by Jack Murray
Kit nodded to Daniels, and then much to his own surprise, addressed him.
‘I understand you speak English well.’ This prompted no reaction from Daniels other than to continue looking at Kit. ‘I presume you’ve been made aware that you were taking orders from two former British secret servicemen, one of whom, Kopel, had gone rogue.’
For the first time, Daniels acknowledged what was being said. He made one curt nod.
‘The man you knew as Kopel is, in fact, Lord Olly Lake. He was a friend of mine. We were at school together. We grew up together. He’s an enemy of mine now. An enemy of yours also. Of your country. You realise this, don’t you?’
Silence. There was no reaction from Daniels to this. Kit gazed back at Daniels. It seemed there was no one else in the room. The only sound to be heard was the laboured breathing of Daniels.
Kit reached inside his coat to his breast pocket and took out a wallet. He opened it and extracted a small photograph which he handed over to Daniels. The big Russian looked from Kit to the photograph.
‘What do you see?’ asked Kit.
Daniels held the photograph up to his eyes. He moved it back a little so that his eyes could focus better on the image. The photograph showed four boys; all were around ten years old. There was also a man in the photograph. They were sitting by a pond. One of the boys was holding a toy. It was a three-mast sailing boat. The boy looked like the man before him in the cell. Beside this boy, was unmistakably the smiling figure of a young Kopel. Daniels handed the photograph back to Kit who placed it in his wallet and returned it to his breast pocket.
‘You understand, don’t you? He used you. He ordered you to murder innocent people. Innocent people, Mr Daniels,’ repeated Kit more forcefully. Kit knew this had hit home. He pressed on. ‘You were a soldier. You followed orders. But these orders were not enacted on behalf of your country. They were enacted on behalf of an organisation that wishes to undermine your country and mine. They are anarchists. We don’t know what their objective is, but they are evil and must be stopped.’
Kit wanted to ask for Daniels’ help. But how could he? Looking at the battered face of the Russian and asking him to help the people who had tortured him would have seemed like a sick joke. An act of hypocrisy. He realised the senselessness of torture lay not just in its illegality or even its immorality; quite simply it was ineffective. Perhaps Daniels could have helped the Intelligence Service find Olly. But that time was long gone.
There was no farewell. Daniels remained uncommunicative. Outside the cell Jellicoe glared at Brickhill.
‘Was all that really necessary?’
Brickhill smiled cruelly and replied, ‘Orders, old chap. Orders.’
Harry Miller opened the passenger door as the group, seen off by Hastings, walked back to the car. It was clear that Jellicoe was angry and Hastings, sensing an atmosphere, did not prolong the parting with any unnecessary chit chat.
Inside the car, Kit looked at Jellicoe and said, ‘I don’t like what’s happened to Daniels any more than you, Chief Inspector, but you seem particularly angry.’
Jellicoe was silent for a moment and then replied, ‘Principles aside, the plain fact is Daniels may be a killer, but he only did so because he was ordered. He had an opportunity to kill me but chose not to.’
‘He was surrounded. Surely he knew he would be killed?’
‘No and yes. I’ve thought about that moment a lot, as you may imagine. There were several men with me; four were armed. He could easily have taken a couple of us with him. He chose to stop the killing. Oddly, if you think about it, he saved my life.’
Kit smiled and agreed, ‘Well, in an odd sort of a way, I suppose you’re right.’
-
Sally Ryan sat in the front room of the house. On a table in front of her sat a pile of assorted coats, trousers, skirts, and socks. Her fingers felt sore after a morning stitching together poor-quality clothes that were falling apart. Despite the dull ache, she liked the work. It was mechanical which meant she didn’t have to think about it. Instead, her mind began to wander. To dream.
The sound of keys in the door made her start. Then she saw her husband walk in. Ryan looked down at Sally and saw fear descend on her, removing the colour from her cheeks and the life force in from her body.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, tears forming in her eyes.
