A Death in Autumn

by Jim McGrath

  Ruth started to smile, and Collins found it difficult to stop himself from laughing. Taken aback by the reaction, Mr Conway was clearly irritated by the reaction to his words of professional wisdom. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t see what’s funny about a man’s mental health.’

  ‘We’re not laughing at your advice, Doctor,’ said Collins. ‘It’s just that Detective Constable Clark had a highly eventful war. I doubt that this incident will even count as a blip on what he’s seen and endured.’

  Once Clark was wheeled into a single room and everyone had satisfied themselves that he was breathing, Ruth was left alone to await Clark regaining consciousness. Agnes took a sleeping Bram home and Collins and Hicks headed back to the station for what would be a frantic night’s work.

  Part Three

  Friday 4th October 1968 (continued)

  Handsworth, 18.34hrs

  Handsworth nick on a Friday night was usually deserted until after closing time. The on-duty coppers were out on the streets getting ready for the usual fights and scuffles that occur around the time the pubs empty. The off-duty men and women were at home, enjoying a break from dealing with drunks. Not so tonight. Every officer who could walk or crawl had come in as soon as they heard about Clark and none of them were leaving until they knew how he was.

  The atmosphere was one of anger, and it would not take much to set the coppers off. All they knew for sure was that a red headed kid had shot Clark, but it didn’t take long before stories of IRA involvement started to spread. Collins immediately realised that it would only take a rumour of Clark’s death to start reprisals with anyone Irish in the eye of the storm.

  Assailed on all sides for answers, Collins shouted, ‘In the canteen, lads and I’ll give you the latest.’

  The men assembled in a large semi-circle around Collins and Hicks. Collins looked at Hicks, who leaning forward said, ‘Best if it’s from you, Mickey.’

  ‘OK, quiet, lads. Quiet!’ shouted Collins and waited for the noise to abate. Then said, ‘Clarkee is out of danger.’ A huge cheer of relief went up from everyone present. Again, Collins waited until the noise died down. ‘Ruth’s with him now. The Doc says he will be off work for a week. Less if I know Clarkee. No lasting damage has been done. A single bullet grazed his liver. So now in a message direct from Clarkee, “Fuck off home and get some sleep, yow’ll all be on duty in a few hours”.’

  A second, even louder, cheer went up and for perhaps the first time Collins fully understood the importance of Clark to the station. It was not just that everyone could see beyond his gruff sergeant-major’s exterior to the man beneath, who would do anything for a mate. Or that they all recognised him as the best man in Brum to have beside you in a scrap. It went deeper than that. Clark was the station’s mascot, flag carrier and one true leader. The man behind which the coppers marched. As long as Clarkee was there, they really believed that nothing truly bad would befall them.As the men filed away, Ridley approached Hicks and Collins. ‘Nice speech, Mickey. Well done.’ Turning to the Inspector he said, ‘The ACC and Acting Super are in the Superintendent’s Office. They have also got some guy called Sir Aubrey Nichols in there with some young buck who looks like he can handle himself. I’d say they’re either MI5 or the Security Service. They want to see the pair of you as soon as. Which leaves me with just one question. Who the fuck was the kid that Clarkee did for?’

  ‘I’ll tell you as soon as I find out,’ said Hicks.

  Chief Inspector Hicks knocked on the Super’s door and waited to be called in. Four men were already in the room seated around the conference table. ACC Knowles, who’d been such a support following the investigation into Norman Yates, sat in pride of place at the top of the table. On his right was Acting Superintendent Thatcher. To the left of the ACC was Sir Aubrey Nichols, a man whom Collins heartily despised, and beside him the young man Ridley had referred to.

  Collins guessed that the young man was about two inches taller than him and had that loose-limbed elegance that many natural athletes possess. Fair-haired, he was lightly tanned with high cheekbones and a wide mouth. It would be easy to mistake him for a leading man in a Noel Coward play until you saw his eyes. They were pale green, cold as a freshly frozen icicle and watchful. He was a man used to assessing people and situations according to the level of threat they posed him. He reminded Collins of Peter O’Toole’s portrayal of Lawrence of Arabia. I wonder what Clark will make of him, thought Collins. The man was introduced to Collins as Stephen St Clair Rhodes and they shook hands.

