A Death in Autumn

by Jim McGrath

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That pair haven’t stopped talking for the last seventy-five minutes. It’s exactly what they both need. So, I suggest we slink off and have a meal in Birmingham.’

  ‘Before we do that, can you have a look at this and tell me if it’s a code or not’ said Collins handing her the piece of paper Steptoe had given him.

  ‘What do you hope it says?’

  ‘The address of Simpson’s safety deposit.’

  Agnes examined the slip of paper for maybe thirty seconds and then smiled and asked, ‘Can you get me the typewriter from my study please.’

  Collins moved quickly. Over the years he’d seen Agnes solve several cyphers and suspected that she knew how this one had been constructed. He returned with an ancient Olivetti and laid it on the table along with a pad of paper and a pen.

  ‘It’s the two ii at the start of the cypher that gave it away. If Simpson kept a copy of the report, he’d have taken it to a bank. What’s the only bank that starts with two of the same letters?’

  Collins thought for a couple of seconds before saying, ‘Lloyds.’

  ‘Precisely. Now look at the keys on the typewriter. Where is the letter L on the keyboard?’

  Collins immediately saw that the letter L was one key along from I on the second line of keys. ‘So, you’re saying that the letters relate to another letter on the line below.’

  ‘Or above it in some cases. Anyway, give me a minute and I’ll have it decoded.’

  Agnes didn’t need a minute; within twenty-five seconds she’d finished and handed the decoded message to Collins. It read lloyds gt hamp st 17954.

  ‘Darling, did I ever tell you that you’re a genius?’

  ‘Occasionally, but not often enough. I can always do with more flattery. But not in this case I’m afraid. During the war, agents were trained to leave notes as to where they were going. Many of the agents were women who were familiar with typewriters and devised a similar code to the one used by Simpson. Alas, the Germans broke the code quickly and it was not used again, except to mislead the Hun.’

  ‘Well I owe you a dinner out by way of a reward,’ said Collins and bending down kissed Agnes on the lips.

  Handsworth, 23.06hrs

  When they returned home after eleven, Annabel and Marjorie had adjourned to the lounge with a bottle of Gordon’s gin. The bottle was half empty.

  Sheba scurried across the polished floor and made a fuss of her master and mistress but soon disappeared back into the kitchen when she realised that they were heading straight to bed and not into the kitchen. There would be no slice of corned beef or lump of cheese for her tonight.

  Tuesday 1st October,1968

  Dublin, 12.35hrs

  Michael had not been to Ireland since he’d left in 1962, but things hadn’t changed much. O’Connell Street was still one of the widest boulevards in the British Isles but alas, the iconic Nelson’s Pillar was no longer there. The giant granite column and statute of Horatio Nelson had been blown up by the IRA in 1966, depriving Dublin of one of its most recognisable landmarks. But Clerys was still going strong in all its mock Grecian splendour. The famous two-faced clock with its green Roman numerals, white face and gold-coloured hands still hung above the main entrance. “Under Clerys clock” was a favourite meeting place in Dublin where many a first date had started - and a few relationships had ended.

  As he walked towards the store Collins remembered holding his mother’s hand as they strolled through the front door. How old was I then, he thought, four or five? But still the memory was clear in his mind. She’d gone to buy a blue polka-dot dress. Collins had been fed-up with the whole rigmarole until his mother went to pay for her purchase. Only then did he see the pneumatic tubes into which the sales bill and money were placed and whisked away to a cashier hidden somewhere else in the huge building. He still remembered vividly the whoosh that the tube made when the sales assistant closed the aperture in the pipe and the ping when the capsule was returned.

  Afterwards his mother had taken him to the toy department and bought him a G-Man’s gun and plastic badge set. Over the following weeks he’d shot every no-good varmint and gangster in the neighbourhood with that gun. And none of the kids could kill him because he was a G-Man.

