The Lighterman: The Kray Twins are out for revenge... (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 3)

by Simon Michael

  ‘Didn’t you tell me that Evans’s superior officer was involved in the smuggling?’ asks Charles.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And that would be Vermeulen?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Charles makes another note and continues reading.

  Deposition of Adrian Peter Keeley

  Occupation: Assistant Preventive Officer, HM Waterguard

  Address: Harpy Waterguard Station, Custom House Pier, Custom House, 20 Lower Thames Street, EC1.

  Magistrates Court Rules 1952: This deposition of Adrian Peter Keeley, Assistant Preventive Officer, Her Majesty’s Waterguard, HMS Harpy Waterguard Station, Custom House Pier, Custom House, 20 Lower Thames Street, EC1, was sworn before me, Ralph James Nesbitt, Justice of the Peace, on 6 November 1963 in the presence of the accused, Isaac Conway, at the Thames Magistrates’ Court.

  Signed: Ralph James Nesbitt Esq

  Signature of deponent: AP Keeley

  Adrian Peter Keeley WILL SAY AS FOLLOWS:

  I am employed by HM Customs and Excise as an Assistant Preventive Officer in the Waterguard, presently stationed at the pontoon customs house moored on the River Thames opposite Custom House Pier, known as Harpy Waterguard Station. My duties include the application of the current regulations relating to lawful allowances of tobacco and alcohol and the collection of Customs and Excise revenues on such goods as exceed the permitted allowances.

  On 3 November 1963 I was on duty at Harpy. At approximately 05:45 hours the following morning I was preparing to finish my shift when I received a call on the radio from my superior officer CPO Vermeulen concerning something he had found floating in the Thames. He requested me to proceed by land to Bridge Wharf Road Isleworth where he would meet me with the Waterguard launch. I travelled immediately to Isleworth in my private vehicle, and parked behind the Austin Mini used by members of the Waterguard for patrolling the Upper Coast. I walked down to the river where I saw CPO Vermeulen flashing his torch at me. As a result of information received from CPO Vermeulen we boarded the launch and allowed it to drift with the current until it reached the island known as Isleworth Eyot where I saw two barges tied to a buoy. We boarded one of the barges and CPO Vermeulen instructed me to conduct an immediate search for contraband goods and weapons, or any signs of a struggle or fight. I found nothing of concern. However, during the course of my search I could find no boathook, which surprised me as it is a standard piece of equipment to be found on all small vessels working the river.

  Signed: AP Keeley

  Deposition of Rueben Steffan Burch

  Occupation: Home Office Pathologist

  Address: 36 Harley Street, London, W1.

  Magistrates Court Rules 1952: This deposition of Rueben Steffan Burch, approved Home Office Pathologist, of 36 Harley Street London W1, was sworn before me, Ralph James Nesbitt, Justice of the Peace, on 6 November 1963 in the presence of the accused, Isaac Conway, at the Thames Magistrates’ Court.

  Signed: Ralph James Nesbitt Esq

  Signature of deponent: RS Burch

  Rueben Steffan Burch WILL SAY AS FOLLOWS:

  I am Dr Rueben Steffan Burch, and I am on the Home Office List of approved forensic pathologists covering the West London area. At approximately 06:30 hours on 4 November 1963 I was telephoned by Sir Ian Pears, HM Coroner for West London, and asked to attend Bridge Wharf Road, Isleworth to examine a body which had been brought ashore shortly before. This is not usual procedure, but after speaking to Sir Ian about the unusual circumstances I was persuaded to attend. I arrived at the scene at 08:00 hours and was met by Chief Preventive Officer Vermeulen and Inspector Dennis Prentice of the Metropolitan Police. On the Thames riverbank I was directed to the body of a male in the uniform of HM Waterguard whom CPO Vermeulen identified as a junior colleague named APO Evans. I was asked to express an opinion as to time of death and if there were any injuries on the body suggestive of foul play. A full examination of the body was not possible in the circumstances.

