A Death in Autumn

by Jim McGrath

  Running past the rock garden he saw Boyle head into the shrubbery. Ten seconds later he followed. Then he stopped and listened. All he could hear was the sound of a large number of men shouting and mulling about near the car park. A smile crossed his face. Having got their wives and girlfriends to safety, they’d returned. He remembered what a Sergeant had said to the class during training. If ever you’re threatened by a gang, tell your Sergeant and you’ll find out that we are the biggest gang in England.

  A shot rang out and Collins felt the air move as it missed his head by inches. Dropping to his knees behind a thick bush, he looked in the direction the shot had come from. It was off to his left. Boyle was heading for Cameron Path which ran along the boundary of the Gardens. He moved in the same direction. After about two minutes he heard the sound of a man moving quickly through the thick branches of the rhododendron bushes and saw the path just ten feet away. He made his way to the edge of the path and waited for Boyle to cross the road. One minute, two minutes, passed. Has he already gone? No, he hasn’t had time to cross without me seeing or hearing him. It was then that he saw Boyle step from the tree line onto the path, still holding a gun.

  Collins stepped onto the path and said, ‘Hands up Boyle. I have a nice cosy cell waiting for you.’

  Boyle dived for the grass verge and pulled the trigger of the sub-machine gun he was holding.

  Collins threw himself onto the path and fired. But Boyle was rolling towards the bushes and Collins’ shots missed their mark. Collins waited for a couple of seconds and only stood up when he heard Boyle running through the bushes and plants heading back towards the car park.

  Clark saw Boyle sprinting up the hill followed by Collins thirty yards behind. Both men were shooting wildly. Clark shouted to the hundred plus police officers, ‘Shut the fuck up and hide behind the cars. Don’t let Boyle know we’re here.’ The men did as they were told and silently took up positions behind the parked vehicles and waited.

  Forty seconds later a breathless Boyle ran into the car park and turning, fired at Collins who once more threw himself to the ground and rolled away from the fire. After a two second burst there was a click from Boyle’s sub-machine gun as his last clip of bullets ran out. Throwing the gun down Boyle raised his hands.

  From behind the cars the police emerged and surrounded Boyle in a cordon four deep and thirty yards in circumference. Boyle looked at the silent coppers and smiled.

  Collins arrived and Clark grinned at him, ‘Yow got him Mickey. Well done.’

  Collins looked at Boyle’s eyes and could see they were filled with rage and hate. He could feel the anger of the man even from ten foot away. ‘What’s the matter, Boyle?’ he said, ‘Annoyed that a Dublin pipspeak, a traitor to old Ireland has caught you?’

  ‘You’re shit, Collins. It’s you and your like that has helped Britain control Ireland for eight hundred years. But one day, and that day will be soon, you’ll have to pay for your treachery.’

  ‘Maybe but you won’t be around to cheer when that day comes.’

  ‘Why don’t you and me finish it now man to man? Or do you need your small army to do the job for you?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Collins and handed his gun and jacket to Clark. ‘Stay out of this, Clarkee, and keep the rest back. This is between him and me.’ Then he remembered what Clark had said to him in a similar situation and he whispered, ‘but if he kills me, kill the bastard.’

  ‘OK, Mickey.’

  Boyle grinned and crouched down. Collins moved forward. Boyle lashed out with a right hook which Collins ducked but was hit with the same fist when Boyle swung it backwards. It hit Collins full on the side of his nose and he immediately tasted the copper-like flavour of his own blood. Boyle smiled and closed in, swinging punches to the body. Collins tried to cover up, but Boyle was quick. As soon as Collins brought his fists down to protect his body Boyle switched the focus of his punching to Collins’ face.

  Collins backed away. Boyle knew how to box so a change of tactics was required. As Boyle moved after Collins, the younger man waited until he was just out of range and feinted to throw a left hook. Boyle moved closer to block the attack and as he did so, Collins raised his knee and flicked out a straight kick. It missed Boyle’s testicles and landed full in the lower stomach and pushed him backwards. Collins followed up with a side kick to the stomach which caused Boyle to double over and Collins caught him on the side of the face with a roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling in the dirt. A huge cheer went up from the men present, and cries of ‘Finish the bastard, Mickey,’ and ‘You’ve got him,’ rang out.

