by Jim McGrath
‘So you pimped underage girls for him, is that it?’ asked Collins.
‘No, I never put him onto a kiddie.’
‘What about his friendship with Ravenal?’ asked Collins.
‘What friendship? They didn’t know each other.’
‘We have a witness that says he was real friendly. Constantly talking to him throughout the dance,’ lied Collins.
‘He didn’t know Jimmy. It was just part of his pick-up routine to pretend he was friends with the DJ. He did it all the time. You know what these girls are like. A bit of glamour and you’re halfway there.’
‘OK,’ said Clark, ‘we’ll check out what you’ve said and if you’ve lied, we’ll be back – and yoe will be sorry, I promise yoe.’
‘I’m not lying.’
Back in the alleyway, Clark turned to Collins and asked, ‘What yoe think?’
‘He was lying through his back teeth. He said he used to know Young, so how does he know he’s dead? It’s not been in the Birmingham Mail yet. I looked.’
‘Well spotted, Mickey lad. It may have just been a slip of the tongue, but everything he said was bollocks.’
‘So why did you stop?’
‘Struth, yoem am a vicious little sod, aren’t you?’ Clark said, with some admiration. ‘Yoe got a future in this police force. Wi were never going to get him to spill his guts with just one visit. Besides, me main aim was to stir the wasps’ nest a bit. Now, we just sit back and see what develops. All sorts of nasties may creep out of the woodwork looking to scare off a couple of cocky coppers working off the books.’
‘And if nothing develops?’
‘Wi visit him again.’
Thursday 21st February 1963.
Handsworth, 14.00hrs.
Agnes answered the phone on the third ring.
‘Hello, Agnes Winter speaking.’ She waited as the caller pressed Button A, the four pennies dropped into the phone box and the line was cleared.
‘Hello. Is that Mrs Winter?’ a voice asked nervously.
‘It is.’
‘Hello, this is Mrs Winston. I really didn’t want to bother you, but you were so kind when you called round. I was wondering if you could help me.’
‘If I can, I will.’
‘I’ve had a letter from the Ice Rink in Hockley. They heard of Simone’s death and they’ve written to me asking if I want to empty her locker. I didn’t know she had a locker or I would have told the police. Not that it matters anymore. Anyhow, I can’t go into town today. I have to go to the funeral home. Could you collect her things for me?’
At the mention of a locker, Agnes’ heart missed a beat. Could that be where Simone’s diary was? ‘Of course I can. That will be no problem. I’ll pick them up right away and bring them over to you.’
‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’
Agnes hung up and went to wake Michael. She knocked once, but there was no response. She hit the door hard and shouted, ‘Michael, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’
From beyond the door, she heard movement and a sleepy voice. ‘OK. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’ Collins rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for his trousers. I have to get a fecking dressing gown, he thought, as he rummaged in the chest of drawers for a shirt.
Once downstairs, Collins gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that Agnes pushed across the kitchen table. ‘I think we’ve had what you call a break in the case,’ said Agnes.
‘Really?’ he said and suppressed a yawn.
‘Yes. Simone had a locker at the Hockley Ice Rink.’
Collins head snapped up. Suddenly he was very much awake. ‘Who told you?’
‘Her mother rang. She said that the Ice Rink had written to her asking if she wanted to collect Simone’s belongings from her locker. She asked if I would pick them up.’
‘Did she say what was in the locker? Is Simone’s diary in the locker?’
‘She doesn’t know, but I thought that you and I should find out.’
‘I think you might just be right,’ said Collins, smiling, and on impulse hugged Agnes, and kissed her on the cheek. Realising that he may have crossed a line, he quickly broke away and muttered, ‘Sorry.’
Agnes, a surprised look on her face, said quietly, ‘No, that’s fine.’
While Collins shaved and dressed, Agnes called the ice rink and arranged a meeting with the manager Mark Carney.
Collins surveyed the ice rink. Mid-week, during term time, it was nearly deserted. There were two ice hockey players practicing turns and blocking in one corner. In another, the rink’s professional was giving a lesson to an old married couple. They had the look of people who might have been pretty good on the ice thirty years before, but they’d taken time off to marry, fight a war and raise a family. Maybe it had been a New Year’s resolution to recapture their skating prowess or just a desire to get out of the house – either way, they were enjoying themselves.
A man, who was repairing one of the seats that ringed the ice, directed them to the manager’s office on the first floor. The office was small and neat with pictures of ice dancers adorning every spare inch of wall space. Like his office, Mark Carney was also small and neat and, except for the thinning brown hair, he looked exactly like the young man who was smiling out from nearly every picture. Although he was probably in his forties, Carney looked ten years younger. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He moved with the natural grace of a dancer. A trait that takes years and thousands of hours’ practice to achieve.
Collins was surprised by the strength of Carney’s handshake and the calculated manner in which he appraised him. ‘Terrible business, this thing with Simone.’
‘You knew her?’ asked Collins.
‘No, I didn’t, but I’d seen her. We don’t get many coloured people skating. You might say she stood out from the crowd.’
