by Jim Eldridge
So, that’s why he’s really here. To stop me talking to her. ‘No, I think I have everything I need from Lady Amersham, thank you.’
She did not rise to say goodbye to them, just nodded brusquely in response to Churchill’s slight bow of farewell and Stark’s similar nod of his head to her as he got up.
The butler followed them to the front door, handing Churchill his hat as they left. The front door had barely closed when Churchill spun round on Stark, once more his aggressive self. ‘What the hell do you mean by questioning the Irish delegation?’ he demanded angrily.
So that’s why he came, Stark realized. Not to stop her talking, but to rage against me.
‘I told you where your line of enquiry should be! The Bolsheviks! They hated him.’
‘Lady Amersham seems to disagree with you, sir,’ said Stark calmly. ‘She says that Lord Amersham had no enemies.’
‘Of course she does! She’s distraught with grief, man!’
Hardly, thought Stark. Unless she has an odd way of showing grief.
‘I ask you again, why did you go to question Collins and the others?’
‘I was acting on information received, sir.’
‘From whom?’
Stark hesitated, then reached a decision: I’m not getting caught up as the scapegoat in whatever political battles are going on here. ‘Special Branch, sir,’ he said.
Churchill swore. ‘I knew it!’ he burst angrily. ‘This is politics, Stark! There are people – powerful people – in Whitehall who want these Irish talks to fail. They will do anything to stop the talks succeeding.’ He wagged a warning finger in Stark’s face. ‘Don’t let them use you! You’re a good man, Stark. You can see what’s happening in this country. Subversion. Treason. All under the cover of democracy.’ He snorted. ‘They want to do the same here as happened in Russia. Murder the Royal family. Stamp out the aristocracy. Turn Britain into a Bolshevik state. Well, we’re not going to let that happen!’ He shook his head. ‘These are difficult times. Turbulent times. What happens in the next few years will determine the future of this country – and the Empire. The assassination of Alastair Amersham is a part of that. That’s why we have to stamp on it now!’ He patted Stark affectionately on the shoulder. ‘Keep up the good work, Chief Inspector. Fight the good fight.’ Then he looked Stark firmly in the face as he added, ‘And stay away from the Irish delegation. Is that clear?’
‘Very clear, sir,’ nodded Stark.
He watched Churchill stomp across the pavement to his waiting car.
Well, that’s me warned off, he thought. Stay away from the Irish delegation. Stay away from any leads that might point in that direction. Stay away from Lady Amersham. Do not ask her any questions.
He was intrigued that Churchill had seen fit to check on him, on his war experiences. His promotion to captain. The DSM. Being wounded. Was it that information that had led to Churchill’s change of attitude towards him: from the belligerence of their first meeting to the almost affectionate way Churchill had treated him today – like trusted confidantes, two comrades fighting on the same side? Of course, that was Churchill’s way. He was a clever politician. He would bully and bluster people into doing what he wanted, and – if that didn’t work – he would do his best to make people like him, warm to him. Feel they were on the same side.
But not me, thought Stark. I don’t trust you, Winston.
But then, he didn’t trust any politicians.
NINE
When Stark got back to Scotland Yard, he found Danvers waiting for him in their shared office. The sergeant leapt to his feet as Stark as came in. ‘I think I’ve got a lead, sir!’ he said urgently.
‘The Communist Party?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go on.’
‘I called at the offices as you said, and met someone there I know – Lady Amelia Fairfax. She’s an old friend of the family.’
Yes, she would be, thought Stark wryly.
‘At first it was all very friendly, even when I said I was there asking questions about the murder of Lord Amersham, whom she hated. Her attitude changed abruptly when I asked if any of her people had a gun.’
‘Protecting someone?’ murmured Stark.
‘Yes, that’s what I thought. So I started asking questions locally about anyone who might have been seen in the BCP offices, who was known to carry a gun. The beat constable directed me to a local pub, the Dragon Arms.’
