A Death in Autumn

by Jim McGrath

  ‘Bring them in.’

  ‘In you go. I’ll make a cup of tea and bring it up to you.’

  ‘Many thanks,’ said Collins.

  Clarkee said, ‘I’ll give yow a hand,’ and followed Yolande down the stairs.

  Martin Cunningham was sitting up in bed with a bandage covering the top of his head. His eyes had dark rings under them and the animal strength which had been so evident when Collins had first met him had gone. When he lifted his arm to greet his visitor, Collins was reminded of how old men moved – slow and uncertain.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not too bad. Just weak and tired all the time. The doctors said it could take six months for that to go.’

  ‘I need to ask you a few questions about Declan Boyle and what happened earlier. Are you up to that?’

  ‘You’ll know soon enough. When I fall asleep in the middle of our conversation it’s a sure sign I’ve had enough,’ Martin said, and tried to smile.

  ‘Did you know that Boyle was in the country before he visited you in hospital?’

  ‘No. I can’t say I did. I thought he’d flown over until Yolande told me he’d been in Manchester.’

  ‘Did you know he was an IRA member?’

  ‘Sure, everyone in the village knew he was that. But he was booted out eight or nine years ago, or so we all thought until last tonight.’

  Yolande opened the door and Clark walked in carrying a tray of tea and thick cut brack. ‘Tea’s up,’ he said with a grin and placed the tray on the bedside cabinet.

  ‘He never indicated to you that he was still active in the IRA?’

  ‘No, by God. If I’d known, I’d have had nothing to do with the bastard.’

  ‘Did you ever think it was him who arranged your accident?’

  ‘Christ no. I’ve known him me whole life. No, it was Reece who did it, for sure.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because he’s a vicious, nasty bastard and probably thought I’d fingered him in your corruption investigation.’

  ‘So straight revenge then?’

  ‘Yeah. That and a warning to others,’ said Martin with a yawn, his eye flickering open and shut.

  Yolande stood up and said, ‘I’m sorry, but he needs to sleep. You’ll have to go.’

  ‘That’s all right. I hope you’re feeling your old self soon,’ said Collins and held out his hand. Martin took it but there was no pressure or strength in his grip.

  As they walked down the stairs Yolande asked, ‘Will you be working the whole weekend?’

  It was Collins who replied.’ Yeah, we will be working over the weekend but on Saturday night we’re off to the Birmingham Police Quiz. Should be a good night. The Botanical Gardens always do a great meal.’

  ‘Well I hope you enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.’

  Walking back to the car, Clark asked, ‘What do yow think?’

  ‘If I was a respectable businessman who was doing something really dodgy and which could see me in jail for the rest of my life I might arrange to be run over by me mate. Two weeks in hospital would give me the perfect alibi.’

  ‘That’s just supposition. What did yow make of Martin?’

  ‘Not once did he ask about Boyle. He wasn’t interested in knowing if the man’s body had been found or if he’d escaped from the explosion. And likewise, he didn’t ask if Reece had been at the yard.’

  ‘Yow mean he knows them are alive?’

  ‘More than that. He’s spoken with Boyle since the explosion. I’m sure of it,’ said Collins.

  ‘But how could Boyle have survived the explosion?’

  ‘The Charltons’ bodies were found in the back office. What if Boyle was lucky and had stepped out back to have a pee or make a cuppa? If he wasn’t hit by a ton of bricks landing on his head, he could have climbed through the window and just walked away in all the confusion.

  ‘I suppose that yow telling Yolande where wi’d be on Saturday was yowr way of getting Boyle to react and come after us while providing proof that Martin and Yolande were in on it all along?’ said Clark.

  ‘Yeah, if he does show up, we’ll have the bastards. But I want one of your guns.’

  ‘No problem. What are mates for?’

  ∑: Handsworth, 14.56hrs

  T

  he station was full of security service personnel and other people Collins didn’t know. He slipped quietly away from the throng and found Clark and Hicks in the CID room.

  ‘What time do yow call this, Sergeant?’ demanded Clark.

