The tart stood up and said, ‘Out here, dear. I’ll show you,’ and she took me onto the landing and pointed down the stairs. My bowels felt molten, ready to explode, and I just got there in time. I knew she couldn’t have put anything in the water, because I’d have seen her, and besides, I’d only had a couple of sips. But I knew I had to be quick—I couldn’t leave them alone together. The tart wasn’t important, just a distraction; it was the bitch. I had to deal with her as soon as possible.
She was standing at the top of the stairs when I came out. Just her, no sign of the tart. She had the blue thing in her hand, holding it out towards me. ‘Tom? What’s going on? I don’t understand…’ She started to come towards me, down the stairs. ‘You said…you told me this was your sister’s…’ She stopped in front of me and glanced upwards. ‘She said it was her friend’s, and she died, and then she said—’
I hit her, and she staggered backwards, one hand on her face. ‘Tom!’
‘Listen, you stupid—’ I reached out to grab her, but she was too quick. She pushed me away and then I was off balance and reeling as she bolted down the stairs. I heard her wrench the door open and then she was gone. I followed, as fast as I could—I had to catch up with her, stop her—and as I left I heard the tart’s voice, shouting after us, but I thought, it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t know who I am, and anyway, she’s insignificant, it’s the other one I want, the bitch. It took a moment to pull out my torch, but then I saw her near the end of the street. I thought she’d go straight ahead, and I knew I had to catch her before she got to Soho Square, to the shelter, but she turned a corner and then ducked into an alleyway, and I followed. I picked out her feet and ankles in the beam of my torch, then she must have tripped because she was sprawled out in front of me, face down, and I could see all along the length of her stockings, where her coat and skirt had gone up as she fell. She twisted round and tried to get up, and I heard her panting. She was saying, ‘Please, Tom, I’m sure it’s a mistake, please don’t hurt me, let me go, please—’
I made a grab for her but she clawed at me and knocked the torch out of my hand and then she was on her knees in front of me and I had my hands round her neck, but I couldn’t get a grip on her—the coat was in the way, and the hair, and she was thrashing back and forth and I couldn’t hold on to her. The next moment I heard footsteps come up beside me—a woman—and there was a light shining in my eyes, blinding me. I lunged for it, knocked it away and fell forward and heard a grunt underneath me and one of them scrambling to their feet, but I couldn’t see anything, just a flurry of arms and legs and hoarse breath and voices. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I managed to get hold of a hand; it was balled into a tight fist and when I prised back the fingers there was a crack and a scream and I knew I’d got the bitch because the blue felt thing was there. She was holding it, trying to keep it from me, but she had it all right… I got on top of her and hit out at her face and pulled out the knife. It was hard at first, with the clothes and the way she was flailing about, but I did it, did it to her with the knife and the tin-opener, and then she stopped moving and I knew I’d beaten her and I’d won and felt alive again, with all the sensation coming back to my body and the excitement and the thrill of it, it was there, and I didn’t need to look back, even for the torch. I just ran and ran with no idea of where I was going, but it didn’t matter, I’d done it, and I knew I could fly again and everything was marvellous and I was free…
STATEMENT TAKEN BY CHIEF INSPECTOR PALMER, ‘C’ DIVISION, WRITTEN DOWN AND SIGNATURE WITNESSED BY, DETECTIVE INSPECTOR WALSH
On Saturday 19th October, I met the man I believed to be Tom Matheson at Piccadilly Circus. He had written to me in order to arrange this meeting. He was wearing an RAF uniform with a greatcoat and a respirator. I told him that I wanted to visit Miss Rene Tate of 14B Frith Street, WI, and he agreed that he would accompany me to this address. I believed that Miss Tate earned her living by soliciting and that is why I asked Mr Matheson to come with me. We arrived there at about 7.15 p.m. While Miss Tate prepared some tea, I noticed that Mr Matheson was behaving strangely. He asked Miss Tate for a glass of water and accompanied her to the kitchen to fetch it. I heard a glass breaking and went into the kitchen where Miss Tate had cut her hand. She told me not to worry, then we returned to the other room and talked until we heard the air-raid warning. During this time, Mr Matheson appeared very nervous and walked about the room. I believe the air-raid warning was at about 8 p.m. but I cannot be certain of this.
When I looked at the clock on Miss Tate’s mantelpiece I saw in front of it a small felt envelope very similar in type to an envelope given to me previously by Mr Matheson. He had claimed it belonged to his deceased sister. At this point Mr Matheson left the room. I looked at the envelope and found it contained a cigarette card with the picture of the film actor Robert Taylor. I asked Miss Tate where she had obtained the envelope and she replied that it belonged to her friend Mrs Lillian Franks, who was a prostitute. I said, ‘I do not understand.’ Miss Tate then asked me who had given me the envelope and I replied that Mr Matheson had given it to me. I explained that it had belonged to his sister. Miss Tate then repeated that the envelope was the property of Mrs Franks, and that she thought Mr Matheson was responsible for her murder and also for the murder of two other prostitutes. I took the envelope and left the room.
