A Shadowed Livery

by Charlie Garratt

  ‘I’ve no proof but I know it was them. The police tried to accuse me of doing it but I was able to prove where I’d been at the time. It’s why I joined the police. To get justice for Heather.’

  I shook as the anger that had waited years to escape took hold. Dyer sipped his tea and let me settle before he went on.

  ‘Why did you think it was the Sicilians? You said you had no proof.’

  ‘I don’t. But carved onto Heather’s stomach was a message, “debito non pagato” — an unpaid debt. And they’re still after me to collect that debt.’

  He stayed with me for about an hour, going through my story in more and more detail, and getting a clear description of the Demma brothers. I told him they’d stayed in England after killing Heather and become involved in various gangs in London, and how Gerry Costello had told me just before he was murdered they’d moved up to Birmingham. Dyer was interested to hear my theory that they’d now tied in with those carrying out the beatings of Jewish businessmen and said he’d organise a search for the Sicilians.

  I was exhausted at the end of it and slept for a while before I was woken again by more visitors. Two pairs of heels clattered down the ward and two hands waved with a “Bye, James” as they left. The WPCs were the last of the stream of visitors I’d had all morning and Elizabeth eyed up the prettiest when they crossed in the doorway.

  ‘Thanks for coming to see me, Elizabeth.’

  She continued to stand until I asked her to pull up a seat and waved over to a nurse to bring a vase for the flowers Elizabeth was holding.

  Elizabeth eyed the bowl on my bedside table.

  ‘I brought some fruit as well, but can see you’ve already got plenty.’

  The look on her face told me she thought it had been brought by one of my female visitors.

  ‘Yes, I have, haven’t I? The boss brought some in and John Sawyer did likewise. It’s very kind of you though, all the same.’ I tried to lift myself into a more comfortable position to talk to her and pain shot through my ribs. I winced.

  ‘That looks painful. They told me you’d been badly beaten up. How are you?’

  ‘I’m all right, considering. The two fellers gave me a good going over. I’ve a lot of bruising but nothing broken. Hurts like hell but nowhere near as much as when you walked out.’

  She blushed and looked around the ward for anything to focus on so that she wouldn’t need to look me in the eye.

  ‘It’s true, Elizabeth. I thought we were getting on so well together. You know I was only doing my job. I felt awful about it but you have to see Michael was an obvious suspect. You said so yourself.’

  I was taking a chance because she might easily take offence again and we’d be back to our argument. My one hope was she’d cared enough to have come to visit me in the hospital. Her first reaction seemed to be to stiffen, then she took a deep breath to settle herself.

  ‘I do know you were only doing your job, James, but it was still hurtful. Michael is my brother and regardless of what he’s done in the past, I care for him. I knew he couldn’t be guilty of such an awful crime. You should have trusted me.’

  I wanted to say I did trust her, that it was her brother I hadn’t trusted. But I thought it better to leave it where it was. There were some bigger issues we’d be facing before too long.

  ‘How did it happen, then? Who did this to you, James?’

  So I gave her the whole lot as I’d told it to Dyer and Sawyer before she arrived. Some of it she already knew, most of it she didn’t. By the time I’d finished I saw she was shaking.

  ‘That’s just ... just awful. Why didn’t you tell me before, James?’

  She didn’t need any more surprises but I said a quick prayer and drew a deep breath.

  ‘Actually, there’s two important bits I’ve missed out. I’m Jewish and my name isn’t James Given.’

  I filled Elizabeth in on the parts of my life I’d never had the courage to tell her — or anyone — before. How I’d constantly argued with my father about his religion and his abhorrence of Russia. About how I’d believed he should never have left but should have stayed to help build the new state after the revolution. About how I’d run away from home and joined a boat in Grimsby which I fantasised would lead me back to what I thought of as my homeland.

  On board I met a Russian sailor who laughed at my naivety.

  ‘Don’t you know things are far worse there for Jews now than ever they were under the Tsar?’ he’d said.

  I later found he was right, up to 150,000 Jews had been killed in 1919 in pogroms and the country was on its knees. Soon after, he started to make repeated taunts of ‘Jew-boy’ and even spitting at my feet whenever I walked by. He was a great brute of a man and more than a physical match for my skinny frame so I had to take it. Soon he’d pulled his friends into his game and my life became hell on board. I left the ship in Bremerhaven in northern Germany.

  I visited my Uncle Gideon at that time, who lived in nearby Bremen. He told me of a man named Adolf Hitler who’d just been released from prison and who was whipping up hatred against the Jews. His ideas on how they were controlling the economy through their ownership of the banks and businesses were attracting a lot of popular support amongst the people. Uncle Gideon thought, even then, he might be forced to move away to safety, like he’d done to escape persecution in Russia. For my part, this convinced me even more that openly admitting to being a Jew was not a good idea.

  Shortly afterwards, I abandoned both my ideas of going to help establish the newly declared Soviet Union, and my name, changing it to something less recognisably Jewish. Bremerhaven was always a cauldron of nationalities and it was no problem at all to get papers to give me a new identity. Much more difficult was obtaining the documents to legitimise it when I returned home. The wheels of English bureaucracy grind exceeding slow and it took over six months to obtain the right credentials after I decided I wanted to join the police.

