Detective Constable Stanley Stockbridge walked quickly towards Tony Allen’s offices situated off Jamaica Road. He was a worried man. Jack Mason’s murder had thrown his plans completely. The boys from the Yard were involved and the Station Inspector had made it plain that they were to get full co–operation. Stockbridge knew the identity of the man seen running from the scene of the crime. He had had his eye on Ross for some time, and his snout had informed him of the strained relations between Ross and Mason. The detective was certain Johnny Ross was his man, but before he named his suspect he thought he should have a word with Allen the bookie. As he walked up towards the offices in Wilson Street Fat Stan saw Tony Allen standing at the door.
‘I’ve bin expectin’ you, Stan. Let’s go over the road fer a drink,’ Tony said.
The Jamaica was almost empty at that time of the morning. There were only one or two regulars sitting around the small bar.
‘Give us a Scotch an’ soda an’ a gin an’ tonic, luv,’ Tony Allen said to the barmaid. ‘Oh, an’ can we use yer snug bar? We’ve got a bit o’ business ter take care of.’
Doreen flashed Tony a smile. ‘I’ll unlock it,’ she said. ‘You’ll be okay in there.’
When they had seated themselves and the drinks were in front of them Fat Stan looked hard at Tony. ‘Look, I can’t afford ter mess around, Tony. Murder’s way out of my league. The Yard are involved. You gonna put a name my way?’
Tony Allen smiled. ‘I’d like ter ’elp yer, Stan. Jack Mason had ’is own little fings goin’ fer ’im. I ’ad nuffink ter do wiv’is killin’. I know we ’ad our differences, but ’e was straight wiv me. ’E wasn’t turnin’ me over, if that’s what yer fink.’
The detective toyed with his glass. ‘You’ve read the papers? Yer know we’ve got a description of a man seen runnin’, or rather, limpin’ out of the turnin’?’
The bookie nodded. ‘’Ave yer got a name?’
Fat Stan looked at the bookie. ‘Me an’ you go back a long way, Tony. Don’t let’s play games. Yer know who that man was as well as I do.’
Tony Allen smiled. ‘Yer don’t honestly fink Johnny Ross is capable of murder, do yer?’
‘Maybe not. ’E’s gotta be brought in though. If ’e’s in the clear ’e ain’t got nuffink ter worry about, but it looks suspicious all the same.’
The bookie downed his drink and called out to Doreen. ‘Fill’em up, luv.’
When the barmaid had replaced their drinks Tony leaned back in his seat. ‘What else yer got ter go on, Stan?’
The fat detective emptied the remainder of the tonic into his gin. ‘There was a conversation in the pub between Mason an’ a stranger. Nobody knew ’is face, or they’re not tellin’. Anyway, Mason followed this geezer out an’ ’e didn’t come back. The prosser who was chattin’ Mason up before was the one who found ’is body. She can’t tell us much. She was too pissed ter remember what the geezer who was talkin’ ter Mason looked like. There’s anuvver fing worryin’ me, Tony. The squeeze that’s goin’ on in Bermon’sey Lane, was Mason involved in that?’
Tony Allen nodded. ‘That was nuffink ter do wiv me, Stan, that was Mason’s little perk. Yer know I don’t work against the local traders. I employed Mason ter look after me interests at the race tracks. Yer know what it’s like. It’s a bleedin’ ’ard business, an’ we need ’ard men ter back us up. I tell yer one fing, when I found out about the Bermon’sey Lane affair I ’ad a set–to wiv Mason. Those mugs ’e brought in were bad news.’
Fat Stan showed a ghost of a smile. ‘Yer didn’t take an iron bar ter back up yer argument, did yer?’
The bookie’s eyes narrowed. ‘If it ’ad bin my intention ter do away wiv ’im, I’d ’ave made a tidier job of it, believe me.’
‘I’m only jokin’, Tony, but I’ve got a problem. There’s a new gaffer at the station as yer know. ’E’s a different kettle o’ fish ter the uvver lecherous ole bastard. This one wants results. Take it from me, ’e’s no mug, ’e’s out ter cripple the likes o’ you. So far I’ve kept yer name out o’ the frame, but the gaffer ain’t left me alone since the ware’ouse job in Shad Thames. If I can nail Ross, bring ’im in as a murder suspect I mean, it’ll take the pressure orf, if yer know what I’m gettin’ at?’
‘Well yer won’t find ’im at ’is own address, Stan.’
‘Where’s ’e ’oled up?’
Tony Allen studied his glass for a second or two. ‘Try ’is married sister’s place. She runs a pub in Deptford, The Galleon, just off Tanners ’Ill. Yer’ll find ’im there I reckon.’
