‘Shop?’
‘The art shop. Paterson and Jenkins. Where Erskine buys his stuff. He was there at half past ten on Tuesday morning.’
Jack was bewildered. He’d lost track of the days, let alone the hours. He looked at Rupert and at April and shook his head. ‘So why’s that important?’
‘Because it’s the time you were in the chimney,’ said Rupert flatly. ‘It’s the time you overheard the conversation. Erskine wasn’t there, in his room. He was in the shop.’
Jack took several seconds to come to terms with this. ‘But… Erskine saw me last night, in the market. I’m sure he did. And then I was followed to Nunwell Street… He’s got to be involved.’
Rupert’s reply was steady. ‘He wasn’t in the room, Jack.’
Arthur Jevons whistled tunelessly as he coaxed the small fire into life and put the kettle on. He always made his own breakfast; he insisted on it. There was enough for his wife to be doing later. Besides, he preferred his own company first thing in the morning.
He heard a knock at the front door and was surprised. He didn’t get many callers, especially at dawn. The police again? His wife had told him of their visit yesterday. Jevons had half a mind to ignore whoever it was but there was another knock, louder this time, and he didn’t want his family woken. He wheezed to his feet and went to the front door.
Tony Tolchard was on the step. He moved swiftly, furtively, inside without waiting to be invited.
‘Is my son here?’
The brisk, accusing tone along with the forced entry immediately angered Jevons.
‘No,’ he said tersely.
‘Where is he then? You’re his kind uncle, you should know.’
‘I’m not his uncle, kind or otherwise. You’re his father. You should know better than anyone.’
Tony merely grunted.
‘He’s not here,’ repeated Jevons firmly as his visitor walked on into the kitchen.
Tony glanced around suspiciously before planting himself on the chair by the fire. ‘A cup of tea would be welcome,’ he said.
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ said Jevons, trying to keep his voice down. ‘You take the boy from us, then lose him, then come back here as if it’s our fault. And why do the police want him so bad?’
Tony looked up at this. ‘Police?’
‘Yes, they’re after him as well as after you. What kind of trouble have you dragged him into? You’re not a father. You’re not fit to be a rat in a cellar!’
Tony sprang up and Jevons waited for the punch. It didn’t come but he wouldn’t have cared if it had.
‘Get out of my house,’ he gasped, then began to cough uncontrollably.
Instead of leaving, Tony stalked to the back door and out into the yard. Jevons was helpless to stop him.
‘If I find him after all…’ threatened Tony.
Jevons raged against the man and the coughing spasm with equal impotence. Tony had begun to search the sheds, toppling the newspaper stack as he did so.
‘Stop it, damn you!’ Jevons tried to shout.
From across the lane, Jack heard the noise in Jevons’ yard. He even heard Jevons’ painful angry cry and thought that for some strange reason he must be shouting at the horse in its stable. But then he heard another voice. Dismissive. Bullying.
‘I’ll stop when I’m good and ready.’
His father.
‘If you’ve lied to me… I’ll be back for you.’
Jack heard the yard gate being wrenched open and glimpsed his father’s head as he strode away.
April put a quick, cautioning hand on Jack’s shoulder but he shrugged it off and scrambled away as swiftly as his bandaged foot and ankle would allow, jumping down on to the next roof.
Tony heard the clattering somewhere behind him and turned in alarm, looking up at the decrepit sheds and shacks that lined the lane. Then something plummeted down and landed in front of him, and his missing son’s face was suddenly close to his own.
The face wore an uncharacteristic scowl and the voice was harsh. ‘How dare you come here?’ it demanded.
Tony managed a smirk. ‘I was right then. I knew where to find you. The old wheezer was lying.’
‘He doesn’t know I’m here,’ said Jack. ‘Nobody does.’ He pulled his startled father out of the lane and pushed him against a wall.
‘They’re good people. If you’ve brought the police or worse to their door…’
He couldn’t finish the threat; he let go of his father.
‘Easy, boy, easy,’ said Tony soothingly.
He’s going to smile, thought Jack. He’s actually going to smile. He did.