  ‘Three pm, Constable Clark. Why?’

  ‘I was here an hour ago. What yow been doing?’

  ‘Don’t believe a word he says,’ said Hicks. ‘He got here about ten minutes before you.’

  ‘Well what time did yow get here then, Sir?’

  ‘I was here before ten this morning,’ said Hicks with a grin and looked at both men to see if they would challenge him.

  It was Clark who said under his breath, ‘Lying sod.’

  ‘What was that, Clark?’

  ‘Just clearing me throat, Sir,’ said Clark.

  ‘Well, clear it on your way to the canteen, and get three teas and doughnuts,’ said Hicks, holding a ten bob note in his hand.

  ‘My pleasure, Sir,’ said Clark.

  The day continued in the same vein as it had started for Collins, Clark and Hicks. They had been on the periphery of events. What they had seen had been seen by everyone present and statements were taken only from the senior police officers present. At around half three Stephen St Clair Rhodes knocked and walked in. ‘Just came to say goodbye. I’m off, back to London.’

  Collins stood up and held out his hand, ‘Thanks for all your help, Stephen. It’s been a pleasure working with you.’

  ‘He’s never said it was a pleasure working with me,’ said Clark, as he shook Stephen’s hand.

  ‘That’s because it never has been.’

  ‘Yow see what I have to put up with?’

  ‘I’ll pay for the tickets, if you’ll take this pair with you to London,’ said Hicks.

  ‘No thanks, Sir. I don’t think the security services would survive them.’

  At four Hicks looked up from the report he was reading, checked his watch and said, ‘Push off, lads. Nothing is going to happen today. I’ll see you at the quiz tomorrow.’

  Outside, Collins felt a cold shiver run down his spine and he stopped and said, ‘Clarkee we need to go and see the Superintendent. Tell him that his hunch paid off. What do you say, we’ve got the time?’

  Clark looked at his watch and finally said, ‘OK.’

  Mrs Wallace answered the door and it was obvious to both men that she had been crying. Collins said nothing but enfolded the small woman in a bear hug and said, ‘I take it he’s worse?’

  ‘Yes. The doctor said he won’t last the night.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Clark, and following Collins’ example, wrapped his arms around the grief-stricken woman. ‘No-one could have done more for him than yow.’

  Mrs Wallace dabbed her eyes with her hankie and waved them forward. ‘Look who’s come to see you, love. Sergeant Collins and Constable Clark.’

  The Super’s eyes came open and he blinked four or five times to focus on the two men. ‘I was dreaming about you pair last night. I knew you’d …’ He started to cough, and he clutched his stomach with his right hand as the cramps grabbed hold of his gut. Mrs Wallace picked up a syringe but without a needle, filled with an opaque substance, and opening her husband’s mouth, depressed the plunger and delivered a massive dose of opiates. Within seconds the drug began to work, and he relaxed back into the pillows.

  ‘Sir, why don’t you just lie there and relax. Me and Clarkee have one hell of a good story to tell you.’

  ‘Yeah, yowr suspicions may have saved hundreds of lives,’ said Clark.

  For the next forty-five minutes Collins and Clark told the Superintendent of what had happened si
nce their last visit on the tenth of September. When they had finished The Superintendent said nothing, nor did he smile, but his eyes were alive. He had always believed that there was corruption in Birmingham. Now, he knew that all the bastards who were responsible for it and still alive would pay for it. Scuppering the IRA’S plans was a bonus. They had lost a very valuable stock of weapons and explosives. He’d been right. He could die now. Finally he raised his head from the pillow and looking at Collins and Clark whispered, ‘Thanks, lads.’

  After Collins and Clark had left Mrs Wallace returned to her husband’s makeshift bedroom and kissed his forehead. With what little strength he had left he said, ‘Get the kids. It’s time, love.’

  Superintendent Wallace died that night at ten minutes past ten with his wife and three children by his bedside.

  Saturday 12th October 1968

  Edgbaston, 19.05hrs

  ‘Does this look all right? It’s not too young looking?’ asked Agnes.