Joe walked over to her, sat down, and put his arm around her. Outside the sound of rain began to beat heavier on the street and the windows.
‘I was laid off Sal, but I’ve found another job already.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Sally, clearly upset by the news.
Ryan explained to her what had happened leaving out only the extortion by his new work colleagues. The news was a mixed blessing, they decided. It would be painful not to have her husband around in the evenings with the two children, but they both recognised that working in the varnish factory was irritating the Ryan’s lungs, which had already been damaged by exposure to gas during the War. The money wasn’t great, but they had just enough. Perhaps Ryan could find another job during the day.
‘How’s my boy?’ asked Ryan.
‘Sleeping. Wasn’t so bad today.’
Ryan nodded. He went over to the bedroom and opened the door. Lying on the bed was his son. Ryan stood for a few moments and listened to the laboured sounds of the boy’s breathing. The tell-tale whistling of severe asthma. He was joined at the door by Sally. They glanced at one another and then back to the boy. In some sense, their life was brutally simple. It was about survival. To get Ben through these few years and hope he could grow out of his illness. Taking the job was his only option.
Ryan turned away from the room and quietly shut the door. He held Sally as much to comfort himself as to comfort her.
‘We’ll be all right, Sal. Just you see.’
‘Do you really think?’ asked Sally.
‘Yes, Sal. Really.’
Sally didn’t look up at him, but he sensed her tears. He held her closer still. Maybe a second job was the answer. Something during the day. A little extra money.
Chapter 10
‘Hello, darling,’ said Kit walking towards Mary.
Mary smiled and knelt to stroke Kit’s dog, Sam, and replied, ‘Hello, darling,’ to the terrier.
‘Am I in the doghouse?’ said Kit looking down at Sam nuzzling Mary.
Mary stood on tip toe and pecked Kit on the cheek.
‘I haven’t decided yet, Lord Aston,’ said Mary looking Kit in the eye. She brushed a hair off the shoulder of Kit’s tuxedo then knelt and picked up the ever-willing Sam.
‘Yes, he is,’ said Agatha arriving in the hallway. ‘I think you’ve quite a nerve, young man, to leave this poor young lady behind as you swan off on a new case.’
Kit rolled his eyes and said, ‘I’m not on a new case, Aunt Agatha. My involvement as of today is over. Chief Inspector Jellicoe is more than capable of handling this matter without my help.’
‘How did you spend the day?’ asked Kit over dinner.
Mary looked at Agatha before saying, ‘We read a lot in the morning and we even tried to piece together a jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately, there are a few pieces missing.’
This comment nearly made Agatha choke and she began coughing. Kit immediately poured her some water and gently patted her back. Agatha quickly regained control but gave Mary a look that suggested that she warn her in future if she was going to be humorous.
Mary continued, ‘After lunch we took a walk in the gardens. Alas the rain cut short our stroll, so we returned somewhat bedraggled back to the house to await my lord and master. Have a drink.’ Mary poured some wine in Kit’s glass and looked at him intently.
Kit noted the sardonic tone and ignored it. He glanced down at the wine then said, ‘Trying to loosen my tongue?’
‘I doubt she’s going to try to seduce you in my house, Christopher, so please hurry and tell us what happened today with the police,’ said Agatha, impati
ence pouring from every pore.
Mary made a sad face which Agatha could not see but Kit interpreted all too hopefully. As an interrogation team they presented a highly effective, and certainly original, take on good cop, bad cop.
‘Very well,’ said Kit resignedly.
Mary’s face lit up in a grin that made Kit wish they were alone, while Sam hopped up onto a chair to hear more. For the next hour Kit went through, in forensic detail due to the questions of the two ladies, the events of the day. This included the meeting with Leon Daniels. However, he refrained from describing the treatment of Daniels, partly from a desire to protect the ladies but also because of his feeling of repugnance and guilt.
Conversation turned to plans for the next day. Mary glanced at Agatha who put her hand up to stop Mary from saying anything.
