A Bespoke Murder

Keedy, meanwhile, was involved in a frenzied contest with Oliver Cochran. Waist-deep in the water, they traded punches, then grappled. Cochran did everything he could to get free, struggling, spitting and even trying to bite his assailant. Keedy did not stand on ceremony. Pulling one hand away, he bunched his fist and pounded Cochran’s face until the man yelled in agony, ending with a vicious right hook that caught him on the ear and momentarily dazed him. Keedy was quick to overpower him, twisting one arm behind his back and forcing him to the bank. Marmion was waiting to snap handcuffs onto the escaped prisoner. Cochran was not finished yet. Even though both detectives had hold of him, he managed to swing a foot and kick Gatliffe who was still sprawled on the grass.

Keedy pulled the prisoner out of reach of his former friend.

‘It’s all over, Cochran,’ he said. ‘You’re going back to prison.’

Uniformed policemen were now hurrying along the bank. When they arrived, Keedy handed over Cochran. As they dragged him away, he was howling with rage. Marmion assisted Gatliffe to his feet.

‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.

‘He tried to kill me,’ said Gatliffe in horror. ‘Olly tried to drown me.’ He gave a shudder. ‘Thank God you came, Inspector!’

‘The person to thank is your mother, sir. When we called at your house, she told us you’d gone fishing and where we’d be likely to find you. We had a feeling that Cochran might have got here first.’

‘It’s where we always used to come. It was our special place. Me and Ol spent hours fishing here.’

‘Well, you won’t ever do it again,’ said Keedy. ‘Cochran’s fishing days are over.’ He glanced down at his sodden clothing. ‘Look at the state of me,’ he moaned. ‘I’m soaked to the skin.’

‘We all are, Joe,’ said Marmion, examining his own dripping trousers. ‘Let’s find somewhere to dry off — come on.’

The address she’d been given was in one of the less salubrious areas of the city. An air of unspecified danger hung in its grimy streets. Had she not been so determined, Irene would have turned back and sought the safety of her own home but she had not come this far to be thwarted. Ignoring the lustful stares and the coarse comments she attracted from ragged men loitering in doorways, she walked quickly on and averted her gaze from the scrawny women who looked at her smart clothing with an amalgam of envy and hatred. Disappointment awaited her. When she reached the house where Ernie Gill was lodging, she was told that he was not there. The most likely place to find him, she was informed, was in the pub two streets away.

It was bad news for Irene. If Gill had been drinking, he might become unpredictable but that could not be helped. She simply had to see him. Though it meant braving the denizens of the Three Tuns, she was not afraid. Irene pushed open the door of the lounge bar and stepped into the fug. Through the curling smoke from cigarettes and pipes, she tried to pick out Gill from the dozen or more people there, conscious that all eyes were on her. An old man spoke up.

‘Eh, ’ow much d’you charge, darlin’?’ he asked.

There was a roar of laughter at Irene’s expense. She rose above it and took a few steps forward so that she could peer around. Three men were sitting at a table in a corner. One of them leapt to his feet and came scurrying across to her.

‘Is that you, Irene?’ asked Gill in amazement. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I need to speak to you, Ernie.’

‘That’s wonderful. Let me buy you a drink.’

‘No, no,’ she said, touching his arm as he turned towards the bar counter. ‘I only came for a talk.’ She looked around. ‘Is there somewhere more private than this?’

‘Let’s go into the snug.’

As he took her through a swing door into a tiny room, there were jeers from the other patrons and a barrage of crude remarks. They sat down either side of a small, round, beer-stained table. Gill grinned expectantly.

‘This is a lovely surprise, Irene,’ he said.

‘It’s not a social call.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘A lady at your house suggested I might try here.’

‘That would be Maggie — Maggie Thompson. She’s Brad’s wife. He’s the friend who took me in.’

‘She told me that you spent a lot of time here,’ said Irene with disapproval. ‘Whereas you reckoned you were looking for a job.’

‘I found one,’ he said, proudly. ‘I start tomorrow at a barber’s not far from here. It’s not the same as working on a liner but it’s a job. What about you? I thought you’d have started in that toy factory by now.’

‘Not until next Monday.’

He leered at her. ‘So what did you want to speak to me about?’

‘I want to ask you about this, Ernie.’

She opened her bag and fished out the article from the Liverpool Echo. She slapped it on the table in front of him and watched his reaction. He was nonplussed at first. Puzzlement gave way to wariness then turned into positive alarm. He read the article twice.

‘Well?’ she pressed. ‘What have you got to say?’

‘I’m … very sorry that it happened.’

‘You were involved, weren’t you?’

‘No!’ he cried.

‘You were part of the gang that smashed up that house.’

‘Of course I wasn’t, Irene.’

‘Look at the date. It was the day we landed back in Liverpool.’

‘So?’

‘You told me that you went out drinking then decided to go in search of a German family you knew about. It was them, wasn’t it?’ she challenged, pointing at the press cutting.

‘I never went anywhere near this place.’

‘The wife managed to escape but the man was beaten to a pulp. He hung on in hospital for days but eventually died. That means the people who attacked him committed murder.’ She grasped his wrist. ‘Were you one of them, Ernie? Are you a killer?’

‘No — I swear it on my mother’s grave!’

‘But you boasted about killing Germans.’

‘That was just talk.’

‘It didn’t sound like it to me.’

‘Irene,’ he said, putting a hand to her cheek, ‘you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve got faults and lots of them but you surely can’t think me guilty of this. What sort of a man do you think I am?’

‘That’s what I started to wonder.’

‘Listen, I did go out boozing that night, I admit it. And I did go off with a few others to a house where a German family used to live. But they weren’t there any longer. They’d moved away.’

‘So why did you say you taught them a lesson?’

‘I was just showing off.’

‘“We did what needed to be done,” you said.’

‘I wanted to impress you.’

‘Impress me!’ she repeated, indignantly. ‘Do you think I’d be impressed to hear about an innocent family being assaulted?’

‘It never happened, Irene.’

‘Yes, it did, and this article gives all the details. The police are still looking for the men involved. Is that why you came to London all of a sudden, Ernie? Are you on the run?’

‘Don’t be stupid!’ he said, angrily.

‘There’s no need to shout at me.’

His tone softened immediately. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that I hate being accused of something I didn’t do. Since we’re old friends, you deserve to know the truth.’ As he chose his words with care, he chewed his lip. ‘I did go out looking for trouble that night. I admit it. But we never found