Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane

by Harry Bowling

  Well, things were going to change, Frank vowed. They would have to. The business was going through a bad spell and a couple of lucrative contracts had been lost to that Tanner woman. She was proving to be a thorn in his side and it was causing him problems with the old man. Lowering the contract rates was the only answer if they were to stay in business but his father would not hear of it. He seemed to think they could ride the storm but he was wrong. Their rates had remained static while most of the other transport firms in the area had lowered theirs and competed for contracts with a considerable advantage. The trouble was, the old boy was living in the past. The silly old fool would be the undoing of them all, Frank thought, sighing deeply as he pushed open the door of the Crown saloon bar.

  ‘Evening, Frank. What’s it to be?’

  Frank smiled briefly at the thick-set man at the counter. ‘I’ll have a large brandy, Theo,’ he replied, leaning languidly against the bar rail.

  Theobald Harrison collected the drinks and nodded towards the far corner of the bar. ‘Let’s take a seat, Frank,’ he said.

  The two men sat together in the comfortably furnished bar talking in low voices, occasionally casting furtive glances around the room.

  ‘Well, it all seems to be under control,’ Frank said, taking a swig from his glass and looking with sly amusement at Theo’s prominent, staring eyes. There’s something wrong with that man’s brain, he thought to himself. ‘How did it go with the assessors?’

  ‘Fine. They queried a few figures and haggled about that old stitcher, but they could see it was beyond repair,’ Theo replied, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. ‘They didn’t query the stocks though. I should come out all right, though it’ll be some time before they pay out. We’ve got to get the trial over first.’

  ‘I don’t see there’s anything to worry about,’ Frank said, toying with his glass. ‘That bitch is going to see the inside of Holloway, I’m certain of it.’

  The owner of the rag sorters took a swig from his glass and pulled a face as the spirit burned his throat. ‘She’s brought it on herself,’ he growled, a glint of hideous glee growing in his big glassy eyes. ‘Her sort deserve all they get.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be glad to see the back of her,’ Frank said vehemently. ‘She’s caused us more trouble than enough, and she’s cost us money too. I wouldn’t mind betting it was that Bolshie bitch who enticed young Robins away. The little rat’s working for Will Tanner’s girl now. As a matter of fact one of my carmen has seen Roffey going into Bradleys’ yard on a couple of occasions. It doesn’t need much working out, Theo.’

  The two businessmen sat talking together for another hour, then Theo made to leave. ‘Now are you sure that stitcher of mine won’t be in your way?’ he asked. ‘I can’t take it back until everything’s settled and you know it might take some time.’

  ‘There’s no urgency and it’ll be quite safe, I’ve got it stored away,’ Frank replied.

  After Theo had left Frank Galloway ordered another drink. There was still an hour to go before Peggy arrived, he thought. Better not talk to her here though. Theo might have a few friends who used the Crown.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The trial of Ellie Roffey began on a foggy November morning, and amongst the people sitting in the public gallery were some of her friends from Page Street. Carrie and her ageing father were there and sat solemn-faced beside Florrie Axford and Maisie Dougall as the defendant entered the dock looking pale and drawn. Ellie wore a loose-fitting grey coat, which seemed to accentuate her wan complexion, and her black hair was curled and set in a quiff over one eye. Beneath the coat she was wearing a royal blue blouse, buttoned high in the neck, and a grey skirt and high-heeled shoes to match.

  Carrie looked down on the members of the jury and glanced over at the bewigged judge, then her eyes fixed on Ellie Roffey. ‘Doesn’t she look ill?’ she whispered to Florrie.

  The old lady nodded and wondered whether or not she should get out her snuffbox. ‘D’yer fink it’ll be all right if I ’ave a pinch?’ she asked.

  ‘I should fink so,’ Carrie answered, hoping the elderly woman would be able to contain her usual loud sneeze.

  The prosecuting counsel was addressing the jury. He was a huge man and he held on to the lapel of his black gown and looked over his wire-rimmed spectacles as he sought to impress upon the twelve the severity of the charge. Ellie looked impassive, occasionally glancing up at the high bench then looking down at her hands which gripped the brass rail in front of her. The first witness was called and there was a murmur from the gallery as a well-built young man with dark wavy hair and a tight-fitting, check suit entered the witness box.

  After taking the oath in a loud voice he shrugged his shoulders confidently as the prosecutor approached him.

  ‘You are Derek John Talbot, and you lodge at number twelve Corporation Street?’

