‘Ain’t ’e bin back?’
‘Nope. I would ’ave ’eard ’im. I would ’ave ’eard the door go.’
Albert scratched his head. ‘It’s a bit late ter go knockin’ on’er door. It’d frighten the life out of ’er this time o’ night.’
Sadie got up. ‘Look at Boss, ’e knows there’s somefink wrong, don’t yer boy?’
The dog gave a short whine and rubbed himself along Albert’s leg.
‘It’s no good, Alb, I’ll ’ave ter knock. I wouldn’t get any sleep if I didn’t.’
Albert sighed and followed his wife out into the street. He knocked on Mason’s door. ‘She’s not answerin’.’
‘Knock a bit louder, Albert.’
Albert rat–tatted. ‘She must ’ave gone ter bed,’ he said.
‘She never goes ter bed early. Yer can normally ’ear ’er movin’ about till late.’
‘Look, Sadie, p’raps she felt tired an’ got an early night?’
‘No. I’m goin’ fer the keys. She could be dead in there.’ Albert pulled on her arm. ‘Yer goin’ ter get yerself in trouble if yer not careful. She told yer ter mind the keys fer ’er. She didn’t give yer the spare set ter go moochin’ around ’er place when yer feel like it.’
‘Well that’s jus’ too bad. Somefink’s not right. I gotta find out, Alb.’
When Sadie returned with the keys Boss was trotting along at her heels. Albert opened the front door gingerly, with Sadie wide–eyed looking over his shoulder anxiously. The downstairs was in darkness and the only light came through the landing window. The moonlight shone on the steep staircase and lit up the gilt–framed picture at the head of the stairs.
‘Kathy, yer asleep?’ Sadie called out.
‘That’s a daft question, Sadie. If she is asleep she can’t answer, can she?’
‘Albert, take a look in the front room. She might be in there.’
Albert opened the door and switched on the light. Everything looked tidy. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned the switch off and closed the door quietly. ‘C’mon, girl, we’d better get goin’.’
‘D’yer fink we should take a dekko upstairs first, luv?’
‘Now listen, Sadie, yer told me the row was in the front room. That’s when yer ’eard ’er scream when ’e thumped ’er. Now if ’e ’ad a done ’er in, ’e wouldn’t ’ave carted ’er up the apples, now would ’e? She’s asleep. If we go up it’s gonna scare the bleedin’ life out of ’er. C’mon, let’s get back.’
‘I s’pose yer right, luv,’ Sadie conceded, and she turned towards the front door.
Suddenly Boss dashed between the two of them and ran up the stairs.
‘Christ! Albert, get ’im quick!’
Albert Comfort raced up the stairs expecting to hear Kathy scream out, but when he peered into the dark bedroom he could see the outline of Boss with his front paws on the bed licking the face of the prone figure. Albert put on the light and quickly drew the curtains. The girl’s face was pale and still.
‘Gawd Almighty! She’s dead!’ he said aloud. ‘Sadie! Quick!’
Sadie came hurrying into the room, fearful of what she would see, her mouth hanging open. She crept over to the bed and looked down at the wan face of the still woman. She saw the empty phial and the tumbler beside the bed.
‘She’s took an overdose!’ she cried out. ‘The poor cow’s took an overdose!’
‘Is she . . . ?’ Albert whispered, stepping back a pace.
Sadie picked up the limp, cold hand and could feel no pulse. In desperation she looked around and saw the small oval mirror lying on the dressing table. ‘Give me that mirror. Quick, Albert!’
Sadie held the mirror close to the girl’s open mouth. ‘She’s still breavin’! Quick, run up the top o’ the street an’ phone fer an ambulance! While yer there yer’d better phone the police as well!’
Chapter Twenty–One
Monday the 29th of July began the same as any other Monday in dockland. The corner–shop owners had to listen to the customers’ moans and groans, everything seemed in short supply. The greengrocers took a large share of the complaints. Bananas had disappeared entirely from the shops, stalls and barrows, lemons and oranges were fast disappearing too, and only home–grown produce could still be bought in quantity. Corner–shop customers in the area had read of the recent haul at Sullivan’s Wharf and hoped that they would soon be able to purchase a tin of under–the–counter corned beef or peaches but knowing winks and vague gestures did no good. They finally realised that any goods that fell off the back of that lorry had not landed in the Tooley Street area. However, the odd luxury did find its way into a shopping bag, and the satisfied customer realised that all was not lost.
On that particular Monday morning the usual glumness was forgotten when the news of Kathy Thompson spread through the little backstreets. Alice Sutton heard it from Annie Barnes, who had just returned from getting her shopping.
