Assassins

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Rennick,’ he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Captain Stark!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Not any more. I’m with the police now.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. I saw your name in paper.’

  ‘May I come in?’ asked Stark.

  She hesitated. ‘The house isn’t at its best …’ she began.

  ‘I promise I won’t take up much of your time,’ Stark said, doing his best to reassure her.

  She opened the door wider to let him in. ‘Front parlour’s best,’ she said. ‘But I ain’t dusted lately.’

  Stark followed her into the front parlour. Like the front room at his parents’ home, the room was kept for special occasions, special visitors. It was drab and gloomy, the furniture dark, more of a museum than a room to live in. On the mantelpiece he saw a photograph of Alf and Ted, standing proudly to attention side by side in their uniforms, ready to go to war. Only Alf had come back.

  ‘The person I came to see is Alice,’ he said as they sat down. ‘Is she in?’

  ‘Alice?’

  Mrs Rennick looked at him, and Stark saw the anger and hurt in her face, and realized he’d made a big mistake.

  ‘I’m sorry, I realize I’ve just said something wrong …’ he began to apologize, but she cut him off.

  ‘She’s dead,’ she said, the words curt.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Stark. ‘I hadn’t realized. How did she die?’

  Mrs Rennick carried on looking at him, silent, obviously torn up by inner turmoil. The death had to be recent, thought Stark. She had been at the charity board meeting just a few weeks ago.

  ‘We don’t talk about it,’ said Mrs Rennick, her lips pursed, protecting and hiding a bad memory.

  ‘I understand,’ nodded Stark. ‘Is Alf around?’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. Then she dropped her head, averting her eyes from his. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Stark. We were always very appreciative of what you did, coming round to tell us about Ted. Alf had told us, but it meant a lot, you coming. But I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Stark, getting up. ‘I’m sorry to have upset you, Mrs Rennick. If I’d known about Alice, I’d never have troubled you this way. But would you ask Alf to give me a call. He can find me at Scotland Yard. Detective Chief Inspector Stark. If I’m not there, just leave a message.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll tell him when I see him.’

  With that, she walked him back to the front door and let him out.

  The local nick, he decided. If they don’t know what happened, they’ll know who to ask.

  He ordered his driver to take him to Bethnal Green police station, where he found the sergeant on duty at the front desk studying the horses in the racing pages of the paper.

  ‘DCI Stark, Scotland Yard,’ he said, showing his warrant card.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the duty sergeant, suddenly standing up straight at the arrival of this DCI from Scotland Yard, at the same time hastily pushing the paper beneath the desk.

  ‘Do you know the Rennick family?’ asked Stark. ‘Hazelton Street. Alf Rennick. His late sister-in-law Alice. Alf’s mother, Mrs Rennick.’

  The sergeant frowned and shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he apologized. ‘They don’t come to mind. But then the only ones we really know are those who are trouble.’

  ‘The Rennicks are law-abiding,’ nodded Stark. ‘Can you do me a favour? Can you find out when Alice Rennick died? And how?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. I’ll have a word with the officer who has Hazelton Street as his beat. He’s bound to know if there’s any sort of talk.’

  ‘Can you get hold of him today? We need this as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I do, sir.’

  Stark handed the sergeant his card, with the phone number of Scotland Yard on it. ‘Telephone me when you’ve got the information. If I’m not there, give the information to my sergeant, DS Danvers. If we’re both out, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Danvers was already in the office, going through the notes of his interviews, when Stark returned to Scotland Yard.

  ‘How did you get on?’ asked Stark. ‘Did you see them all?’

  Danvers nodded. ‘I think we can rule out Arnold Lane, sir. He’s very angry about being rejected, but he’s severely disabled. One leg, and very overweight. There’s no way he’s our gunman.

  ‘Similarly, Mrs Nelson. Not just the fact that she’s a woman, she didn’t seem to have the same anger about being rejected that the other two had. She seemed to take it as her lot in life, just one more thing to deal with and bear up under.

