by Jim McGrath
York left and returned moments later with Agnes.
‘Thank you for agreeing to come in to see me Mrs Winter.’
‘It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse, Inspector,’ she said, with a smile.
‘Now, Mrs Winter, I don’t think you understand how—’
Agnes cut the Inspector off. Smiling, she said, ‘I heard the gist of your conversation with Constable Collins.’
‘In that case, I must apologise about some of the agricultural language used.’
‘No need, Inspector. I can assure you I have heard much worse in my time. It was wrong of me to put Constable Collins in touch with Karla. I should have approached you directly with the suggestion.’
‘Yes, you should, but it doesn’t seem as if too much harm was done. However, I must ask you to refrain from involving yourself in any ongoing police investigation in future.’ Hicks paused and looked Agnes straight in the eye. ‘Regardless of anything you might have done during the war. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Inspector, I understand. May I go now?’
‘Of course. One last point – and this is off the record – thank you for your help with the code and for Karla’s information.’
‘You’re welcome, Inspector. Goodnight Sergeant.’
York waited until the door had shut and he could hear Agnes’s footsteps disappearing down the corridor before he said, ‘God, she’s a cool one.’
‘You’ve got no idea, Sergeant. OK, Collins, let’s see this piece of jewellery.’
Collins took the brooch from his pocket, unwrapped the handkerchief it was in and laid it on the table.
‘So, let me get this right,’ said Hicks, fingering the broach. ‘We’ve got Bucky giving girls broken jewellery as a sort of tip. And Karla’s told us that one Tom reckons he’s a regular of hers and she thinks he works in the Jewellery Quarter. Is that about it?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Collins.
‘OK. I think we’ll need to canvas the Jewellery Quarter and see if we can track this character down. York, can you arrange that?’
‘Yes, Sir. When do you want to start, tomorrow?’
‘No, the lads have been working hard. Let them have a break. If this Bucky character is there, he’ll still be there on Monday.’
‘OK.’
Then Hicks smiled. ‘Mind you, it might not be a bad thing to make an early start. You were supposed to be off tomorrow, weren’t you, Collins?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Well, not anymore. You can start the enquiry tomorrow and take Clark with you. Both of you will be working without pay. Maybe that will teach you to follow the rules and him to keep a better eye on what his probationer is up to.’
After Collins had left, York sat down in the chair that Agnes had recently vacated. ‘You didn’t give him any instructions about how to conduct the enquiry.’
‘I know. It’s way too big a job for two men to do, but hopefully he’ll learn his lesson trudging around freezing streets on his day off. We’ll start properly on Monday.’
‘I don’t know, Sir. I think he wants nothing more than to wander around the Jewellery Quarter tomorrow.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He was trying not to smile when he left.’
‘Bastard,’ said Hicks and laughed.
Agnes was waiting outside when Collins emerged from the station. He slid in beside her and she tuned the ignition on.
‘I’m amazed that you could hear Inspector Hicks telling me off.’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘But you heard him swearing.’
‘No, I didn’t, but I knew that there was a very good chance he would be swearing.’
‘But why did you pretend you heard?’
‘It took the wind out of his sails and put him on the back foot. Men from Inspector Hicks’ background don’t swear in front of a lady. When they do, it embarrasses them. It gave me a slight advantage in the conversation.’
‘You, Mrs Winters, are a devious woman,’ Collins said, with admiration.
‘I can be. Anyway, what’s your next move?
‘I’m going to visit Clark and tell him that we have to go shop to shop in the Jewellery Quarter, without pay, on our day off as punishment for my visit to Karla.’
‘Do you want me to drop you off?’
‘Please, and if you were to come in that would be even better. I have a feeling I’ll need some protection.’
‘Coward.’
‘True.’
‘I’ll wait for you. No housewife likes a strange woman to arrive unannounced.’
Saturday 16th February 1963.
Hockley, 09.15hrs.
As recompense for her part in the events that led Collins and Clark to the Jewellery Quarter on a freezing, rock-breaking Saturday morning, Agnes drove both men to Great Hampton Street and dropped them off outside Cannings.
Established over 150 years ago, the Quarter still occupied the same warren of small workshops, streets and alleys that it always had. Clark explained that it wasn’t the streets of London that were paved with gold, it was the floorboards in these businesses. There was enough gold dust on most workshop floors to ensure that they were burnt and the gold reclaimed whenever a building was demolished.
Spread over a mere 250 acres, this tiny area contained the largest concentration of businesses involved in the jewellery trade in Europe and produced around 40% of all jewellery made in the UK. It was also home to the world’s largest Assay Office, which was responsible for hallmarking over 10 million items a year. With something approaching pride, Clarke explained that at its height, in the early 1900s, the Quarter employed around 30,000 people. Now, the figure was nearer 20,000.
‘Right, Sherlock, where the hell do wi start?’ asked Clark.
Collins consulted his A-Z of Birmingham and, looking up, said, ‘I think we start here on Hill Street. We’ll do all the streets that are roughly at right angles to Great Hampton Street first. If we find nothing, we can do those that are parallel. OK?’
‘Fair enough, yoe do know we’re never going to cover the lot by lunchtime.’
