was in Stepney at the time. He must have the most amazing eyesight.’

‘We ought to arrest them for wasting police time, Harv.’

‘Leave them to their weird fantasies.’ He noticed the signs of weariness in his colleague. ‘You look as if you’re ready to fall asleep, Joe. Take the afternoon off. Get some sleep and start fresh again tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to miss any of the fun.’

‘What fun?’ Marmion’s laugh was mirthless. ‘If you think it’s fun to go to another press conference this evening, you can take over from me and have the superintendent breathing down your neck.’

‘No, thanks — keep Chat well away from me.’

‘We’re going to release a few details about the post-mortem.’

‘Not too many of them, I hope. I saw the corpse, remember. We both know the effect it had on Mr Ablatt. When’s the inquest, by the way?’

‘No date has been set for it yet.’

‘The family will want the body as soon as possible.’

‘That’s always the case,’ said Marmion, ‘but we have to follow protocol. The inquest must come first.’ He picked up the newspaper beside him. ‘Have you had the chance to see this?’

‘Is that the Evening News?’

‘They sent over a copy of the early edition.’ He handed it to Keedy. ‘Just read the first paragraph. The tone has changed completely since yesterday.’

Keedy looked at the front-page feature. ‘I see what you mean, Harv.’

‘Yesterday, he was a murder victim deserving of sympathy. Then we told them about Cyril Ablatt’s background and they latched onto the fact that he was a conscientious objector. Today, he’s a different person altogether.’

‘The sympathy has dried up almost completely.’

‘That’s why we have to redouble our efforts. There are far too many people who think that conchies ought to be hanged, drawn and quartered. They’d be quite happy if the killer got away with it. We’re going to disappoint them.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘Something will turn up.’

‘I’ve heard that phrase before.’

‘It comes from Mr Micawber in David Copperfield.’

‘But he wasn’t a detective, was he?’

‘Oddly enough, he was. It was Micawber who exposed Uriah Heap’s villainy and saved the day. He turned out to be a hero in the end.’

‘Things don’t happen like that in real life.’

‘We’ve had to rely on luck before,’ said Marmion. ‘Solving a murder is not entirely a matter of logical deduction. Take that anonymous letter I had this very morning. It came out of nowhere.’

‘But did it get us any closer to the killer?’

‘It might have done, Joe.’

Keedy put the newspaper aside. ‘All we’ve managed to do so far,’ he said, disconsolately, ‘is to arrest a useless plumber.’

‘You did more than that. You stopped him venting his spleen on the wall of the house. Mr Ablatt will be grateful and so will a lot of people in Shoreditch. Most of them are decent folk who’d think what Robbie Gill was going to do was in bad taste.’

As they were speaking, a young woman knocked on the open door and came into the office. She spoke with deference.

‘This came for you, Inspector,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ said the other, taking a piece of paper from her.

The woman walked away. Reading the message, Marmion grinned broadly.

Keedy was curious. ‘Well?’

‘I told you that something might turn up,’ said Marmion. ‘This could be it.’

Caroline Skene had never been inside a police station before and she didn’t relish the experience. It was so bare and comfortless. When she showed the business card to the duty sergeant, he rang Scotland Yard and asked for Inspector Marmion. He was told to wait while the inspector was found. Caroline, meanwhile, was kept sitting on a high-backed wooden bench. The fact that desperate criminals must have sat on it over the years only deepened her sense of guilt. She had the urge to leave but, since the phone call had been made, she had to stay there. It seemed an age before someone came on at the end of the line. The sergeant spoke to him then offered the receiver to Caroline. She crossed to the desk on unsteady legs and looked at the instrument warily. Unfamiliar with a telephone, she took it gingerly from him.

‘Hello,’ she said, meekly.

‘Is that you, Mrs Skene?’ asked Marmion.

She was reassured. ‘Yes, Inspector — you told me to contact you.’

‘Do you have some information for me?’

‘Yes, I do, but I don’t want to talk on the telephone.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ he said. ‘I was told that you’re ringing from Shoreditch police station. Is that correct?’

‘It is.’

‘Then I’ll meet you there. You stay put.’

She looked around. ‘I’d rather not talk here, Inspector.’

‘I understand. A place like that can be rather intimidating for someone as law-abiding as you. Not to worry,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ll come as soon as I can. Then we’ll find somewhere else to have a chat. Is that all right?’