‘Did she have any particular friends here?’
‘I wouldn’t know, but I saw Peter, one of our stewards, skating with her more than once.’
‘Is he at work today?’
‘No, you misunderstand me. Our stewards aren’t employees. They’re more like prefects in a school. We let them in for free and they sort of police the rink. Nip any trouble in the bud.’
‘When will he be in?’
‘He’ll be here tomorrow and Saturday night.’
‘What about Simone’s belongings?’ asked Agnes. ‘Are they still in her locker?’
‘No, I emptied it. I have them here.’ Bending down, Carney lifted a small cardboard box onto his desk. ‘Not much really, but given the circumstances I’m sure her mother must want everything that belonged to her daughter.’
Agnes and Collins moved forward and opened the box. It had been carefully packed by the manager and he’d laid a single pink rose along with a card to Mrs Winston on top. There were pictures of Simone and her friends taken at the rink and one of her mother standing outside Buckingham Palace. They rested on a white cashmere sweater that had a London label, and beneath that were a pair of skate guards, a small bottle of cheap perfume, lipstick, a tin of talcum powder and an open packet of sanitary towels. Lining the bottom of the box was a clear plastic Mac, beneath which Collins saw the back cover of a foolscap book.
Looking at Agnes, he gave a nod and watched as the tension left her face and shoulders. All he wanted to do now was get out of the rink and examine the diary.
‘We won’t keep you any longer, Mr Carney,’ said Agnes. ‘You really have been very kind. I know that Mrs Winston will really appreciate your letter.’
Shaking hands with Collins, Carney replied, ‘I’m only too pleased to help. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Constable Collins. If you do call in to see Peter, please drop by and say hello.’
Collins again had the feeling that he was being closely exa
mined by the older man, who seemed reluctant to let go his hand.
Outside, Agnes said, ‘Well, you certainly made a conquest there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Good Lord. You really didn’t notice, did you?’
‘Notice what?’
‘Carney. He was practically drooling over you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Believe me. That man was undressing you with his eyes from the moment you walked in the room.’
Collins blushed, remembering how Carney had held his gaze and hand. ‘But why would he think I’m like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘You know, queer.’
‘Some homosexuals are strongly attracted to heterosexual men. They see it as a challenge.’
‘Well, I’m one challenge he’s not going to win,’ Collins said firmly.
‘Or, of course, he may just have picked up that you harboured some latent homosexual tendencies of your own.’ Agnes let her statement hang in the air and watched as Collins wriggled on her hook. Unable to keep the pretence up any longer, she burst out laughing. ‘I’m only teasing you. I don’t think you display any homosexual tendencies!’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Collins, but he remained concerned.
Desperate as they were, Agnes and Collins waited until they got home before unpacking the box. Other than two condoms, which they decided not to return to Mrs Winston, they found nothing new. The diary started in September 1962. Most of the entries were mundane and dealt with school and friends. There was even a list of Christmas gifts she had hoped to get. Topping the list had been a Dansette record player. Only a few of the entries were in code and even those were a mixture of plain English and the odd encoded word or phrase.
While Agnes worked on deciphering the coded entries, Collins busied himself making tea and toast. It was a close call, but Agnes finished just before Collins buttered the last piece of toast. She’s quick, he thought, before asking, ‘So, what have we got?’
‘There are eight entries of interest. Here, have a look.’ Agnes pushed her notepad across the table to Collins. He started reading while Agnes spread jam on her toast and sipped her tea.
27/12/62. Thursday. Met Andy at Palms dance. Carol was sick. She’ll be mad that she didn’t meet him. He’s lovely. He gave me a drink and tried to touch me up. I might let him next time.
29/12/62. Saturday. Andy picked me up in town. We went to Stratford. He’s got a great house. I had my first champagne and he gave me some pills that really made me feel great. Not sure what happened after that, but everything felt lovely. He thought I was a virgin! He gave me some money afterwards. Said it was to buy some nice things. Don’t know what I’m going to buy with it.
4/1/63. Friday. Andy took me to his house again. He gave me a lovely dress and a cashmere sweater. After we’d fucked (that’s what Andy calls it – he says only kids call it making love) we went to the Green Man, a really posh restaurant near Warwick. Andy’s friend Phillip was there. He has a Jaguar E-Type and gave me a ride! I knew he fancied me from the start. Gave me his number Stratford 2357. I might call him.
15/1/63. Tuesday. Andy picked me up from school. Went to the Green Man again. Afterwards Andy took me to a hotel and gave me some underwear and another lovely dress. He wanted me to get dressed up and show him my knickers before we went to bed. I had to lift my skirt up and tease him. Then he took pictures of me sitting on a chair with me legs open. He said I looked beautiful. Afterwards I only had to touch him and he came. He wanted to tie me up but I said no.
