Dead of Winter

‘Ray dropped a rock on his head?’

‘So Charlie said. Knocked him out cold. Then he hopped off the wall, hit him a couple more times with it just to be sure, then rolled him into the tank, not forgetting to take his teeth out first.’ She shook her head. ‘And him all of sixteen years old.’

Madden sat silent. He was staring into his teacup.

‘But here’s the bit that really surprised Charlie; not me though.’ Nelly’s thin lips parted in another bitter smile. Seamus paid him! He gave Ray the money. Charlie said he couldn’t believe it. Here was this lad, this boy who was still wet behind the ears, trying to get a hundred quid out of Seamus Slattery! Even if he’d done what he said he’d done there was no reason Seamus shouldn’t have just given him a kick up the backside and told him to bugger off. But instead he paid him like he’d promised.’

‘And why weren’t you surprised?’ Madden was still gazing into his teacup.

‘Because I knew him, that Ray, and Charlie didn’t. I’d looked into his eyes the same way Seamus Slattery must have done. I’d seen his smile. I never exchanged a word with that Irish pillock, not in all the years we lived in Bethnal Green, Bob and me, but I can tell you what he was thinking. He knew Ray had done what he’d said he’d done, and just by looking at him he knew that if he didn’t pay him it was odds on he’d be next, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.’

She put down her cup.

‘So now you know. But that still don’t explain why it’s you that’s come asking me all these questions instead of the law. Is it because we used to know each other? Did you tell them I owed you a favour because of what you did for Jack?’

Madden shook his head. ‘No, it’s not like that, Nelly, though I did think it might be easier if you and I talked alone. But I was already involved in this business. I told you this man had killed two women here in London. One of them worked for me on the farm. She was a Polish girl, a refugee.’

‘Why’d he kill her?’

‘At first we didn’t know. There seemed no explanation for it. But now it appears she saw him kill a man in Paris. That was years ago, just as war was breaking out, but then he ran into her here by chance a few weeks ago …’

‘And topped her? Just like that?’ Nelly shuddered.

‘Whoever did it — and whoever murdered Alfie and those others, because it was the same man — has made a living out of it. He’s an assassin, Nelly; killing’s his trade. The French police know all about him, though they never found out his real name, or even where he came from.’

‘And you reckon it’s Ray?’

‘I do now.’ Madden’s nod was final. ‘The man I’m talking about never worked in this country. He plied his trade in Europe and you’ve just told me Ray didn’t come home after the war. Other things seem to fit, too. The early contact with Alfie Meeks. Jonah’s murder. But mostly what you said about him.’

‘What I said?’

‘The feeling you had.’ Madden met her gaze. ‘What you sensed about him. What you saw in his eyes.’

She shook her head; her distress was plain.

‘I always knew he had a black heart. But killing people for a living …!’

Madden waited until she had collected herself.

‘I’m going to have to tell the police what you’ve told me, Nelly. I’ve no choice. I’m going to give them his name. He’s been living in Europe all these years under aliases. But it’s likely he’s using his own name now because he’s kept it clean. The police can start looking for a Raymond Meeks.’

‘That’ll keep ’em busy,’ Her bleak grin had returned. From now until Judgement Day, if you ask me. Seeing as how he never called himself that.’

‘What do you mean?’ Madden stared at her.

‘He wouldn’t have taken Jonah’s name, that boy, he wouldn’t have called himself Meeks, not for anything. Vera never married his dad, so it was her name he used always. Ash. That’s what he called himself. And that’s who you should be looking for.’

She shook a finger at Madden.

‘Raymond Ash.’

PART THREE 19

‘Oh, dear — what a nasty business this is. I’m so sorry to bother you with it, Bess dear.’

Mary Spencer spread her hands in a gesture of apology.

‘But I want your advice. I’ve told Evie she must make a clean breast of this. It’s the only sensible thing to do. But she doesn’t want to, poor thing. She’s afraid it might mean trouble.’

Shivering, Mary drew closer to the small fire that was burning in the grate. Bess had lit it when she’d arrived; unexpectedly. Mary had walked into Liphook from the Grange to do some shopping, and seeing Bess’s pony-and-trap standing in the road outside her cottage had knocked on the door. Bess, it turned out, had only looked in for a moment to collect an extra sweater before continuing with her postal round, but on discovering that Mary wanted to talk to her had insisted that she come in for a cup of tea.

‘It’s a strange story.’ Bess Brigstock sat frowning, nursing her cup in her hands. ‘She came to you on her own, did she? You had no idea …?’

‘None at all,’ Mary assured her. ‘It was a complete surprise.’

‘I wonder what made her do it. Tell you, I mean.’

Mary shrugged. ‘She hasn’t been herself for some time. Not since she went up to Norfolk to see her husband. You remember he was wounded and in hospital there? I thought she was behaving oddly when she came back. I could see she had something on her mind, but though I asked her once or twice if there was anything bothering her, she always said no, and I just assumed it was her husband she was worrying about. She knew that once he was better — he just had a minor shrapnel wound — he’d be sent back to France to rejoin his unit, so it was only natural.’

She paused to stare into the flames that were starting to catch and spread in the fireplace. A frown creased her brow.

‘When did she come to you?’

‘Last night. After we’d put Freddie to bed. I didn’t know what to say at first. It was so … so unexpected. And I couldn’t think what to advise her. After all, it’s not as though she hasn’t had time to decide herself. She and her husband. So I told her I’d sleep on it and speak to her again this morning.’

‘Which you did?’ Bess frowned. Mary nodded.

‘As soon as Freddie had had his breakfast and gone outside. I told her there was no rush, but once Christmas was over she must talk to the police. I said I’d go with her to Petersfield and that seemed to cheer her up.’

Bess made one of her rumbling bear-like noises; a sort of low growl that always brought a smile to Mary’s lips.

‘You don’t want to do it through Bob?’ she asked, meaning Bob Leonard, the Liphook bobby.

‘No, I don’t think so. He’s a good sort, but he’s an awful old gossip, and I don’t want people talking about Evie. Pointing a finger at her. I’m sure it’s something that can be cleared up easily. What do you think?’

‘Oh, I imagine so. The thing, as you say, is to make a clean breast of it. You must tell her not to worry.’

Bess patted her hand and Mary smiled in relief.

‘Dear Bess. Thank you for listening. I feel so much better now. You’re such a comfort to me.’

Uncomfortable as always at being singled out for appreciation, Bess dismissed her thanks with a wave of her large paw. She rose, collecting the tea tray as she went, and disappeared into the kitchen. With a sigh Mary sat back and let her eye wander about the small sitting-room, which was decorated for the most part with souvenirs of her friend’s earlier life. Framed snapshots of Bess in exotic locales stood on side tables. In one she was seated on a