‘I did, and she stole the rest.’ David gave Gertie a contemptuous look. ‘Bloody tart wanted every penny I had and she got it. Cleaned me out last night. Took my wallet, my train tickets, and almost a quid –’
‘No swearing now, boy,’ the constable admonished, ‘or we’ll have to charge you with using indecent language as well as running a book. As for your wallet, you got any proof the lady took it?’
‘She was with me in Barry Island. We quarrelled, I left her and when I got to the station it was gone.’
‘You walked through the fairground? Pushed your way through the crowds?’
‘It was crowded there,’ David admitted.
‘Then any one of a hundred people could have taken your wallet. Did you report it stolen to the police in Barry?’
‘What was the point?’ David asked.
‘The point is we often get the wallets back. Not the contents, just the wallets. They can incriminate a thief. Give me a description?’
‘Black, calfskin. Two pockets at the back for notes, there was ten bob in it, and about another eight or nine shillings in a button down pocket for change.’
‘Any distinguishing marks?’
‘My initials, D.E., in gold in the bottom left-hand corner. It was a present,’ David said defensively.
‘We’ll send the description to Barry the next time we contact them. You never know, something might turn up. You got anything else you want to say in your defence?’ the middle-aged officer asked.
‘Just one thing.’ David handed him Aiden’s card, which he always kept in the top pocket of his shirt. ‘I want my attorney.’
‘We don’t have those, but one of us will go down and get Mr Aiden Collins, if that’s who you want to see, boy. But now it’s time to introduce you to the delights of our Maria Street station and the cells.’
‘You’re not putting me in no cell,’ Gertie screamed.
‘We don’t put witnesses in the cells, Gertie,’ the officer said cheerfully. ‘They get nice comfortable interview rooms, with tea and ciggies on tap so they can tell us everything they know. Like who exactly put you up to shopping this boy.’
Judy woke to see Aled standing next to the bed in a white bathrobe. His hair and face were wet and he was holding out the largest and thickest white towel she had ever seen. ‘I thought you might like a bath, so I ran you one.’
‘Thank you,’ Judy folded back the bedclothes and blanched. ‘I’m sorry, there’s blood on the sheets …’
‘Don’t concern yourself. I’ll telephone housekeeping, they’ll come up and change the bed.’
‘Then they’ll know –’
‘One of the reasons I live in an expensive hotel is to buy discretion. Here.’ He wrapped the towel around her and held her close. ‘Thank you, that was a very nice after-lunch interlude.’ He kissed her and pushed her gently towards the bathroom door. ‘Bath salts are in a blue and gold jar on the windows sill. I’ll be in to wash your back …’
‘Don’t you dare. What if someone comes and sees you?’
‘One, no one can get into the suite unless I allow them to. And two, after what we’ve just done there can’t be any modesty between us, can there?’
‘No,’ she said cautiously, ‘I suppose there can’t.’
‘There’s tooth powder and new toothbrushes in the cabinet.’ He picked up her handbag and handed it to her. ‘Presumably you’ll need your hairbrush, cosmetics, and perfume.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll leave your clothes on the chair.’ He slicked back his wet hair with a comb.
She started, dropping her handbag. ‘Was that a knock at the door?’
‘It was, but the outside door.’
‘The hotel staff know I’m still here …’
‘I told you, I pay for their discretion. Go into the bathroom. Lock the door. I’ll deal with this.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
Whoever was at the door knocked a second time. ‘You’re in a dressing gown in the middle of the day, Aled.’
‘I have been known to take a bath in the afternoon and even sleep when I’m tired. But I have never been known to explain myself to anyone.’ He left the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Judy listened at the door for a moment, heard Aiden’s distinctive voice, and did as Aled had suggested.