‘What’s wrong about a father seeking out his son, eh? Eh?’ Tony raised his hands to pre-empt the obvious answer. ‘All right, all right. Harsh words were said and I walked away from you the other night–’
‘You damned me to hell.’
‘And I’m here to apologize for that. The worry of it’s cost me more than being strangled – or wanted by the crushers – and that’s a fact. That’s why I had to find you: to put things right between us again.’
The flimsy tin roof above their heads creaked in the morning breeze. Jack wanted to pull it down and bury his father. But he couldn’t.
‘What do you want?’ he asked coldly instead.
‘I’ve told you–’
‘What do you want?’
Tony regarded him, as if judging what Jack’s reaction was likely to be, then his smile became more relaxed. He delved swiftly in his pocket. He knows I’m going to help, thought Jack. Whatever it is, he’s sure of me.
His father produced a small dog-eared card.
‘It’s what Richard Featherstone gave me, remember? I thought I’d lost it but it was in my jacket lining all the time. I’m owed a fair amount of wages now, Jack. For the days since his father died, plus a week before. I want you to go and get it for me.’
‘Go yourself.’
‘No, no, look, I can’t…’ He was beginning to wheedle now. The appeal of helplessness.
‘There won’t be any crushers at Featherstone’s place. He’s on our side. But it’s getting there, that’s the thing, Jack. I’m not as quick and clever as you, son. I can’t get around like you can, without being spotted.’
‘Jack’s in just as much danger as you.’
The sharp voice came from behind Tony. He turned to see a well-fed, well-dressed boy and a small, grimy girl. He didn’t recognize either of them. It was the girl who had spoken. Her fists were clenched.
‘Nice company you’re keeping, Jack,’ remarked Tony, looking at the girl, unable to help the smirk.
‘It’s company that cares what happens to him,’ said the girl. ‘Company what doesn’t use him. Your son’s been near murdered cos of you, and all you want is for him to do your dirty work while you stay safe.’
‘It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you, son,’ whined Tony, turning his back on the other two. ‘I’ll go far away and that’s a promise. I won’t come near Jevons again. I won’t come near you, if that’s what you want, though it’ll grieve me. But I can’t go anywhere without money. So just help me this one last time.’
He held the card towards Jack.
‘Don’t take it,’ said Rupert.
Tony was certain that he would. Jack held his look defiantly, then snatched the card without even glancing at it.
‘Where will you go? If I get your wages?’
Tony shrugged easily. ‘Why, north, of course, like I told you the other night, when I said we should go together–’
‘No!’ said Jack.
Tony affected a hurt look at this violent rejection, but he had got what he wanted.
‘Bring the money to me by mid-morning.’
‘Where?’
Tony shrugged. ‘Here’s as good a place as any. Bye for now, son.’ He patted Jack’s shoulder and strolled away.
Jack didn’t reply, but the skinny girl quickly followed Tony and as soon as they were out of earshot sh
e grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop.
‘Make sure this is the last time you bother Jack,’ she said. ‘Cos if you don’t, you’ll end up in a sewer.’
Tony laughed off the threat. But only after the girl had gone.
Jack and Rupert were back on the roof when April joined them. They were looking at the card. It had Richard Featherstone’s home address on it: Denmoy House, Portman Square.
‘You can’t go yet,’ reasoned Rupert. ‘It’s far too early. Try to get a bit of sleep first.’
None of them thought sleep possible but wedged close together for warmth, their tired bodies gave in and they all dozed a little. It was nearly eight o’clock by Rupert’s pocket watch when they woke. He hoped his mother wouldn’t question the note he’d left, saying he’d gone out early for some exercise.
‘Let’s go,’ said April, scrambling to her feet and stretching her numb limbs. ‘Featherstone’s bound to be up by now.’
‘Not you two.’ Jack stood up. ‘I’ll be quicker on my own.’ The stiffness in his ankle suggested otherwise.
‘But the police are looking for you,’ protested Rupert. ‘We can watch for them.’
‘No,’ said Jack, moving away. ‘It would be more useful for you to tackle Erskine.’
Rupert opened his mouth to protest but Jack cut in quickly.