  It was as if the cork had finally been pulled from the bottle. All of this poured out of me for what seemed like an age, again with no interruption from Elizabeth. Eventually she spoke.

  ‘But you don’t look Jewish.’

  I laughed. ‘There’s the problem, Elizabeth, no one looks Jewish. What you have in your head is the demonic picture that’s put around about Jews. Shakespeare’s Shylock. If you met my father on a Friday night, you’d see his beard, his yarmulke, his dark suit and his prayer shawl and you’d recognise him as Jewish. Take away those trappings and he’d look much like half the elderly men in Birmingham.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, James. When I heard you’d been hurt and were in hospital I suddenly realised again how much I loved you. I was prepared to forget about our argument and see it as just that, an argument, not a nail in the coffin. But this is a lot to take in.’

  Elizabeth stayed for over an hour after I revealed my secret, firstly quizzing me about Judaism, then in greater detail as to why I felt the need to deny my heritage. She spent the remainder of the time pressing me to return to my faith, which caused me considerable confusion. Here she was, telling me openly she’d have difficulty coping with me as a Jew but then remonstrating with me for trying to ignore this part of me.

  She’d been employed by a clergyman and I thought her own faith must have been quite strong, albeit as a Christian. Perhaps this was why she found it so hard to understand why someone would reject their religion. I tried to tell her I hadn’t fully rejected it, only hidden it for a while. Even to me it sounded as hollow as when I’d had a similar discussion with my father a couple of weeks earlier. Who was I trying to fool? Elizabeth, my father or myself?

  We’d gone on in this way until Elizabeth had to leave and her final words were still making my head spin.

  ‘You … we need to work this out, James. I want us to remain friends, I know we can, though I’m not sure it will now ever be any more than just friendship. I’ll not see you again for a while.’

  With this, she kissed me on the
forehead, her fingers lingering for a second too long on my cheek, then left. I watched her making her way out of the ward, the men in the other beds looking at her appreciatively. I don’t think I’d ever felt so alone in my whole life as her heels faded away down the corridor; except perhaps when I saw Heather after the Demma brothers had finished with her.

  Twenty-Two

  My heart was beating so hard in my chest when I grabbed the handle of the cell door that I had to pull away. I stood with my back and head pressed hard against the cold brick wall, taking in great gulping breaths until some semblance of calm descended. I’d dreamt many times about this moment, about finally having the Demma brothers where I wanted them, locked up and under my control. Now I was there.

  Whilst I was in hospital, Superintendent Dyer had set up a search all over the county to pull in the Sicilians, calling in favours from wherever he could. But he hadn’t needed to call in many, coppers always respond when it’s one of their own. It’s part of self-preservation.

  In the end, it hadn’t been too difficult. Thugs like the Demmas may have long memories but they’re not very bright. Thankfully, the criminal masterminds encountered by Sherlock Holmes are few and far between in real life. And the Demma brothers didn’t come close. They’d not even bothered trying to leave Kenilworth and had returned a couple of nights later to the same pub, the Blue Pig. Jessie Phipps knew she needed to stay on the good side of the police if she wanted to keep her licence so didn’t hesitate to phone the station as soon as she got the opportunity. Within fifteen minutes my attackers had been arrested and thrown in the back of the Black Maria.

  Benito Demma sat on a plain wooden chair, his cuffed hands on the table in front of him, a resigned look in his dark eyes. Sawyer had joined me and was leaning nonchalantly against the door, making it clear Benito wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  ‘Where’s my brother? What have you done with him?’

  ‘He’s fine, Benito, he’s next door. It’s yourself you should be worrying about, not Pàulu. Actually, when I say he’s fine, he’s not entirely fine, he’ll be going to prison like you for assaulting a police officer, but apart from that he’s well. For the time being.’

  I rubbed my ribs and counted to ten.

  ‘Let’s talk about you instead. You’re not going to deny the pair of you gave me a beating, are you?’

  It didn’t really matter because his younger brother had already admitted it. He’d also confessed they’d been harassing Jewish businesses in London and Birmingham. In fact, he’d gloated over it so much I’d wanted to smack him. Benito was more restrained.

  ‘It would be stupid to try to say we didn’t do it, wouldn’t it? It would be our word against yours, and who would believe us? Two wops or two English policemen? Now just lock me up and leave me alone.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that yet, Benito, we have a little catching up to do. There’s the slight matter of rape and murder.’

  His face hardened and he fixed his eyes on mine.

  ‘Murder? Rape? What evidence you got?’

  ‘It might have sounded more convincing if you’d asked me whose murder and rape I was accusing you of. Have you committed so many it doesn’t matter? Or was it just the one? We both know I’m talking about Heather Termon, don’t we?’

  ‘Never heard of her.’