  The witness nodded and the judge immediately grunted loudly. ‘Will you please answer yes or no?’ he commanded.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Talbot replied.

  The prosecutor looked over his spectacles. ‘Will you please tell the jury what you were doing at seven o’ clock on the evening of the fifth of July this year?’

  Talbot shrugged his shoulders and glanced towards the jury. ‘I was walkin’ down Page Street.’

  ‘And why were you walking down Page Street?’

  ‘I was comin’ from the pub an’ I was gonna see me pal in Bacon Buildin’s,’ he replied.

  ‘And did you see your, eh, pal?’ the prosecutor asked.

  ‘Nah. ’E’d moved.’

  The counsel for the prosecution leaned forward and picked up a sheaf of papers from the table, studying them briefly before throwing them down again. ‘Will you tell the jury what you did see that evening, Mr Talbot?’ he requested.

  Talbot looked a little uneasy as he glanced from the staring jurymen to the judge and back to the prosecutor. ‘I saw Ellie Roffey unlockin’ the gate of the rag sorters an’ I saw ’er go in,’ he said.

  Ellie’s eyes went up to the high ceiling briefly and then she dropped her gaze once more. There was mumbling among members of the public and the judge turned his stern gaze to the gallery. The large hall became silent except for a muffled coughing and then a sudden loud sneeze.

  ‘I want you to take a look at the defendant, Mr Talbot,’ the prosecutor told him. ‘Is that the woman you saw letting herself in the rag sorters?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell us what happened next, Mr Talbot.’

  ‘Well, like I say, my pal wasn’t in the Buildin’s, so I stood on the corner o’ Page Street fer a while finkin’,’ Talbot went on. ‘Then I see Ellie Roffey walkin’ up the street, quickly like.’

  ‘Coming towards you?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘Which direction did she take then?’

  ‘She turned right an’ walked up Bacon Street ter the main road.’

  The prosecutor studied the notes briefly and then rocked back on his heels with both hands clasping the front of his robe. ‘What did you do next, Mr Talbot?’ he asked in a loud voice.

  The young man shrugged again. ‘I strolled back towards the pub an’ . . .’

  ‘The Kings Arms on the corner of Page Street, you mean?’ the counsel queried.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Well I saw the smoke comin’ from the rag sorters,’ Talbot replied.

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I jus’ walked off.’

  ‘I see,’ the prosecutor said, nodding and then glancing quickly at the jury as he asked, ‘You did not attempt to call the fire brigade?’

  ‘I would ’ave done, but I ’eard an ole lady say one o’ the men ’ad already run up ter the pub ter phone fer the fire engines,’ Talbot answered.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Talbot,’ the prosecuting counsel said, glancing to the bench.

  ‘Do you wish to cross-examine?’ the judge asked,
eyeing the defence counsel.

  A short, stocky figure stood up and cleared his throat as he made his way to the witness box. ‘Mr Talbot, I understand that you know Mrs Ellie Roffey. Is that correct?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  Talbot nodded and was again addressed firmly by the judge. ‘You must answer yes or no,’ he said in a tired voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you tell the jury how you came to be acquainted with the defendant, Mr Talbot?’ the counsel asked.

  ‘She used to ’ave a veg stall in Albion Market near Dock’ead,’ Talbot replied.

  ‘And you also had a stall in that market, Mr Talbot?’

  ‘Nah, it wasn’t mine. I only ’elped out on it,’ he replied.

  ‘I see. And were you friendly with the defendant, Mr Talbot?’

  ‘Objection, your honour!’ the prosecutor interrupted. ‘My learned friend is attempting to lead the witness.’

  ‘Overruled,’ the judge replied.

  The defending counsel brought his clasped hands up in front of his chest. ‘Were you friendly with the defendant?’ he asked in a louder voicer.

  ‘Nah. She was a troublemaker,’ Talbot replied. ‘She was always goin’ on about the ’igh rents fer the stalls.’

  ‘And you felt that Mrs Roffey was unreasonable in challenging the rents, in your enlightened opinion of course?’

  ‘Objection!’

  The judge looked irritably at the prosecutor. ‘The line of questioning seems to me to be quite in order. Overruled,’ he growled.

  The defending counsel smiled at the jury then turned to the witness. ‘Did you feel in your opinion that Mrs Roffey was unreasonable in complaining about the excessively high rents?’ he asked.

  ‘She was always complainin’ about somefink or the ovver,’ Talbot replied, glancing at the jury. ‘She was known as a Bolshie troublemaker an’ all the ovver stall’olders was sick of ’er.’