The detective finished his drink. ‘I’m orf. Keep yer nose clean, Tone.’
The bookie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. ‘There’s a little appreciation of yer support, Stanley. I only like ter see ’orses’ names goin’ in the frame, if yer get me drift.’
Danny Sutton walked along St Thomas’s Street and stopped at the gates of Guy’s Hospital. A large, ruddy–faced woman in a man’s cap, wearing a blue apron tied around her waist, smiled at him and stood with her hands on her hips while he inspected the colourful array of flowers. ‘What’s yer fancy, luvvy?’ she asked. ‘There’s roses, carnations, an’ there’s some luvverly . . .’
‘Jus’ do us up a bundle, will yer?’ Danny said quickly.
The flower–seller gathered a selection from the vases and wrapped them up in a large sheet of paper. ‘There we are. ’Old’em up, they won’t bite yer,’ she said, smiling wickedly.
Danny climbed the stairs and joined the waiting visitors outside the ward. He held the bundle of flowers down at his side and looked around self–consciously. Mrs Thompson had told him that Kathy wanted to see him, and that on no account must he talk about Jack Mason. She had also told him that Kathy was very depressed over the loss of the baby and she hoped his visit might help to cheer her up. Danny felt uncomfortable as he followed the Saturday afternoon visitors into the long ward. He spotted Kathy and walked over to the foot of her bed where she lay propped up against the pillows with her hands folded outside the bedclothes. He was shocked by her appearance; she looked white and drawn, and her dark hair spread out across the pillow made her pallor seem worse.
But Kathy smiled at him, and for an instant he saw a glimmer of welcome in her large dark eyes. He moved around the bed and bent down. His lips brushed her pale cheek and he could smell the scent of Lifebuoy soap. He sat down and leaned forward, covering her hands in his, and grinned. ‘D’yer like the flowers?’ he asked.
She nodded, her eyes fixing him solemnly. ‘Fanks fer comin’ in, Danny. I ’oped yer would.’
‘Yer couldn’t keep me away. ’Ow yer feelin’?’
‘I’m okay. Yer know about the baby?’
Danny nodded. ‘I’m sorry. Yer mum told me.’
‘Did she tell yer not ter mention about Jack?’
‘Yer know then?’
Kathy nodded slowly. ‘They tried ter keep it from me, but I’eard two of the patients talkin’ an’ I’ve seen the paper.’
Danny winced. ‘It must ’ave bin an ’orrible shock, gettin’ it that way,’ he said.
Kathy turned her head towards him. ‘There’s nuffink inside me, Danny. I feel no pain, no sadness, nuffink. It’s scary.’
Danny squeezed her hands in his and saw the tear slip down her cheek onto the pillow. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he said, ‘there’s nuffink ter be scared about.’
‘I’m scared ’cos I’m empty, Danny. I should feel somefink, shouldn’t I?’
Danny took out a handkerchief and dabbed her cheek. ‘Yer need time, Kath. It’s shock. I know what me ole mum would say if she was ’ere. ‘You ’ave a good cry dear, an’ yer’ll feel better.’
‘I want ter cry, Danny. I want ter cry buckets, but I can’t, I’m empty.’
Danny drew a line along the white counterpane with his finger, then he looked into her dark eyes. ‘Listen ter me. I’m not very good at this sort o’ fing but I tell yer, Kath, when I was in Dunkirk I saw grown men cryin’. They was soldiers who ’ad gone frew ’ell. I see ’em sittin’ at the roadside cryin’, an’ you know what? I wished I could ’ave done the same. We’d all bin frew a bad time an’ some of us didn’t know ’ow ter cry. I wished I could ’ave cried. Nobody was laughin’ at ’em, we all felt the same. Some of us bottled it up, an’ uvvers jus’ cried. There’s no shame in tears. Yer know, I saw me dad cry once.’
Kathy’s eyes travelled over his face and he looked down at his clenched fists. ‘We was at The Trocette. It was a real sad film. People was blowin’ their noses an’ I could ’eard the ole girls sobbin’. Me, I was tryin’ ’ard not ter laugh. Anyway, I looked up at me dad, an’ ’e was brushin’ a tear away from ’is eye. ’E caught me clockin’ ’im an’ ’e said ’e ’ad a bit o’ dirt in’is eye. I knew ’e was cryin’, an’ ’e knew I knew, but ’e wouldn’t admit it. I wouldn’t ’ave minded though. I wouldn’t mind if yer cried, Kath. Yer can cry all over me if yer like.’
Kathy’s eyes filled with tears and she bit on her bottom lip. Danny reached out to her and her arms came up to him. He held her close and felt her sobs as she buried her head in his chest. ‘Oh, Danny, why did I go to ’im? Why didn’t I wait? I never stopped finkin’ about yer. Every day I wondered if yer was gettin’ wounded. I always wanted yer, but yer was never around. Yer never seemed ter be there when I wanted yer. Why didn’t I wait, Danny?’
