A Bespoke Murder

‘Does the threat work?’

‘Every time — the children all stare at the culprit.’

‘Unfortunately, that option is not open to Joe and me.’

Ellen swallowed some bacon. ‘How is Joe Keedy?’

‘He’s in fine form.’

‘We haven’t seen him for ages. You should ask him round.’

‘Yes,’ said Alice, fondly. ‘That would be nice. Invite him to tea.’

‘There won’t be time for luxuries like tea for quite a while,’ said Marmion. ‘Joe and I are going to be working at full stretch.’

‘He can always drop in for a drink one evening,’ suggested Ellen. ‘I like him. Joe Keedy is good company. He’s got a sensible head on his shoulders.’ She shot a glance at Alice. ‘He might even be able to persuade a certain someone to abandon this urge to join the WEC.’

‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,’ protested Alice. ‘Besides, Joe might be on my side. The last time he was here, he told me I should think about joining the Women’s Police Service.’

Marmion pulled a face. ‘Oh no you don’t.’

‘One police officer is enough in any family,’ said Ellen, stoutly.

‘In any case,’ said her husband, ‘it was only formed last year. It still hasn’t sorted out exactly what it’s supposed to do. In essence, I think it’s a good idea but that’s not a view shared by some of my older colleagues. They feel that policing is a man’s job.’

‘Everything was a man’s job until the war broke out,’ noted Alice. ‘Then women proved that they could mend cars and drive ambulances and make shells in munitions factories and do just about anything else that a man can do. It may be one of the best things to come out of the war.’

‘I’m not convinced of that,’ said Ellen.

‘Good things do come out of bad ones, Mummy.’

‘How can you call having women car mechanics a good thing?’

‘Alice makes a fair point, love,’ said Marmion, chewing some toast. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining. Look at this business with the Lusitania, for instance. I bet the captain of that submarine thought he’d struck a blow for Germany when he ordered that torpedo to be fired. It’s led to some bad results, of course — I was dealing with one last night — but there was also a gain. Enlistment has picked up amazingly. When I went past the recruiting centre yesterday, there was a queue halfway down Whitehall. So the loss of the Lusitania was not a total disaster.’

Irene Bayard was one of the first of the survivors to return to England. Rescued by a fishing boat, she’d been taken to Queenstown where she was given food, shelter and limitless sympathy. As soon as a ship departed for Liverpool, however, she was on it with Ernie Gill and a number of other survivors. She was keenly aware of how fortunate she’d been and was upset to learn that almost all the passengers she’d looked after on the Lusitania had perished. Irene had no desire ever to go to sea again but there was no other way to reach Liverpool, so she steeled herself for the short voyage. Though irritating at times, Gill helped her to keep up her spirits.

Neither of them was prepared for the welcome they received in Liverpool docks. It was overwhelming. The pier was thronged with relatives and friends of those who’d survived the sinking, their numbers swelled by well- wishers. But it was the number of newspaper reporters that surprised Irene. There were dozens of them. She was ambushed the moment she stepped off the ship. Irene tried to pretend that she had nothing to do with the Lusitania but her uniform gave her away. She was still wearing the distinctive garb of a stewardess that she’d had on when she jumped into the sea. The seemingly endless questions were both painful and intrusive. Irene wanted to forget the tragedy, not be forced to reconstruct it for the benefit of an article in a newspaper. She was glad to escape from the harassment.

Ernie Gill, by contrast, had enjoyed all the attention.

‘They even took my photograph,’ he boasted. ‘Well, I’ll see you around, Irene. Will you be staying here for a while?’

‘I don’t know, Ernie.’

‘I will. The only trouble is that I’ve got here too late.’

She was puzzled. ‘Too late for what?’

‘Too late for the fun,’ he explained. ‘I wanted to help them chase every bleeding Hun out of Liverpool. There was a pork butcher from Lubeck at the end of our street. If I’d been here, I’d have sliced the ugly bugger up with his own meat cleaver.’

Irene let him give her a farewell kiss then she went off to catch her tram. Gill’s violent streak disturbed her. She was happy with the thought that she’d probably never see him again. She would certainly never be part of a crew with him. That phase of her life was decidedly over. When she reached the house where she rented a couple of upstairs rooms, the first thing she had to do was to calm her tearful landlady down and assure her that she felt no ill effects. Then she filled the boiler so that she could heat enough water to have a bath. Once that was done, she put on fresh clothes and threw her uniform into the bin. Her break with the past was complete.

Next morning, Irene caught the early train to London.

When the commissioner faced Herbert Stone across his desk in Scotland Yard, both of them were wearing Jacob Stein suits. It was the morning after the crimes in Jermyn Street and his visitor’s ire had increased rather than subsided. Sir Edward Henry kept a respectful silence while Stone ranted on about the shortcomings of the police and the fire brigade. It was only when he began to criticise Harvey Marmion that the commissioner interrupted him.

‘You’re being too censorious, Mr Stone,’ he said. ‘Inspector Marmion is one of my best detectives.’

‘That’s not the impression I got.’

‘Then you’ve been badly misled.’

‘The inspector doesn’t inspire me,’ complained Stone.

‘He’s not paid to give inspiration, sir. He’s there to catch criminals. I like to make a prompt start to the working day,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but when I got here first thing, Inspector Marmion was already in his office, preparing a report on last night’s tragic events. If you knew his background, you might have more faith in him.’

‘I have little enough at the moment, Sir Edward.’

‘Then let me tell you something about him. Harvey Marmion started his career in the civil service, which is exactly what I did, albeit in India. Marmion’s father was a policeman who was shot dead in the line of duty. I don’t need to tell you what it feels like to be closely related to a murder victim.’

‘No,’ said Stone, grimly, ‘you certainly don’t.’

‘The killer fled abroad to France and two detectives went after him. He kept eluding them. Marmion couldn’t bear the thought of the man getting away with it so he gave up his job, raised money from friends and family then used it to fund his own search.’

‘What happened?’

‘It took him less than a week to find the man and hand him over. In short, he showed far more skill and tenacity than the two detectives assigned to the case. The very fact that he went in pursuit of an armed villain says much about his character.’

‘What he did was admirable,’ conceded Stone.

‘There’s more to it than that, sir,’ said Sir Edward. ‘When he got back home, he sold his story to a newspaper and used his fee to reimburse every person who’d contributed to his fund. They all got their money back and had the deep satisfaction of seeing the killer convicted and hanged. Harvey Marmion is an exceptional man.’

‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’

Stone was impressed by what he’d heard about the inspector but could still not warm to him. His dislike of Marmion arose partly from the fact that — in Stone’s view — he showed insufficient deference. As a successful businessman, Stone employed a large number of people and was accustomed to having his orders instantly obeyed. Clearly, that would not happen with the inspector. He was his own man. No matter how much Stone railed against him, Marmion would not be taken off the investigation. He was in charge. Stone realised that he had to accept that.

As if on cue, there was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Harvey Marmion. The commissioner beckoned him in. Marmion exchanged a greeting with Stone then took a seat beside him.