A Bespoke Murder (32 page)

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.’

‘We don’t know that for certain.’

‘
I
know,’ asserted Dorothy. ‘If
you’re
too scared to report him, then I’ll do it myself. What was that address he gave you?’

Irene broke away from her and paced the room. Her brain seemed on the point of bursting. Arms folded and lips pursed, she walked up and down as she went over the arguments yet again. Eventually, she came to stand in front of Dorothy.

‘He’s got to have the chance to defend himself, Dot.’

‘Let him do that in front of the police.’

‘He needs to be warned beforehand,’ said Irene. ‘I wonder if I should go to the house again and speak to him.’

‘That’s the last thing you should do,’ argued Dorothy. ‘If he’s a killer, you’ll be an accessory. In warning him, you’d be aiding his escape. I can’t
let you do that, Irene. It’s too dangerous. And there’s something else,’ she added. ‘What if he turned nasty?’

‘Ernie would never hurt me.’

Dorothy was curt. ‘He’d hurt
anybody
, if he was cornered.’

Irene was more confused than ever. She didn’t want to return to the house where Gill was lodging but she had a vague feeling that he deserved a chance. Irene had a sense of obligation that her sister would never comprehend. It couldn’t be ignored.

‘Well?’ demanded Dorothy, ‘what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to sleep on it, Dot,’ said Irene. ‘Everything may seem a lot clearer in the morning.’

Joe Keedy hated the delay. With the chance of some action in the offing, he was eager to get involved but had to kick his heels until Friday. When it finally came, he was in a state of high excitement. He was due to join members of the True British League that evening in what he suspected would be some kind of attack on property. At worst, he might get to arrest the leader of an odious organisation committed to violence against Jews; at best, he might be helping to solve the case that had been taxing them so much. Either way, Keedy stood to gain.

Harvey Marmion was more circumspect.

‘Don’t expect too much, Joe,’ he advised.

‘I have a good feeling about this, Inspector.’

‘You could be setting yourself up for disappointment. They might have called off today’s little adventure altogether, or you might get to the Lord Nelson to discover that nobody’s there. What if they rumbled you?’

‘Then they’d have thrown me out there and then,’ said Keedy.

‘It’s a mistake to have high hopes, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Fair enough. I accept that.’

‘Thankfully, the commissioner has sanctioned the exercise. It’s always good to have support from the top.’

‘What if he
didn’t
authorise it?’

Marmion chuckled. ‘If I thought there was any chance of that happening,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t have told him about it. We’d simply have gone ahead.’

‘There’s that devious streak of yours coming out again,’ said Keedy, laughing.

‘I’m just being practical. Good results are what matter.’

‘We’re supposed to obey orders.’

‘So was Nelson,’ said Marmion. ‘Luckily, he didn’t always do so and achieved great victories as a result.’

Keedy grinned cheekily. ‘Are you telling me I can disobey you whenever I fancy?’

‘I’m telling you to exercise discretion, Joe. By the way,’ he went on, picking up a sheet of paper, ‘I had another report from the man I put on David Cohen. He’s discovered something interesting.’

‘Let me guess – Howard Fine is Cohen’s illegitimate son.’

‘There
is
a blood relationship between them, as it happens.’

‘Really? I was only joking.’

‘It’s not that close. It turns out that the firm that Fine joined in Brighton when he left London is run by David Cohen’s cousin.’

‘Does that mean Cohen recommended Fine for the job?’

‘Something of the kind must have happened.’

‘Wheels within wheels, eh?’

‘Yes, Joe,’ said Marmion. ‘The problem is that they keep turning faster and faster.’ There was a tap on his door. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and an attractive young woman entered with a
folder. She walked to the desk and offered it to Marmion.

‘This has just been sent to us, Inspector,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’

Handing the file over, she gave a polite smile of farewell and went out again. Keedy had not taken his eyes off her. As the door shut behind her, he gave a whoop of approval.

‘That’s one bonus of the war,’ he observed. ‘When I came to Scotland Yard, we only had male clerks. Now that manpower is scarcer, we’ve got something much nicer to look at.’

Marmion opened the folder and read the brief report inside.

‘Forget her,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ve got something even nicer to look at here.’

‘What is it?’

‘During an attack on a house in Liverpool, a man of German origin was beaten to a pulp. He died some days later. The police are searching for a man by the name of Ernest Gill.’

‘So?’

‘Someone walked into her local police station this morning and gave Gill’s address. It’s one that we’ve already come across, Joe.’

‘When was that, Inspector?’

‘It was when we looked at the criminal record of bald-headed Bradley Thompson. This man must be a friend of his because they live at the same house. He might well be a member of the True British League as well.’ He gave the sheet of paper to Keedy. ‘There’s a description of Gill here. Make a note of it. You may be able to do our colleagues in Liverpool a big favour.’

Ernie Gill walked jauntily along the street beside his friend. They were both wearing dark clothes and Thompson’s bald head was hidden
beneath an oil-stained cap. They turned a corner and saw the sign outside the Lord Nelson swinging creakily in the wind.