The first indoor bathroom Judy had ever used was the small downstairs one in Edyth’s house and it was positively utilitarian compared to the luxurious brass fittings, mahogany dados, and thick white-tiled splendour of Aled’s. She found the jar of salts he had mentioned and added a handful of the turquoise crystals to the water. The room was immediately filled with the scent of violets. She dropped the towel, stepped into the warm water, and slid down, luxuriating as the warmth stole through her body.
She lay back and closed her eyes. Aled had been so gentle – so practised – she realised. But she could hardly expect a man like him to be as innocent as her. And it was only now, when she relived every kiss, every caress, and every tender touch, that she was acutely conscious that he hadn’t uttered one word of love. Not even a murmur that could be mistaken for one. But then she couldn’t imagine any of her uncles saying anything that they would have regarded as ‘soppy’ to her aunts, not even in their most private and passionate moments. Love wasn’t a word men used easily. But no man could make love to a woman the way Aled had to her and not feel something for her. Could he?
‘You’re sure about this?’ Aled asked Aiden.
‘I asked the constable who came to find me. He said that a rookie had been given information by one of Anna’s tarts, a young girl called Gertie. She’d even taken the rookie to the Mount Stuart to point out the bookie’s runner, so he wouldn’t arrest the wrong man.’
‘And the runner was David?’
‘Yes, and he was there at Freddie’s suggestion.’ Aiden looked at Freddie who was standing uneasily in front of the door, shifting his considerable weight from one leg to the other.
‘You told David to go to the Mount Stuart?’ Aled asked sternly.
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Why?’
‘Because this young girl came up to me and said she knew sailors who’d just come in and wanted to place some bets but couldn’t find any runners to place them with.’
‘Gertie?’ Aled asked.
‘Don’t know her name, boss. She was really young. Looked about fifteen. I thought she was straight …’
‘It’s not your fault, Freddie, but for future reference, don’t assume that anyone, man or woman or child, in the Bay is straight.’ Aled went to the telephone. ‘Aiden, you go down to Maria Street, see if you can find any of the coppers we know, and organise bail for David and any other of our boys they’ve picked up. I’ll call my solicitor and get him to meet you down there. Freddie, get the car.’
‘We going somewhere, boss?’
‘Yes,’ Aled said shortly. ‘To Anna Hughes’s house to ask Gertie exactly who put her up to wrecking our turf.’
David stood back as the officer unlocked one of the reinforced metal doors in the stone wall of a corridor that was studded with a dozen or more just like it. Humiliated and battered by a rough strip and body cavity search, and the confiscation of all his personal belongings, including his watch, cuff links, belt, shoelaces, and money, he felt totally demoralised. The constable yanked out the enormous bunch of keys and heaved the door open. He took a small key from a chain on his belt, unlocked the handcuffs from David’s wrists, and pushed him into the cell.
David shivered from more than the chill in the air when the door slammed shut behind him and the ratchets turned home. He blinked to adjust to the gloom. A narrow steel bench, six feet long, was secured by chains and bolts to the stone wall on his left. Ahead of him a set of metal bars fronted a strip of window that bordered the ceiling, but the glass beyond it was so thick with grime it was impossible to see anything except the dirt. He took a step forward. Behind th
e steel bunk stood a metal bucket with a lid. Then, he sensed he wasn’t alone.
He turned to his right. A second steel bench, identical to the first, was fastened to the wall opposite him. Two young men were sitting silently on it, two feet apart, their backs against the wall, their faces dull and expressionless. David recognised them: they had both been fellow students at Aiden’s ‘turf school’ in the White Hart.
David had never spoken to either of them but he found their presence reassuring after the casual, jocular brutality of the police officers.
He ventured, ‘Hello.’ When that drew no response he added, ‘How long have you been here?’
One man made a razor movement across his throat with his finger. His companion covered his mouth with his hand and pointed to the door. David nodded that he’d understood and sat on the empty bunk. He propped his back against the wall and the cold from the stone seeped through his suit jacket into his bones. Emotionally drained by the shock of his arrest, mortified by the process that had taken away every shred of his dignity, and terrified by what the immediate future might bring, it required more strength than he could muster to sit upright.
