A Bespoke Murder (33 page)

‘Leave her be for a while,’ advised Miriam. ‘She needs rest.’

‘What Ruth needs is to be under restraint.’

‘That’s the worst thing we could do to her, Herman. It was being watched all the time that made her want to get away. We took away her freedom. Ruth wanted it back.’

‘And what did she do with her freedom?’ he asked, irritably. ‘She went gallivanting off to the West End. Ruth was asking for trouble. What was she trying to do?’ he said, waving an arm. ‘Get herself assaulted all over again?’

Miriam flared up. ‘That’s a terrible suggestion.’

‘We have to be realistic. The streets are full of drunks at that time of night. Anything could have happened to her.’

‘Thanks to the police, she got back home safe and sound.’

‘Yes, but only after she’d given us a fright. I don’t think you should be so forgiving, Mimi. We need to remonstrate with her. If I hadn’t been so busy all day, I’d have spoken very sternly to Ruth.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t do that just now,’ she said. ‘Ruth knows she did wrong. Let’s leave it at that for the time being.’

Stone saw the determined look in her eye. Miriam was asserting herself. After consideration, he agreed to back off from his niece for a while. About to go into the house, he was reminded of the last time he’d left a car on the drive.

‘If you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘I’ll put it away in the garage. For some unknown reason, I’ve obviously become a target for someone.’

Keedy didn’t need to trawl for information. It was readily supplied by Ernie Gill, who couldn’t stop bragging about the way he’d helped to set fire to a synagogue, then destroy an expensive motor car. What he couldn’t confirm was that he and the others had been instrumental in the attack in Jermyn Street. Quite apart from the man’s activities in Liverpool, Keedy had enough to arrest him. Gill had freely confessed. Seated in the back of the lorry, it was difficult to follow the route they were taking. The vehicle lurched round corners and rattled over uneven roads. Keedy kept one eye on the car following them while trying to divert his companions from doing so.

At length, the river appeared on their left. The lorry then went through a maze of streets before juddering to a halt. Late evening shadows turned the buildings into massive dark blocks of stone. The area felt deserted. Jumping out of the cab, the leader banged on the side of the lorry. Gill passed the cans of petrol to him. Keedy watched as the other two men lifted boxes of kindling onto the pavement. When he got out of the lorry, Keedy was standing beside Brad Thompson whose tone was condescending.

‘Keep your eyes open,’ he said. ‘We’ll show you how it’s done.’

‘He wants to join in, Brad,’ said the leader. ‘Right?’

‘Right,’ confirmed Keedy. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’re very close to a warehouse that needs burning down.’

‘Who owns it?’

‘A man named Herbert Stone – except that his real name is Herman Stein and he’s a Jewish immigrant who ought to be driven out of Britain altogether with the rest of his kind.’

‘Why not use the lorry?’ asked Keedy. ‘Why not drive up, start the fire then disappear fast? According to Ernie, that’s what you did at the synagogue.’

‘Ernie should learn to button his lip,’ said the leader, shooting a look of reproach at Gill. ‘It didn’t work at the synagogue. The fire brigade got there too soon. We’ll take no chances this time. The place is guarded. Our information is that there are four nightwatchmen on duty. Brad and the others will take care of them while you and me,’ he continued, jabbing Keedy, ‘will get inside and start a blaze.’

‘I’d rather light the fire,’ complained Gill.

‘You stay with me, Ernie,’ said Thompson. ‘We’ll knock out those nightwatchmen. That’s why I gave you that cosh.’

The leader beckoned them close. ‘This is how we’re going to get inside the warehouse …’

Marmion had driven the car himself with a detective beside him and three more crammed into the back seat. They kept the lorry in sight and, when it slowed down to a halt, they turned into a street nearby and parked at the kerb. One man ran to the corner so that he could keep a furtive watch on the occupants of the lorry. Marmion had already guessed where they’d be going because he knew who owned a warehouse nearby. Herbert Stone was under attack yet again. It made their job easier. Instead of having to follow, the detectives could get ahead and prepare an ambush.

‘This way,’ said Marmion, gesturing to his men. ‘We can cut through there and beat them to it. Follow me.’

They trotted down a narrow lane strewn with rubbish.