‘Christopher, do you mind if you delay your trip to the Royal Academy? Perhaps make it tomorrow afternoon? Betty Simpson is coming over tomorrow morning. I believe she’s keen to meet Mary.’
Kit looked at Agatha and then Mary. He smiled and said, ‘Of course. Give my love to Betty.’ Mary’s face was difficult to read but Kit sensed something was afoot.
‘Excellent. I’m sure Betty and Mary will be great friends,’ said Agatha. Then observing the fact that Sam had taken up a position on Mary’s knee, a further thought seemed to strike her. ‘Why don’t you leave Sam here? You know how much Betty likes dogs. I doubt Sam will complain. Pass the salt, my dear.’
Sam by now was all but necking with Mary. Kit smiled and shook his head feigning exasperation with the little dog.
‘Any chance we can swap places, Sam?’ asked Kit. This brought a look of rebuke from Aunt Agatha, but Mary smiled, widened her eyes, and nodded imperceptibly. Changing the subject, Kit asked, ‘Any word from the love birds in Sussex?’
‘I gather Esther is unwell,’ chipped in Agatha before Mary could say anything. Mary turned slowly to Agatha; her eyes narrowed. However, Agatha persisted, ‘Yes, she may have to extend her stay, I understand.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. What’s wrong?’
Mary felt like asking the same question. However, it was clear that the question was being addressed to her, so she turned to Kit with a smile and said, ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Kit with concern.
Unnoticed by Kit, Mary and Agatha exchanged looks. The old lady gave a slight shrug and continued with her soup.
-
The rain had eased off as Joe Ryan made his way back to the factory. Darkness was drawing in, throwing a blanket over the streets. This did little to improve the beauty of the surroundings but increased Ryan’s sense of ghostly unease as he walked towards the plant. A chill north wind was blowing. Snow was coming.
Groups of men were exiting from the facility. A few stragglers, like himself, were going in the opposite direction. He made his way through the same entrance from earlier and walked over to a group of men who were standing with Rusk. The group turned to look at Ryan but there was no welcome greeting, so Ryan did not offer any back. Instead, he stood with the group and waited.
Over the next few minutes, a couple of other men joined the group. Ryan was reassured to see their reception was no warmer than his. Soon, Ryan became aware that Rusk was counting the number of people. His mouth twisted into a peculiar grimace that Ryan took to be a smile.
‘Stay here,’ ordered Rusk and walked off in the direction of Johnny Mac’s office. A few minutes later he returned alongside the towering figure of the Ulsterman. The man beside Ryan whispered to him, ‘Big lad that one.’
Ryan nodded but said nothing.
‘Are you new here?’ asked the man. His accent was strange. Part British, part European.
‘Yes. You?’
‘Yes,’ came the reply.
Johnny Mac surveyed the group for a few moments and then bent and whispered something to Rusk. As far as Ryan could tell, the comment seemed to amuse the shorter man. A quick scan of the other men’s faces suggested they were all like himself, new to the job. They were a rough lot but overall, he judged them to be in the same boat as him. This was confirmed a few moments later.
‘You men are very lucky to be here. Lose one job and then find one in the blink of an eye,’ said Rusk. ‘My name’s Rusk, but you can call me sir.’ He laughed humourlessly at his own joke. Even Johnny Mac looked unimpressed. He turned, glanced up at the giant beside him and shrugged.
‘I’m Johnny. You can call me whatever you want,’ said Johnny Mac. For the first time Ryan noticed that two of his top teeth, at the side, were black. A deep black. It looked like they had been painted rather than being a result of neglect. It made his appearance even more menacing. ‘Rusk will show you the ropes.’
Following that short statement, he turned and walked away from the group, leaving Rusk. ‘All right, I’ll show you around.’
For the next fifteen minutes Rusk conducted a tour of the factory, explaining the process of making the products and the role of each machine. Although quite different from the varnish factory, Ryan quickly grasped that the key principles were similar. One of part of the factory made the product; another part packaged it. Whether by accident or design, Ryan found himself paired with the man he’d spoken with briefly earlier. Rusk assigned them to packing the cigarettes as they came off the production line. After Rusk had left them to sort out the other men, Ryan held out his hand.
