‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I wish it hadn’t worked out like this, but both you and your wife will have to give an account of yourselves before the law.’
By mid morning, Divisional Detective Inspector Soper had returned from one of his occasional meetings at Scotland Yard with his fellow DDIs from the other twenty-two Metropolitan Police divisions, the four area superintendents, and the chief constable of the CID. When Jago reported to his boss’s office with Cradock it seemed to him that an hour spent in this elevated company had left Soper feeling rather more elevated than usual himself.
‘Come in, John,’ he said grandly, as if inviting him into the Throne Room in Buckingham Palace rather than this gloomy office that stank of cigarette smoke and hadn’t seen a paintbrush since the Wall Street Crash.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Jago, as he and Cradock entered the room.
‘Now, John, I understand you’ve got a couple of women in the cells for that murder, so I just want to know the main points before I see your full report. Just the headlines, though – I’m a busy man.’
‘Yes, sir. The women are Audrey Lewis and Vera Ballantyne, also known as Madame Zara, and they’ve both been charged with murder.’
‘Madame Zara? Sounds a bit foreign to me.’
‘No, she’s not a foreigner, sir. She’s a medium, and a friend of Audrey Lewis. It turned out the murder was nothing to do with prostitution, and nothing to do with the Welshman Evans, except that he stole her rings. He’ll be up before the bench on Monday morning for that.’
‘Good. We need to make an example of looters. I don’t understand why the courts seem to be letting them off with just a few months in prison – the Defence Regulations say they’re supposed to be shot.’
‘Yes, sir. In Evans’s case, however, we’ve recovered the rings, and he’s just lost his wife in an air raid, so I’m hoping the magistrate won’t be too hard on him.’
‘I see, right. You mentioned something about finding a sailor’s cap at the scene of the murder. Was that anything to do with it?’
‘The sailor had visited Joan Lewis at her flat and left it there by mistake, but he didn’t kill her. Joan’s sister-in-law, Elsie Marwell, tried to make something of it because she thought her husband, Derek, was the murderer. She accused him of stealing the cap from the sailor while he was lying drunk on the street so he could leave it in the flat to incriminate him, but she didn’t know Ted Watson had already moved the man on before that, so he couldn’t have.’
Soper appeared to be struggling to digest this information. Jago wondered whether it was his own fault – perhaps in trying to be concise he’d created some uncertainty in his boss’s mind as to whether Derek Marwell himself was lying drunk on the street while allegedly stealing the cap – but the DDI had asked for the main points only, so that’s what he was doing his best to give him.
‘We’ve also interviewed Vera Ballantyne’s husband, Greville, in connection with some missing money that Audrey Lewis was trying to find,’ he continued. ‘It was salted away somewhere by her late husband. She doesn’t know where, and neither do we, but what we do know is that Charlie Lewis entrusted a bag stuffed full of cash to Greville, who was his cousin. Vera Ballantyne knew Audrey was looking for it, because Audrey’d asked her to enlist the help of the spirit world in finding it, but Vera wasn’t going to tell her about the money Charlie had left with them, because she and Greville intended to keep it for themselves. We haven’t charged Ballantyne yet, because he maintains it was a loan, but I think he fraudulently converted the money to his own use, so we’re probably going to be charging him with larceny.’
Soper nodded his head in a sign of understanding as Jago finished this account, but his eyes looked tired.
‘And what about that safe-blowing job at the cinema?’ he asked. ‘Just briefly.’
‘We’ve got two men in custody, sir. Martin Sullivan, who I mentioned before, and his father, George.’
‘Jolly good.’
‘They’re both going to be charged under the Explosive Substances Act, 1883. The son hid in the cinema and let his father in. They stole the weekend’s takings from the safe, and also a packet of photographs that belonged to Mr Conway, the manager, and which we later found at the Sullivans’ house. The photos were a bit saucy, so we’ve got to break it gently to one of the ladies concerned that we’ve got what she probably thought was a private photograph. She’s Conway’s secretary, so it’s a delicate business, but I’m sure we’ll manage.’
‘And the stolen money?’
‘We haven’t found it yet but we’re expecting to receive an order to search from the superintendent later today so we can go through the house. If we find some explosives too it might be enough to put them away for ten years. We also found some Irish Republican documents. It turns out that although the two Sullivans are English, they’re IRA sympathisers.’
‘What did Superintendent Ford make of it?’
‘He’s pleased. He thinks they might’ve stolen the money because the IRA’s short of funds at the moment, but they’re probably not bomb-makers, although I expect Special Branch’ll join us when we do the search.’
‘So I was right, then, wasn’t I?’ said Soper, his voice brightening.
‘About what, sir?’
‘About it all being the work of Irish Republicans.’
‘Yes, sir – and I did mention to Mr Ford that you were the second person in West Ham CID to suspect an IRA connection.’
‘Second? What do you mean? I said that from the very beginning.’
‘Not quite, sir. In my report to Mr Ford I noted that it was Detective Constable Cradock who first drew my attention to that possibility. Isn’t that right, Peter?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Cradock, a broad grin creasing his face as he drew himself up to