  ‘How’s Constable Clark?’ asked ACC Knowles.

  ‘He’s out of surgery and the doctors say he’ll make a full recovery,’ replied Hicks.

  ‘Good, and how about you, Sergeant Collins? Still bearing up?’

  ‘I’m fine, Sir. If I’m honest I was shaken up a bit when I saw how bad the bleeding was. I thought Clarkee was a goner. But now that he’s OK … I’m fine.’

  ‘Good. Well, while you were at the hospital, we’ve been working our nuts off. It seems that Sir Aubrey here got a tip-off that the IRA might be in Brum and had already started looking into that when news of the shooting came in this afternoon. His vigilance gave us a bit of a head start once we heard of the shooting. His team were able to identify the young killer as Bernie Meehan, aged twenty-one. He’s been associated with the IRA for nearly eight years.’

  ‘Eight years?’ said Hick.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sir Aubrey. ‘Started running messages and more for Declan Boyle just as the Border Campaign ended when he was thirteen.’ Aubrey paused as if he expected Collins to say something about Boyle, but he remained stubbornly silent.

  ‘The gun found near Meehan was a Webley .455, standard British Army issue. So Chief Inspector Hicks, would you like to explain how your current investigation involves the IRA?’ asked ACC Knowles.

  ‘The simple answer is that I didn’t know of any connection until just now. All that Sergeant Collins and Constable Clark had was that Declan Boyle was a family friend of Martin Cunningham.’

  ‘And who’s Martin Cunningham?’

  ‘Chairman and founder of Tricolour Construction, one of the biggest independent house builders in the country,’ said Collins.

  ‘Right, we need to speak to the pair of them,’ said Sir Aubrey.

  ‘That will be difficult, Cunningham was run over last Friday and is in a coma.’

  Rhodes shifted in his seat, and speaking for the first time asked, ‘Is Boyle a suspect in the hit and run?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Collins, ‘but only one of four suspects.’

  ‘I think you had better brief us on your investigation, Sergeant,’ said ACC Knowles.

  For the next twenty minutes Collins proceeded to outline what he and Clark had discovered following Superintendent Wallace’s request that they investigate possible corruption in Birmingham.

  ‘Very well,’ said the ACC, ‘Before you arrived, we had been discussing how this investigation should proceed. You will appreciate that what was a delicate enquiry has now become one with national security implications. There is also the matter of you losing your trusted right-hand man, Sergeant Collins. We have agreed that Stephen here will be seconded to you until such time as the case is concluded. On all police matters he will defer to Chief Inspector Hicks and you, Sergeant Collins, but on matters pertaining to national security he will have seniority. Is that clear?’ The ACC looked at Hicks, Collins and Rhodes in turn. All three men nodded. ‘Good. Then bugger off and sort this mess out before it escalates any further.’

  It was past midnight when the trio of officers left the CID office and headed for the now deserted canteen. Collins picked up the small kettle, filled it half full and placed it on the cooker before switching the gas on and checking that it had ignited. ‘Have you got any place to stay while you’re here?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not yet, ‘said Rhodes. ‘I’ll sleep here overnight and find a hotel room tomorrow.’ Rhodes voice was smooth and deep, and pure Received Pronunciation English, bu
t he didn’t sound like the product of a public school.

  ‘No need for that. Agnes and I have plenty of room. You can come home with me tonight. Provided you don’t wet the bed or upset the other tenants.’

  ‘How can I turn down such an offer?’ said Rhodes and smiled.

  All three men were dog-tired and didn’t have the energy to discuss the events of the day. Twenty minutes later Hicks drove out the station entrance, followed by Collins sharing a ride in Rhodes’ Ford Cortina. For the first time since the shooting Collins wondered, Where in God’s name did they take me car?

