Instrument of Slaughter

Thousands from the GWR joined up when they had that first recruitment drive.’

‘The ones who are left do a vital job,’ said Keedy. ‘There’s no better way to move men and equipment around in large numbers. But let’s come back to Cyril Ablatt. Tell me about him.’

Price was hesitant, offering snippets of information between pauses. The longer he went on, however, the more relaxed he became. While he didn’t share Hambridge’s hero worship of their dead friend, he spoke warmly about Ablatt and added details that Keedy hadn’t heard before. The sergeant jotted them down in his notebook. When asked if he could suggest the name of anyone who should be considered a suspect, Price shook his head.

‘What about Horrie Waldron?’ asked Keedy.

‘I don’t know him.’

‘His name was given to us by Gordon Leach.’

‘Gordon may know him but I don’t. Who is he?’

‘Waldron is a man who crossed swords with your friend, Cyril. Not that that’s enough in itself to arouse suspicion. In any case, Waldron seems to have an alibi for the time when Cyril was murdered.’

‘Do you have any other suspects?’ asked Price.

‘We’re … considering a number of possibilities,’ said Keedy, evasively.

‘Well, I hope that one of them turns out to be the killer. He needs to be caught and caught soon. You must comb the whole of Shoreditch until you find him.’

‘Don’t try to tell us how to do our job, Mr Price.’

‘I want to make sure that you do it properly.’

‘We have procedures, based on long experience.’

‘Yes,’ said Price with asperity, ‘but that’s for ordinary victims, isn’t it? Cyril was a conchie. You won’t make the same effort for him. I saw the police outside that meeting last night. Some of them looked as if they’d like to tear us to pieces. I thought they were there to keep the crowd back but one big bugger gave me a real shove.’

‘I’m sure that it was accidental.’

‘Conchies are scum to you.’

‘You deserve the full protection of the law in the same way that everyone else does. We make no distinctions based on class, colour, creed or anything else.’

Price was blunt. ‘I don’t believe you, Sergeant.’

‘Then we’ll have to make you believe us, won’t we? Scotland Yard has given this case priority. That’s why they put Inspector Marmion in charge. His name is well known in the criminal underworld of London. He’s had a long string of successes and they were achieved by a combination of instinct and unremitting hard work. So don’t you dare to suggest we’re not fully committed to this investigation,’ said Keedy with controlled anger. ‘We’ll do all we can to hunt down the killer and we won’t rest until he’s hauled up before a judge and jury.’

‘Can I go now?’ asked Price, cheekily.

‘You’ll go when I tell you.’

‘What did I say? Policemen always have to order you about.’

‘Don’t you like orders?’

‘No, Sergeant, I don’t — unless I’m getting paid to obey them, of course.’

‘I have to say that Mr Hambridge was much more pleasant to interview.’

‘Ah, well,’ said Price, smirking, ‘Fred is Fred. He’s nice to everyone whereas I speak as I find. And I told you at the start — I don’t like police stations.’

‘That means you’ve been inside a few,’ guessed Keedy. ‘I wonder why. Have you been a naughty boy at work — putting poison in the soup or serving ground glass in the omelettes? Do you know what I’m beginning to wonder?’ he continued, leaning across the table. ‘I’m getting a very strong feeling that you might have a criminal record. Am I right, sir?’

The smirk disappeared from Mansel Price’s face. All of a sudden, he looked profoundly uncomfortable.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Having spent so much time behind the driving wheel throughout the day, Alice Marmion was glad to return to the depot and park the lorry beside the others. As she and Vera Dowling got out and stretched their legs, they were spotted by their supervisor. Shoes clacking on the tarmac, Hannah Billington strode across to them. She was a striking woman of middle height and indeterminate age, shifting between her mid thirties and late forties, depending on how closely she was scrutinised and in what light. Her husband was a brigadier general, in France with his regiment, and there was a distinctly military air about Hannah as well. Her back was straight, her head erect, her voice crisp and peremptory. But it was the fierce beauty of her face that caught the attention, the high cheekbones thrown into prominence by the way that her hair was severely brushed back. While the other women looked incongruous in their baggy uniforms, Hannah seemed always to have worn a tailored version and it enhanced her sense of authority.

‘Did everything go well?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ replied Alice. ‘Apart from one or two problems, that is.’

‘Oh — what sort of problems?’

‘They were mostly to do with language. Four of the refugees were Walloons who couldn’t make head or tail of my French and there was a group of Russian Jews from Antwerp in the group as well. But I think we got through to them in the end, didn’t we, Vera?’

‘Yes,’ said Vera, nervous in the presence of their superior.

‘Life would certainly be easier if we all spoke the same language,’ said the older woman, briskly. ‘It would have to be English, of course. Some of the regional dialects we get from Belgium are real tongue-twisters.’

‘How many more will there be?’ wondered Alice.

‘Oh, they’ll continue to dribble out, I suspect. It was far worse when the war first started. We had a quarter of a million Belgian refugees then. It was like an invasion. There was even talk of founding a New Flanders in Britain. Heaven forbid!’

‘I don’t know where we managed to put them all.’

‘Neither do I, Alice, but we did it somehow and we’ll have to go on doing it. All the hotels and boarding houses are full up and so are lots of barns, warehouses, pavilions, racecourses, exhibition halls and skating rinks. My husband’s golf club has just been commandeered for accommodation.’ She brayed happily. ‘Not entirely sure that he’d approve of that.’

‘The War Refugees Committee is doing a wonderful job,’ said Alice.

‘And so is the WEC. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘What about you, Vera?’

‘Yes, Mrs Billington,’ said Vera, meekly.

‘Can’t you sound a bit more positive?’

‘What we do is … very important.’

‘It’s absolutely vital and shows just what women can achieve when we all pull together. Unlike other wars, this one isn’t something that’s happening in a distant country. It’s just across the English Channel and we have to cope with the after-effects. As the refugees flood in, we have to absorb them somehow.’

‘I’ll have to start learning more languages,’ said Alice.

‘Your French is really good,’ said Vera, ‘and far better than mine. When the war is over, you’ll be able to teach it.’

‘I may not go back to teaching.’

Vera was surprised. ‘What else will you do?’

‘Wait and see.’

‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘It’s far too early to make plans for what we’ll all do when the war finally comes to an end. Our task is clear. We must concentrate on day-to-day priorities. And while we’re on the subject, Vera, I’ve got