  Padraig O’Brian was a difficult man to miss. He’d played Gaelic football for Dublin in his younger days and as he was fond of saying, “It was the football that gave me the Roman nose. It roams all over me face.” His once dark brown hair was now white and he had let it grow down to his shoulders, which made him look like an Old Testament prophet wearing a green tweed suit and heavy brown shoes.

  Standing, he held out a great paw of a hand and smiled. ‘I’ve ordered you corned beef and cabbage. All right?’

  ‘You’ve got a hell of a memory Padraig. I’ve not had proper corned beef since I left. They just don’t sell it in England. They only seem to sell it in tins.’

  ‘What can I say? They ruled the world but never learnt how to cook.’

  While they waited for the food to arrive the men caught up on what each of them had been doing in the previous six years. Padraig had followed Collins’ career in the English papers that arrived daily with the mail boat. He seemed to have read everything he could find on the arson case from a few years earlier and the fight at Fradley Airfield earlier in the year.

  The catching up only stopped when the food arrived, and the conversation turned to the reason for Collins’ visit. ‘All right then,’ said Collins, ‘What’s so secret that you couldn’t tell me on the phone?’

  ‘It’s not a secret who Declan Boyle is. But it’s unwise to talk about him in public.’

  ‘OK, who is he?’

  ‘Quartermaster of the IRA.’

  ‘You mean he was quartermaster, don’t you?

  ‘No. I mean he still is.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re having me on?’

  ‘No. He supplied most of the arms used in the Border Campaign in the fifties and early sixties. But he could never get enough and that’s why the campaign fizzled out. Word in Republican circles is that he’s stockpiling weapons for when everything kicks off again in the North.’

  ‘And the British brought that closer by sending troops into the province last August,’ said Collins.

  ‘That they did. Put British troops on the streets of any Irish city and it’s only a matter of time before the shooting starts.’

  ‘And from what you say, he’s all ready for it.’

  ‘Not quite. He is still short of money but that will flow in from the Yanks once the first Catholic is shot. But he’s a good strategist. He knows that if any future campaign is to be successful, they will have to strike on the mainland. For months now there are rumours that he’s looking to build an operation in England. Sort of sleepers, you know.’ Padraig fell silent and waited as Collins laid his knife and folk down and with elbows on the table made a steeple with his fingers.

  ‘If he wants sleepers, they’ll need jobs if they’re to blend in,’ said Collins, ‘and no one would notice a few extra lads working for a big building company.’

  ‘That’s what I thought the moment I heard that Martin Cunningham had been injured and his friend had rushed to console his distraught spouse.’

  ‘Do you think he organised the hit and run?’

  ‘He’s ruthless enough. But I’m not sure. Is there anyone else who’d want Cunningham dead?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m looking into corruption in the Council. Some of the people I’m looking at would benefit from Cunningham’s death.’

  ‘Well I’d look at them first. But if you find nothing take a good long look at Boyle.’

  ‘OK. Anything else?’

  ‘Boyle is a smart cookie. A good strategist and a right cunning bastard. Don’t underestimate him. Also, he’s well known for despising any Irishman who joins the British armed services or police force. He considers them traitors to Ireland.’

  ‘I need to watch me back, is that what
you’re saying?’

  ‘Front and sides as well. Here,’ said Padraig, ‘I put this file together yesterday,’ and reaching down, he lifted an untitled, quarter-full lever arch file onto the table. ‘It has most of what I know about Boyle in it. Don’t read it on the plane.’

  Collins took the file and laid it by his feet. ‘Thanks, Padraig. I owe you.’

  ‘I know you bloody do. When it’s over, all I ask is that you remember where you got the file from.’

  ‘Will do.’

  On his way back to the airport Collins ran over the likely suspects in the attack on Martin Cunningham. The most likely scenario was still that Martin had been injured by a hit and run driver. Second on his list was either Reece or his mate Thorne had arranged the accident. In third place was Charlton but he could see no reason why he would have done it and in last place the IRA. He knew that the boyos were vicious enough to carry out such an attack, but they seldom attacked other Irishmen who were civilians. However, now that Martin was in hospital, Collins was certain Boyle would exploit the situation to the IRA’s advantage. He knew he had to try and stop the IRA getting a foothold in Birmingham, because if they did Birmingham would become an extremely dangerous place in which to live and work. Especially if the North did explode into flames in the New Year.

