A Bespoke Murder

‘Oh, yes,’ said Miriam. ‘I promised Ruth that there’d be no publicity. She’d die if that happened. You know the sort of lurid headlines that they use.’

‘There’ll have to be a mention when the case comes to court,’ said Marmion, apologetically, ‘but the interest should have died down by then and your daughter, hopefully, will feel strong enough to identify the two men.’ He looked at his notes. ‘She gave only the sketchiest descriptions. Did she say anything else about them? Their height, weight, skin complexion, for instance? What were they wearing at the time?’

‘Ruth didn’t notice that. They were just … drunken young men.’

‘People with beer inside them tend to talk a lot. What sort of accents did they have? Were they from London or another part of the country?’

‘She didn’t say, Inspector.’

‘They must have called each other something.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Miriam, ‘they did. Ruth remembered that. One was called Ol — short for Oliver, I presume. And he referred to the other as Gatty.’

Marmion put his pad away. ‘That’s enough to go on.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if it is to me,’ argued Stone.

‘I can soon find out which regiments were shipped to France today, sir. Oliver is not that common a name. I’ll use a process of elimination. As for his accomplice, Gatty must be a diminutive of some sort. A thorough search will uncover his real name.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you, Mrs Stein. I’ll intrude no longer. What you’ve told me has been extremely useful. We’ll have to see if it’s related in any way to the other crimes that took place or if it was a separate incident.’

‘What can we tell Ruth?’ asked Miriam.

‘Tell her that her attackers made a fatal mistake in mentioning that they’re in the army. I know where to look for them now. Being a member of the British Expeditionary Force doesn’t make them immune from arrest — as they’ll find out in due course. Goodbye to both of you.’

‘Goodbye, Inspector,’ said Miriam.

‘I’ll show you out,’ said Stone, getting up and opening the door. ‘And I want to thank you,’ he added when they were alone in the passageway. ‘Miriam’s emotions are very fragile at the moment, as you can well understand. You handled that interview with sensitivity.’

It was unexpected praise from an unlikely source. Marmion had the feeling that he might win over Herbert Stone after all. But he knew that there was a long way to go before he did that.

Dorothy Holdstock was peeling potatoes in the kitchen when she heard a knock at her front door. After running her hands under the tap for a moment, she dried them on her pinafore and went out. When she opened the door, she was taken completely by surprise. Standing in the porch with a suitcase in her hand was her sister.

‘Irene!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re still alive!’

Throwing their arms around each other, they cried with joy.

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.’