  He was right, of course, he wouldn’t have known her name. She was just a girl who was friendly with me and who he could use to teach me a lesson. This thought punched me in the guts much harder than he and his brother had managed a few nights earlier. In all of the years since it had happened it had never struck me that Heather was only an innocent, and to them nameless, bystander. She was simply the bringer of a few minutes of brutal gratification and the bearer of a message. If they’d found me first then Heather would still be alive.

  ‘It was the name of the young woman you felt you had to butcher eight years ago. You ought to try to remember her name, you’re going to hang for her killing.’

  He turned and spat on the floor.

  ‘As I said, Inspector, I have no knowledge of this woman. Have you witnesses? Fingerprints? Anything at all to connect me to such a terrible crime? I don’t think so.’ Benito Demma leaned over the table and lowered his voice so Sawyer couldn’t hear. ‘So why don’t you charge me with the assault and get it over? Pàulu and I will be out in a few months, a year at most, and we can continue where we left off. You still owe us a debt of honour, Given, and you’re going to repay it with your life. Be very sure of that.’

  I grabbed his hair and cracked his face onto the table. Sawyer was onto me in a second and pulled me away. I struggled but he was too strong for me, even in my rage.

  The door opened and Dyer walked in, clearly unable to comprehend the scene playing out before him. I didn’t even know he was in the building.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here, Inspector? Calm down and get outside. You, Sawyer, stay and keep this toerag company while Mr Given and I have a word upstairs.’

  ‘James, what on earth has got into you?’

  My rage had subsided as we climbed the stairs, though I was still trembling when we found an empty office.

  ‘Eight years I’ve been bottling that up, sir. Eight years of nightmares and sleepless nights. Always on the watch to catch those bastards and I don’t have a scrap of evidence to be able to get them put away. Then, calm as you like, he threatens me. What would you have done?’

  ‘You told me you’d joined the police because of them, James, don’t get kicked out because of them as well. I understand your frustration but you still have to go by the book. You’re ready to charge them with the assault?’

  ‘I am but I’d rather not.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘A second before I lost my temper, Benito Demma said to me they’d be out of prison in less than a year and he’s right. I’ve no desire to go for half measures so what’s the point? If we can let them stew in the cells for a couple of days it might loosen their tongues a bit, or I might think of some way of doing it for them without resorting to violence.’

  Dyer agreed to this and then dropped one final comment.

  ‘We’ll sort something out with these two, James, don’t you worry. I’ve put a couple of calls out and we’ll see where they lead.’

  Sawyer and I had another couple of hours with the Demma brothers, first with one, then the other. We were hoping one of them would drop a vital piece of information which might tie them into Heather’s murder, but neither was giving anything away. Eventually I sent Sawyer home and left the Demmas locked away, with a warning we’d carry on the next day.

  Back in my office the phone rang. It was Sid Miller from the front desk. He told me a note had been left for me by Sir Arthur’s driver and should he send it up? I was about ready to head off home myself, so said I’d collect it on my way out.

  Sid lifted the faint blue envelope from his desk and theatrically wafted it under his nose, pretending to inhale a strong scent.

  ‘Smells sweet,’ he ventured, ‘anyone I know?’

  I still wasn’t in the best of moods but I managed a smile.

  ‘Mind your own business, Sergeant, and I’ll mind mine.’

  He gave me the note and I thought he seriously expected me to open it in front of him. Instead, I tucked it into my jacket pocket and made my exit. This was more to irritate Sid than any lack of interest on my part so as soon as I was outside I found a streetlamp and read it.

  My dear James,

  I’m sorry to have delivered this news to you in such a way but I really had no choice. Events have moved along so quickly since we were last together. I’ve been offered a position at a country house in Devon, far away from the horrible events at Grovestock, and I’ve decided to take it. My new employers are leaving for a tour of the continent shortly so want me to move in within the next few days. By the time you read this note I expect I’ll already be on the train. I will drop it in when Sir Arthur’s driver takes me to the statio
n.

  I want us to remain friends and to keep in touch but please don’t expect any more from me. At least for the time being. I’ll write soon with my new address when I’m settled in.

  Look after yourself.

  Elizabeth

  So she was running away. Again.

  The next ten minutes blurred as I ran headlong towards the railway station, praying I’d get there before Elizabeth’s train disappeared. I heard the whistle when it made its way across the bridge at Mill End and knew it would be touch and go. Smoke billowed out as I arrived at the station approach so I knew the train was still there and I might be in time to catch her.

  Another whistle, this time of the station master, shrilled above the sound of the giant engine, and the platform filled with steam. Tons of steel heaved slowly out as I stood helplessly scanning every passing carriage window. I finally spotted Elizabeth towards the middle of the train, in a second class compartment. She started when she caught sight of me, holding my gaze for the briefest of moments before turning away.

  The last carriage trundled past and the steam cleared. It was then I saw Spencer watching me from the opposite platform.

  That night I fell off the wagon for the first time in eight years. Not so much fell, as dived. Headlong into a sea of alcohol. Elizabeth had gone, the Demmas would soon be released and the Grovestock House case was going nowhere. I’d sat at my desk staring at Tom Barleigh’s photographs for over an hour, drinking endless cups of tea and turning the pictures in every direction to try to glimpse what he’d seen and what I couldn’t.