‘It’s terrible, Alice, ’er poor muvver’s goin’ mad. A copper knocked on ’er door an’ told ’er the news. I bet that bastard Mason’s drove ’er to it.’
‘Where they took ’er to, Annie?’
‘Guy’s. Missus Thompson’s rushed up there. Gawd knows’ow bad it is, what wiv ’er bein’ in that condition.’
‘Well she’s in the right place. They’re marvellous at Guy’s, Annie.’
Annie Barnes nodded her agreement. ‘She’s ’ad an ’ard time of it, one way an’ anuvver.’
It was Alice’s turn to nod. ‘You’re right, ’er ole man’s got ter shoulder the blame as well. ’E kicked ’er out when ’e found out she was carryin’. ’E’s anuvver no good cow–son. ’E knocks Kathy’s muvver black an’ blue.’
‘I tell yer, Alice, I wouldn’t stan’ fer it, if it was me.’
‘Me neivver, Annie. I’d stab the whore–son when ’e was asleep.’
Danny did not hear the news about Kathy. He had left his house early to call in on the Arpinos’ shop. As he walked towards Bermondsey Lane he tried to think clearly about what he was going to say to Tony, but he was still feeling the effects of the party. His head was pounding and his legs felt leaden. As he walked along the line of shops he could sense something was wrong. The usual array of goods was absent from the pavement outside the Arpinos’ store. When he entered the shop, Danny stared in disbelief. The floor was littered with cans and packages, and one of the shelves had been yanked away from the wall. The grey marble counter had been smashed, and the large brass scales were lying on the floor. Lou Arpino stood amid the litter, his face grey with misery.
‘Dey done ma shop, Danny. Dey ’urt ma boy Tony. Look at da mess. It’s a no good, I’m tellin’ you, Danny. Dey ruined me.’
‘Where’s Tony?’ Danny asked, taking hold of the Italian’s arm. ‘Where is ’e, Lou?’
‘’E’s in da back. See if ma boy’s okay, Danny. Mamma’s wiv’im.’
Danny walked through into the back room and saw Sofia bending over her son. Tony sat slumped in a chair, blood coming from a cut above his eye. Sofia was parting his hair gently with her fingers and Tony winced. ‘It’s all right, Ma, it’s only a bump,’ he said impatiently.
‘Bloody ’ell! What ’appened, Tone?’
Tony Arpino looked up as his pal walked in. ‘They done us, Danny. They done us proper. They was too quick fer us.’
Sofia held her hands up to the ceiling. ‘Dey nearly killed our Tony,’ she cried. ‘Why dey do dis to us? We don’t ’urt anybody. Why, Danny?’
Tony took his mother’s hands in his. ‘Mamma, it’s okay. Yer go an’ make Danny a cup o’ tea. Go on mamma, yer forgettin’ Danny’s a guest?’
Sofia dabbed at her eyes as she disappeared into the kitchen, and Danny sat down facing his pal. ‘Tell us exactly what ’appened,’ he said.
Tony winced as he pressed the cut over his eye. ‘We’d just opened an’ they walked in large as life. Two of ’em there was. I ain’t seen eivver of ’em before. They didn’t say a word. One of ’em pulled the shelf over an’ the uvver git took an’ ’ammer from under ’is coat ’an smashed the counter. I jump the one wiv the ’ammer but the uvver bastard clobbered me over the crust. It looked like a pick–axe ’andle ’e ’it me wiv. I saw stars. Our pop tried ter grab the geezer that whacked me, but they pinned’im ter the wall an’ they told ’im ’e’d better fink again about not payin’ up. They said they’d be back.’
Danny puffed out his cheeks. ‘I come down ’ere a couple o’ times last week lookin’ fer yer. Did your farver tell yer?’
‘Yeah, he told me. I’m sorry I wasn’t ’ere. I was over Clerkenwell.’
‘What yer bin doin’ over there?’
Tony winced again as he felt the bump on his head. ‘There’s a lot of Italians live over Clerkenwell. They call it “Little Italy”. Ain’t yer never ’eard of it?’
Danny nodded. ‘Course I ’ave. But what was yer doin’ over there?’
Tony looked towards the kitchen, then lowered his voice. ‘I ain’t told Ma what I’m up to, but I’ve gotta do somefink, Danny. It was lucky she wasn’t in the shop at the time. I bin ter see some people I know. Some o’ Pop’s family live over Clerkenwell. They ’ad the same trouble there a few years ago but they sorted it out fer themselves. This crowd round ’ere won’t stick tergevver. Most of the shopkeepers ain’t exactly friendly wiv us, I fink they reckon we’re spies. They don’t see us as bein’ the same as them, but we’re no different, Danny, you know that. Take me: I was born in Bermon’sey, I speak the same as you do. Me pop took out English nationality papers years ago. It’s ’is country as well, but they can’t see it. Anyway, all the shopkeepers ’ad a meetin’ last week. Pop said we should all stick tergevver an’ not pay up. ’Course, a few of ’em agreed wiv ’im, but most of ’em reckoned it was easier ter pay up an’ avoid the aggro. What they don’t seem ter realise is that this is jus’ one foot in the door. Once that mob get us payin’ up, they’ll be pushin’ the dodgy gear on us. All that under the counter stuff. Yer know what they’re like, Danny.’
