A Death in Winter

by Jim McGrath

  ‘Good. Keep me informed.’

  On the train home, Agnes continually reviewed her conversation with Aubrey. Yes, he’d been genuinely pleased to see her, but it was as if he already knew what she was going to request. Indeed, the production of all the files she asked for in under three hours seemed proof of that.

  Not for the first time in her dealings with MI5, Agnes had the feeling that she was being manipulated – but for what purpose, she couldn’t tell. If Tobin was involved in Simone’s death, it would be disastrous for the Government. Surely MI5 didn’t want that. No, MI5 would want to hush it up; to protect the Government at all costs and, perhaps, pressure Tobin to resign quietly. However, as Party Whip, Tobin probably had enough information on government ministers and MPs to ensure that he held onto his job. If he was considered a security threat, it was entirely possible that a suicide or accident could be organised. But MI5 could have done that without risking an investigation by Collins and Clark. Why did they want Collins and Clark investigating Tobin?

  When she alighted at Snow Hill, she was no nearer an answer.

  Hockley, 12.00hrs.

  Collins was impressed, considering that Clark had spent a good part of the previous night breaking into Bishop’s house, he was full of energy and looking forward to having a quiet chat with Mr Carver. Standing in a doorway two shops down, Collins and Clark waited until they saw Davy leave on his delivery bike before they crossed the road and entered Carver’s shop. Collins closed the door, slipped the bolt and turned the open sign to closed.

  Carver emerged from the back at the sound of the door chime. His customer-friendly smile slid from his face when he saw who it was. ‘Constable Clark and…’

  ‘Collins.’

  ‘Yes. Collins, of course. I didn’t expect to see you again.’

  ‘Well, that’s it, Mr Carver. Normally wi don’t come back to see someone a second time.’

  ‘Unless we discover they’ve been lying through their back teeth to us,’ said Collins.

  ‘What do you mean lying to you? You asked me if I’d seen a particular piece of jewellery and I said I hadn’t. That was the truth then and it’s the truth now.’

  ‘Well, Mr Carver, we find that hard to believe, as we have a witness who saw you talking to Simone Winston on that very doorstep,’ said Collins.

  ‘That’s right, Mr Carver. They recognised Simone from her photo,’ said Clark.

  ‘Now, Mr Carver,’ continued Collins. ‘I’m new to this job. Just off the boat, in fact. I like to trust people, but when I find a piece of jewellery in a recently murdered girl’s bedroom and then discover that a jeweller who buys similar items has been talking to her on his front step, even I can add two and two together.’

  ‘That’s right, Mr Carver. Me mate here is real bright for a Paddy.’

  ‘What is this girl supposed to look like? Maybe I’ve seen her. I see a lot of people in my business. However, I repeat that no one offered me any jewellery like the piece you showed me.’

  ‘We dain’t say that there were more than one piece, Mr Carver. Where did yoe get the idea that there were more?’

  ‘I just assumed there was. Look here, it was just a figure of speech.’

  ‘You need to be careful there, Mr Carver. An assumption like that could get you hanged,’ said Collins.

  ‘Let me see this girl’s photo.’

  Collins passed Carver the snapshot of Simone that Mrs Winston had given him. Carver looked at the picture for several moments. Then, like a poor actor in a second-rate amateur production, a look of surprised recognition spread across his face. ‘Oh, her! Yes, I think I do remember her now. She came in here one afternoon asking for directions. That’s probably why you have a witness who says they saw me on the step with her. I was trying to direct her to the nearest number 8 bus stop.’

  ‘That would explain it, except for one thing, Mr Carver. I think yoe are a lying toe rag,’ said Clark.

  ‘How dare you take that tone with me. I shall report you.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Mr Carver,’ said Collins, ‘but it won’t be the Superintendent you ring. It will be Bishop or the Major, won’t it?’