‘I like the League,’ said Gill. ‘They get things done.’

‘That’s why I joined, Ernie. I tried one or two other groups but all they did was talk and shove leaflets through letter boxes. The day after I came here,’ said Thompson, ‘we were painting slogans on the windows of Jewish shops. A week later, we were throwing bricks through them.’

‘I enjoyed setting that car alight.’

His friend sniggered. ‘Pity the owner wasn’t sitting in it.’

They reached the pub and went in through the swing door. There were several people drinking in the lounge bar but they ignored them and headed for the room at the rear. As they entered, Thompson looked around with a smile of satisfaction.

‘He’s not here,’ he said with contempt. ‘I knew he wouldn’t be.’

‘Give him time, Brad,’ suggested the man in the dungarees. ‘I don’t think he’ll be frightened off somehow. Ernie wasn’t, was he?’

Gill cackled. ‘You can say that again. This is just what I want. I feel really at home here.’

‘That’s good, because we’ll have plenty of work for you to do.’

‘Where are we going this evening?’

‘It’s another commission.’

‘Somebody must hate Jews as much as we do if he keeps on doling out money like this. What’s his name?’

‘I don’t ask,’ said the man. ‘He gets what he pays for and we get some more cash for our coffers. We’ll spend some of it in the bar here tonight.’

There was a general laugh of approval. As well as the man in the dungarees, there were two other members of the True British League. One was a short, emaciated, sallow individual in his fifties with a fringe
beard flecked with grey. The other was a strapping young man with thick eyebrows meeting each other above a bulbous nose. Like Brad Thompson, he had the wild-eyed look of someone who was keen to exercise his muscles. While both men acknowledged the newcomers with a nod, they left the talking to their leader.

‘I’ll drive,’ said the man in the dungarees, ‘and Brad can sit beside me. The rest of you can travel in the back of the lorry. That goes for the new man as well.’

‘He won’t come,’ said Thompson.

‘Oh yes he will – he believes in our cause.’

‘Lots of people do but they’re too afraid to show it.’

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Gill, stepping forward. ‘We need a group like this in Liverpool. Some parts of it are crawling with Jews, and Manchester’s even worse.’

‘The True British League is here to clean up London and drive the Jews out,’ said the leader. ‘One day, we may be able to carry the message to other cities. I’ve got an idea, Ernie,’ he added, snapping his fingers. ‘Perhaps you could start a branch in Liverpool.’

Thompson smirked. ‘He won’t be going back there in a hurry.’

‘No,’ said Ernie, laughing, ‘I sort of outstayed my welcome.’

‘The coppers are still looking for him.’

Without warning, the door was flung open and Joe Keedy stepped in. He was wearing the same rough apparel as before. He identified the man in the dungarees as the one to whom he’d talked on his first visit. Keedy recognised Brad Thompson as well but the other three faces were new to him.

‘Here I am,’ said Keedy, rubbing his hands together.

‘Brad thought you’d be scared off,’ said the leader. ‘I knew that you wouldn’t let us down.’

‘I wasn’t going to miss out on the fun.’

‘Right, let’s get on our way. Brad’s in the cab with me. You’re in the back of the lorry with Ernie and the others.’

‘Which one’s Ernie?’ asked Keedy.

‘I am,’ said Ernie, stepping forward. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m someone who doesn’t want the country polluted by Jews.’

‘That’s all we need to hear,’ said the leader. ‘Follow me. We’ll go out the back way.’

He took them through a door in the far wall and out into the courtyard. The lorry was waiting. While the leader climbed into the cab, Thompson went to crank the engine. Keedy clambered into the rear of the lorry and sat down. The others got in after him. After a couple of turns, Thompson started the engine then hauled himself up into the cab. The lorry pulled away with four men, two cardboard boxes and some cans of petrol in the back. As it swung into the street and picked up speed, it shot past a car parked in the shadows. Keedy was the only one aboard who knew that it would follow them.

The car turned into the drive and came to an abrupt halt. As the engine was switched off, the front door opened and Miriam Stein came out. Her brother-in-law climbed out of the vehicle.

‘It’s nice to see it back here again,’ said Miriam, running a hand over the bonnet. ‘I remember the day that Jacob bought it. He was so proud of his car.’

‘It’s a lovely smooth drive, Mimi.’

‘We should have thought of it before.’

‘Yes,’ said Stone, ‘it’s the obvious thing to do. Since my own car was destroyed, I should have reclaimed this one from the garage right away. It just never occurred to me.’

‘You’ve had a lot on your mind, Herman.’

‘There’s been one crisis after another. Talking of which,’ he said, glancing at the house, ‘how is Ruth?’

‘She’s surprisingly well. I still don’t understand why she sneaked out of the house like that but she’s come back almost refreshed. She’s even eaten a proper meal at last.’

‘That’s encouraging.’

‘And she’s promised not to run off like that again.’

‘I’ll want more than an apology from her,’ warned Stone. ‘She put us through hell yesterday. I’ll never forget the shock of seeing her bedroom window wide open.’