  Only once on the taxi ride from O’Connell Street to the airport was his reverie broken as he passed the Comet Pub, named after the first passenger jet aircraft. His father was probably in there now, drinking in the small lounge at the rear. There he’d sit with his cronies until they were thrown out at 11pm. Collins realised that he had no wish whatsoever to stop and speak to his father, and he dismissed the man he’d hated for most of his life from his mind.

  Belvedere Hotel, Birmingham, 18.26hrs

  The Aer Lingus flight was on time and landed at 18.26. Collins grabbed a sandwich in the airport café and then drove to Birmingham and his meeting with Mr Adam Strong at the Belvedere Hotel.

  He met Clark in the foyer and both men took the stairs to the sixth floor. Collins knocked on the door of room 606. Seconds later, Marie eased the door open and said, ‘Come on in.’ Standing aside she let both men into the mid-size hotel room. Turning to Collins she asked, ‘How do you want to play this?’

  ‘Hard from the start,’ said Collins and outlined what he and Clark had in mind.

  Adam Strong knocked on the door at two minutes to eight. Marie went to the door and slipped the security chain on before opening it. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m Adam.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you are, aren’t you,’ she said and supressed an excited giggle. ‘Let me get the chain off.’ Closing the door, she undid the chain and opened the door. Adam brushed past her and didn’t give the bathroom on his left a second glance.

  Standing with his back to the door, Adam took his overcoat off and dropped it on the bed.

  Turning to face Marie he said, ‘Nice room but not as nice as you. You look fabulous in that dress. Red really suits you and the high heels make your legs look great. I really think we’re going to have a fabulous night.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Marie and pushed the bathroom door open.

  Collins stepped past Marie and into the room. ‘Evening, Adam. You don’t mind if I call you Adam, do you?’ asked Collins.

  ‘What the fuck? This ain’t an orgy, love. It was meant to be just you and me.’

  ‘A man of principle. I like that, Marie,’ said Collins. ‘Sit down, Adam. I have a few questions for you, and you will answer them.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Collins.’

  Strong marched towards Collins. Only when he was a couple of feet away did he see Clark standing against the door jamb of the bathroom and thought better of starting anything. His eyes still on Strong, Collins said, ‘Oh I see you’ve spotted my friend. He’s going to handle most of the questioning. I suggest you don’t try and lie to him. He gets really angry when people lie to him.’

  ‘Really angry,’ said Marie, who smiling, sat down on the side of the bed and crossed her legs.

  Strong sat on the only chair in the room. Clark made a show of locking the door and slipping the chain on. Strong did not match his photo or description. He looked five years older and was under six foot and the well-chiselled physique so obvious in his modelling pictures had lost a lot of its ripped perfection.

  Clark walked slowly towards Strong and stopped three feet away. ‘So, Adam, me mate here tells me that yow were very friendly with Mrs Annabel Simpson. Wi’d like to know who asked yow to drug, rape, and take dirty pictures of her?’

  Strong’s face reddened. ‘What the fuck are you on about? I don’t know any Annabel Simpson. Now I’ve done nothing illegal by coming to this room tonight and now I’m going to leave. If you try and stop me, I will report you for kidnapping and false imprisonment.’ Standing, he pushed the chair back, but before he could take a step a knee hit him flush in the groin and he bent double. His face turned red, then puce; his mouth opened wide as he tried to breathe. A short left to the side of the face sent him sprawling on the floor.

  ‘Don’t try to be tough, Mr Strong or I’ll do so much damage to yowr face that yow’ll never fuck another woman again without paying.’

  Strong lay on the ground still clutching his testicles. As always, Collins was impressed at how quickly Clark had taken down the bigger man.

  ‘I don’t … fucking know …what you’re talking about,’ gasped Strong.