‘Yes, Inspector — thank you.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Skene.’

Before she could bid him farewell, the line went dead. Handing the receiver to the sergeant, she went back to the bench and perched on the edge of it. She was not at all sure that she was doing the right thing but the decision had been made now. Still stunned by the death of her young friend, Caroline’s grief would only be softened by the arrest of the killer. It was time to be more honest with Marmion.

After finishing work, Mansel Price left the hullabaloo of the railway station and made his way to Fred Hambridge’s workshop. The carpenter was stacking a door against a wall when the Welshman arrived. Price was glad to see that his friend was alone.

‘Where’s the boss?’ he asked.

‘Charlie went off to price a job,’ said Hambridge. ‘He won’t be back for ages.’

‘Good — it means we can talk. I’ve got news for you, Fred.’ ‘What’s happened?’

‘I almost caught the man who painted things on Cyril’s wall.’

He described the incident during the night and was enraged that he’d been robbed of the chance to overpower the man. Having lurked in the dark for so long, Price felt that he deserved the kudos of catching him.

‘I blame Sergeant Keedy,’ he said.

‘What was he doing there?’

‘The same as me — only he had the sense to stay indoors. He was in the front room of a house nearby. He had a feeling that the man might come back again with his paintbrush. I was mad at him for interfering but the truth is that it was probably just as well. If he hadn’t come along, I’d have torn that man to pieces.’

‘Then you’d have been in trouble with the police as well.’

‘The sergeant said that they’d soon find him at daybreak. He left his ladder and his paint. Both could be traced back to him.’

‘You did well, Mansel.’

‘I got in a couple of good punches, I know that.’

‘You should have let me know you were going to stay up all night. I could have waited with you. The two of us could have nabbed him. Anyway,’ said Hambridge, crossing to the wall where his coat was hanging, ‘I’m glad you called in. I’ve got something to show you.’

Price grinned wickedly. ‘It’s not a dirty postcard, is it?’

‘No — it’s something a bit more serious than that.’

He handed the Welshman the letter. Price took it out of the envelope and read it through, his anger slowly mounting.

‘Don’t go, Fred,’ he urged.

‘I have to go. I’d be breaking the law.’

‘Burn the letter. Tell them it never arrived.’

‘They’d only send another one. You’ll be getting one yourself.’

Price was aggressive. ‘I don’t take orders from on high. If they want me to go before a tribunal, they’ll bloody well have to come and fetch me.’

‘There’s no point in upsetting them, Mansel. It could work against you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I’ll be seeking exemption on the grounds that I’m a Quaker,’ said Hambridge. ‘My parents will come to the tribunal and so will Charlie. Having people speak up for you is bound to help. You must have someone on your side.’

‘My parents are back home in the Rhondda. They’d never come here.’

‘What about your boss?’

‘I think he’d be glad to see the back of me. I’ll get no help there. Besides,’ he went on, grandiloquently, ‘I’m ready for a tussle with the tribunal. It’ll be a case of no holds barred. I’ll tell them just what I think about this stupid idea of enforced military service. It’s a form of bloody slavery.’

Hambridge was worried about him. Because of his religion, the carpenter felt that he had a chance of exemption, even though two Quaker friends of his had been conscripted after their appearance before a tribunal. If Price went there with the express purpose of provoking those who sat in judgement on him, he’d be more or less inviting them to deal harshly with him.

‘There’s no point in deliberately upsetting them,’ he argued. ‘That’s what Cyril taught us. We have to present a reasoned argument.’

‘I’ll do it my way, Fred — you do it yours.’

Hambridge took the letter back from him and stowed it away in his coat.

‘What about Gordon?’ he asked.

‘He’s my big worry,’ said Price, bitterly. ‘If he gets married in order to dodge conscription, I’ll never speak to the bastard again.’

‘I think we talked him out of it, Mansel.’

‘I hope so. When I think of all those meetings the three of us had with Cyril, I just can’t believe that Gordon would desert us. He was always boasting about the way he’d defy the tribunal. He said he didn’t care what they did to him. Then,’ he added with utter contempt, ‘he tried using Ruby Cosgrove to save him from the army. Thank goodness we changed his mind for him.’