  Estimation of the time of death from body temperature is an inexact science, particularly when a body has been in cold water. I measured the temperature of the water in the area where the body was discovered, which I found to be 57°F. A prolonged period of immersion in cold water will cause the body to cool more swiftly, thereby incorrectly suggesting a longer period since death. However in this case the temperature of the body was 90°F, only 8.4°F less than normal (98.4°F) which suggested a relatively short period of immersion, notwithstanding the fact that according to the information I was given, APO Evans was last seen alive at approximately 16:00 hours on the previous day, and therefore theoretically could have been in the water for over 13 hours.

  On the other hand the body was fully clothed, which would have caused it to retain its heat for longer.

  There was no sign of rigor mortis, which usually develops during the first 12 to 24 hours post-death. More importantly, there was no sign of lividity or liver mortis. This patchy discolouration usually begins within the first hour of death, and becomes more prominent and purple in colour by 3 hours after death.

  Based principally on the absence of liver mortis, in my opinion death occurred no more than 3 hours before my attendance.

  So far as the cause of death is concerned, during the examination at the river side I was able to find no injuries to the body which would have caused death.

  The body was removed for full post-mortem examination at the pathology lab at Charing Cross Hospital which I conducted with an assistant at 12:00 hours later that day.

  Charles skims through the next page of post-mortem findings which deals in detail with the APO’s presentation, clothing and personal effects. The only evidence of acute injury was a wide area of fresh bruising on the APO’s head over the right temporal bone. Charles runs his finger down to the findings of the internal examination, looking for the sub-paragraph dealing with the skull.

  The scalp is reflected using standard intermastoidal incision. Overlying the right temporal bone is a thin area of fresh extradural bleeding measuring 3 inches x 1.5 inches. The dura is intact but directly beneath the area of extradural bleeding there is a 3 inch long depressed fracture of the temporal bone extending by ½ inch into the sphenoid bone. The depression is significant, measuring in depth between 1/8th inch on the postero-lateral aspect and ½ inch where it extends into the sphenoid. Beneath the dura at this point is a fleshy haematoma weighing 3.8 ounces in the right subdural space, with accompanying compression and herniation of brain tissue.

  Charles jumps ahead again, noting that the lungs were not full of water and that the common signs of drowning, in particular petechial haemorrhages in the conjunctiva, were all absent. So, APO Evans died before he went in the water. Charles notes that nothing unusual was found in the examination of any of the other body organs, until he comes to this:

  There is in addition a single unusual injury to the deceased’s left side, approximately 2 inches proximal to the left kidney. I found a 2.5 inch deep puncture wound of an unusual triangular shape. At its greatest depth the width of the puncture is approximately ¼ of an inch, but at the level of the skin it is approximately ¾ of an inch. The implement that caused the wound is accordingly pyramidal shaped with a sharp point. The wound has not bled post-mortem. Immediately distal to the wound is an oval indentation from which I obtained some small flakes of rust. While at the scene I was shown a boathook from the Waterguard’s launch, which has a sharp point and a curved metal projection immediately below it. In my opinion the pattern of injury would suggest that a boathook was used. There are no injuries to suggest that it was used as a weapon before death, such as linear bruising or cuts. In my opinion it is likely that a boathook was used to push the body, perhaps overboard, after death occurred. No hole was found in the deceased’s tunic jacket at the point of the wound. This, and the small flakes of rust found embedded in the skin, make it likely that the boathook was used on the body while at least the upper part of the uniform had been removed. The uniform jack
et must then have been replaced on the deceased’s body.

  Cause of death: blunt trauma to the skull.

  Signed: RS Burch

  Charles looks up, searching for the sound that has disturbed his concentration. It takes him a couple of seconds to place it, but then realises that although Merlin is still lying on his back on the bench, eyes closed and apparently calm, the fingers of his right hand are drumming agitatedly on the bench. Charles studies Merlin more closely: his chest is rising and falling rapidly as if panting after strenuous exercise.

  ‘Izzy?’

  ‘What’s up?’ replies the lighterman, swinging his legs off the bench but remaining seated, staring at the grey painted concrete floor and fiddling with his cuffs.

  ‘Are you feeling OK?’

  ‘Peachey, old son,’ replies Merlin with heavy sarcasm, his voice shaking slightly.