Somewhere, outside the door, he could hear a woman screaming and a man shouting. A drunk was singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, his voice wavering from an overdose of alcohol and emotion.
David had been locked up a dozen or so times in his life. Once in a workhouse ward when he’d had his younger brother, Matthew, and twenty other boys for company; and afterwards, when the workhouse had hired him out to a farmer who had imprisoned him in a cellar every night. Accustomed to the wide-open spaces and fresh air of the Breconshire hills, he had hated the loss of freedom and ever since, any kind of confinement made him feel physically ill. The cell wavered about him and his chest grew tight as he struggled to draw breath into his lungs.
Despite the cold, his skin burned and his mouth was dry. He unbuttoned his collar, breaking a stud in the process. It dropped to the flagstone floor with a rattle he was certain could be heard outside the cell but neither of his companions moved a muscle.
He stared up at the strip of light that was their only link to the outside world. While he was debating whether or not to walk over to it in the hope of seeing into the street, one of the men left the bench and walked to the bucket in the corner. He lifted the lid and a foul stench permeated the still, damp air.
Used to mucking out the cow sheds and pig sties on the farm, David still gagged. He tried to hold his breath. But the smell seeped into his nostrils, nauseating, polluting his lungs and mouth. He retched and turned his head sideways, spewing the beer and pie he had eaten in the pub on to the steel bunk.
The man sitting opposite him rose and hammered his fist on the door. A barred grill opened at eye level.
‘What’s the noise about?’ a gruff voice demanded.
‘Sick man in here.’
A few minutes later the door opened and a constable handed David a bucket and mop. ‘You made the mess, son, you clean it up.’
Trembling, weak and shaky, David staggered to his feet. He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. ‘How long am I going to be kept here?’
‘As long as it takes, boy.’
‘Have you sent for …’ David couldn’t remember what Aiden had called himself but he did recall that the police hadn’t been impressed by the American word. ‘Mr Aiden Collins?’
‘We’ve sent for him.’ The constable pointed to the mess David had made. ‘When you’ve finished, knock on the door. I’ll bring you a bowl of water so you can wash your face,’ he added, not unkindly.
David set about mopping the bench, which wasn’t easy. The mop had a long handle and it proved difficult to wield without hitting the walls. And the whole time he mopped, he felt faint and was forced to lean against the wall simply to remain upright.
His fellow cell mate finished using the bucket and replaced the lid. David wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination or if the stench really lingered in the air. His second companion had returned to his seat on the bunk and retreated back into his self-contained, uncommunicative state. The constable returned with a bowl of water. He dumped it on the bench David had finished cleaning.
‘No soap and towels, but the water’s cold.’
David plunged his head into it and ran his fingers through his dark curls, pushing them away from his face.
Another officer loomed in the doorway. He pointed to the man sitting on the bunk. ‘You, follow me.’
David went to the door.
‘Not you, boy.’ The constable who had given him the water pushed him back. ‘Your turn will come.’
‘Can I stand out here, just for a minute?’ David begged as he gulped in mouthfuls of air. The corridor stank of institution disinfectant but compared to the cell it was a rose garden.
‘Not even for a minute, boy.’ The officer placed the palm of his hand on David’s chest and pushed him back into the cell. David winced when he heard the key turn and the ratchet drop home again.
‘The worst sound in the world.’
David looked to his remaining companion.
‘The last time they caught me running a book I got six months’ hard labour.’
‘Six months!’ David didn’t even want to try to imagine being locked up for that long. ‘Mr James told me no runner of his had ever gone to gaol.’
‘Very probably that’s true.’ The man then made the same observation Judy had. ‘But then Aled James has never run a book in the jurisdiction of the Maria Street police station in Tiger Bay before.’
Swathed in the massive towel, Judy left the bathroom to find Aled still in his bathrobe, talking on the telephone. He saw her standing in the bedroom and closed the living-room door. Ten minutes later he walked into the bedroom and, oblivious to her embarrassment, stripped off his robe, and opened the wardrobe door.