  Clark circled around Carver, sizing him up. From behind, he stretched upwards and whispered in his ear, ‘Yoe need to understand summut Mr Carver, me and my mate are going to cut the balls off you and your friends.’ With that, Clark delivered a right jab into Carver’s kidneys, which sent him slumping to his knees. Grabbing him by the hair, Clark pulled Carver’s head back and said, ‘I’ve had enough of yoe, yoe lying little sod. Yoe’ve got until Sunday to tell us everything if yoe want to avoid conspiracy to murder and aiding and abetting a murder charges. ‘Cos on Monday, wi are going public with everything wi got.’

  Picking up one of Carver’s receipt forms from the counter, Collins wrote Clark’s number on it. Turning, he said, ‘We’ll be expecting your call’, and stuffed the number into Carver’s top pocket.

  Outside, the two men raised their collars. The wind was blowing straight down the road, hitting their backs and pushing them forward. Even the heavy duty police coats were struggling to keep the wind out and both men needed to hold their helmets in place.

  ‘Do you think he’ll call?’

  ‘It depends who he’s more scared of, us or the Major. If I were a betting man, I think he’ll call the Major – but he may call us. Either way, the one thing I can guarantee is that this lot will be over by Monday. Get your box on.’

  Collins knew exactly what Clark meant, but his only response was, ‘What the feck is a box?’

  Handsworth, 14.05hrs.

  Leaving the station after Parade, Collins and Clark rehearsed some of the actions that Bishop or the Major might take and their likely response. After an hour and a half, both men felt that they needed a rest from trying to predict the actions of a psychopath and a child molester. The only thing they had agreed was that Collins would stay at Clark’s house until this was all over.

  They stopped off at Mitchell’s Greengrocers for a cuppa and quickly found themselves sitting in the storeroom behind the shop, with a cup of tea and a round of toast each. ‘What happened to that lad you pinched here?’ asked Bert.

  Collins quickly brought him up to date with Jamie’s fortunes since they had found him in the storage shed two weeks earlier and Agnes’s plans for his future education.

  ‘Well, it sounds like he landed on his feet. Listen, you tell him that if he wants a Saturday job to come and see me. It’s 8 until 6, and a quid a day. You heading up to the Hawthorns now?’

  ‘Me favourite part of any day,’ said Clark, with Collins shaking his head in pity.

  Twenty minutes later, as they approached the New Inns, they spotted an old friend outside the Albion Cinema. Upright Freddie was still limping from his unfortunate accident, which had quickly entered into station folklore. Drawing closer, they could see that he’d nailed a couple of boards to an old orange box and painted the whole thing white. On the front, he’d drawn a reasonable representation of the crucifixion and written under it: “Repent and return to the Lord”.

  ‘Now I’ve seen everything. The wanker has gone and caught religion,’ said Clark.

  ‘What’s going on, Freddie?’ asked Collins.

  Looking up, Freddie’s face broke into a huge smile. ‘Constables Clark and Collins, how wonderful to see you on today of all days. The Lord has blessed me with your presence.’

  ‘That’s sounds very nice, Freddie, but what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve been saved, Constable Collins. You and Constable Clark were the tools that God used to deliver me from my wicked ways. For the Lord has said: “If your foot leads you into sin, cut it off. If your eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out. For it’s better to enter heaven as a blind cripple than be cast into hell”. My accident has removed the cause of my sins and I h
ave you to thank for saving me from the eternal fires of damnation. Your presence here today is a sign that the Lord has blessed my mission.’

  Collins and Clark exchanged looks, each desperate not to start laughing.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking officers, but I will show you by my actions that I have become a true disciple of Our Lord Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Well, it will be grand if you can turn over a new leaf. What about your court case, though? When’s that due?’

  ‘Next week and I fully expect to be sent to the Godless pit that is Winston Green. I welcome the chance to be punished for my sins. It will provide me with the opportunity to reach out to the lost souls who live in that loathsome place and show them what can be done when they embrace the Lord.’