‘Lunchtime?’
‘Yeah, lunchtime. A lot of these characters close up at 1 on Saturdays. Them manufacturers, not shops.’
‘Well, we better get going then.’
By 11.30am, they had visited 21 businesses that offered to buy old gold and jewellery. No one knew of a jeweller in the Quarter who was tall, slim, blond, with a Beatles’ haircut and in his twenties. At 11.45am, they called a temporary halt to their fruitless trek and went for a cuppa in Ted’s café.
‘Morning, gentlemen,’ said Ted, ‘You pair look knackered, if you don’t mind me saying. What can I get you?’
Both men surveyed the blackboard menu and simultaneously ordered a bacon butty and a mug of tea. The food arrived minutes later. The tea was steaming and the bacon was contained within two doorstop-size pieces of bread. ‘Get that down you, gents. It will stick to your guts, I promise.’
‘Looks grand,’ said Collins.
‘I thought I knew all the local coppers around here. New, are you?’
‘Na, we’re from Handsworth. Just trying to trace a jeweller around here that deals in broken jewellery. You know, antique broaches and things. He ain’t done anything wrong, but we think he could help us,’ said Clark.
‘If it’s antique jewellery, you want to try Carver’s on Branston Street. They specialise in repairing and reselling the older stuff. Pete, who runs it, reckons its coming back into fashion.’
Collins jotted the name and address down in his notebook and got stuck into the sandwich in front of him.
Pushing his plate away, Clark drained his mug of tea before announcing loudly, ‘That’s the best bacon butty I’ve had all year.’
Collins agreed it was very good, but suggested that it was no match for the bacon sandwiches that Kevin McDonald sold, just off O’Connell Street in Dublin.
Carver was getting ready to close when Collins and Clark arrived. A young, spotty lad was sweeping the floor and an older man was cashing up.
‘Could we speak to Mr Peter Carver, please?’ asked Collins.
‘That’s me,’ said the older man. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Wi’m trying to trace a dealer who specialises in broken jewellery. He’s in his twenties, blond, over 6 foot and skinny. Hair cut like the Beatles. Do yoe know anyone like that in the Quarter?’ asked Clarke.
Carver didn’t reply immediately. Shaking his head, he eventually said, ‘Sorry, I don’t think I do. What about you, Davey?’
‘No. No one like that, Mr Carver.’
‘Davey is my collection and delivery lad. He knows everyone who works in the Quarter by sight. Don’t you, Davey?’
‘I suppose I do,’ replied Davey, embarrassed by the praise.
‘What do you need this guy for anyway?’
‘Oh, nothing. We just want to talk to him about this piece of jewellery,’ said Collins, holding the broken broach up. ‘Have you ever been offered anything like this?’
Collins couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Carver hesitate before he took the piece and examined it closely. ‘No, I’ve not seen anything like that before.’
Davey started to say something when Carver cut in, ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to close up.’
‘Of course, sir. Thanks very much for your time,’ said Collins.
Collins waited until they were outside, then asked, ‘Did you see that hesitation or was I imagining it?’
‘Na, there’s nowt wrong with yoe faculties. The sight of the broach gave him a start. I reckon the kid recognised it as well.’
‘I think we should wait for Davey to come out, don’t you?’
‘I’ve got nowt better to do.’
Standing in a doorway, they watched Peter Carver and Davey leave the premises. Carver crossed the road and got into a dark blue Jaguar Mk 2. Davey started walking towards Great Hampton Street. Collins and Clark waited for Carver to drive away before they followed the boy.
Ten yards from him, Clark called out, ‘Davey, wait up a bit, son. Wi’d like to talk to yoe.’
Davey turned, a look of surprise on his face. ‘Oh, hi. I thought you’d finished with me. Anything wrong?’
‘No. No. Nothing at all,’ said Collins. ‘It’s just that when we showed Mr Carver the broach we got the feeling that you recognised it.’
‘Well, yeah, but it’s got nothing to do with the bloke you’re looking for.’
‘What has it got to do with?’
‘You sure this won’t get me in no trouble?’
‘No chance, lad. Yoe’ve got me word as a lifelong Baggies supporter,’ said Clark and fixed the lad with a stare.
Davey looked at the small policeman and wondered if he was drunk, or worse, dangerous, and decided to co-operate. ‘Well, about a month ago, this really great looking girl came in the shop. She were half-caste, but really lovely. Nice smile and friendly like. She had about four pieces for sale, all a bit like that ‘un. She said that her boyfriend had told her to see Mr Carver, as he’d give her a good price for the items if she wanted to sell them.’
‘And did he give her a good price?’ asked Collins.
‘I doubt it. He’s a mean bastard. Anyway, he ended up buying three pieces for twelve quid. But she wouldn’t sell him this piece ‘cos he only offered her two quid for it.’
‘Did she or Mr Carver say anything more about her boyfriend?’
‘Na. But Carver can’t resist anything in a skirt – no matter how young or old they are. He tried chatting her up. As if she’d fancy an old git like him.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well. He said to her, “If you ever want a boyfriend nearer to home than Stratford, give me a call”, and he gave her his card.’