‘Yes, I know we have to believe the art shop man. Erskine wasn’t in the room so he didn’t arrange the murder. But it’s still his room. He must know who was there while he was out.’ He started down the stairs from the flat roof. ‘See if you can get him to tell you. I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours.’
And he hurried away, trying not to limp.
Tony Tolchard skulked around for a while, pleased he’d been able to persuade Jack to go for his wages but irritated that he would have to wait. He heard a clock strike eight o’clock. He’d said mid-morning; hours to kill yet, hours to hide from the crushers. He wished he’d said earlier. Then he realized there were things left behind in his old room that could be useful when he went north: his best boots for a start, and his best silk neckerchief. He needed to look presentable in his new life. The more he thought about it, the more necessary a last visit to the room became. He would still be back behind Jevons’ yard in plenty of time.
He made his watchful way home. As he drew near, he began to worry that the police might be waiting but there were no uniforms in the street, and none guarding the back alley, which he used in preference to the front door. Only a few workmen yawned and scratched and chatted quietly as they started to mend the road.
Tony sneaked up to his room and found it just as he’d left it. His best boots were still under his bed; the neckerchief in its drawer. Tony put them in his old carpet bag, stuffed in a clean shirt as well, and hurried out.
Jack’s birthday clothes were still soaking in their bucket in the backyard. Tony didn’t give them a glance as he marched confidently away past the privy – and walked straight into a workman.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said the man. ‘Were you in a hurry?’
The voice disconcerted Tony. He’d heard it before. He peered at the face, partly hidden beneath the narrow-brimmed hat; and recognized Constable Downing.
Rupert dropped Erskine’s envelope of receipts on a patch of muddy grass and scuffed it around a little. His story was that he’d found the envelope in his back garden. How it had got there was a mystery. He was merely being a good neighbour and returning it.
Getting to Erskine’s front door without his mother seeing him was a difficulty. He approached swiftly from the other end of Calborn Gardens and rapped at the knocker. The housekeeper opened the door, which was a bad start.
‘Good morning, Mrs Barnes,’ said Rupert brightly. ‘Could I possibly see Mr Erskine?’
‘What, before breakfast is over?’
‘I’d be quite happy to come in and wait.’
‘You might be happy, Master Rupert. I wouldn’t.’
She closed the door in his face. April, waiting on the opposite side of the road, couldn’t suppress a giggle.
‘Where were you at seven o’clock last night?’ The question was firmly but not aggressively put. Tony Tolchard made out he was thinking, tried to look as if he was being helpful.
‘In a pub,’ he replied.
‘Which pub?’
Tony shrugged. ‘Lots. The Grapes, the Drovers, the King George, the Cat and Fiddle–’
‘Can anyone confirm any of this?’
Tony smirked. ‘You could ask a barmaid or two.’
‘We will,’ Colonel Radcliffe assured him.
Constables Downing and Adams, standing to attention by the door, listened and watched carefully. Adams glanced at Richard Featherstone. Colonel Radcliffe had sent for him the moment Tolchard was brought in. To ensure fair play for Tolchard, the Colonel had said. But as Richard Featherstone shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking ill at ease, Adams suddenly wondered if the desire to be seen to be fair was Colonel Radcliffe’s only motive.
‘You were in a pub three nights ago as well, Mr Tolchard,’ said Radcliffe, changing tack sharply, though his voice was as calm as ever. ‘The Cap and Cockerel. Before that you were at your place of work. You have been asked this next question more than once; I strongly advise you to think carefully before you answer it again. Did you leave a window open? To be precise, did you leave the back window in the small storeroom on the first floor open?’
‘No, sir. Like I told you before. I did not.’
‘Are you familiar with the word forensic, Mr Tolchard?’
Tony shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
‘It means scientific evidence acceptable in a court of law.’ Colonel Radcliffe paused. ‘There is evidence, strong forensic evidence, that the window of the storeroom was locked not from the inside as one would expect, but skilfully from the outside. Which suggests it had been used to facilitate an exit. And, therefore, possibly before that to gain entry. Which in turn suggests it may have been left open beforehand. What about fingerprints, Mr Tolchard?’