  The defending counsel took a hold of his lapel and cleared his throat once more. ‘All of the other stallholders?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘That will be all, Mr Talbot.’

  The next witness to be called was Theo Harrison, and when he stepped into the witness box to take the oath he looked flushed. In answer to the prosecutor’s prompting he described how he had spent the late afternoon supervising the blocking-up of suspect holes in the yard following complaints about rats coming from his premises and then at six o’clock that evening he had locked up the yard and gone home, after first stopping off at the Horseshoe public house in Jamaica Road where he stayed until seven-thirty.

  The counsel then asked about the visit to the yard by the women of Page Street. ‘The defendant was putting forward the women’s complaints about the rats, I take it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where did this meeting take place?’

  ‘In the yard office.’

  ‘Did you leave the women alone in the office at all during the meeting?’

  ‘Yes. I was called out during the meeting to sort out a problem.’

  ‘For how long were the women left alone in the office?’

  ‘About five minutes.’

  ‘Five minutes?’

  ‘It might have been a little longer.’

  ‘I see. And at any time during that meeting were there threats made to burn down your property?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you enlighten us, Mr Harrison?’ the prosecutor asked.

  ‘Mrs Roffey said that if we didn’t get rid of the rats she was going to burn the place down herself,’ Harrison replied.

  ‘Did you tell her that you were doing your best to sort out the problem, Mr Harrison?’

  ‘Yes. I assured her, and the women, that I was doing all I could to get rid of the rodents,’ he replied.

  ‘Was that the last time you had any communication with the accused?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you did not send a note around to Mrs Roffey’s house requesting her to meet you at the yard that evening?’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  The prosecutor then handed him a sheet of paper. ‘This is the note Mrs Roffey received. Is this your handwriting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you did not send this note?’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Harrison.’

  The defending counsel then took up his questioning. ‘You stated that threats were made to you during the meeting with the Page Street women and the accused?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Apart from the women and yourself, were there any other persons present in the office at the time?’

  ‘No, but . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Harrison, that will be all.’

  The next witness was an employee of the rag sorters’. He was a tall, bespectacled man in his late fifties, and he stated on oath that he had heard Ellie Roffey threaten to set fire to the yard.

  As he gave his evidence Florrie shook her head sadly. ‘The poor cow don’t stand a chance,’ she told Carrie. ‘She’ll go away fer sure.’

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ Carrie replied, though she felt that it looked very bad for the woman.

  Worse was to come. A fire officer took the stand and identified an exhibit, a black and twisted paraffin lamp which he stated was the object he had retrieved from the end shed after the blaze had been brought under control.

  The last of the prosecution witnesses took the stand as the clock neared twelve noon. Detective Sergeant Bolton was shown an exhibit which he identified as the object he had discovered while making a detailed search of Ellie Roffey’s home.

  ‘What exactly is this item?’ the prosecutor asked him.

  ‘It’s cuttle-bone.’

  ‘And what is its use?’

  ‘Under normal circumstances it would be placed in a bird cage to assist in sharpening a bird’s beak,’ the officer replied.

  ‘Under normal circumstances?’ the counsel queried.

  The officer looked bored as he went on. ‘Yes, but in this instance there was no sign of a bird cage in the premises we searched,’ he said.

  The murmur in the public gallery increased to a noisy chatter and the judge banged his gavel down hard. ‘Silence in the court!’ he ordered.

  The prosecutor smiled briefly at the jury and then turned his attention to the witness. ‘In the light of your experience as a police officer, would you hazard a guess as to what other use this piece of cuttle-bone might be put to?’ he asked.

  The detective looked up at the bench. ‘Cuttle-bone is often used by criminals to obtain the impression of a key, your honour,’ he replied.

  Once again the judge was compelled to call for order and this time he threatened to clear the court if there was any further noise.

  When the court went into the lunchtime recess Florrie took Carrie’s arm, and with Will Tanner following them down the long flight of stairs holding on to Maisie’s arm they made their way out into the swirling fog. A short distance along the wide Borough Road they found a little public house and when they were settled comfortably William started the conversation. ‘Well, I wouldn’t give much fer Ellie’s chances now,’ he said, staring down at his pint of ale.

  ‘We ain’t ’eard the ovver side of it yet,’ Florrie said quickly. ‘As fer that cuttle-bone, she could ’ave ’ad a bird once. Anyway, what did they ’ave ter search ’er place for?’

  ‘I s’pose they ’ad ter do a search,’ William replied. ‘After all, it’s a serious crime is arson.’