‘Joe Ryan.’
‘Abbott, Richard Abbott.’
Abbott was around forty and half a foot shorter than Ryan with relatively dark skin and jet-black hair. There was more than a trace of an accent. He looked up at Ryan with his moon eyes and explained a little of his background as the machine cranked into gear.
‘My dad was English, my mum Austrian. I grew up in Vienna but moved over here when I was young,’ said Abbott reading the mind of Ryan. Conversation was cut short as the machine began to spew cigarettes onto a conveyor belt. They looked at one another and made a start on with the job. Ryan had a feeling his arms would ache the next morning.
Ryan and Abbott chatted occasionally as they worked. He learned more about his colleague, almost as much from what he did not say as what he did. He sensed that Abbott had flirted with the other side of the law and perhaps had spent time in prison. He’d clearly not gone to France, but Ryan was not interested in why. At least the subject of the War was avoided. It was over. He was here. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Aside from one short break for a snack, Ryan worked almost continuously with Abbott for eight hours. As he had surmised, his arms and wrists ached with the effort of packing the cigarettes.
The night shift ended around four in the morning. Ryan had never been much of a smoker but by the end of this shift he never wanted to see a cigarette again. The workers trooped into a line walking wearily away from the factory gates. Abbott fell in step with Ryan.
Abbott lit a cigarette and handed it to Ryan, then he lit one for himself, ‘These managed to find their way into my pocket. Not sure how.’ He laughed at his own joke. Ryan looked at the cigarette with disgust and then smiled at Abbott.
‘Sick to death of these things,’ said Ryan handing the cigarette back to Abbott. The little man shrugged and blew out the light, putting the stub in his pocket. ‘Do you think they’ll revolve people onto different machines? I’m not sure I can take that night after night,’ asked Ryan.
There was a sly look on the face of the small man. It added little to his attractiveness. He was clearly pondering something. Finally, after glancing around to make sure no one was around, he replied, ‘The only thing about where we are is that it might offer potential.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean they can’t keep their eyes on us all the time. What if a few cigarettes were to find their way into our hands? Just a few. We don’t have to be greedy. I’m sure we could make a bit of extra money, don’t you think?’
Ryan looked at Abbott. It was clear the lit
tle Anglo-Austrian was serious. It wasn’t a bad idea. A little bit each night could build quite nicely. If they kept their wits that is. There had been no searches as they left the factory gates.
‘What do you think?’ persisted Abbott.
Ryan thought about his brother, a policeman. Not only a policeman, but one who was making rapid progress in the force. What would he think? This would only be an issue if they were caught. Was it worth the risk? Then he thought about young Ben.
‘Yes, I think it’s an idea,’ replied Ryan, nodding his head.
They looked at one another and shook hands.
Chapter 11
February 13th, 1920: London
The pitter-patter of rain on the window woke Mary. She’d hoped that her first dive into the world of surveillance would be made easier by benign weather. The gods of undercover detection were not going to be with her this morning. She rose from the bed and padded over to the window. It was almost five in the morning. The lights on the street danced off the wet pavement. Yes, detective work was perhaps not going to be quite as glamorous as she’d first envisaged. On the bed, Sam was gently snoring. She walked over to the little terrier and gently stroked him behind the ear.
‘Wakey, wakey. You’ve work to do this morning.’
Sam continued to snore.
‘Men,’ said Mary dismissively, moving towards the bathroom, ‘you’re all the same.’
Twenty minutes later she was met downstairs by Aunt Agatha and the chauffeur, Alfred. Neither Mary nor Alfred was, particularly, chipper, but Agatha was in fine fettle. Mary turned down the suggestion of breakfast. Alfred looked, as ever, like he’d eaten breakfast for three. Sam had finally woken and was keen to be fed and wolfed down bacon and sausage.