‘Did she say anything?’ asked Collins, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.
‘Yeah, she said “Andy wouldn’t like it” or something like that.’
‘You sure she said Andy? asked Clark.
‘Yeah. 100%. But even that dain’t put the old goat off. He followed her outside the shop and stood chatting to her for a couple of minutes.’
‘Could you hear what they were talking about?’ asked Collins.
‘Na, the door were closed. Hey, this ain’t going to get me in trouble, is it?
‘No lad. Yoe been bostin. But we’ll need your full name and address, just in case wi need to speak to yoe again. If I were yoe, I wouldn’t mention this to Mr Carver.’
When Davey had gone, Clark looked at Collins and said, ‘Fuck …’
Collins completed the phrase, ‘Me.’
‘Wi just found the needle in the proverbial haystack, Mickey lad.’
‘Yes, we bloody well have.’
Both men smiled as if they’d won the pools.
Saturday 16th February 1963.
Solihull, 13.15hrs.
When Carver got home, he left the car on the drive and rushed into the house. His wife was out and he poured himself a large gin, then picked up the phone and rang a Stratford-upon–Avon number.
‘Andrew Young’s Antique and Bric-a-Brac Emporium. Can I help you?’
‘What the fuck have you been up to, Andy? I had two coppers in the shop asking about you today and some broken jewellery.’
There was silence on the line as Andy tried to compose himself. Finally, he asked, ‘What did they want exactly?’
‘They wanted to know if I knew a 6-foot, skinny, blond bastard in his twenties who deals in broken antique jewellery.’
‘What did you say?’
‘What do you think? Fuck all. Is this about that half-caste slag they found last week?’
‘I’m not sure what it’s about,’ lied Andy. ‘Look, don’t talk about this. I’ll ring the Major and tell him. He’ll sort it out.’
‘OK.’
‘Look, I owe you. Are you going to the Club tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’ll bring along a present for you. She’s fifteen but looks about twelve, and she’s a really tight fit. You’ll love her.’
Andy cut the connection and immediately phoned the Major. He was surprised how unfazed the Major was. He assured Andy that he was working on something and if Andy would just hang on for another 24 hours, the police would cease to be a problem. To be on the safe side, he suggested that Andy should avoid attending the Club later.
Andy hung up, disappointed. He’d been looking forward to the Club and trying someone new, but he knew better than to argue with the Major. Still, he reasoned, there was no reason why the night should be a complete disaster. Susan, the girl he’d mentioned to Carver, would be available he was sure. Carver would just have to wait. Andy picked up the phone and dialled a Birmingham number.
Back at the station, Clark located a business phonebook for Stratford and the two men went to the canteen. Clark started working his way through jewellers, goldsmiths and silversmiths, while Collins got the teas in. After twenty minutes, they had nothing. Nothing. No business starting with A, Andy or Andrew. Disappointed, they sat trying to think what other businesses might deal with jewellery.
‘What are you two doing here?’ asked Sergeant York. ‘I thought that after your stroll around the Quarter this morning, you’d be off home warming your arses against the fire.’
Clark quickly filled the Sergeant in on what they had found. It was obvious to both men that York’s reaction was the same as theirs had been. Excitement, a surge of adrenalin and the belief that they were getting closer to the killer.
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York sat down, forgetting the reason he’d come to the canteen. After a few moments thought, a smile spread across his face. ‘Have you tried antique dealers?’ Both men lunged for the directory, but Collins got there first. Within seconds, he’d found “Andrew Young’s Antique and Bric-a-Brac Emporium”.
‘That’s it! I can feel it in me water,’ said Clark.
‘Now, calm down. Without a picture or a description of this Andrew Young character, we can’t be sure we’ve got the right man.’
‘Maybe someone at the local station knows him,’ said Collins.
‘It’s worth a try,’ said York. ‘Come on, we’ll phone them from the office.’
The Desk Sergeant at Stratford answered on the third ring. York explained what he was after and the Sergeant promised to call him back as soon as possible.
Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. York grabbed it.
‘Is that Sergeant York?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Sergeant York, Stratford Police here. We’ve got no criminal record for this guy, Young, although a teenager did complain that he’d tried it on with her about two years ago. She dropped her complaint, though. His full name is Andrew Young and we did photograph him at the time. I’ll send it to you.’
‘Great, but could you just describe him for me?’
‘OK. Let’s see. Slim, with long blond hair. He looks about eighteen, but we’ve got his age as twenty-seven, so twenty-nine now.’
‘Do you have his height on record?’
York could hear the pages of the file being turned. ‘Yes, it says six feet two. Is that any use?’
‘Oh yes, that’s very helpful. Can you hang onto the file and picture? My gaffer will be in touch.’
York hung up. A broad smile spread across his face ‘We’ve got him, lads. We’ve got him. Time to call the gaffer – this is one interruption to his Saturday afternoon he won’t mind.’
Collins slumped back in his chair exhilarated and beaming, while Clark sat and nodded his head.
Thirty minutes later, Hicks was standing in the centre of the office shaking snow off his coat and hat. ‘Don’t tell me you pair of jokers have found him?’