  ‘Darling, you look gorgeous. I always like you in blue.’

  ‘It’s purple, not blue. A chimpanzee has a better colour sense than you.’

  ‘The same chimp would tell you it’s five past seven. We’ll be late.’

  ‘All right, then. Let’s go.’

  Collins’ Capri was still at the compound while every ounce of evidence it contained was checked and double-checked. Agnes slipped into the driver’s seat of her 3.5 Rover and Collins sat in the passenger seat. Agnes could drive as well as any man and better than most, but she was also a careful driver. The result was that she drove the whole distance to the Botanical Gardens in Edgbaston at three miles per hour over the speed limit. When they arrived, they found themselves joining a queue of cars blocking Westbourne Road for fifty yards. After a ten minute delay they were ushered into the car park and told in which bay to park by one of the Gardens’ wardens. ‘Just our luck. We’re right at the end of the car park. It’ll take us ages to get out tonight,’ said Collins.

  Once inside, they followed everyone else’s example, dropped off their coats at the cloakroom and headed into the ballroom where nearly seventy tables were laid out for dinner. Clark and Ruth were already at their table and Clark rose as Agnes greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. ‘I love your dress,’ said Ruth. ‘Did Michael choose it?’

  Agnes looked at Collins and they both started to laugh. When they stopped Agnes told Ruth of their earlier exchange. Collins didn’t fancy a fifteen minute discussion on men’s poor style sense, and changed the subject. ‘Where’s the quiz going to take place?’

  ‘Here,’ said Clark. ‘After dessert and during coffee. Then it’s into the ballroom for a dance. I’ll show you what a real rocker can do.’

  ‘Have they got a band?’

  ‘Nah. Just a DJ.’

  The food was typical English fare, vegetable soup followed by roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and a choice of three vegetables. Although the menu looked uninspired, it had been cooked to perfection, and there were no complaints among the guests.

  As the dinner plates were collected Sergeant Ridley made his way to the small stage at the end of the room and tapping the mike to check that it was working, said, ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As many of you know, Chief Superintendent Wallace died last night after a long and brave struggle against cancer. We’ll not see his like again. Would you all please stand for a minute’s silence in memory of a great copper and an even better man.’

  As everyone in the room stood up and bowed their heads. Collins looked at the crowd. Several of the women who had known the Superintendent and his wife well were crying, and many police officers’ eyes were filled with tears.

  After exactly one minute Ridley said, ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Details of the Super’s funeral will be sent to all stations when they are received. The Super always enjoyed a laugh and good food, so I’m certain he would want tonight’s quiz to be a huge success. So, enjoy the rest of meal and remember that before we head into the dance we have the Birmingham City Police Quiz. For the last three years Steelhouse Lane have won the title of Quizmasters of Brum. But we may see new champions tonight.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ came the cry from the captain of the Steelhouse Lane Team, Chief Inspector West, his jowls bobbing up and down as he laughed at his own witticism.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ said Ridley and continued, ‘There are fifty questions each worth two points. Each table will submit just one answer on the piece of paper that you’ll find …’

  The muffled sound of an explosion and the rattle of automatic gunfire drowned out whatever Ridley had to say. Clark was the first to react to the explosion and he rushed to the French windows. As he pushed them open, a hail of bullets ripped over his head and hit the chandelier, sending a shower of small shreds of crystal onto the heads and faces of guests below. Clark ducked down and ran to one of the large stone pots which were placed at the top of the steps. From there he was able to see that the bomb had destroyed a grey Rover at the end of the car park. Its bonnet and registration number had been blown fifty yards onto the grass outside the function room.

  Retracing his steps, he shouted for quiet and slowly the noise died down. ‘We’re under attack by two, maybe three, heavily armed men. These men want Collins and me.’

  ‘How do you know they’re after you?’ a voice from near the kitchen shouted.

  ‘Because they just blew up the car Collins came in.’

  Another voice asked, ‘How do you know it’s Collin’s car?’

  ‘’Cos the number plate landed within ten feet of me.’