‘Get to the point, Sergeant,’ urged Stark impatiently. ‘Did you get a name?’
‘Partly, sir. Someone called Dan. He’s an ex-soldier with a grievance against the ruling classes. The landlord of the pub told me he’d seen him waving a pistol around once when he was drunk, mouthing off about killing aristocrats.’
‘Did you get a description?’
‘He’s in his mid-twenties, about five feet eight inches tall. Dark hair, thinning on top. Cheap, worn clothes.’
It can’t be that simple, thought Stark. But sometimes things were that simple.
‘It could be just drunk talk, sir.’
‘Yes, it could, but it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. In fact, it’s the only lead we’ve got. What’s his connection with the communists?’
‘It seems he’s a member of the Party.’
‘That’s excellent work, Sergeant. Well done. So now we can get his name and address from them. From your old family friend, Lady Amelia Fairfax.’
Danvers looked awkward. ‘I doubt if she’d give it to me, sir. She was very curt with me once I asked that question about someone with a gun.’
Stark had to force himself not to laugh at the sergeant’s discomfort. ‘She kicked you out?’
‘Yes, sir,’ admitted Danvers unhappily.
Stark could picture the encounter. He knew of Lady Amelia Fairfax’s reputation from reports in the press. A strident radical, a disgrace to her class, according to the outraged press editorials. A woman of very forceful opinions. She would have chewed Danvers up and spat him out. It would be no use sending him back to insist she gave him the man’s name and address, nor would it be any use sending uniform to do that. She would simply tie them up in knots, even if they went with a search warrant, and precious time would be slipping away. If this Dan character was their culprit, they needed to catch him before he murdered someone else on his quest to kill off the aristocracy. If he wasn’t, they needed to eliminate him from this case and save wasting precious time on him.
‘Right, Sergeant,’ he announced. ‘It’s time to upset some people.’
Stark strode up the stairs of the old building that housed the Communist Party offices, two uniformed constables following him. He felt the stairs shudder under their weight, and wondered if they might collapse, sending them crashing down. It always amazed him that these old decrepit, tumble-down buildings seemed to remain standing. He guessed it was only the presence of the buildings on either side that kept places like this from falling over.
Stark had left Danvers down in the street, along with two more uniformed officers, ostensibly to keep an eye on anyone entering or leaving the building, but mainly to spare Danvers the embarrassment of another encounter with Lady Amelia Fairfax. Lady Amelia had seen Danvers off with a flea in his ear because he was a nice young man with good manners. It was time for her to meet a rougher type of policeman.
He reached the landing and the sign on the wall that said ‘British Communist Party’, pushed the door open and was inside the reception area before the girl at the desk could begin to open her mouth in protest.
‘You two guard the door,’ he commanded the constables.
The girl at the desk found her voice. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?!’ she demanded angrily.
‘Police,’ said Stark curtly. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Stark from Scotland Yard. Is Lady Amelia Fairfax here?’
The girl, Naomi, stared at Stark, partly bewildered by this whirlwind entrance. Then she recovered herself. ‘Have you got a warrant?’ she
demanded aggressively.
‘Yes,’ said Stark.
Naomi looked at him, momentarily taken aback. Then she demanded, ‘Let me see it.’
‘I’ll show it to Lady Amelia,’ said Stark curtly.
‘She isn’t in,’ said Naomi.
‘In that case I’ll wait for her in her office,’ said Stark, and he strode towards the inner door as Naomi leapt to her feet and shouted, ‘No! You can’t!’
The inner door opened and a tall woman Stark recognized immediately from the pictures he’d seen in the papers as Lady Amelia Fairfax stood in the doorway, looking out at him and the two uniformed officers.
‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.
‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Stark from Scotland Yard,’ Stark repeated.
‘He says he’s got a warrant!’ shouted Naomi.
‘I have some questions to ask you,’ said Stark.
‘And I have no intention of answering them,’ snapped back Lady Amelia.