  Saturday 5th October 1968

  Handsworth, 08.25hrs

  Rhodes was sitting at the kitchen table trying to enjoy his freshly cooked bacon and eggs, but it was difficult. Every time he raised a forkful of food from his plate to mouth Sheba watched the ascent. With her head on one side, her slightly opened mouth watering, the occasional drop of saliva dripped into her basket. Twice, Agnes had told him to ignore the dog, but it was no use, and in the end, he threw the black beast a full rasher of bacon while Agnes wasn’t looking. The evidence disappeared in one gulp and Rhodes wondered if it had even touched the animal’s mouth or tongue on the way to its stomach.

  When Collins entered a few minutes later, Rhodes was smoking a Dunhill cigarette and finishing his tea.

  Kissing Agnes on the cheek, he said, ‘Where’s Bram?’

  ‘He woke up at three thirty and finally feel asleep again at five this morning,’ said Agnes. ‘I assume it was because of the strange bed.’

  ‘Bram?’ asked Rhodes.

  ‘He’s Clark’s son. Michael Abraham Clark,’ said Agnes. ‘Ruth stayed at the hospital last night, so I brought him home. Which reminds me I should really call her, but I don’t want to wake her if she’s gone to bed.’

  ‘She’s not going to go to bed until she’s spoken to you about Bram. Call her,’ said Collins.

  Agnes nodded and went to call Ruth.

  ‘Thanks again for putting me up. It really is much appreciated. I’ll find something later today and be out of your hair.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome. Just one little hint, Agnes hates smoking in the house, especially at mealtimes.’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said Rhodes, and immediately opened the kitchen door, dropped the offending article on the concrete and stamped on it, before he picked it up and dropped it in the kitchen bin.

  Good manners, though Collins, perhaps a little too good for the upper class. For the second time since he met him Collins found himself wondering about Rhodes and his background.

  ‘So where do you want to start, Michael? Is it all right if I call you Michael?’

  ‘Michael, Collins, Mickey. They’re all OK. Just don’t call me Paddy. While we are at it, what do I call you?’

  ‘Steve or Stephen is fine.’

  ‘I thought we’d start with a quick visit to Clarkee. Then we can pay a visit to Mr Declan Boyle. Before that, I want you to call your boss and check out the latest information MI5 has on Meehan and Boyle. At the moment, we have very little to connect him to Meehan.’

  Rhodes’ 1966 Ford Cortina Mk1 GT sat on the drive with the early morning sunshine glinting on its red bodywork and chrome. ‘Your own car?’

  ‘Yes, we don’t all earn enough to run a Bentley or a DB5.’

  ‘I know how you feel.’

  ‘You’ll have to direct me.’

  ‘Just turn left and head for town and I’ll tell you when to turn again.’

  Pulling away Rhodes asked, ‘How do you want to handle Boyle?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Clarkee and me always played it by ear. If the person was reasonable, we were reasonable. But if they put on the big, I am, start lying to us or became aggressive we’d slap them down. Or I should say Clarkee would slap them down.’

  ‘Is he as good as they say he is?’

  ‘Well, he saved my life yesterday, so I’m prejudiced, but I’d say he’s better.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe that he’s better than his reputation. A lot of the guys in MI5 know about him. Some say they served with him. But how does he do it? I mean, he’s getting old.’

  ‘Don’t let him hear you say that, he may feel the need to show you he isn’t past it.’

  ‘So, how does he do it?’

  ‘It’s difficult to explain. He doesn’t have to psyche himself up. He just moves from peace to all-out war in the time between breaths. It’s not that he’s lost it or is angry, he’s not. He’s always totally calm. It’s just like a switch has been flicked. He told me once that in a fight he sees everything in slow motion and doesn’t have to think about what his next move will be. It just happens. That makes him quick and unpredictable. Because if he doesn’t know what he’s going to do until he does it, how can an opponent counter it?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting him.’