  Hicks and Collins realised that Clark didn’t want to spread panic among the crowd by mentioning the IRA, and it was Hicks who said, ‘I suggest that all the women be escorted to the front exit. Officers will check if there is any sign of gunmen, and if not will lead the women out of the building and into the grounds of the Teachers’ Training College over the road, then come back to help. Collins, Clark and I will deal with the shower outside. Now get going.’

  Agnes looked at Collins and whispered, ‘Its Boyle, isn’t it?’ Collins nodded yes. Agnes kissed Collins and said, ‘Be careful.’ Then taking Ruth by the elbow, she followed the crowd towards the exit.

  The room emptied within ninety seconds, leaving just five people. Hicks, Collins, Clark, Inspector Archer, and Marie Bolding. Collins looked at Marie and said, ‘You don’t have to stay.’

  ‘I know I don’t, but I’m not letting some bastard try and kill my two favourite coppers, now am I?’

  Another blast of machine gun fire raked across the restaurant, sending all five diving to the floor. Once the clip was empty there was a slight pause before a second automatic gun opened up.

  ‘They’re coming in,’ said Clark. I’ve got two guns and a knife. Mickey and me will keep the guns. The rest of yow will have to find a weapon in the kitchen. So, get moving and stay down, for Christ’s sake.’

  All five scurried across the floor and into the kitchen. Four members of kitchen staff were hiding behind a large wooden table. Archer looked at them and shouted, ‘Get the fuck out of here – now.’ All four men ran out of the back door.

  Hicks picked up a meat cleaver and a carving fork. Archer chose a rolling pin and a four-inch peeling knife. Marie picked up a large pot and stepped behind the door a second before it was pushed open and a balaclava-wearing man of medium build and height walked in. ‘I’ve got them,’ he shouted, and raising the sub-machine gun stepped into the room. As he did so Marie stepped from behind the door and hit him with the pot. There was a loud crack as the pot hit his skull, and he fell to the floor in a heap, blood pouring from a three-inch fracture to his skull.

  Clark responded immediately, grabbing the machine gun from the man’s hand and firing through the door. Collins grabbed the man’s foot and dragged the body over to where he was crouching, leaving a six-inch wide blood smear on the granite floor. Quickly he searched the man’s body and found two spare ammunition clips for the sub-machi
ne gun, which he slid across the floor to Clark. The flick knife and a handful of pistol bullets he slipped into his jacket pocket. Only then did he check to see if the gun was fully loaded, and remove the safety catch. The revolver, that Clark had provided, he passed to Hicks.

  ‘Well, you seem to be having all the luck tonight Collins. But it’s about to run out for ya,’ shouted Boyle as the door was kicked open and a grenade thrown in. Hicks and Archer both dived for cover behind the heavy wooden table. Collins threw himself on Marie, and Clark picked up the grenade and flung it through the kitchen window. The grenade blew up before it hit the ground, shattering every window in the kitchen.

  Moments later two more men charged through the door firing from the hip. Clark was lying on the floor, about twelve feet away from them when he opened fire. Both men were thrown backwards as a barrage of bullets ripped their groins, stomachs and chest to shreds.

  ‘Why don’t you come in and finish us off, Boyle?’ shouted Collins.

  ‘Fuck you. You English-loving cunt. This isn’t over.’

  ‘Give me the gun’, said Collins. ‘The bastard isn’t getting away again.’

  Clark slid the sub-machine gun and the two clips of ammunition across the floor and said, ‘Leave your gun and ammo. I’ll be right behind you.’

  Collins picked up the sub-machine gun and opened the door slowly. No shots were fired. Flinging the door open, he ran for the French windows and as he did so he saw in the light of his burning car the tall skinny figure of Boyle running for the shrubbery area of the Gardens and the small ponds it contained. He set off at a near sprint trying to remember what lay beyond the boundaries of the Gardens. He thought that it was just sports grounds and playing fields, but he wasn’t certain. If Boyle got into the sports grounds, he’d stand a very good chance of getting onto a road and finding a car he could steal or hijack. Collins increased his speed.