Since he’d last seen his fiancee, Leach had done a lot of thinking. He regretted his suggestion of an early marriage and was still smarting from the comments made by Price and Hambridge. The Welshman, in particular, had been quite vicious with him. They were good friends and he didn’t want to lose their respect. Under the guidance of Ablatt, they’d bonded together. If anything, the murder should have tightened that bond and helped them to present a united front against the possibility of conscription. Yet he had threatened to break it apart and couldn’t quite understand what had impelled him to do so. Leach was not afraid to go to prison, if necessary. In that eventuality, Ruby had promised to stand by him. Sharing his pacifism, she’d always supported him in his determination to resist fighting.

What did she think of him now? Did she feel the same unquestioning love for him? Leach doubted it. When they’d parted, Ruby had looked at him in an odd and rather unsettling way. It was as if she was discovering an aspect of his character for the first time and was not sure if she liked it. The prospect of an early marriage would have been discussed with her parents. Leach was certain they’d have found the idea unappealing. His own parents had been more amenable. His father was keen to retain his help in the bakery and his mother wanted him saved from the unspeakable horrors at the front. Wounded soldiers were a common sight in the streets, a stark warning to what lay in wait for those sent to the trenches.

Leach loitered outside the factory until the hooter sounded. It was not long before the mass exodus took place, hundreds of bodies streaming out of the building in a rush to get home. Ruby Cosgrove was walking arm in arm with two friends. When she saw Leach, she broke away and trotted across to him.

‘I’ve been dying to see you, Gordon,’ she said, accepting a kiss.

‘That’s good to hear. I thought you were angry with me.’

‘Why should I be angry?’

‘You didn’t like the idea I put to you.’

‘That was because I didn’t really take it in,’ she explained.

It was impossible to have a private conversation in the middle of a crowd so they walked down the road and turned into a quiet side street. Ruby’s face was glowing with expectation. He was relieved to see that she’d recovered all of her buoyancy and good humour.

‘Mummy and Daddy hated it at first,’ she told him, ‘but they slowly came to see that there were advantages. In the end, they were in favour of us getting this three-day licence to marry. Daddy said it would save him a lot of money if we didn’t have the reception we’d planned. He liked that.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’ve had a change of heart.’

Her face clouded. ‘You mean that you don’t love me any more?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then what are you talking about?’

‘It’s this three-day licence, Ruby.’

‘All the girls at work thought it was so romantic,’ she said, dreamily. ‘They were very jealous. They all want to be swept off their feet and carried to the altar as quickly as that.’

‘But your aunt is making the wedding dress. That will take time.’

‘No, it wouldn’t, Gordon. I went round to see her last night. Auntie Gwen said she’d only need ten days or so to finish it. She works very fast.’

‘What about the church? It’s already booked.’

‘We simply tell the vicar that we’ve changed our minds.’

‘But that’s the thing, Ruby,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘I haven’t.’

She stared at him with surprise tinged with a sense of betrayal. When she left home that morning, it was with the certainty that she could marry him far sooner than planned, with the added bonus of taking him out of reach of conscription. Once they’d thought about it, her parents and her aunt had given their approval and her friends at the factory had all been enthusiastic about the notion. Suddenly, there was a problem. Having made her elated, Leach had just dampened her spirits. Ruby couldn’t believe that he would let her down like that.

‘I thought it was what you wanted,’ she said, lower lip quivering.

‘It was, Ruby, but things have changed.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘I talked it over with Fred and Mansel.’

‘I’m marrying you, Gordon Leach, and not them.’

‘But we came to this agreement, you see,’ he said. ‘All four of us — Cyril included — vowed that we’d take a stand against conscription together.’

‘That was then — this is now.’

‘They made me look at it in a different light.’

She flew into a rage. ‘In other words, you don’t want to marry me.’

‘There’s nothing I want more, Ruby.’

‘I hate you for this,’ she cried. ‘You get my hopes up, then you dash them. Wait till the girls hear about this — they’ll have a good laugh at me. You’re cruel, Gordon, you really are. What’s so special about Fred and Mansel? You always said you put me first. Why let them tell you what to do?’

‘Calm down,’ he said, trying to put an arm around her.

She pushed him away. ‘Leave go of me!’

‘There’s no need to fly off the handle, Ruby.’

‘Is this how it’s going to be? Every time we need to make a big decision, will you have to go and take the advice of your friends first?’

‘It’s not like that at all.’

‘Well, that’s how it seems, Gordon.’

‘I’ve got … obligations.’