The young man gulped and patted her back gently. He could feel the tears falling onto his neck. ‘I’m ’ere, Kathy, I’m ’ere,’ he said softly.
The ward sister stopped at the foot of Kathy’s bed and gave Danny a concerned look. Danny winked and eased Kathy back onto the pillow. ‘There. Yer’ll feel better soon. Dry yer eyes,’ he said, handing her his handkerchief.
Kathy dabbed at her face and gave him a sheepish smile. ‘I’m okay. Fanks.’
He pocketed his handkerchief. ‘I’ve gotta be orf,’ he said. ‘Close yer eyes fer a while. Yer mum’s comin’ in soon.’
Kathy gripped his hand. ‘I’m goin’ ter me aunt’s fer a couple o’ weeks, Danny. I need some time ter meself. Will I see yer around when I get back?’
‘I’ll be around, Kath. I’m not goin’ anywhere.’
Danny left the hospital and walked slowly back to Dawson Street. He felt a tightness in his chest and a heaviness weighing down on him. In his coat pocket he still had Alison’s letter, and even while he had sat with Kathy the letter had flashed into his mind. He felt that he had betrayed Kathy. He had encouraged her to show her emotions, and then she had asked to see him and he had led her to believe that he would be around when she needed him. Danny realised he had promised too much. She might dwell on what he had told her and expect more of him that he was sure he could give. He might be around, but he could not guarantee his feelings. His need for Alison pulled hard on him; the thought of her sent his pulse racing–and he knew in his heart that he would answer her letter, very soon.
Danny battled with guilt as he walked home. He had not made any actual commitment to Kathy, he had only said that he would be around. She couldn’t expect him to be forever ready to drop everything and rush to her when she called. He had his own life to lead. Then he suddenly realised how selfish his thoughts were. Was it love that made him want to dash to Alison, or was it purely lust? Was it love that made him go to Kathy or was it pity? What was that word ‘love’ Alison had said rolled easily from his tongue? Was it many different things appearing as one? He needed desperately to discover a real answer, but instead a hollowness had opened up inside him. As he turned into Dawson Street he was aware of nothing but pain tightening like a steel band around his head.
Right on closing time that Saturday two men walked into The Galleon in Deptford.
‘Sorry, gents, it’s after three o’clock,’ the barman said, stiffening.
A warrant was flashed, and soon after Johnny Ross was led out between two large detectives. A bundle containing his personal belongings was collected and he sat quietly as he was driven to Deptford Police Station. When he arrived he was taken to a room where there was nothing but two chairs and a small table. He was left alone for over an hour, with only his thoughts for company, and he saw the whole picture opening up before him: the trial would be held at the Bailey of course; the many witnesses would naturally testify that Jack Mason was a law–abiding citizen, who had been cruelly murdered for the small amount of money on his person; the number one exhibit, an iron bar, would cause the jury to shake their heads in horror as it was passed among them. There was only one verdict he could expect, and the twelve good men and true would not even retire to consider. The formality over, the judge, who, in his mind’s eye, looked remarkably like Bonky Williams, would put on the black cap and pronounce sentence. Johnny heard the words echoing around the court. ‘. . . and you will hang by the neck until you are dead.’ He would try to stay calm and learn how to play chess. The warders would be okay, they would look pityingly at him as the footsteps in the corridor sounded and the mumbling priest read from the good book.
The door opened and Johnny jumped like a scared rabbit. ‘Come on, Ross, you’re goin’ ter Dock’ead nick.’
Johnny Ross tried to control his shaking knees as he stared into the ugly face of Stanley Stockbridge. A huge hand took his arm in a tight grip and steered him out to the waiting car. ‘I’ve seen you ’round the manor, Ross, ain’t I?’ Fat Stan leered.
Johnny could only nod as he was bundled into the police car.
Chapter Twenty–Four
On Monday the 5th of August Johnny Ross was hauled from the police station cell and the questions began once more. At first he had insisted that he did not go near the body, and he established through Cora a reason for being in the locality on that particular night. But the police were confident that a charge could be brought within a matter of hours. A distinctive footprint in the blood matched up to the suspect’s shoes, and traces of blood were found in the tread. Johnny then changed his story and said that he had seen three men attack Jack Mason and he had gone over to find out if there was anything he could do to help the victim. When he had realised the man was past help, he had panicked and run away. The police interrogated Johnny for hours but he stuck to his story. A thorough search of the area around the scene of the crime was in operation and the police felt sure that as soon as the murder weapon was found their suspect would crack.