  ‘He’s an acquired taste, and he’s not keen on toffs.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rhodes and said nothing else until Collins told him to turn left after St. Chad’s Cathedral.

  General Hospital, 09.48hrs

  The PC outside Clark’s room didn’t recognise Collins and asked to see his warrant card before he would allow him in. The bulge in the man’s tunic indicated that he was either armed or else he had brought his own sandwiches. Collins’ money was on a gun.

  Clark was propped up in bed, his eyes closed, dozing. There was an IV drip attached to his left arm, the strapping around his wrist clearly visible beneath his pyjamas. Tidied up and wrapped in pristine bandages, the wound looked nothing like the bloody mess that Collins had nursed in his arms just twenty hours earlier. Clark looked tired and hungover, but with the sound of footsteps on the lino covered floor his eyes snapped open. Seeing Collins, he said, ‘I hope yow brought me a bacon butty. Sister Hitler and her strapping Bavarian staff nurses say I’m on fluids today. I mean how’s a man supposed to get better on bloody liquids?’

  ‘Good to see you’re back to your old self.’

  ‘Yow dain’t bring me a sarnie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yow ungrateful sod. I took one for yow.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. You were just too slow to duck.’

  ‘Bollocks. Even on me slowest day I’m twice as quick as yow. Anyways, what you doing hanging around with someone who’s just been shoplifting in Austin Reed?’ asked Clark while checking out Rhodes.

  ‘Clarkee, I’d like you to meet Stephen Rhodes. He’s with MI5.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Constable Clark. How do you feel?’

  ‘Bloody hell, another sodding public schoolboy. That’s just what the security service needs, another public school boy,’ said Clark as he shook hands. Clark held the handshake for a second or two longer than was necessary. His eyes searching Rhodes face. When he let go he said, ‘In answer to your question I feel as if Muhammed Ali has been thumping me for two days non-stop. But give it twenty-four hours and I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Rhodes.

  ‘Now, I have a question for you. When the shit hits the fan yow ain’t going to let me mate down, are yow.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  Rhodes said, ‘No.’

  One of the “Bavarian” staff nurses, a small woman with a soft Devon accent, entered and laid a cup of tea on Clark’s locker, fluffed his pillows, took his pulse, entered it on his chart and left. Collins did not spot any Nazi insignia on her uniform.

  For ten minutes the men chatted about the events of yesterday and what it meant for the investigation into the deaths of Lafferty, Murray, the Endburys, Thorne’s disappearance, and corruption in the City Council. As the meeting started to wind down Rhodes looked at his watch and said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to check in with London. I’ll see you outside, Mickey.’

  Clark waited until the door closed before he said, ‘Mickey, I know that you don’t like being overruled, but you should avoid any and all battles yow can’t win on this one. National security will always trump any civil
ian enquiry, and if that means letting murdering scumbags off the hook to catch or take out a senior member of the IRA, so be it.’

  Collins started to speak but was cut off by Clark, ‘How much do you know about Rhodes?’

  ‘Nothing. I only met him yesterday. Why?’

  ‘He’s not an ordinary operative.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘MI5 employ all sorts of people. Common or garden spies, investigators, analysts, linguists, filing clerks. They also have a small team of killers who get rid of problems for the government. Permanently. Rhodes is one of them.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It takes one to know one. My bet is his orders are to find and kill Boyle and any other members of the IRA he comes across. That is why he’s been teamed up with yow. Yow are the one most likely to find Boyle.’

  ‘But it was the ACC who teamed him with me, not Nichols.’

  ‘Yow don’t know what he agreed with Nichols in their chat before the meeting, Mickey.’

  Collins thought for a moment before saying, ‘I’m in the bloody crossfire again, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yep. But that’s what yow’re paid for. Now how’s Bram?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to give me any advice on how to survive?’

  ‘Na. Yow should have brought me a bacon butty. How’s Bram?

  When Collins left five minutes later, he looked back at his friend from the doorway. Clark’s eyes were closed, and he was sleeping.