  Moving in, Collins stopped a yard away and said, ‘Have you had enough?’ Boyle raised his right hand and head as if in supplication, but his left hand slashed out and a six inch blade opened up a large gash on Collins’ shin.

  Collins backed away as Boyle jumped up and raced after him. The red-tipped blade slashed in arcs through the air. One of the crowd threw Collins a two foot length of branch. He caught it and it felt substantial in his hand, a bit like his old truncheon. Boyle backed off as Collins whirled the branch, almost hitting the hand which held the knife.

  Boyle reached the edge of the circle which the men had created and was pushed in the back by Ridley, ‘You ain’t so fucking brave now are you, you Fenian bastard?’

  Enraged, Boyle ran forward and was hit on the upper right arm and on the side of the face by the branch before he wrapped his arms around Collins and sent him crashing to the floor. Collins released the piece of wood and grabbed Boyle’s knife hand. Scrambling and cursing, Boyle worked his way on top of Collins, and grabbing the knife with both hands, he started to push it down towards Collins’ neck.

  Suddenly Clark shouted, ‘Mickey,’ and threw the knife Collins had acquired in the kitchen. Collins caught the knife in his left hand and stabbed Boyle in the side of his stomach, just below the ribcage, and pulled the knife upwards. A look of surprise and shock spread across Boyle’s face. The pressure he had been exerting on his knife relaxed. Collins pushed him away, and scrambled to his feet.

  Boyle lay on the floor, unmoving, his eyes growing dimmer and dimmer. Only Collins was close enough to hear the rebel’s last words, ‘This isn’t over.’

  Sunday 13th October 1968

  Handsworth, 15.09hrs

  Collins had spent four hours in the General Hospital’s Accident and Emergency Department having his broken nose reset, stiches inserted in his gashed leg and a blood transfusion for loss of blood, before Agnes was allowed to take him home. He’d gone to bed immediately and had slept through the night and woken at three in the afternoon feeling stiff, sore and pleased. A large breakfast of toast, fried egg, bacon and two sausages added to his smile.

  ‘That, darling, looks just the job.’

  ‘Well, enjoy it while you can. You’re getting slow and fat. You’re on a diet from tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah bejesus, you’re a hard woman bullying the hero of the hour.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m the women you’re going to marry on February the ninth, and until then I’m going to do my best to keep you alive.’

  ‘If I had the time, I’d take you to bed right now,’ said Collins with a broad smile, ‘But alas, Clark is picking me up in thirty-five minutes. We have to go and see a man about a horse.’

  ‘Well if you can eat your breakfast in ten minutes, we’ll still have twenty minutes free to enjoy ourselves.’

  Collins started to shovel the food down his throat.

  Clark parked outside the Cunninghams’ palatial residence. ‘How do yow want to play it?’ asked Clark.

  ‘Well I don’t think we can use any rough stuff. Let’s see if we can get him to make a slip.’

  ‘How wem going to do that?’

  ‘I have absolutely no bleeding idea.’

  ‘Well that’s good, ’cos most of yowr ideas never work out.’

  ‘It’s always motivating to hear what your staff think of you,’ said Collins as he rang the bell.

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sp; Yolande opened the door and smiled, ‘I didn’t expect to see you pair today. Come on in.’

  ‘We just wanted to give you and Martin the full story.’

  ‘Sounds interesting. Go on up to Martin. I need to switch the iron off.’

  As they ascended the stairs Collins turned to Clark and whispered. ‘I’ll do the questioning; you observe Cunningham see if he’s shaken by anything I say.’

  Clark nodded and knocked on the door and waited for Cunningham to say, ‘Come in,’ before opening it.

