A Bespoke Murder

They’ve always treated me fairly. No, Inspector, I’m not prejudiced in that way. When it comes to sodomites, however, then I’m very prejudiced, as every decent man should be. People like Howard Fine are a disgrace.’

‘I daresay you passed on your low opinion to him.’

‘He knew where I stood.’

‘And did Mr Cohen share your prejudice?’

‘Ask him. He does have a tongue in his head, you know. What I will say is that the manager were troubled when Fine were kicked out. I loathed Mr Stone, as you know, but I agreed with what he did. It’s the only time Herbert Stone and me were of one mind.’

Marmion glanced down at the birds now hopping around only feet away from them. Burridge tossed them some more bread. They pecked away, sometimes fighting over the same crumb. Marmion was amused by their antics.

‘I told you they’d soon come back,’ he commented.

Burridge sniffed. ‘I just wish you hadn’t done so as well.’

‘Do you find my questions so intrusive?’

‘I find them dishonest, Inspector,’ said the other. ‘You ask one thing but you’re thinking another. You’re trying to trick me into saying what you want to hear.’

‘And what’s that, sir?’

‘I haven’t a bloody clue!’

Burridge’s rebuff brought the conversation to an end. He began to wrap up the remaining sandwich before putting it into the box on his lap. When the Yorkshireman got up abruptly, the birds scattered. Marmion rose to his feet and fell in beside him. They walked towards the gate at the Piccadilly end.

‘I’ll come back to the shop with you,’ he said.

‘Well, it’s not by invitation.’

‘Really? I thought you were revelling in my company.’ His sarcasm produced a throaty laugh from Burridge. ‘Did you know that Mr Fine lives in Brighton?’

‘I didn’t know and I don’t care.’

‘What reason could Mr Cohen have for visiting him there?’

‘Ask him.’

‘They were hardly friends when Mr Fine worked in London.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’m going on evidence so far gathered.’

‘Then it’s obviously insufficient,’ said Burridge. ‘People in the same trade congregate together. I’m sure it’s the same with detectives. David Cohen were a tailor and so were Howard Fine. That’s reason enough for them to meet in Brighton or anywhere else. There’s another thing for you to ponder,’ he continued. ‘Mr Cohen holds a position in the Jewish Tailors’ Guild. He’s on the national committee. Even if he hated everything about Mr Fine, he’d do his damnedest to get him to join.’

Marmion kept pace with his companion’s purposeful stride.

‘Why did you become a tailor, Mr Burridge?’

‘I had no choice. It were in my blood. My father were a tailor and so were my granddad.’

‘And I believe your son is carrying on the tradition.’

‘Oh, you’ve found that out, have you? Yes, Arnold is in the trade and so is my son-in-law, as it happens. Why are you checking up on my family, Inspector?’ he said, resentfully. ‘Are you planning to write my biography?’

‘Every detail is useful, sir.’

Burridge was sardonic. ‘Happen I should tell you about my Uncle Reuben, then,’ he said. ‘He lives in Doncaster with Auntie Doris. They’ve got five children and a dog called Alfred. Then there’s my brother, Martin, up in Scarborough, of course. Would you like to hear about the time he broke his leg on the ice?’

‘All right, all right,’ said Marmion, holding up a hand, ‘that’s enough, thank you. I hear you loud and clear.’

‘Does that mean you’ll leave me alone at last?’

‘It means that I’ll let you walk back to the shop alone.’

‘Good.’

‘But I’m glad that we had this brief chat.’

Burridge smiled. ‘Did you get what you came for, Inspector?’

‘Oddly enough,’ said Marmion, ‘I believe that I did.’

It was not until evening that they could discuss the problem in depth. Until then Irene sat at home with her mind in turmoil. Had her old friend been party to a murder in Liverpool? The dates tallied. On the day he’d got back to the city, Gill boasted, he’d gone out to attack a German family so far unscathed by the backlash after the Lusitania sinking. He’d later retracted his claim, yet his name was now linked in a newspaper to the murder. Irene tried desperately to explain it away, to exonerate him somehow. The article only said that the police wished to speak to him. They didn’t describe him as a suspect, still less as a man on the run. And Gill hadn’t behaved like someone being hunted. He moved around as if he had no qualms whatsoever.

Anxious to believe him, she was bound to take her sister’s confession into account. Dorothy had told her about the encounter with Gill and about the way he’d sworn her to secrecy. Irene was shocked at her sister’s dishonesty and chastised her for being so gullible. Two things, however, had become clear. First, Dorothy’s unusual behaviour the previous day had now been explained and, secondly, Irene realised that the person who’d followed her and Miss James must have been Ernie Gill. Since he didn’t know where Dorothy worked, he must also have trailed her. It was disconcerting to feel that the sisters were both being watched. If Gill really did have a job as a barber, how could he find the time to stalk Irene and Dorothy?

It all came down to the name of his mother. In stating that she’d been called Dorothy, he’d told a blatant lie and, in all probability, had done the same to Irene when they first met. That showed how unscrupulous he could be. Gill never expected that the two women would become aware of the deception. Now that they had, they felt cheated. Irene was seething. A friend she’d known for years had been revealed as an arrant liar with an obsessive interest in her. To get closer to Irene, he was even prepared to manipulate her sister. Yet his scheming didn’t prove him capable of murder. The police could, after all, simply be after him in the hope that he might have information that could lead to an arrest.

When she heard the key in the front door, Irene rushed to open it. Dorothy came in with an expression of utter dejection on her face. She was so eager to resume the discussion that she didn’t even remove her hat and coat. She simply sat on the sofa in the living room and grasped Irene’s hands.

‘I don’t know how I got through today,’ she said. ‘I just couldn’t stop brooding on it.’

‘I’ve been doing the same, Dot.’

‘What have you decided?’

‘Nothing — I can’t make up my mind.’

‘You must report him to the police,’ said Dorothy, firmly.

‘What if he’s innocent?’

‘Then he’ll be released to go his own way.’

‘And the first thing he’ll do is to come looking for us,’ said Irene. ‘If we tell the police his whereabouts, Ernie will be very cross with us.’

‘He took part in that murder, Irene.’

‘That’s not what it said in the Liverpool Echo.’

‘He’s a suspect.’

‘Not necessarily — he could just be a witness.’

‘Go to the police right now. I’ll come with you.’

‘It’s not as simple as that, Dot.’

‘Please don’t tell me he’s a friend,’ said Dorothy, scornfully. ‘After the way he’s treated the pair of us, you owe him nothing.’

‘Yes, I do — I owe him my life.’

‘He may have saved your life but he’s taken someone else’s. You read the report. That poor man was beaten senseless, Irene. While he was in hospital, he never even recovered consciousness. He just faded away. That’s what Ernie Gill helped to do to him.’