  ‘It’s not all bad news,’ says Charles, softly, trying to reassure his cousin. He makes a few further notes and puts his pen down carefully. He looks up at Merlin again and notices that he’s no longer wearing his cap. That’s unusual, he thinks. The hat is Merlin’s trademark; he always wears it. Back in his cell? Maybe taken off him?

  ‘Do you want me to run through the evidence?’ asks Charles

  Merlin looks up. ‘Why not?’

  ‘OK. The pathology evidence of time of death isn’t conclusive. The man could have been in the water for hours before floating to arrive near your barge. There are no signs of drowning so he was dead before he went in the water. He was investigating on the river in pitch darkness; he could easily have fallen and banged his head.’

  Charles stands and starts pacing up and down, speaking more quickly as he warms to his task. He is vaguely aware of Merlin’s right foot tapping insistently on the floor. ‘Perhaps he even fell while trying to board your barge. And the confession: not exactly useless, but not very persuasive as long as we can set up any case against it.’

  Merlin’s foot abruptly stops moving and he looks up. ‘You’re wasting your time, Charlie.’

  Charles continues with his analysis. ‘Bear with me. The real problem is the injury above the kidney. Even if we could show that it could have been made by something other than a boathook, he had a hole in his side but no hole in his uniform. So whoever prodded him with a boathook did so while he was undressed. That’s the intriguing evidence, and it leads to some interesting questions. Why would Evans take off his jacket? To swim? Unlikely. And if so, and he died before or after swimming, who put it back on again? And why bother, unless they wanted to hide the fact that he’d been undressed. Perhaps the same person was with him both when it was taken off and when it was replaced?’

  Charles turns to his cousin to find him now standing in the middle of the small room, his right hand in his trouser pocket and his left held slightly out from his side. It’s an odd stance, as if Merlin is trying to keep his balance and, as Charles looks at his cousin’s expression, he’s surprised to see that Merlin is now as intensely focused on Charles as he was indifferent minutes earlier.

  ‘All very interesting,’ Merlin says dismissively, ‘but it’s hopeless, Charlie, and we both know it.’

  ‘Nothing’s hopeless, Izzy,’ insists Charles. ‘I’ve taken on cases that looked much worse than this on paper, and they’ve just fallen apart when we got to court. This is the best they have, the high-water mark. We haven’t even started chipping away at it. And that point about taking off his jacket —’ muses Charles.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Come on, Izzy. This isn’t like you.’

  ‘You don’t know me any more Charlie. Too much water under too many bridges.’

  As if to prove it, Merlin has an expression on his face which Charles doesn’t recognise. The lighterman’s suntanned skin looks almost grey and his eyes are over-bright and feverish. His legs tremble with suppressed energy, and behind his eyes there’s another emotion which, for a second, Charles struggles to identify … indecision? No, fear. Perhaps the reality of his situation has finally sunk in.

  ‘Don’t give up, Izzy. This is the first time you’ve been here, but I’ve defended a dozen people on murder charges. I promise you: there’s still hope.’

  Charles moves towards Merlin and grasps him by the upper arm in a reassuring gesture and locks eyes with his cousin. He doesn’t notice Merlin’s right hand being drawn from his trouser pocket.

  ‘You can’t give up, Izzy. What about your mum? She needs you.’

  ‘Yes,’ replies Merlin, his voice shaking and a strange smile twisting his lips.

  ‘You were my best friend. The two years I spent with you were probably the happiest of my life. I’ll do everything I can to save you, but you’ve got to help me.’

  Merlin lifts up his left hand and reaches under Charles right arm, putting it round Charles’s back and between his shoulder blades, as if about to pull Charles into an embrace. Charles imagines that Merlin’s gesture is one of thanks and affection. Then he feels something touching his chest just below his breastbone. He looks down. In Merlin’s shaking, white hand is what appears to be a knife, its shining blade bridging the distance between the two men, its point pricking Charles’s skin through his shirt. A shock flashes from deep in Charles’s guts down to his knees and he feels his legs almost buckle.

  Merlin whispers, ‘I can’t hang twice.’ A deep sob escapes from his constricted throat.