  ‘It’s you pair again. Did Yolande not tell you how many different coppers we’ve had in the house today?’

  ‘No,’ said Collins.’

  ‘Well I counted seven who came to talk with me.’

  ‘Well we just wanted to say how sorry we are that your friend Mr Boyle is dead. I know that you didn’t support his IRA activities, but he was your friend.’

  ‘He was me friend, but buying guns and explosives and trying to store them in my warehouse was the last straw. I’m now convinced that he was the one who arranged my little accident. The bastard. What I don’t know, is did he intend to kill me or just keep me out of the way while he arranged shipment for his guns?’

  ‘Sure, we’ll never have an answer to that question. But personally, I don’t think he was trying to kill you.’

  ‘Why not.’

  ‘It was a main road. Once you were hit the driver in the car couldn’t reverse over you and make sure you were dead. There were too many witnesses. Plus, the most serious injury was your concussion which was caused by you hitting your head on the road. That was probably resulted from you jumping up moments before the car hit you.’

  ‘Sure, that was down to my quick reactions. I’ve always had good reflexes.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure your reactions are as quick now as they were twenty years ago.’

  ‘I wish they were, but they’re still fairly good.’

  Changing the subject Collins asked, ‘Will you be going to Boyle’s funeral?’

  ‘No. I won’t be able to travel on a plane for a few months yet. But Yolande will go. People would think it strange if neither of us went.’

  ‘Yeah, funerals are great places to pick up information from.’

  ‘You mean gossip?’ asked Cunningham

  ‘Yeah, I suppose I do. What will you do about your compound?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking for a while now that it was bit small for me needs. I think I’ll sell it off and move to bigger premises.’

  ‘Well, good luck with the move.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Walking back to Clark’s car, Collins said, ‘That was a disappointment. He’s a smart one, that’s for sure, but he’s proud of his reflexes. Just what you need to avoid being run over.

  ‘Yeah, I picked up on that. If a car’s going to hit yow, yow jump up in the air. Which means that yow protect all yower vital organs. But that ain’t enough to arrest the bastard. Yow’ll need to watch yowr back. I’ve got a feeling that Martin Cunningham is far more dangerous than Boyle ever was. He’s a man who will bide his time and strike when yow least expect it.’

  ‘Well thanks for that pep talk. I feel a lot better now.’

  ‘I think yow’ll make it to Christmas.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Cos Cunningham won’t be on his feet for about two months. He can’t arrange your death from his sick bed. He’ll have to speak to people and he ain’t going to phone them from his own home.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll hire a nice big car and run the bugger over. He can’t escape death for a second time.’

  ‘Na, you ain’t a killer. Leave that to the guys who have been trained for it.’

  Collins didn’t reply.

  Thursday January 3rd, 1969

  Digbeth, 00.42hrs

  Martin Cunningham had been drinking steadily for four hours in the Adam and Eve pub in Bradford Street, where most of the regulars were Irish. It had been a good night and the crack had been great. On leaving the pub he turned left and then took the next left heading for his car. This was the first night he’d gone out alone since the accident, and now he was going to drive home. He was sure he’d be all right as there was very little traffic on the road unlike the previous night. As he passed a doorway, he heard a man say, ‘The Irish Sea is awful rough tonight.’

  Martin stopped and replied. ‘It will be calm tomorrow.’

  The bullet hit Martin in the chest and exploded into his heart. The last thing he ever saw was the flash from the gun. He was dead by the time he hit the ground. The man removed the silencer from the gun and placed it and the gun in his overcoat pockets. Then he walked away into the night.

  Handsworth, 09.02hrs

  Collins parked his new dark blue Mini Cooper in the station’s car park. He’d never admit it to Clark, but he preferred the Mini to the Capri. It was better suited to city driving and just as fast as the Ford but was a damn sight easier to park. As he reached to turn off the radio he heard the Radio One newscaster announce that Martin Cunningham’s body had been found in Digbeth in the early hours of the third of January and that the United Sons of Ulster, a previously unknown terrorist group in Northern Ireland, had claimed responsibility for his murder. He didn’t hear the rest of the report and sat there stunned for nearly a minute before Clark rapped on the side window.