Mr Matheson was waiting on the stairs outside. I showed him the envelope. I was very confused at this point and cannot remember what happened exactly, but Mr Matheson hit me, and after that I ran out of the house and into Frith Street. I went to one of the turnings off Frith Street and then into an alleyway. I believe I dropped the envelope at the entrance to this alley. Mr Matheson followed me. He got hold of me by the throat. I remember a woman coming to my assistance. She had a torch at that time, but it went out quite quickly when she came to help me. I believe that this woman was Miss Tate, but I could not see what happened to her. Mr Matheson had previously had a torch, but it fell to the ground. I did not remove my torch from my handbag. I next remember running to Old Compton Street, where I requested the assistance of PC Skinner.
I have been told that Miss Tate picked up the envelope and was holding it in her hand at the time she was killed, and it is my belief that she was mistaken for me.
I have read the statement given above and everything that is in it is true.
Lucy Armitage
On Saturday 19th October, about 8.45 p.m. I was on duty at the top of Old Compton Street and was approached by a man I now know to be Harold Nolan, ARP warden, Post D. I accompanied him to Bateman’s Buildings, where I found the body of a woman lying on the pavement. Mr G. Callaghan and Mr R. Gillespie were also present. Both denied any knowledge of the deceased previous to this time. Mr Nolan, who was in a distressed state, informed me that the woman was known to him and that her name was Miss Rene Tate, resident at 14B Frith Street, WI. I telephoned for assistance and waited the arrival of senior officers.
John Halpern, PC 113, ‘C’ Division
STATEMENTS GIVEN TO CHIEF INSPECTOR PALMER, ‘C’ DIVISION BY SQUADRON LEADER A.C. MAXWELL, NO. 603 Squadron, RAF Hornchurch
(i) 21st October 1940
Flying Officer Thomas Matheson has been missing, presumed killed, since 26th September.
(ii) 23rd October 1940
The description which has been given to me by Detective Inspector Walsh, ‘C’ Division, matches that of 78252 Flying Officer James Rushton. Flying Officer Rushton was recently found to be suffering from battle fatigue, and as a consequence was given a forty-eight-hour leave starting at 0700 hours on 19th October. I have been told that he intended spending this leave with his family in Coventry. He returned to RAF Hornchurch at 2000 hours on 20th October. I spoke to him at that time and would describe him as being in good spirits. He resumed operational flying duties on the morning of 21st October, having been passed fit to return to his duties by the Station Medical Officer, Sqn Ldr F.J. Gregson. His flight was scrambled at 1100
hours. He has not returned. His spitfire received a direct hit from an enemy aircraft while engaged in a dogfight over the Channel. This was witnessed by 72550 Flying Officer N. Balchin and 90294 Pilot Officer G. R. Sinclair. They reported that Flying Officer Rushton’s aircraft was on fire. They did not see Flying Officer Rushton bale out and messages received by them over the R/T indicate that he was having difficulty in doing so. Both officers state that Rushton is unlikely to have survived, and he is currently listed as missing, presumed killed. His family have been informed.
The trial of Edward ‘Ted’ Gerrity began at the Old Bailey on 9th December 1940, before Mr Justice Milne. It ended on the following day, when the jury took just twenty-five minutes to find him guilty of the murder of Lillian Franks.
Gerrity was hanged in Wandsworth prison on 18th February 1941.
All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.
THE LOVER
A Felony & Mayhem “Historical” mystery
PUBLISHING HISTORY
First U.K. print edition (Orion): 2004
Felony & Mayhem print and electronic editions: 2011
Copyright © 2004 by Laura Wilson
All rights reserved
E-book ISBN: 978-1-934609-98-9
To those who lived through it,
and to the memory of those who died
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am very grateful to Roxy Beaujolais, Wing Commander Tommy Cody, Broo Doherty, Tim Donnelly, my dog Freeway, Major John Gilbert, Jane Gregory, Peter Guttridge, DCI Michael Hallowes, Dr Jeanette Josse, Anna McDowell of the Aircraft Restoration Company, Boo MacPherson, Conan Nicholas, Sara O’Keeffe, Hazel Pocock of the Public Record Office, Dave Ratcliffe, Laura Weston of the Old Flying Machine Company, Mark Parr of Historic Flying Ltd, June and William Wilson, Jane Wood, Christopher Wren of RAF Uxbridge, the staff of the Mass Observation Archive at the University of Sussex, and to my fellow Unusual Suspects, Natasha Cooper, Leslie Forbes, Manda Scott, Michelle Spring and Andrew Taylor, for their enthusiasm, advice and support.
You are reading a book in the Felony & Mayhem “Historical” category, which ranges from the ancient world up through the 1940s. If you enjoy this book, you may well like other “Historical” titles from Felony & Mayhem Press.
“Historical” titles available as ebooks:
Cut to the Quick
by Kate Ross
A Broken Vessel
by Kate Ross
Whom the Gods Love
by Kate Ross
“Historical” titles available as print books:
City of Silver
by Annamaria Alfieri
Forests of the Night
by David Stuart Davies
The “Bertie, Prince of Wales” series
by Peter Lovesey
The “Countess Ashby de la Zouche” series
by Fidelis Morgan
The “Vanessa Weatherburn” series
by Catherine Shaw
The “Marcus Corvinus” series
by David Wishart
For more about these books, and other Felony & Mayhem titles, please visit our website:
FelonyAndMayhem.com
Lover Page 31