Forensic? Fingerprints? Tony felt he was being led on to dangerous unknown ground. He licked his dry lips.
‘When we touch something, particularly a smooth surface like, say, a window frame, we leave a mark,’ explained Colonel Radcliffe. ‘Not always visible to the naked eye, but it’s there and it’s identifiable, because everyone’s mark is different. Now. If I had found many different marks on the window frame in question, I would have to assume that any one of many people could have opened it. But if I had found only your fingerprints, Mr Tolchard… well, I would have to assume that only you could have opened it. Here.’ He produced and snapped open a tin. ‘Paper please, Adams.’
Constable Adams quickly found a sheet of paper and placed it on the table in front of a very apprehensive Tony.
‘Now, Mr Tolchard,’ said Radcliffe briskly, ‘press your fingers on the pad and then on the paper, if you please. Then I will have a sample of your unique fingerprints.’
Tony slowly, silently shook his head. Radcliffe smiled.
‘There’s no cause for concern. Only the guilty have anything to fear from fingerprints. But perhaps you would like to see how it’s done first? Might I trouble you, Mr Featherstone?’
Richard was startled. ‘Me?’
‘It would be a great help, sir: for demonstration purposes.’
Richard hesitated then touched the greasy black pad.
‘Harder please, sir. We’ll clean you up afterwards.’
Richard pressed harder. His hand was shaking slightly. He allowed Radcliffe to remove his hand from the tin and plant his fingers on the paper.
‘Constable Downing, some soap and water for Mr Featherstone, please.’
Downing left the room reluctantly. He didn’t want to miss Tolchard’s turn. It was deeply satisfying to see the smile being wiped off his lying face.
Tony was beginning to sweat. Was this fingerprint thing a trick? He curled his fingers into fists and put them b
ehind his back. He thought he could see now what this foxy policeman was up to. He planned to pin the whole thing on him: Tony Tolchard was going to be done for murder. A murder he hadn’t committed.
‘Fingerprints please, Mr Tolchard.’
‘No,’ said Tony. ‘You shan’t have them.’
Downing stood in the doorway, holding his breath, soap and water forgotten in his hands.
‘You don’t need them,’ blurted Tony. ‘I did leave the window open.’ His voice rose as he stood up and faced Colonel Radcliffe. ‘But I didn’t kill the old man. I didn’t!’ He turned to Richard. ‘You’ve got to believe me, Mr Richard. No one’s sorrier for Mr Featherstone’s death than me, but I only did what I was asked to do.’
‘Asked? Or paid?’ Colonel Radcliffe looked calmly at Tony, who sat down again and sniffed.
‘All right, money changed hands – but I didn’t know what it was for. I swear.’
‘The man who paid you to leave the window open,’ said Radcliffe. ‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know his name.’ Tony hid his head briefly in his hands. ‘But he knows mine. And he knows where I live. Look.’ He pulled down his collar to show the vivid bruises on his neck. ‘He tried to throttle me. He crept into my lodgings and tried to kill me.’ He appealed to Richard for help. ‘I only lied because I was scared, Mr Richard, sir. I’m risking my own life in helping you now.’
Richard stared, horrified, at Tony’s neck.
‘Your selflessness is deeply appreciated,’ said Radcliffe with coldest irony. ‘Can you give a description?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Tony. ‘I can describe him, don’t worry. Right down to his thumbnails.’
When Hugo Erskine stepped outside at nine o’clock, he saw the Shorey boy lurking. There was a small girl with him. Erskine tried to pretend he hadn’t seen them, but soon heard their footsteps behind him.
‘Excuse me, sir.’
Erskine turned, very displeased, and sighed. ‘What on earth do you want now, boy?’
‘To return this.’ Rupert pulled the grubby envelope of receipts from his pocket and thrust it at Erskine. ‘I believe it’s yours. I found it in the garden.’
Erskine regarded the envelope for a couple of moments then took it. He was suspicious now as well as annoyed. Rupert forged quickly on. He and April had decided the only way to discover what they wanted to know was to ask a direct question. Even if Erskine didn’t answer directly, his reaction might give them some clue.
Scarper Jack and the Bloodstained Room Page 11