‘Very well,’ nodded Stark quietly. He turned to the two uniformed officers and pointed at Naomi. ‘Evans, arrest that young woman. Handcuff her and take her to the car waiting downstairs. Smith, gather all the documents you can find here, bag them up and take them to my office.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Evans, and he produced a pair of handcuffs and headed for the shocked Naomi, while the other uniformed policeman made for a filing cabinet.
‘Wait!’ shouted Lady Amelia.
‘Wait,’ echoed Stark, and the two uniformed officers stopped.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Let us go to the office.’
‘Wait here,’ Stark ordered the two policemen. ‘See that no one comes in, or leaves.’
He followed Lady Amelia into the inner office. She shut the door.
‘So, Bobby Danvers has sent his bully-boy boss,’ she said tartly.
‘I am investigating a murder. I believe there could be another. My intention is to stop that happening.’
‘By terrifying women.’
Stark couldn’t stop a small smile appearing on his face. ‘With respect, Lady Amelia, you do not seem to be a person who is easily terrified.’
‘I do not use that title,’ she said curtly.
Except when it suits you, reflected Stark. When you want to pull rank. ‘Mrs Fairfax,’ he amended.
She bridled at that, too.
‘Or, if that doesn’t suit you, perhaps you’d tell me how you’d like me to address you,’ he added.
She hesitated, unsure of him, then reluctantly said in pinched tones, ‘If this is going to be a formal interview, then perhaps we’d better stick to Lady Amelia.’
As I thought, Stark smiled inwardly. When in a tight spot, wave the aristocratic flag. ‘It is,’ said Stark. ‘I’m making enquiries about a man who we have been led to believe is a member of this organization. His name’s Dan. He’s an ex-soldier.’
‘I would imagine there are plenty of ex-soldiers called Dan around.’
‘Yes, but not all of them spend a lot of time here at these offices. A member of your organization, so we understand. He’s very vocal in expressing his opinion about the ruling classes.’
‘As are many of our members, Chief Inspector. But I doubt if that comes as a surprise to you.’
‘He’s in his mid-twenties. About five feet eight inches tall. Slim build. Dark hair, thinning on top. Carries a revolver.’
Lady Amelia fixed him with a challenging glare. ‘And you want me to identify him to you?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Stark.
She shook her head. ‘In that case you are very misguided about the idea of comradeship.’
Stark nodded, then said calmly, ‘And you are very misguided about the role of the police. A murder has been committed. As I said, we feel there is a possibility that the culprit could strike again. We need to talk to this man, at least to eliminate him from our enquiries. I believe that you – and very likely that young lady in the outer office – know this man and will be able to give us his name and where we can find him.’
Lady Amelia gave a short and derisive laugh. ‘Just like that?’
‘Yes,’ said Stark. ‘If you do not, I will arrest you both for obstructing the police in their duties while carrying out a murder investigation. We will then be forced to go through all your files and records and list every name and address we can find.’
‘Those files are confidential!’ she snapped, outraged.
‘Not if I deem them to be vital evidence,’ said Stark.
‘Do you really have a warrant?’ challenged Lady Amelia.
‘Yes,’ said Stark, and he produced the warrant he’d obtained earlier. ‘I would have preferred not to use it, but I will do so if you insist on being obstructive.’ He looked at her keenly as he added, ‘I’m sure you will be pleased to be able to say you have been arrested and spent time in jail. It will help your image with your supporters. I also hope that, because of your social position, Lady Amelia, you will be treated well. But not everyone enjoys their spell in prison.’
‘You are threatening Naomi!’ she burst out angrily.
‘Not at all,’ said Stark. ‘I’m just letting you know the reality of the situation. As far as the young lady is concerned, whether she decides to help us, or go to jail, is up to her. It is a choice she makes.’
‘But you are not asking her your questions,’ Lady Amelia pointed out.