Keedy decided to make his move before any of the nightwatchmen got hurt. Thompson and Gill were each carrying a cosh, the older man had an iron bar and the younger one brandished a hammer as if dying to use it. Under his arm was a box of kindling. Keedy was carrying a large petrol can and the other box of kindling. The leader had the other two cans of petrol. Spread out, they moved stealthily and stepped into a doorway when an occasional vehicle went past. The warehouse came into view. They all knew the plan. Gill was to approach the building and distract the nightwatchman on duty in the gatehouse so that the others could move into position. When Gill had persuaded the man to open the door, he would offer him a cigarette, then cosh him when he was off guard. Once inside the building, they’d dispose of the other nightwatchmen while the petrol was splashed about and the kindling set alight. When the fire took hold, Keedy knew, there’d be no hope of stopping it.

Timing was everything. If he made his move too early, the detective might find himself isolated and he was no match for four armed men and their leader. If he left his intervention too late, a nightwatchman could be knocked unconscious. Keedy had to hope that Marmion and the others were at hand to come to his aid but he saw no sign of them. He began to fear that they’d been shaken off by the lorry as it twisted and turned through the docks.

The leader gave the order and Gill set off, ambling along and puffing at a cigarette. When he saw the light in the gatehouse, he paused to wave to the man inside. After a few moments, the nightwatchman
pushed the window ajar so that he could hear Gill. They got into conversation. The barber was relaxed and unthreatening. He was so plausible that the nightwatchman was eventually tempted to open the door. Gill reached in his pocket for the cigarettes. It was the moment that Keedy had been waiting for and he sprang into life.

‘It’s a trick!’ he yelled, running towards the gatehouse. ‘Get back inside and lock the door.’

The man was baffled at first. When he saw Gill pull out the cosh, however, he didn’t hesitate. Leaping back into the safety of the gatehouse, he locked the door and pressed the bell to alert his colleagues in the warehouse. Keedy, meanwhile, had tackled Gill with such power that he bowled him over and forced him to drop his weapon. Thompson was enraged at the betrayal. He charged after Keedy with his cosh held high but he got nowhere near him. Two detectives suddenly came out of the shadows to overpower him, relieve him of his weapon and, in spite of his frantic struggles, put handcuffs on him. Thompson was soon lying face down on the pavement with Gill beside him, also securely handcuffed.

The remaining two detectives used surprise to advantage, coming out of nowhere to take on other members of the gang. The older man was easily arrested and deprived of his weapon but the younger one was much stronger and put up a fight. Keedy had to lend a hand to subdue him. The leader had been quick to gauge the situation. When he heard Keedy shout his warning and saw five men emerge from hiding to attack them, he realised that it was futile to resist. They’d soon have to contend with four nightwatchmen as well. The odds were impossible. The leader therefore discarded the cans of petrol and took to his heels.

Harvey Marmion was after him at once. Having seen the group
approaching in the gloom, he’d picked out the leader from the way that he was conveying his orders with gestures. When the man fled, Marmion ran in pursuit, their footsteps echoing along the empty streets. The leader was obviously heading for the lorry. Marmion had to reach him before he could start the vehicle. Pushing himself to the limit, he tried to ignore the burning sensation in his lungs and the jabbing pain in his legs. He was determined to get his man.

The leader heard the footsteps getting closer. When he reached the lorry, he swung round and saw Marmion haring towards him. There was no time to escape in the lorry. Instead he grabbed the starting handle and held it up menacingly. It made the detective slow to a walking pace.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Marmion of Scotland Yard,’ he said, panting, ‘and I’ve come to place you under arrest. The new member who joined the True British League the other night was my colleague, Sergeant Keedy.’

‘Stand back,’ warned the man, waving the starting handle.

‘Put that down, sir – there’s no way out.’

‘At least I can spill a little blood before I’m caught.’

As Marmion came to a halt, two of his men sprinted around the corner to help him. They slowed down when they saw what was happening. On a command from Marmion, the detectives fanned out so that they formed a semicircle around the leader. With his back to the lorry and three detectives in front of him, the man seemed to give up. The hand with the weapon dropped to his side and he sagged in defeat. Marmion wasn’t fooled. As he stepped forward to arrest him, he knew that the man would resist. When the inspector got close, the leader suddenly lashed at him with the starting handle. Anticipating the move, Marmion ducked beneath the weapon,
diving into his midriff and slamming him hard against the front of the lorry. The other detectives moved in quickly to overpower the man and hold him while Marmion snapped on the handcuffs. He took a close look at the leader of the organisation. The dungarees and flat cap suggested a workman but his face belonged to a different class altogether.