  ‘What? Who said?’ whispers Charles, aware somehow that a loud noise or sudden movement would be his last.

  ‘A copper. Someone from the Dirty Squad.’

  With that, the tumblers fall into place and Charles suddenly understands: the surveillance; the robing room attack; the knife attack outside the Old Bailey; and finally, the Dirty Squad — corrupt from top to bottom, many in the pockets of the Krays.

  Charles fills in the gaps. ‘They told you you’re certain to be hanged, so you might as well take me with you. “You can’t hang twice.” And, let me guess, they’ll look after your mum afterwards.’

  Merlin nods shortly. He manages to speak, taking huge gulps of air between each phrase. ‘If I don’t do it, someone else will, he said. Some geezer’ll come up to you in a pub, smile in your face and blow a hole in your chest. Or someone on the bus’ll shove a spike into your back. But it’s coming, Charlie, it’s coming. You’ve been lucky so far but Ronnie ain’t gonna give up. So it might as well be me.’

  ‘Ronnie Kray?’ asks Charles, shaking his head. ‘You really gonna trust that mad bastard? He doesn’t give a shit about you. Whereas I love you.’

  Charles stares deep into the other man’s eyes. His hands, still on Merlin’s biceps, grip tighter. Another sob breaks from Merlin’s chest and now tears brim over his eyelids, blurring his vision.

  ‘I know it all looks hopeless,’ says Charles, measuring each word. ‘And I know you want to protect your mum. But this isn’t the way! Think what it’ll do to her, to my mother — to the whole family! Do you suppose having all the money in the world would make your mum understand? That you murdered her nephew to protect her? And it’ll destroy my parents, too.’

  Merlin is now crying in earnest, a deep moan coming from his throat between great juddering breaths. Tears splash onto Charles’s white shirt.

  ‘And in any case,’ asks Charles, ‘do you imagine that the family wouldn’t rally round, support your mum, if the worst happens? Who’s going to be more reliable in looking after her: Ronnie Kray, or your own family?’

  Charles hears the breath catching in Merlin’s throat, and his feverish stare loses some of its intensity as Charles’s words percolate through the turmoil of his conflicting emotions. Although he grips the shiv as tightly as ever, and Charles can feel a tiny point of blood — or perhaps it’s sweat — running down his stomach towards his belt, Merlin’s hand drops from between Charles’s shoulder blades and hangs listlessly at his side. Charles still doesn’t dare move. He can still feel the knife point against his skin and it would take a mere fraction of a sec
ond for Merlin to find the courage and move his right hand forward and impale Charles on three inches of sharpened metal.

  ‘Work with me, Izzy,’ Charles begs.

  ‘You said that if I told you the truth, your rules would tie your hands in court.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ replies Charles with a trace of his familiar grin. ‘We’re both on death row! Now’s not the time for professional niceties.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  Charles nods. ‘On my life. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

  Merlin searches Charles’s face, trying to read him, his sincerity, his very soul. Slowly his right hand drops.

  Charles releases his grip on Merlin and steps back a pace. He reaches behind him for the tissues on the table and steps forward again. Rather than handing them to Merlin, Charles himself dabs at the tears and dries his cousin’s face. It’s a gentle, loving gesture between two powerful men and with it the tension in the room dissipates.

  Merlin sniffs and manages a weak smile. He holds out the shiv and watches as Charles pockets it.

  ‘Now,’ says Charles, feeling his thudding heartbeat slow towards normal. ‘Come and sit down with me and tell me exactly what happened. Start with Evans’s clothes. Something tells me they’re the key.’

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  1942

  Today is Izzy’s nineteenth birthday and, happily, it coincides with the hottest day of the year. It was already balmy at half past six when Izzy and Charlie stepped from Tower Pier onto the deck of Union Jack’s tug, The Fairweather, to start work, but it is now early afternoon and the temperature has climbed throughout the day. According to the thermometer on the inside of the tugboat’s wheelhouse it is just touching 88°F. The lads have long since dispensed with all clothes except their trousers, in both cases rolled up to their knees, and, in Izzy’s case, his cap. Both still wear heavy boots; however hot it is, they know that to move cargo and boats in bare feet is to invite injury.