  ‘Well,’ said Clark, ‘yoe will let me know how you get on with that after they release yoe from the prision’s hospital.’

  ‘Laugh if you will, Constable Clark, but the Lord will protect me.’

  Collins noticed for the first time that a small knot of people had formed around them. Nudging Clark, he said, ‘We’ll be on our way, but we’ll be watching you. Just in case old Satan pulls you back to his side.’

  ‘Never. Never will I betray my new calling.’

  As they moved away, Collins could hear Freddie start to engage with those watching. At least two of the small crowd recognised Freddie from before his conversion and intimated that if he turned up in their road he’d get his head kicked in.

  ‘What do you think of that?’ asked Collins.

  ‘I dain’t like being called a tool!’

  Hockley, 17.35hrs.

  Carver resisted the temptation to call either Bishop or the Major from the shop. Nor did he leave the building to make the call, just in case he was being watched. Instead, he carried on as normal. He served his customers, spoke to suppliers and waited. He waited until his usual closing time and five minutes later, he put the Mk 2 Jag in gear and pulled smoothly away from the curb. He drove through Digbeth, turned left at the strip club on the corner and passed the Birmingham City Football Ground – all the time checking in his rear-view mirror to see if he was being followed. Satisfied at last that he wasn’t being tailed, he took the road for Elmdon Airport and pulled over at the first phone box he saw.

  Finding he was short of change, he bought twenty Senior Service from a newsagent before returning to the familiar red box. He was still worried that he was being followed, but he could see no suspicious cars or anyone who might be a copper. He dialled the Major’s home first. The Major’s wife answered and, after the usual pleasantries, she passed the phone over to her husband.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you at home, but I thought you should know that our competitors are looking to close down our operation by Monday. I think we need to talk.’

  As always, the Major took the news calmly. ‘Thank you for letting me know. I think we should have a meeting with the other members at the Club tonight. Can you make 9?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  Handsworth, 18.30hrs.

  Agnes sat with her head in her hands. She had spent a fruitless three hours working through the MI5 files, first on the train and then here at home. She felt tired and dispirited. Pushing the files away, she stood up and paced the study, reflecting on what she’d learnt.

  Tobin’s file was the most extensive. Nothing odd in that, she thought. It’s what you’d expect for a party whip who was privy to the secrets of the most powerful politicians in the country. Yes, it contained hints and allegations concerning his private life, but Agnes had to agree with Aubrey’s conclusion that speculation wasn’t proof.

  She had been convinced that she would find something in his service file, and her hopes had soared when she read that he had been promoted from the rank of sergeant following the recommendation of his commanding officer. Picking up the phone, Agnes had immediately called Sir Aubrey for clarification. He listened and said he’d get back to her. Thirty minutes later, Miss Florin called back and, in the frostiest of tones, reported that, ‘Sir Aubrey has been called to the Minister’s Office and he’s asked me to tell you that Sir Marcus was not a Sergeant Major at the time of his promotion. He was a Sergeant.’ Agnes could almost hear the pleasure in the secretary’s voice as she delivered the disappointing news.

  However, the file had confirmed the link between Tobin and Bishop, and had added an interesting detail that Victor’s Colonel had not mentioned. Shortly before Bishop was shipped back to England to be demobbed, and just before a stock audit, there had been a fire in the stores that had destroyed a significant amount of stock and nearly all the records. How very convenient, she thought.

  Agnes found two details of great interest as they revealed how strategic Tobin had been in creating his new persona after the war. Firstly, Tobin had changed his name from Mark Tobin to Marcus Tobin before he left the army, which meant that his discharge papers read Marcus. This supplied Marcus Tobin with a creditable war record on which to build his new life and invited all the right people to assume that Marcus was one of them and had been commissioned at the start of the war.

  Secondly, following Tobin’s election as an MP in 1952, Special Branch had dug into his background and found that when discharged from the army in 1946 his personal wealth amounted to £102,000. This indicated that his marriage had not been about money, but breeding, class and connections. .

