by David Field
‘Your point being?’ Percy said coldly.
‘My point being that your remit from the Home Secretary was to review manpower and readiness within Met stations — not to do the same at the Yard, or to hint at corruption anywhere within the Met.’
‘Should you not be concerned to learn of the potential corruption that we have uncovered?’ Percy demanded huffily. This seemed to galvanise Bray into entering the office and taking a seat uninvited as he glared across the desk at Percy.
‘I’ve been ordered to tolerate your shit-stirring outside the Yard, Percy, but don’t fool yourself for one minute that I’m prepared to tolerate it on my patch. No doubt you believe that Jim Padley was responsible for the loss of those rifles from “Stolen Property”, but I’ve already conducted my own investigations into that, and there’s no evidence of his involvement, so put that file on your desk back where it belongs.’
‘I’m not convinced that you were correct in absolving him from any involvement...’ Percy began, only to be silenced by Bray bringing his fist down heavily on the desk.
‘That’s an order, Inspector! If I had my way, you wouldn’t even be back in here like a bad smell in a flower vase! You’ve only got your arse behind this desk on the direct authority of the Home Secretary, but that cuts two ways. You’ll stick rigidly to the conditions of your reinstatement, or else you’ll be out of here. And those conditions do not permit you to cast aspersions on the way I run my own particular corner of the Yard. One more step over the line, and you’ll be stepping out of the door for good and proper. Got that?’
‘Loudly and clearly,’ Percy muttered as he locked eyes with Bray. Without a further word being exchanged between them, Bray removed the file from the desk in front of Percy, rose from the visitor’s chair and stormed out of the office.
‘I really think I should be back on my feet, dear,’ Constance Enright complained yet again as Esther plumped up the pillows behind her head, then tutted. ‘And don’t tut like that — it’s not ladylike,’ Constance added. ‘The doctor clearly said — in your hearing as well as mine — that I could get up after a couple of days.’
‘Three days,’ Esther reminded her, ‘and today’s only Wednesday — the second day. We’ve got all this correspondence to sort through, and you can supervise that equally well from your bed, so let’s get on with it.’
‘I can’t write while I’m sitting up in bed,’ Constance grumbled, ‘and I hate to burden you with all the replies.’
‘It’s no burden,’ Esther assured her, ‘and it gives me something to do apart from listening to Nell trying to stop Miriam from staggering into furniture or wandering into dangerous places like the kitchen.’
‘If I follow the doctor’s orders and stay in bed until tomorrow,’ Constance wheedled, ‘could I come for a leisurely stroll up the road, like he recommended, and walk to your place for morning tea or something?’
‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea. Doctor Browning suggested that the limit of any leisurely stroll should be the crossroads, and it’s another quarter of a mile or so down Bunting Lane from there. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you on your way to our house.’
‘But surely you’d welcome the company?’
‘I have your company in equal measure when I come here, don’t I?’ Esther pointed out. ‘So let’s not hear any more unwise suggestions about you over-reaching yourself and disobeying doctor’s orders. Now, where do you want to start with all this lot?’
Jack opted to celebrate his latest discovery at ‘Jimmy’s Tea House’, around the corner from Leman Street Police Station, waiting for Albert Preedy to at some stage slip out for a meat pie, as they had vaguely agreed at the end of their first assignation there. Then Jack would be able to report that according to Mappin and Webb, the cufflinks on the corpse pulled out of St Katherine Dock in a very ripe condition had indeed belonged to Teddy Ainsworth, suggesting that the rest of the gruesome find was also him. Jack was also hoping for an additional ‘lead’ on the missing Michael Black.
The early middle-aged lady who reminded him of his mother stood looking down at him for a moment from the other side of the table that he was occupying alone, before enquiring, ‘Is this seat vacant?’ Jack nodded, and she added, ‘It’s just that one can’t be too cautious these days, and with you being a police officer I’d feel safer in your company.’ She put her mug of tea down on the table and slid into the opposite seat.
‘How did you know that I was a police officer?’
‘You are Detective Sergeant Jack Enright, are you not?’
When Jack nodded, open-mouthed, she smiled reassuringly.
‘Perhaps as well, because I’d hate to have been following the wrong person.’
‘Following for how long — and why, precisely?’
‘All the way from the West End, when you came out of that jewellers with a big smile on your face. You obviously didn’t spot me, which is good, but I have a message for your uncle from William Melville.’
‘You mean Melville from…?’ Jack blurted but stopped himself as the lady shushed him to silence.
‘“Careless lips”, and all that, but you’re correct. He wants Percy to be on the Thames Embankment, under Cleopatra’s Needle, at noon tomorrow, reading tomorrow’s Daily Mail. There’ll be someone there to meet with him. Now, since you appear to have finished your tea, you’d best be getting along before we’re seen together. If anyone asks, I’m your aunt.’
‘Assistant Commissioner Doyle would like to see you,’ the uniformed constable advised Percy through the open door.
Five minutes later Percy tapped tentatively on the half open door that revealed on its glass panel that it gave access to the office of the fourth most senior officer within Scotland Yard. The long head that appeared to be carved from granite inclined upwards, and Doyle smiled.