  ‘Mrs Gates, on the other hand, is a candidate. OK, not herself. She’s tall and not particularly thin. But she is very angry about the rejection, and she may have relatives who are good with a gun whom she might have persuaded to carry out the shootings.

  ‘What about yours?’

  ‘My gut feeling is that we can rule out both Miss Plum and Mrs Conway. Although they may have relatives or friends who feel much stronger about the rejection than they did, so we might have to look into that. But the one I’m waiting to find out about—’

  The phone ringing interrupted him. Stark picked it up. ‘DCI Stark,’ he said. Suddenly, he was alert. He mouthed the words ‘Bethnal Green’ at Danvers, then listened, making notes. Finally, he said, ‘You’re sure of that?’ Then, ‘Thank you very much indeed. Pass on my thanks to Constable Harris.’ He hung up and said, ‘That’s the call I was waiting for. I think we have the most likely candidate. Alf Rennick. Brother-in-law of Alice Rennick.’

  ‘Oh?’ queried Danvers.

  ‘Apparently, about a month after her application for help was rejected, Alice Rennick’s twin sons died. A few weeks later, she killed herself. She slashed her throat with a razor.’ Just like Eve Angel, he thought bitterly.

  ‘And this chap, Alf Rennick?’

  ‘Ted’s older brother,’ explained Stark. ‘I knew them both. They were in my unit during the war. Ted was killed. Alf fits the bill too, as far as the description goes. And he was an excellent shot.’ He was also a man who cared deeply about his family, Stark remembered.

  ‘So we need to get hold of him,’ said Danvers.

  ‘We do,’ nodded Stark. Then he added, ‘But if I know Alf, I think he’ll get hold of me.’ He looked at the clock. ‘Five o’clock, Sergeant. You’ve had a long day. Time to get home.’

  ‘What about you, sir?’

  Stark hesitated. ‘I’m concerned about Alf Rennick. If he is our man, then he might strike again tonight.’

  ‘Against whom? He’s killed the three men who were on the panel that day.’

  ‘There’s still Miss Redford.’

  ‘You think he might go for her next?’ asked Danvers.

  Stark shook his head. ‘No. Killing women isn’t Alf’s style. But just in case I’m wrong, I think I’ll check with the local station and make sure they’ve still got a guard in place on her.’

  Danvers left, and Stark made the call. He was reassured by the duty sergeant that there was still a police guard on Miss Redford, one inside the house and one outside in the street. Reassured, he went down to the motor pool and caught a car home.

  Fog had started to come down, thick, peas-soupery green tendrils of fog, which slowed the progress of the car on its way towards Camden Town. Time and time again lately, the thick fog had come down to envelop London, especially in the early evenings, when the coal fires had just been lit and the smoke belched out from thousands of chimneys to mingle with that from the factories, the railway stations, the traffic. If there was a wind, it sometimes helped to lift the smoke up, but on an evening like this when the barometer showed heavy cloud pushing down, mixing with the thick smoke, it was as if the streets of London were filled with slow-moving walls of evil-smelling, foul-tasting green.

  It was six o’clock before the car finally pulled up outside 61 Plender Street.
/>   ‘Goodnight, sir,’ said the driver. ‘Usual time in the morning?’

  ‘No,’ answered Stark. ‘Tell the roster sergeant to have me picked up at nine o’clock. I’ve got something to do first.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Stark shut the car door, and the car moved off slowly, apprehensively, into the fog.

  Tomorrow morning I shall take Stephen to school, he promised himself.

  He went to his front door and was just taking his key out when he heard a metallic click, a noise he hadn’t heard in a long time.

  ‘Evening, Captain Stark,’ said the muffled voice.

  Alf Rennick.

  ‘Evening, Alf,’ he said, keeping his voice casual, although he didn’t feel it. Where was Alf? It was always difficult in fog to get a precise location, even when listening for sounds.

  ‘I’ve got a gun,’ said Alf.

  ‘Of course you have. Come to shoot me as well?’

  ‘No. Providing you don’t do anything. I just want to talk. Let’s go for a walk.’