  He wound the window down and Clark asked, ‘Yow heard the news about Cunningham?’

  ‘Just now. Who the fuck are the USU?’

  ‘No idea. But one thing’s sure, they done yow a favour.’

  Collins looked at Clark and he remembered what the little man had said to him three months earlier about leaving killings to those that had been trained to do it. He would never know for sure but at that moment he believed Clark had killed Cunningham. ‘Well at least he won’t be bothering us again.’

  ‘True. Very true. Fancy a cuppa and a bacon butty? To celebrate?

  ‘On one condition, I buy them.’

  ‘Yow’ll get no argument from me.’

  ‘Do you think that whoever killed Cunningham will ever be caught?

  ‘If I were a betting man, I’d give you better odds on a snowball surviving the fires of hell,’ said Clark with a grin.

  Later that day, Clark left the police station and walked to Soho Road. Stepping into the familiar red telephone box, he waited until the door was shut, then dialled a London number from memory. The phone was answered on the fourth ring, ‘Rhodes.’

  ‘Steve, it’s me. Just wanted to congratulate yow on the fine work yow do, and to say thanks. If ever I can repay the favour, yow only have to ask.’

  ‘You’re welcome. It was my pleasure. I’ll see you around.’

  ‘I hope so. Take care.’

  Epilogue

  Chief Superintendent Wallace was buried on Monday 28th October. Men from adjacent divisions covered for the staff at Thornhill Road as they paid their respects to a great police officer. The Superintendent’s wife and three children were comforted by the Chief Constable and the Lord Mayor of Birmingham. However, it was the kindness shown by the officers of Thornhill Road and the Superintendent’s previous station, Perry Barr, which meant the most.

  John Reece was arrested at Gatwick Airport as he tried to board a Thomas Cook package holiday jet to Spain, using a false passport. He was remanded in prison until his trial started on the 2nd September 1969. Charges against him included the murder of John Simpson, numerous assaults, blackmail, fraud, tax evasion and the bribery of nineteen local government officials. His trial lasted seven weeks and he was found guilty on all charges and sentenced to life in prison. The police continued to question Reece about the murders of Claire Lafferty and Christina Murray for nearly a year, but he continued to protest his innocence. The case remains open.

  Superintendent Patterson only brought one charge against the City’s Chief Auditor, Mr Hastings; the acceptance of a bribe while in a public office. His wife remained un­aware of his infidelity and waited for his release from pri
son after eighteen months. Shortly afterwards they retired to Eastbourne.

  Mrs Simpson received a public apology from the Birmingham City Police Force, read out by Inspector West at a press conference. She sold her house in Burntwood and moved in with Marjorie. The two women remain the best of friends although they don’t always like the other’s choice of men friends.

  Clark’s suit was delivered by Burtons in January and fitted him perfectly. The wedding of Agnes and Collins was well attended. In addition to friends and colleagues, Agnes and Collins had invited a select band of informants that had been of help to them over the years including Mary, Gloria and Upright Freddie, now known and respected as the Rev. Freddie Bartholomew. Michael Abraham Clark disgraced himself by crying loudly throughout most of the service, but no one seemed to mind and for the rest of the day he watched proceedings with a smile and giggled when tickled by every female in attendance.

  In March 1969 Detective Chief Inspector Hicks, Detective Sergeant Collins and Detective Constable Clark were called to a meeting in Steelhouse Lane by ACC Knowles. There they were informed that the Chief Constable had given his approval for the creation of a small team of officers who would report directly to him. Their remit was to track, destabilise, break up and bring to trial criminal gangs in the Birmingham area. If the men agreed to join the Squad, they would each be promoted one rank on an acting basis.

  In answer to Hicks’ inquiry about how large the squad would be, he was informed that initially six officers would be allocated to the squad. The three additional officers would be chosen by Hicks.