‘I used to think you had obligations to me.’

‘I do,’ he said, getting flustered. ‘Listen, I can’t explain when you’re in this sort of state. Why don’t we wait until we can talk this over quietly? There’s no need for an argument. I love you, Ruby. We’re on the same side. Don’t you see that?’

‘All I see is that you’ve made me look a fool.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I’ve got to go back home to my parents and tell them that it was a joke. You never really wanted to get married to me at short notice, did you?’

‘I did!’ he protested. ‘Part of me still does.’

‘Well, I don’t want part of you, Gordon Leach. I want all of you. If I can’t have that, I’ll have nothing at all.’

Pulling out a handkerchief, she turned round and scurried off down the street. He ran after her and grabbed her by the shoulders to bring her to a halt. Ruby was trembling all over.

‘Why don’t we discuss this another time?’ he said, desperately. ‘We’ve obviously got off on the wrong foot.’

‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ she said, laying down her ultimatum. ‘It’s time you made your choice. Who is more important to you — me or your friends? I’m not prepared to share you with them, Gordon. I really mean that.’

Brushing away his hands, she walked off again and he was too dazed to follow. Leach was mortified. Because of his folly, he was in danger of losing her altogether.

Caroline Skene could not be rushed. Marmion could see that. When he got to the police station, she was brooding on the bench. Glad to be rescued from the place, she said nothing as they got into the car. Marmion wondered what she was doing in Shoreditch but did not press her on the subject. When he suggested that they should drive back to Lambeth, she shook her head vigorously. He used his own initiative. Ten minutes after picking her up, they were sitting side by side on a park bench. There was no danger of anyone overhearing them there. Sensing that she wouldn’t have got in touch with him unless she had something important to divulge, he was patient and considerate.

‘There’s no hurry,’ he said. ‘Take all the time you need, Mrs Skene.’

It was almost over a minute before she finally spoke.

‘I owe you an apology, Inspector,’ she began.

‘Why is that?’

‘There’s something I should have told you when we first met,’ she said, ‘but I was too confused by what had happened. The news of Cyril’s death shook me to the core. I still haven’t got used to it.’

‘Tell me about this apology.’

‘I’m related to the Ablatt family. Gerald is my cousin.’

‘That explains how you met his son.’

‘We’ve known each other for years. It was a very long time before we … got closer to each other.’ She looked up at him. ‘Don’t be too critical of us.’

‘Is that why you were in Shoreditch?’

‘Yes, Inspector — I went to offer comfort. If I’m honest, however, I was there for another reason altogether.’

Marmion was ahead of her. ‘Did you want to retrieve something, perhaps?’

‘Yes, I did,’ she admitted. ‘I’d sent him letters and given him keepsakes. I didn’t want his father finding them. It would have hurt him beyond bearing.’

‘And did you find what you were after?’

‘I was lucky. The vicar called at the house and that gave me the chance to go upstairs. I searched every nook and cranny. There’s nothing left to incriminate us.’

‘Falling in love with someone is not a crime, Mrs Skene.’

‘It is in this case. It was forbidden love, Inspector. I was married and Cyril was much younger than me. It felt wrong from the start but we couldn’t help it.’

‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think you’d have got in touch with me unless you had important information to give.’

She lowered her head. ‘You’ll think ill of me when I tell you.’

‘I’ve no reason to do that, Mrs Skene.’

‘In a way, it’s hampered your investigation. I should have been honest.’

‘You were trying to absorb some frightful news,’ he said. ‘You’d suffered a terrible blow. Anyone would be bewildered in those circumstances.’

‘I wasn’t that bewildered, Inspector,’ she said. ‘I knew that I should have spoken up. But it was something that I wanted to keep to myself, a memory that I’ll always treasure. It was the newspaper that made me see sense.’

‘How did the newspaper do that?’

‘It gave details of the murder and showed a diagram of the route that Cyril would have taken on his way home that evening. But that wasn’t the way he went at all,’ she said, raising her head. ‘He didn’t go from Bishopsgate to Shoreditch. He came to see me first. Cyril was so excited about what had happened at the meeting that he simply had to tell me about it. I’ve never seen him so happy.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘Can you see what I’m trying to tell you?’

‘I’m afraid that I can,’ said Marmion, letting his annoyance show. ‘The murder took place somewhere between Lambeth and Shoreditch. We’ve been looking in the wrong place.’