A Bespoke Murder (22 page)

He’d let his friend down. That’s what hurt Gatliffe most. In being unable to defend himself against police interrogation, he’d betrayed Cochran and would never be forgiven. In hindsight, the situation was clear. He should have maintained his innocence. There was no certainty that the girl would be able to identify them in court and she might well lose her nerve before the trial took place. According to Cochran, that often happened. The girl in the alley had not been his first victim. While Gatliffe had kept watch, Cochran had once raped a drunken girl after a dance. Though she’d vowed revenge, there’d been no repercussions – no report to the police, no hostile questioning, no charges. Even if there had been, Gatliffe would have been prepared to lie outrageously on his friend’s behalf. Why hadn’t he done so this time?

He sought for ways to make amends, to win back a friendship that had been the mainstay of his life. He had to convince Cochran that he was still on his side and would go to any lengths to get him off the charge they were both facing even if it meant committing perjury. Brooding on his folly, he glanced into the dark water and saw a face
appear in it behind his own. Gatliffe sat up in alarm and turned round to find Oliver Cochran hovering over him.

‘What’re
you
doing here, Ol?’ he croaked.

Cochran gave a crooked grin. ‘Guess.’

She had to know the truth. After hours of thinking it over, Irene Bayard decided that she could stand it no longer. The cutting from the
Liverpool
Echo
had raised a frightening possibility. At first, she tried to dismiss the notion as a wild fantasy but the strategy failed. It was the date that was critical. She’d checked it in her diary. When Irene was staying with her sister in London, her landlady in Liverpool often sent her cuttings from the local newspapers that she deemed might be of interest. None had had such a stunning effect as this one, nor held such potential significance for her. Yes, it
could
be an unfortunate coincidence – she prayed that it was – but the signs indicated otherwise. Irene had to find out.

Reaching for her handbag, she took out the slip of paper on which she’d scribbled an address then she tried to work out the best way to reach that part of the city. Minutes later, she left the house and went striding off along the pavement.

Gatliffe scrambled quickly to his feet and took a precautionary step backwards. One glance at Cochran’s face told him that he was in dire trouble.

‘Have they let you out, Ol?’ he asked.

‘I let myself out.’

Gatliffe was astounded. ‘You mean that you
escaped
?’

‘Remand prisoners have more leeway. They gave me too much.’

‘So the police will be out looking for you.’

‘Bugger the police!’ snarled Cochran.

‘I’ll help you to hide,’ said Gatliffe, anxious to placate him. ‘You obviously can’t go home and we can’t take you in. But there must be somewhere you can lie low.’

‘Forget it, Gatty.’

‘What about that derelict house by the canal?’

‘I told you to forget it. I’m not looking for a hiding place.’

‘Then what are you looking for?’

He saw the glint in his friend’s eye and stepped even further away. Cochran wanted retribution. He knew where to find Gatliffe. That was the whole purpose of his escape from prison. He was there to inflict punishment. Gatliffe’s mouth was dry. He glanced around but there was nobody to whom he could call. Nor could he hope to outrun Cochran. His friend was much faster than him. His only hope lay in appeasing Cochran.

‘I’ve changed my plea,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘I told the police we were nowhere near Jermyn Street that night. They can’t
prove
it, Ol. I mean, that girl wouldn’t dare to come forward. Think of the one you shagged after that dance. She knew it was a waste of time going to the police. It’s the same here. They got nothing on us. If we stick together, we’re in the clear.’ His mouth was drier than ever. ‘Well, aren’t we?’

‘You should’ve kept your trap shut, Gatty.’

‘I know.’

‘Because of you, we’re up to our necks in shit.’

‘I’ve told you – I’m pleading not guilty now.’

‘It’s too late.’

‘The case might not even come to court.’

‘I don’t care about that now,’ said Cochran, advancing on him. ‘Killing you is all I care about.’

‘But we’re friends, Ol. I’ll stick by you.’

When he backed away again, Gatliffe came up against the trunk of a tree. He was cornered. Cochran was on him in a flash, grabbing him by the shoulders and banging him hard against the tree. Then he landed a series of stinging punches. Gatliffe tried to fight back at first but he soon buckled under the onslaught and resorted to covering his head with his arms. The blows were unremitting. When he could not beat him to the ground, Cochran used his feet instead, kicking him repeatedly until he doubled up in pain. Shoving him down on the bank, he dived on top of Gatliffe and got both hands to his throat, slowly applying pressure.

Gatliffe became desperate. Realising that he might be throttled, he took hold of Cochran’s wrists and wrenched them away so that he could speak again.

‘There’s no need for this, Ol,’ he bleated. ‘We’re friends.’

‘You betrayed me, you bastard.’

‘Get off. You’re hurting me.’

But Cochran was in no mood for mercy. Pulsing with anger and prompted by the need for revenge, he went for the throat again and squeezed hard. Gatliffe began to panic and found a surge of strength that allowed him to grasp his friend by the arms and force him sideways. Locked together, the two of them rolled over and over on the grass until they fell into the water. It was very shallow but the shock of the cold water made Cochran release his hold at last. Gatliffe struggled to his feet, spitting out water. When Cochran surfaced, he, too, was spluttering but was the first to recover. As Gatliffe tried to wade to the bank, he was gripped from behind and hurled back into the river, disappearing from sight for a few seconds.

Cochran was not going to let him go a second time. As soon as Gatliffe’s head rose above the water, Cochran grabbed his hair and pushed him down again, determined to keep him there until he
drowned. Gatliffe flailed wildly but he could not shake off his attacker. It was only a question of time before his resistance was broken. Cochran was exultant, laughing at his triumph, thinking of nothing else but of meting out the ultimate punishment to his friend.

He was so obsessed with getting his revenge that he didn’t see the two detectives running along the bank towards him. Keedy was in the lead but Marmion was only a yard behind him. Sizing up the situation, they didn’t hesitate for a second. They flung off their hats, tore off their coats, then plunged straight into the water. While Keedy knocked Cochran over with a crash tackle, Marmion helped the victim, taking Gatliffe by the scruff of the neck and hauling him up to the surface. Gasping for air, he was so weak that Marmion had to carry him to the bank.

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 it. We ended up getting drunk and singing rude songs about the Germans.’ He gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Are you satisfied now?’