‘Yer still ain’t told me what yer was doin’ over Clerkenwell, Tony.’
Sofia Arpino came into the room carrying a tray with two cups of tea. ‘It’s nice you come to see us, Danny. You stay wiv Tony. I mus’ ’elp Papa clear up da mess.’
She left the room, and when she was out of earshot Tony leaned forward. ‘Danny, I’ve looked up a couple of ole pals. They’re gonna ’elp me take care o’ Jack Mason. We’re gonna give ’im a goin’ over, an’ if ’e don’t get the message an’ leave us alone, we’re gonna get really nasty. Those two pals o’ mine ain’t no powder puffs. We can ’andle Jack Mason.’
Danny looked at his friend affectionately. ‘Tony, yer me pal, an’ I like yer family. I’d ’ate it if any of yer got ’urt. Yer don’t know what yer lettin’ yerself in for. Yer ain’t dealin’ wiv some ole plum. Jack Mason’s got ’is fingers in everyfink, ’e knows a lot o’ people. If yer not careful, yer gonna start anuvver war of yer own. There’s bound ter be comebacks, it’s a certainty.’
Tony’s face was set hard. ‘All right, yer tell me what we’re expected ter do? If yer fink we’re gonna pay up, yer wrong. We ain’t gonna do it.’
Danny sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t know the answer, Tone. I tried ter get Kathy ter come up wiv some info, but she was scared. Yer can’t very well blame ’er, can yer? She’s terrified of Mason. And I ain’t gonna ask her again, it’s too dangerous.’
An argument was developing in the front of the shop between the Arpinos. Sofia started to raise her voice and Tony looked at his pal and sighed in resignation. Danny put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘Stay put, Tone. I’ll give ’em an ’and ter clear the mess up. When yer feelin’ up to it we’ll ’ave a drink an’ a long chat. Okay?’
It was a week since the warehouse break–in had been reported and Inspector Flint was getting impatient. There were no leads, and no information forthcoming from the usual informers. It was as though the whole load had vanished into thin air. Inspector Flint stood up from his desk and looked thoughtfully out of his office window. Down below people were moving around in the yard; timber was being neatly stacked, and two workers were loading deal boards on to a lorry. For a few moments he watched the activity. At times like this, it would be nice to have a job that ended when the five o’clock whistle went, he thought. That idiot Stockbridge is an incompetent ass. I seem to be surrounded with brainless idiots. Surely someone would have spotted that stolen gear being sold off by now? Apparently Limehouse nick was drawing a blank, too. Still, maybe the impossible has happened, maybe Stockbridge has got a new slant on the business. Anyway, it’s about time I shook him up a bit, he decided, opening the door and screaming out for his subordinate.
Detective Constable Stockbridge was dreading the call. He had contacted all his snouts and filled up two notebooks with memoranda, and his feet were sore from all the walking. Stockbridge was convinced that the stolen cases had been unloaded locally and shipped out of the area. The lorry belonging to Sullivan’s Wharf had been left in Limehouse to draw the scent away from Bermondsey, he told himself. If none of his snouts had seen anything, then there was nothing to see. They had never let him down before. Problem was getting that dopey git of an inspector to see how sensible his assumptions were. It was a pity that the inspector’s predecessor had let his sexual hang–up become his downfall. If he had been a little more discreet, he could have pursued his pastime and still kept his job, there would then have been no threat of going back to the beat.
When he walked into the inspector’s office, Stockbridge feared the worst. Flint had a face as long as a month of Sundays, and he was drumming his fingers on the polished surface of his desk.
‘Well, Stockbridge, it’s been a week now. What have you got for me?’
Fat Stan grimaced. ‘It’s quiet, sir, none o’ me contacts ’ave reported anyfink. They’ve ’eard nuffink, an’ there’s no whispers about the local villains bein’ involved.’
‘Well someone broke into the warehouse, man, and it wasn’t the bloody fairies. The lorry was found in Limehouse, okay? It was full of Orientals and Oriental fingerprints. The results are, the local police make a pinch and we’ve got sod all!’
Fat Stan winced. ‘I reckon the stuff was unloaded in Bermon’sey, sir. There’s loads o’ railway arches an’ yards round’ere.’