  ‘On a foggy night like this?’

  ‘It suits me. If you try anything, I can shoot you and just disappear. But I hope you don’t. I always liked you. So did Ted.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Just round the block. That’ll do me. You go first.’

  Stark nodded and set off along the street. As they passed a street lamp, the light cut momentarily through the clouds of fog and Stark turned his head. Alf was just a few paces behind him, dressed the same as the description of the shooter: working clothes, cap pulled down, scarf over his mouth. Stark could see the glint of light on the metal of the pistol in Alf’s hand.

  ‘I’m warning you, Captain. Don’t try anything. I’m good with this. You know that. I was good with a rifle, and even better with a pistol.’

  ‘I do indeed, Alf.’

  ‘Been a long time.’

  ‘It has,’ said Stark. ‘We’ll be getting to the end of the road soon. Any particular way you want me to go?’

  ‘Turn right,’ said Alf. ‘That’ll keep us going nicely in a square.’ There was a pause, the sound of their boots on the pavement echoing back to them in the fog. Then Alf said, ‘I knew you were on to me when Mum said you’d called round.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry to have disturbed your mum. I didn’t know about Alice.’

  ‘No reason you should,’ said Alf bitterly.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Alice didn’t do so well after the war. She had the nippers, the twin boys, John and Jeff, and things were hard. With the men coming back from the war, she got kicked out of her job in the factory. They wanted men again, see. I won’t bore you with the details, but things got tougher, and this year the twins got sick. Not just ordinary sick, but they needed special doctors. Special medicines. Of course, we hadn’t got that kind of money. It was made worse ’cos Alice didn’t even get a war pension, like a lot of widows did. They asked her for her marriage lines before she could qualify. Well, you know that not everyone in our class does things like that. I mean, weddings cost money, and it don’t mean you’re any more together just ’cos a vicar says a few words over you. But they were a real couple, Ted and Alice. A proper couple. More so than plenty who’ve got all the proper marriage lines. Know what I mean?’

  Stark nodded.

  ‘Like I say, things were bad. Then we heard about this charity that had been set up. The Passchendaele Charity something or other. “That’s it,” says Alice. “Ted was killed at Passchendaele fighting for his king and country.” There’s no one more deserving of that sort of charity than Ted’s family, his kids. So she went for it. She got the paperwork to apply and put it in all proper, although me and her mum had to help her with the writing and spelling. Writing was never Alice’s best point. And she got this letter telling her to report to this board, where her application would be heard.

  ‘She was so positive when she got that letter! “We’re gonna get it!” she said. “We’ll get the money and my kids will be saved!” Because by now things for the twins was getting worse. They looked really bad. Really bad.

  ‘And off she went to this board, and they turned her down.

  ‘When she come back, she was like a dead woman. She had their names, the three blokes who’d turned her down. All toffs. Water Parrot, he was the chairman. Lord Amersham. And an MP, Tobias Smith. There was some woman there as well, but she was just the person who kept notes of what was said. It was the three blokes what took the decision.

  ‘Anyway, a month later the twins died. John died first and Jeff died the next day. That was about the middle of September. A week later, Alice did herself in. Slit her throat with Ted’s old razor. I don’t know why she’d kept it, but she’d kept a load of his old things. Mementoes. She couldn’t handle the twins dying like that, not when she’d been so sure she was gonna get the money.’

  ‘Everyone who applied that day got turned down,’ said Stark. ‘Well, almost everyone. They gave money for some people who wanted to put up a statue of General Gough.’

  Alf stared at him. ‘A statue of Gough!’

  ‘That was my reaction too, when I read the minutes of the meeting.’

  ‘So that’s what the money’s for? Statues?’

  ‘I assume so,’ said Stark. ‘I’m not on their committee. But that’s what it looks like. I’ve gone through the minutes of other meetings, and money seems only to have been given out for statues and memorial plaques.’

  ‘No relatives got anything? What about soldiers who were there and got injured?’

  Stark shook his head.