  ‘Wrong answer again,’ said Clark and kicked Strong in the side. Collins heard a rib snap.

  ‘Fucking bastard,’ groaned Strong.

  ‘When I want yowr opinion I’ll ask for it,’ said Clark, and kicked Strong again in the ribs. A second rib broke. ‘Now answer me question. Who ordered yow to drug, rape and photograph Annabel Simpson?’

  Strong groaned and tried to sit up. Clark placed his foot across his throat and said, ‘Stay there and start talking.’

  Strong sank back onto the floor, desperate to take a deep breath, but unable to do so because of the pain in his ribs. He lay quietly taking short breaths trying to work out some sort of plan of action. After maybe thirty seconds he said, ‘OK. Help me up. I’ll talk.’

  Clark bent down, grabbed him by the lapels and started to drag him upright. Strong was almost perpendicular when he pushed Clark and pulled a flick knife from his back pocket. Clark backed off at the sight of the slim and deadly five-inch blade. ‘Not so fucking hot now, are you, copper?’

  There was no change in Clark’s expression. Strong stepped forward, the knife slashing through the air. Clark blocked the hand holding it with his forearm and punched Strong in the face. The man’s knees crumpled, and he sank to the floor. Grabbing the hand that held the knife Clark stepped over the arm and twisted it hard to the right. There was a loud crack as Strong’s wrist broke and the knife dropped to the floor. Clark kicked the knife towards Collins who picked it up, snapped it shut and slipped it in his pocket.

  ‘You cocksucking bastard. You’ve broke my arm.’

  ‘Just the wrist,’ said Clark. ‘Mickey, open the window. This bastard don’t think I’m serious.’

  Collins crossed quickly to the window and levered it up to its maximum open position. Clark grabbed Strong by his broken wrist and hauled him to his feet. Strong started to scream with pain and fear but was unable to resist. Clark slapped him across the face and shouted, ‘Shut up or I’ll break the other wrist and then yow won’t be able to enjoy yowr own company. Now, put yowr head out the window.’ As he did so Clark kicked the back of his knees and he slumped onto the windowsill.

  ‘Now yow piece of shit, tell me what happened,’ as he said this Clark let go of the wrist and grabbed the back of Strong’s trousers with his right hand and with his left pushed him a further 12 inches into the abyss.

  Strong’s scream of fear was loud and long but he was six floors up and all the hotel windows were double-glazed. Only Clark heard the sheer fear in the man’
s voice. He don’t like heights, thought Clark and pushed him another foot out the window. A dark stain started to develop on the legs of Strong’s trousers.

  ‘OK, OK. I’ll talk,’ he shouted.

  ‘If yow don’t yow’re going to find out what it’s like to hit a concrete pavement from six floors up. So, don’t fuck me about.’

  ‘I’ll talk. I’ll talk. Honest.’

  Clark reeled the terrified man back into the room and he slumped to the floor. The stain on the front of his trousers was enough to convince Collins that he was going to be very cooperative from now on.

  Strong seemed to know he was beaten. He couldn’t take the guy standing above him with both arms. With just one good arm, he had no chance. He didn’t wait to be asked a question before he started to pour out everything he knew.

  ‘OK. I don’t know who paid for it. I just got an order from Hill. He gave me a picture of the woman and where I was supposed to meet her. He gave me the Mickey Finn as well. It was easy. I slipped the Mickey in her drink and then walked her to the lifts. When I got to room 555 Gus was already there.’

  ‘Gus?’ asked Collins.

  ‘The photographer. We stripped her and Gus got started on the pinups. Job done, he gave me the roll of film and went on his way and I hung around until she woke up.’

  ‘Why wait?’ asked Collins.

  ‘Make sure she was all right. I didn’t want her passing out cold and choking on her own vomit. I made out we’d had a great time and left about eleven.’

  ‘And that was it?’

  ‘Yeah until the hubby topped himself and I got called in as a bloody witness.’

  ‘Who did you give the roll of film to?’ asked Collins.