‘Inspector Enright, do come in. I don’t believe we’ve ever met, but I’m Brian Doyle. I came up through the West End and Westminster, whereas I’m told that you’re an East End man, so that probably explains it. Tea?’
Percy nodded with a smile of his own, and took the seat indicated by the wave of the age-spotted hand while the Assistant Commissioner raised the receiver from the telephone on his desk and ordered tea and biscuits for two.
‘Bray giving you a hard time, is he?’ Doyle enquired, almost casually. When Percy’s face registered surprise, Doyle smiled reassuringly.
‘Not much gets past me up here. He roasted your arse earlier this morning, didn’t he? Why was that?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say, sir, I’m afraid.’
Doyle frowned. ‘If you’re working on something important, and Bray’s blocking you, I can easily pull him from out of your hair. You must realise that.’
‘I’m aware of your rank, obviously,’ Percy replied guardedly, ‘but I’m afraid that I report elsewhere.’
‘Special Branch?’ Doyle enquired with a broad smile, but Percy remained tight-lipped as Doyle added, ‘Your face just said it all, Percy. Just relax, there’s a good man.’
The tea and biscuits appeared, and Doyle poured for them both while pushing the plate closer to Percy.
‘I respect and admire your integrity and confidentiality, Percy, but if you’re to penetrate the brick wall that operates in this dump of a place, you’re going to need friends in high places. I can open doors that you can only kick against.’
‘I’m well aware of that, sir, but even so…’
‘It must be very frustrating for a man in your position,’ Doyle continued without any seeming annoyance at Percy’s stubborn intransigence. ‘You’re well known as a crusader for social justice, whereas most of the idiots occupying the ranks between you and me seem dedicated only towards climbing the ladder and preserving their pensions. It’s time for the wind of change to blast through this place, and men like you will be well placed when it does. What you might call a “new order” in policing the Met. That must surely appeal to you?’
‘And what makes you think that they’re wrong?’ Doyle enquired, the smile fading slightly.
‘They aren’t, necessarily. What I object to are the methods they’re employing.’
‘And what do you know about those, precisely?’ Doyle challenged him. ‘Whatever corruption you find in the Met, or for that matter the Yard, you report directly to me, understand? Underlings like Bray are just seeking to feather their own nests and preserve their own pensions. The real authority begins on my level, and don’t ever forget that.’
‘Certainly not, sir. May I get back to work now?’
‘You may, Percy, but be careful of the questions you ask, because you may not like the answers you get.’
‘It was a very definite warning,’ Percy told Jack that evening as they sat awaiting supper, ‘and a far from friendly one at that. Thank God that Melville’s finally back in touch, since I’d have needed to report back to him without delay anyway, and I had no idea how to do it without alerting suspicion. That lady you had tea with must have been one of his undercover ferrets.’
‘She reminded me more of Mother than a ferret,’ Jack smiled, ‘but you’re sure that it’s safe to follow the instruction?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
Jack slowly shook his head. ‘I suppose not. How do you intend to pass on everything we’ve learned so far, including the obvious murders of Constables Greenway and Ainsworth, not to mention the possible murder of Constable Black?’
‘Tomorrow morning I’ll put it all in writing, along with my strong suspicion that corruption in the Yard runs as high as Doyle. Then hopefully there’ll be an opportunity to pass it to whoever I meet with at noon.’
‘Do you want me to follow behind you, just in case?’
‘So that you can be followed in your turn?’ Percy smiled. ‘That lady you met today managed to trail you without you being aware of the fact, and I don’t want Melville to gain the impression that we don’t trust him.’
‘And do we?’
‘We have no choice, at this stage. Although the further we stick our heads into this ants’ nest, the less confident I am about anyone or anything.’
‘I have a horrible feeling that I’ve got as far as I can with my side of the investigations,’ Jack said. ‘Between us we’ve confirmed that certain corners of the Met have been corrupted, and all of it seemingly to the same end. Whoever’s behind all this has acquired military uniforms and guns with considerable ease, that’s obvious. But we’re no closer to finding out who, or why.’
‘Perhaps that’s all that Melville wanted from us,’ Percy speculated. ‘I’ll be able to report our findings tomorrow, and that may be the end of it. But if Special Branch wants us for anything else, no doubt I’ll be informed.’
‘Do you think it would be in order for me to go back to Barking?’ Jack asked hopefully. ‘I’m not sure what sort of reception I’ll get, but if this really is the end of our appointed task, then I see no reason for staying here and incurring more of Esther’s displeasure.’
‘Leave it until I’ve contacted Melville’s messenger tomorrow,’ Percy suggested. ‘Tomorrow’s Thursday, and you can slip back home with a clear conscience on Friday morning unless we have some additional urgent work to do.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘In the meantime you’ll be facing more danger; your Aunt Beattie’s cooking another of her special dishes from that menu book she must have acquired from the local undertaker’s.’