  The Burgess file was slimmer. He’d joined the police in 1939 and had remained in the force throughout the war. His record was one of a plodder who every now and then seemed to have a flash of inspiration that enabled him to tie up a big case. One of his early bosses had noted that “Constable Burgess is a very conscientious police officer who I would recommend for promotion to Sergeant, but no further. My reasons for saying this is that his greatest weakness is a desire to please those in authority.”

  The idea that Burgess was a plodder yet able to land big cases intrigued Agnes. It was contradictory enough for her to spend the time it took to make and drink a cup of coffee thinking about it. By the time she resumed her seat, she was certain that Burgess either purposely hid his talents from view, which she accepted was the sign of a great police officer – to be underestimated by your enemies always gives the hunter an advantage over his prey – or he had outside help. Agnes’s mind had turned to who benefited from the convictions that Burgess secured. Was it Bishop? Was Burgess removing Bishop’s competitors? There was no proof, but Agnes made a note to check the relationship between Bishop’s enemies and Burgess’ arrest record.

  Keel’s early file spoke of an exemplary officer who clearly had a bright future ahead of him. In the Malaysian Emergency, he’d been mentioned in despatches for his work in defeating a heavily armed band of insurgents and capturing the leader, who unfortunately had been wounded and later died under questioning. Other actions were also highlighted by his commanding officer. There was only one blemish on his Malay record. A father had complained that Lieutenant Keel had raped his thirteen-year-old son while he was in custody. The claim had been investigated and Keel exonerated.

  Unfortunately for Keel, the case of the young girl screaming rape at midnight on the parade ground was not so easy to dismiss – even when she later retracted her story. By mutual consent, Keel and the army had parted company. Since then, he’d made a very comfortable living as an estate agent selling expensive houses to people who only wanted the best.

  Agnes had expected that there would be little evidence on Carver, Morrison and Young, but she had still been disappointed at the dearth of information. All three were mentioned as contacts of Tobin, but that was not unusual given his prominence in the Conservative Party. None of them had a criminal record and the only official document about each was their National Service Record. It appeared that all three had done their compulsory two years and left without leaving an impression on the Army or a stain on their character.

&n
bsp; Agnes looked at her watch. It was nearly seven. She closed her eyes and rotated her head to relieve the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. She was just about to go and listen to The Archers on the Home Service when her Quaker sense of duty surfaced and stopped her.

  With a sigh, she pulled Tobin’s file towards her. Although she’d read it twice, she remained convinced that it contained the answer to the problem. She must have missed something. She decided that she’d use an old trick, learnt at Bletchley Park, and read the file from back to front. Placing the information in a different order might throw something up. Even if it didn’t, it would at least keep her awake.

  She turned to the last page of the file. It was the second page of Tobin’s Initial Army Assessment. She was about to turn over and read the report from the start, when she saw the pocket attached to the back cover of the manila folder. She’d noticed it before, but had ignored it on the grounds that it was clearly empty. On impulse, she pulled the pocket open and peered in. Lying at the bottom was a single sheet of copy paper folded in half.

  Normally so calm, she felt her heart miss a beat as she withdrew the folded document. Opening it, she saw why it had been placed in the pocket. The flimsy paper had been torn at the punch holes and must have come loose. Instead of putting it back in the correct place, some clerk had stuffed it in the pocket.

  There were just three lines of writing on the paper, but that was sufficient to tell Agnes who The Major was.

  Birmingham, 21.00 hrs.

  The Major, accompanied by Trevor, arrived at Bishop’s office just before 9. They had spent the journey from Warwick discussing their options and knew what had to be done. Bishop, Benny, Brian, Morrison, Carver and Spencer were already there when the two men walked in.

  It was obvious to the Major that Carver was still nervous as he paced the floor. He’d already told his story to the group twice as if it would somehow relieve his fears. It hadn’t. The glass of Scotch in his hand, and the three he had downed earlier in the evening, hadn’t done the job either.