‘I have to go out and I need the car. I’ll ask the desk clerk to order a taxi to take you back to Edyth Slater’s.’
‘I can walk,’ Judy protested.
‘You’ll take the taxi.’ He climbed into a clean set of underclothes and lifted out a linen shirt and her fur cape. ‘You’ll be wearing this.’ He tossed the cape on top of her clothes on the chair. ‘And it was you who told me that a pawnbroker would advance enough money on it to keep a family for six months. The last thing I need is for you to get attacked on your way home.’
‘People know me in the Bay. It’s the middle of the afternoon. My uncles –’
‘Taxi, or I’ll lock you in here,’ he threatened.
‘I’ll take the taxi.’
He sat on the bed and slipped his sock suspenders over his feet. ‘I like a woman who takes orders.’
‘That isn’t me,’ she began irritably, then she saw him frown. ‘Has something happened?’
He buttoned his shirt. ‘David Ellis has been arrested.’
‘David –’ Judy’s eyes rounded in horror. ‘For running a book?’
‘Yes.’
‘I begged him not to take the job.’
‘And you blame me for offering it to him?’ He flicked through his suits and chose a sober, dark grey pinstripe. Judy wanted to say no, but in all conscience couldn’t.
‘He’s only a boy …’
‘He’s the same age as you. When I was nineteen I was doing a lot worse than running a book. He wanted to make real money. I gave him the chance to earn it.’
‘Outside of the law,’ she reminded him bitterly.
‘The law’s an ass. No one can make the kind of money I’ve earned legally. And that goes for all our so-called “betters” from the local Welsh crache, to the kings, queens, lords, and ladies who put on airs and graces courtesy of their bulging bank accounts, wallets, castles, and great houses. All their wealth proves is that their ancestors were bigger and more successful thieves than our great-grandfathers were.’
She knew it might make Aled angry but she still had to ask the question uppermost in her mind. ‘Have you ever gon
e to gaol?’
‘No, but I would have if I’d stayed in America.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Stopped short of murder. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had to leave.’ He flicked through his ties and pulled down a plain grey silk from the rack.
Judy was shocked at Aled’s frank admission, but she summoned the courage to ask one more question. ‘Will David go to gaol?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ He sat on the bed, pulled up his socks, clipped them on to his sock suspenders and began lacing his shoes. ‘Aiden said the police picked up David and two other runners who were working for him.’
‘Don’t you mean for you?’
‘The turf’s Aiden’s sideline. I bankroll it and take a cut, but he runs it.’ He stepped into his trousers and buttoned his braces on to the waistband.
‘If you put up the money, the business is yours.’
‘I have no intention of arguing the point with you. But I will say this much: David and the others should never have been arrested. I paid the man at the top a great deal of money to make sure the local bobbies turned a blind eye to their activities.’ He looked at her keenly. ‘Who ran the book before I arrived?’
When she didn’t answer him, he said, ‘You must know. Your Uncle Tony likes a gamble even if your other two uncles don’t. There must have been times when he asked you kids to put money on a horse for him.’
‘He always used to send us to John or Tom Smith. They’re both Charlie Moore’s men.’
‘You really think Charlie was behind the runners?’ He shrugged on his waistcoat and buttoned it.
‘That’s what everyone on the Bay says.’
‘I’m not so sure, I’ve met the man and he’s an idiot.’ He picked up his wallet, lighter and cigar case from the dresser.
‘He’s hateful.’ Judy shuddered.
‘You’ve met him?’ he asked in surprise.
‘He attacked me once, in a cloakroom when the band was playing at a private party. If Edyth hadn’t come along when she had, he would have raped me.’
He reached out and stroked the side of her face. ‘I’m glad he didn’t, because violence would have changed you. And we might never have been able to enjoy this afternoon.’
Tiger Ragtime Page 32