On the Thursday morning, just as Big Ben boomed out midday, Percy approached Cleopatra’s Needle carrying his newspaper and hoping that he wouldn’t be kept waiting in the cold October wind that was blowing up the Thames, all the way from Southend by the feel of it. Discarded newspapers and food wrappers blew in gusts past his feet, and he extended silent heartfelt sympathy towards the tramp who sat perched on the top step of the plinth on which the Needle was mounted, seeking shelter from the icy blasts as his layers of old clothing flapped around him. The man had the right idea, however, Percy concluded as he mounted the steps himself and attempted to open that day’s copy of the Daily Mail that stubbornly refused to lie flat in his hands in order to disclose its inner contents.
Ten minutes later he’d read, for the third time, the lead story about the latest leg of Tsar Nicholas’s grand tour of Europe following his coronation earlier that year. He tutted with irritation, extracted his fob watch, flipped open its metal cover and reminded himself that he’d spent almost fifteen minutes wasting his time and risking influenza.
‘Patience is a virtue, Percy,’ said the tramp.
Percy whipped round in disbelief at the grinning face of the elderly vagrant seated with his back to the base of the plinth. ‘You?’
‘Did you expect me to approach you holding up a placard bearing the name of my department? What can you tell me?’
‘It’s all written down in a report tucked safely inside my overcoat,’ Percy assured him, ‘but how can I hand it over without alerting suspicion?’
‘When we’ve finished talking, go down into the Gents by way of that staircase just ahead of you, place the report inside the newspaper, come back up, then throw the newspaper into that rubbish bin by the embankment wall. I’ll pick it up when I leave. But don’t go just yet — just step up to my level, as if you’re trying to get a better view over the top of the retaining wall down into the river, then I can speak more softly.’
Percy did as instructed, and the man continued.
‘Our friend wishes you to concentrate your efforts on the Westminster police stations, particularly the ‘A’ Division office in Bow Street. Find what links you can to the Wellington Barracks in Birdcage Walk, which will be the headquarters of the Foot Guards who’ll be the Queen’s first line of defence on her parade next year. Report back your preliminary findings a week today, at the same time, but not here.’
‘Where, then?’
‘Westminster Abbey, next to the baptismal font. On that occasion I’ll be a priest in holy orders.’
Chapter Ten
Jack hummed happily to himself as he alighted from the train and began to swing his portmanteau eagerly through the darkness of late-evening Barking. The occasional gas lamps with their arcs of light cast a shimmer over the pools left by the sleet shower that had taken itself further south-west towards the northern outer suburbs of London, and as far as Jack was concerned they deserved it. He’d devoted the past four days to the people of the capital, and now it was his turn.
Uncle Percy had returned from his somewhat surreal encounter with the man briefed by Special Branch bearing the good tidings that they had finished with the East End but were now to concentrate their efforts on the far more salubrious environs of the West End. A hasty counsel of war over a pot of tea in a Whitehall tea shop across the road from the Yard had ended with the conclusion that the West End would still be there on Monday morning, and that since Percy had no burning desire to remain in their begrudged office, exposed to further verbal violence from Chief Superintendent Bray and further dark warnings from Assistant Commissioner Doyle, he could hardly expect Jack to do so either. The attractive alternative for which they had opted was that Percy would spend Friday digging in the last of the runner bean foliage that would fertilise his vegetable patch for the spring, while Jack would take his laundry on a late train from Fenchurch Street and return to the bosom of his family.
As Jack approached the house he reminded himself that his welcome home would be likely to be of the chilled variety, unless Esther had missed him so much that she was prepared to forgive him. He looked up eagerly for the
anticipated welcoming glow from the house lights but saw only darkness. He would have to wait until tomorrow to greet his family.
The following morning as Esther sat warming her hands on a cup of tea, she grumbled, ‘Some warning would have been nice.’
‘I didn’t know myself until around mid-afternoon, then I had to collect my things from Hackney and run for a late train.’
‘The “things from Hackney” can go into the copper after breakfast, while you remind the children of the father they’re in danger of forgetting.’
‘I realise that I’m still in the bad books,’ Jack sighed with resignation, ‘but that’s rather an exaggeration. I take it that everyone’s fine?’
‘The children are, although Bertie’s going down with a sniffle that he probably caught when he got his feet wet through splashing in puddles all the way home from school on Tuesday. And your mother took a funny turn the day before.’
‘By “a funny turn”, I take it you don’t mean that she’s finally succumbed to a sense of humour?’
‘A mild heart attack, according to Dr Browning. She was confined to bed for three days, and I managed to keep her there, but now she’s threatening to walk up here every day, allegedly on doctor’s orders, since he told her to lose weight and take some gentle exercise.’
‘But she’s OK?’
‘She seems to be now, but it was quite dramatic at the time. Anyway, to forestall her coming up here you might want to call in on her this morning. That sounds like Lily and Bertie in the opening salvos of their daily warfare, so I’ll leave them to you while I see to your laundry.’
‘Daddy!’ was the collective cry of delight that rang through the house, and even little Miriam was able to chortle ‘Doddee’ in her throaty style as she smiled up at him from the living room floor. After two hours supervising the democratic utilisation of the backyard swing by Lily and Bertie in equal turns, Jack announced his intention of wandering down the road to the family home in Church Street to surprise his mother.