18/1/63. Friday. Met up with Phillip at hotel. He was with his girlfriend Marie. We all went back to Andy’s. Andy had some more of those pills I like – much better than booze. Andy started to snog Marie so I sat on Phillip’s lap. Not sure what happened but ended up in bed with Phillip. Then Andy and Marie came in. It was like a dream. They all wanted to touch me. And kiss it. I touched Marie’s. She was so soft.
25/1/63. Friday. Mom was doing an extra night so I rang Andy. I couldn’t do anything because I was on, so Andy said we should meet up with Phillip at his house. Phillip had a new girl with him. She was younger than me and a bit nervous. Phillip asked me to chat to her and get her to take some pills. It looked like we were going to have fun. But Phillip got a call from some man called Major and had to leave for an hour. When he came back he found Andy fucking his girlfriend and me watching, but he just laughed and asked me to wank him off. His cock’s bigger than Andy’s. It was a real laugh.
On the way home, Andy said there was going to be a party on the 16th of February in Birmingham and that we should go, as there would be lots of people there who could help me with my writing if I made a good impression. I’ll have to see if Carol can cover for me.
6/2/63. Wednesday. Phoned Andy and said I could make it on Friday. He’s going to pick me up by the cathedral. He said he had a new game he wanted to try. He’s daft, he is. Said he’d get some new, even better, pills. Great.
‘OK, so what new information does this give us?’ asked Agnes, pen poised to start writing.
Collins looked at the transcript again and dictated:
1. Andy has a friend by the name of Phillip. He owns an E-type Jag and a Stratford telephone number 2357. Don’t know if this is a business or private number.
2. At least two other girls were involved with Andy and Phillip.
Marie sounds as if she is older, maybe in her twenties. She may have been used to encourage Simone to play around with Phillip and to try out pills. The other girl was probably younger than Simone, and this time Simone was used to encourage her to take some pills.
3. Do Andy and his friends use pills to knock the girls out/lower their inhibitions?
4. There’s someone called Major. He must be important because Phillip was willing to disrupt his evening to meet with him. Might be worth checking if any of Andy’s important friends are called Major.
5. There was a party planned for the 16th February in Birmingham at which important people were due to attend.
6. On the 6th February, Simone says Andy wanted to try out a new game. Was that game strangling?
‘What do you make of it?’ asked Collins.
‘It’s obviously important. You have three new names to try and track down – Phillip, Marie and the Major – although I don’t think Marie is that important.’
‘I agree.’
‘It does seem to confirm that there is a group of men involved in this. It wasn’t just Andy and a friend. There’s enough of them to arrange parties for lots of people,’ said Agnes.
‘Yep, that’s what I was thinking. It might also explain how they operate. One of the men chats a girl up and gives her pills and gifts. Then he accidently meets a friend, who just happens to be with an older woman. Between them, they create an atmosphere in which it seems natural for Simone to be handed around. They pretend that this is the way sophisticated adults behave and if she wants to be part of their clique, she has to go along with it.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Agnes.
‘Talk to Clark. The easiest guy to trace is probably Phillip. There can’t be that many red E-Types in and around Stratford.’
‘Michael.’
‘Yes.’
Agnes hesitated, trying to find the right words to express the feeling of disquiet that was building within her. ‘Michael, if you are dealing with the type of people I think you are, you need to take care. These people aren’t common criminals. They’re respected, powerful members of the community and they have influence. If you become a threat to them, they won’t hesitate to squash you like a bug. I know, I’ve seen it happen.’
For the first time, Collins could see concern in Agnes’s eyes – not for herself, but for him. For some reason, it made him feel joyful. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m
very fond of me skin and intend to stay attached to it for as long as possible. Besides, I have Clark to protect me,’ he said, and laughed.
Friday 22nd February 1963.
Handsworth, 01.00hrs.
With the moon waning, the night was dark and cold. It was nearly and Collins reckoned that he and Clark were the only people out and about on Soho Road that night. Stopping every now and then to check that shops had been locked up, both men felt that the whole night was a waste of time. As Clark had remarked earlier: ‘No self-respecting burglar would risk his goolies on a night like this.’
The quietude gave Collins plenty of time to bring Clark up to speed about the contents of Simone’s diary. Clark agreed that Phillip would be the easiest to trace and said he had friend in the Birmingham car registration office. He’d be able to get the info from Stratford with no bother and no one would be any the wiser.
Collins felt content. It might be freezing cold, but they were making progress. Instinctively he knew they were on the right track, and given time and a bit of luck they’d catch the bastards who were behind Simone’s death and that of the other girl. He was certain of it.
They occasionally heard a noise at the back of a premises and would have a quick look to confirm that it was nothing more than a fox, stray cat or large rat that had knocked a bin lid over in its scavenging.
‘Another hour and we can get a bit of snap back at the station. And I can count me knackers to make sure none have dropped off,’ said Clark.
‘You know, I think in another life you could have been a poet.’
‘Yoe think so? I’ve always thought I had a way with words.’
‘I do. Of course, it could just be that me brain is so fecking cold I’m hallucinating.’
‘Yeah, that’s probably what it is. It’s only to be expected,’ replied Clark.