  ‘Bastards!’ spat Alf.

  ‘So, you killed them.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Alf nodded. ‘I think I went sort of crazy. I thought of Ted dying the way he did. And how everything was unfair for Alice and his kids after the war. And when I thought of those three toffs, none of whom had actually been in the war, sitting in judgement on Alice and killing her the way they did. Because that’s what it amounted to. They served a death sentence on the twins and on her when they did what they did. That money was collected for those of us who suffered at Passchendaele. That was what they called the charity: the Passchendaele Charity.’

  ‘The Passchendaele Memorial Fund Charitable Commission,’ Stark corrected him.

  ‘Same thing,’ growled Alf.

  Stark shook his head. ‘It’s a Memorial Fund,’ he said. ‘That’s what it says in the title. To raise money for memorials.’

  Alf scowled. ‘It’s a cheat!’ he snapped. ‘I bet you people who gave to it didn’t think the money was going to put up statues and things.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Stark.

  ‘Anyway, it all came over me, and I thought, It ain’t right. They killed her by what they did. The twins died because of them not paying out like they should have done. They were sick kids, for Christ’s sake! What sort of person lets sick kids die! And it wasn’t even their money!

  ‘So, I decided to have revenge. Proper revenge. I still had a pistol I brought back, like lots of blokes. I don’t know why I kept it. Keepsake, perhaps. Or thinking that if I needed some ready cash, I could always sell it. I bet you kept a gun?’

  Stark shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I vowed after the war I’d never touch a gun ever again.’

  ‘Yeah, well. You was always a bit different. But not too different. One of us, but not one of us. That’s why we respected you. You wouldn’t take a chance on our lives, not like some of the officers.’

  ‘I just followed orders, like everyone else,’ said Stark.

  ‘Yeah, but you interpreted them,’ said Alf. ‘That’s what Ted told me one day. I didn’t know what he meant. He used to love big words, did Ted. He was always the clever one of the pair of us. He told me what that meant.’ He nodded. ‘If we’d had a different captain, a lot more of us would have died.’

  ‘Too many of us died as it is,’ said Stark bitterly.

  ‘And for what?’ asked Alf. ‘I got talki
ng to this bloke when I was weighing up what to do about them three toffs. I wanted to kill ’em, I knew I was gonna kill ’em, but I was like … hesitating.’

  ‘It’s one thing to do it in war, but it’s another back home,’ said Stark.

  ‘Exactly,’ nodded Alf. ‘Anyway, like I say, I was talking to this bloke, expressing all my anger over what these three toffs had done to Alice, how they’d killed her, and how I wanted to kill them, and he said, “Why don’t you?” And then he said about how we’d all been cheated. How we’d gone off to war on a promise of coming back to a place fit for heroes. Proper houses for everyone. Fair wages. Jobs for all. But what had happened? For us, nothing. For the nobs at the top – the politicians, the generals and field marshals, the aristocrats – everything. The ones who made money out of the war were the ones who owned the factories that made the guns and bullets, not the soldiers who fired ’em, or the workers who made ’em.

  ‘You know yourself, Captain, the thousands of men who came back from the war blind, missing arms or legs, or their lungs choked from poison gas. Did they get any help? No. They were left to beg in the street for handouts.’ He shook his head, angry at the images of the ex-soldiers he talked about.

  ‘Who was this man?’ asked Stark. ‘The one who told you about this?’

  Alf gave a smile as he shook his head. ‘No, no, Captain,’ he said. ‘You don’t catch me that way. Anyway, I already knew what he was saying. I’d seen it with my own eyes. And, after what had happened to Alice, it just made me more sure than ever he was right: we’d been cheated.

  ‘The three that I killed, they’re just the start. We’re going for them all. The industrialists who made money out of the war and haven’t given anything back. We know who they are. The generals and such who’re living high on the hog, while ordinary soldiers rot in the streets.’

  ‘That sounds like a revolution,’ commented Stark. ‘Shades of Russia. You going to kill the King and Queen?’