‘Are you the leader of the True British League?’ asked Marmion.

The man was defiant. ‘I’m proud to hold that title.’

‘Your loathsome organisation has just been dissolved.’

‘Not before we had our triumphs.’

‘Was one of them in Jermyn Street, by any chance?’

‘Yes, Inspector – we burnt some Jews out of business.’

‘Who put you up to it?’

‘Somebody who hates them for what they’ve done to this country and who believes in our mission to drive out the scum.’

‘It was the same man who sponsored tonight’s attack,’ said Keedy, joining them with one hand on the shoulder of a forlorn Gill. ‘According to Ernie here, they were paid by someone to set fire to the synagogue and to destroy Mr Stone’s car.’

Marmion rounded on the leader. ‘Who was your paymaster?’

‘I don’t know, Inspector,’ replied the man.

‘He’s as guilty as you are. Do you want to take the rap while he goes free? That seems very unfair on you. Who is he?’

‘God knows.’

‘He must have a name.’

‘He never told me what it was.’ Marmion looked sceptical. ‘That’s the truth, I swear it. He just handed over money and gave us orders. We enjoyed working for him because he thought like us.’

‘Tell us something about him,’ urged Keedy.

‘Yes,’ added Marmion. ‘How old was he? What did he look like? How did he dress? Describe his voice. Was he a Londoner?’

‘Oh no,’ said the man. ‘He came from somewhere up North.’

The telephone call transformed him. When he came back into the room, Herbert Stone was actually beaming. Ruth and her mother were astonished by the dramatic change in his demeanour.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Miriam.

‘One of my warehouses was going to be burnt down,’ he said, ‘but the police foiled the attack. They’ve caught the men responsible. Inspector Marmion has finally got something right.’

‘That
is
good news, Herman.’

‘I want all the details. You’ll have to excuse me while I drive over there. Goodnight, Ruth.’

‘Goodnight, Uncle Herman.’

Miriam went out to see her brother-in-law off and left Ruth alone. Something had been puzzling her ever since she’d got back from her visit to the West End. She’d spent hours racking her brain for an answer that would simply not materialise. As she tried to solve the mystery once again, she thought of the figure she’d seen in profile at the end of the alley. Though there was something familiar about his outline, she still couldn’t place him. It wasn’t a close acquaintance but someone she’d met only briefly. Ruth went through a list of names in her head but none of them fitted the man in the alley.

Her mother came back into the room, smiling for the first time since the murder of her husband. Miriam was buoyed up by the news that arrests had finally been made.

‘It’s taken such a load off my mind,’ she said with relief.

Ruth was too preoccupied to hear her. As she concentrated hard on
the problem that had been vexing her, a light gradually illumined the figure in the dark alley.

‘I know who it was now, Mummy,’ she cried in delight. ‘The man who watched me last night was Mr Burridge!’

Cyril Burridge and his son had dined in style at the Café Royal. As it had been a special celebration, no expense had been spared. Because of the nature of the celebration, Burridge’s wife had been excluded. She was quite unaware of what her husband and son had done. They, however, were savouring their success.

‘We’re making the bastard sweat,’ said Burridge, gleefully. ‘I’ll enjoy reading newspaper reports of the destruction of his warehouse.’

‘Aye,’ agreed his son, ‘so will I.’

Arnold Burridge was a younger version of his father with the same build, facial features and mannerisms. They wore suits that they’d actually made for each other and seemed quite at ease in the plush ambience of the restaurant.

‘Best meal I’ve had in ages,’ said Burridge, ‘though I still prefer a sandwich in Green Park.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Less fattening.’

‘What do we do next, Dad?’

‘Nothing at all, son.’

‘But you talked about going for his house.’

‘That can wait, Arnold. He’ll be on the alert now. Let a few weeks pass before we strike again. Stone will start to think he’s safe. That’s the time to hit him.’