‘I will ask her as soon as I have finished talking to you. But my guess is she is so loyal to you, once she knows you have refused to give the information, she will also refuse. And both of you will be arrested, and my men will go through your files and I will get the information I’m looking for, anyway. Plus, I expect, much more information besides.’
Lady Amelia’s eyes burned as she glared at Stark. ‘Are we now living in a dictatorship?’ she demanded, tight-lipped.
‘Not yet,’ he responded. ‘Not until the communists take over.’
Lady Amelia fell silent, and Stark could see she was weighing up her options.
‘You bastard!’ she hissed.
Stark nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve often been called that. But usually by criminals once they’ve been caught.’
‘You are asking me to give up an innocent man.’
‘No,’ Stark corrected her. ‘Contrary to the opinion some have about the police, I have never framed a person yet, or falsified evidence against them. If he is innocent, he will be released, I promise you.’
‘And you expect me to believe you?’
‘That is up to you,’ said Stark.
Lady Amelia fell silent and turned away from Stark, further weighing up her options. Finally, she headed for the outer office. Stark followed her, standing in the open doorway between the two offices and watching as she went to a filing cabinet, opened it and began to rummage through a tray of index cards.
Naomi had stopped work and watched Lady Amelia with a wary expression on her face, now and then shooting a hostile glance at the two uniformed constables who stood impassively, waiting.
Lady Amelia took a card from the index, closed the filing cabinet, then strode back to her office. Stark stood aside to let her enter the room, then closed the door. She handed him the small card. On it was written: Dan Harker, Flat 2, 33 Emery Street, Bethnal Green.
He wrote the name and address down, then returned the card to Lady Amelia.
‘Thank you,’ said Stark.
TEN
Stark came out of the inner office and addressed one of the constables waiting for him.
‘You, stay here,’ he instructed. ‘No one is to leave here, or enter, until I send you a message.’
Lady Amelia Fairfax stood in the doorway of her office and glared at Stark. ‘Keeping us prisoners, Chief Inspector?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘You must think we are very dangerous.’
‘No, but I think you’re capable of getting a message to Mr Harker to warn him,’ replied Stark.
He gestured at the other constable to follow hi
m out of the office and down the stairs. Danvers was waiting for him in the street.
‘Our man is Dan Harker, Flat Two, Thirty-three, Emery Street,’ said Stark.
Danvers stared at him, surprised. ‘Lady Amelia volunteered that information?’ he asked, stunned.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Stark. He turned to the constables. ‘Are you locals?’ he asked.
One of the men nodded.
‘Do you know where Emery Street is?’
‘It’s over in Bethnal Green, sir,’ the constable replied. ‘It’s not on our beat, but I know whose it is. Willie Roberts. A constable who works out of Bethnal Green.’
‘Good,’ nodded Stark. ‘Let’s go and find this Willie Roberts.’
It took less than half an hour. They found PC Roberts at Bethnal Green police station and followed him to Emery Street. On the way, Stark questioned the constable about Harker, but Roberts admitted that he didn’t know too much about the man.
‘I’ve had to talk to him a couple of times, that’s all.’
‘About what?’
‘Being drunk and disorderly on the street.’
‘What’s he like when he’s drunk?’
‘Aggressive.’
‘And when he’s sober?’
The constable shrugged. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen much of him when he’s sober, sir.’
‘Do you know if he owns a gun?’
The constable shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. If he does, he didn’t tell me about it. But then, he wouldn’t.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Mind, he did threaten to shoot me once.’
‘What?’
‘I just put it down to the drink talking. Drunks do that. Talk about what they’re going to do, but half the time they never do once they’ve sobered up.’
Roberts stopped at the end of a short street. ‘Here we are, sir,’ he said. ‘Emery Street.’ He pointed at a house. ‘That’s number thirty-three. Flat two is that window on the left of the front door.’
Stark studied the house. The window the police constable had indicated was dirty with grime, but Stark could see that a makeshift curtain was pulled across it.