Dead of Winter

by Rennie Airth

‘A special kind of criminal, you say? What do you mean, exactly?’

  ‘I mean a man who doesn’t fit into any of the categories we’re familiar with. Before last night all we could say about him with any certainty was that he was a cold-blooded killer; now we know he’s a thief as well. But he still doesn’t match the profile of any criminal we have on record. Not remotely. He seems to have appeared suddenly from nowhere, but that can’t be so. He must have a past.’

  Bennett grunted. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Let me see if I’ve got it straight … This whole business began with the murder of that Polish girl – am I right?’

  The chief inspector nodded.

  ‘Then there was the French prostitute … she was his next victim. Or so we assume?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Now you’re telling me he’s killed three men, one of them a notorious fence, shot them in cold blood, and in all probability stolen a large amount of money?’

  ‘That’s the sum of it, sir.’

  ‘Then I have only one question.’ Bennett eyed his colleague. Are you absolutely certain, beyond any reasonable doubt, that it’s the same man?’

  Sinclair let out a long sigh. His smile was rueful.

  ‘Until last night, I’m not sure how I would have answered that,’ he admitted. ‘Starting with the murder of Rosa Nowak, we’ve had difficulty making any sense of this. But things have changed since we last spoke. Clever as this man is, he seems to have made a mistake and it’s given us a lead of sorts, a foothold anyway. You recall the name Alfie Meeks, I’m sure?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Bennett nodded. ‘He came to your notice because he’d been looking for that French girl. I see he was among last night’s victims.’ He gestured towards the typed report lying on his desk.

  ‘It’s become clear now this man hired Meeks. We believe he was paid to seek out Florrie Desmoulins, for one thing, and to set up last night’s meeting for another.’

  ‘You say “clear”. But isn’t this merely supposition? How can you be so sure?’

  Sinclair had paused in his pacing, and before replying he seated himself in a chair in front of Bennett’s desk.

  ‘There’s been a new development, sir. It has to do with a sum of money that was found in Meeks’s pocket. Sixty pounds, to be exact. The bodies weren’t searched until quite late, after the pathologist had done with them, which explains why it’s not in the report you have.’

  ‘Sixty pounds?’ Bennett’s eyebrows went up. ‘A tidy sum. But why is it significant?’

  ‘Because rightly speaking, it shouldn’t have been there. Not in Alfie Meeks’s pocket. We already knew from the enquiries we’ve been making that when he came out of prison three months ago he was flat broke. Since then he’s been scratching a living out of a small stall he set up in an open-air market at Southwark. All he sold were cigarettes and the odd bottle of spirits: sixty pounds would have seemed like a fortune to him.’

  ‘And you think it was payment for services rendered?’

  ‘It’s hard to imagine where else it could have come from.’ Sinclair frowned. ‘But you have to put all the pieces together, sir, that’s when the picture becomes clear.’

  He shifted in his chair.

  ‘Meeks abandons his stall without warning and next thing he turns up in Soho looking for Florrie Desmoulins, whom he doesn’t know, incidentally, not even by name. A day or two later Florrie is murdered and when we start searching for Meeks we hear he’s been spotted in Holborn, not far from Leather Lane, which is where Solly Silverman had his jeweller’s shop. Styles and Grace are there now and I’ll wager they’ll be able to confirm that Meeks paid a call on Solly not long ago. And since we know for a fact he rented that room at the White Boar it’s reasonable to assume he also set up the meeting that took place last night. On instructions. Because whatever else, one thing at least is certain: Meeks wasn’t acting on his own account. He was being used. First used, then discarded.’

  Bennett had listened with a sombre expression, and when he spoke finally it was with a heavy frown.

  ‘You make a good case, Angus, and I won’t quibble with you. What was it you called this man – a special kind of criminal? I can think of some other names that might fit better, and I’ve no doubt some of them will occur to the popular press once they get hold of this, which will be soon enough. They like nothing better than a break from war news. Let’s see … how does the Grim Reaper strike you?’

  ‘As only too apt, sir.’ Sinclair smiled wanly. If there’s one common note in all these killings it’s the apparent ease with which this man deals with his victims. He seems born to it. In all my years I’ve never come across a criminal quite like him. Let me give you an example of what he’s capable of; you can judge for yourself.’

  The chief inspector’s smile had vanished while he was speaking; a scowl had taken its place.

  ‘The third man shot last night was Benny Costa. I take it you’re familiar with the name?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Bennett nodded. ‘We put him away twice, didn’t we? The last time for assault with a deadly weapon. It should have been attempted murder, but the prosecution felt their case wouldn’t hold up.’

  ‘Precisely. He was a dangerous individual: a strong-arm man, one of the few who was ready to use a gun if necessary. Among other things, he was often employed as a bodyguard – we know for a fact that Silverman used him in the past – and his reputation went before him. So long as you had Benny at your side with his sawn-off you had nothing to worry about. That’s how the legend went.’

  ‘I remember now. It was always a shotgun.’

  ‘Well, he had it with him last night, Costa did – he was lying on it – and he must have been ready to use it, because when they finally moved the bodies to take them away they found that not only was it loaded, no surprise there, but Benny had it cocked and his finger was on the trigger. He was primed, on his guard, but it didn’t do him any good. This man took him down – took Benny Costa down – and that tells us something.’

  Bennett had been studying the ceiling while he listened. Now he shrugged.

  ‘Well, so much for Costa. But I was surprised to see Silverman’s name in the report. I was under the impression he’d retired – from that line of business, at least.’

  ‘So he had, sir. And that’s another mystery we’ll have to unravel. As far as we know Solly hasn’t handled stolen goods for the past five years. The last job he was involved with was that burglary at Staines Manor just before the war: the Countess of Stanmore’s jewels. We almost had him then, but a key witness died on us and he got away with it. However, it seemed to have put a scare in him and his name hasn’t come up since.’

  ‘So why did Meeks approach him? Why not some other fence?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, and unfortunately it’s too late to ask him. But he may simply have been following orders.’

  ‘You mean this man, whoever he is, gave him Silverman’s name?’

  ‘It’s the likeliest answer, and if that’s what happened it would tie in with a theory I have – well, actually it’s an idea of Madden’s – that this killer may have been active abroad. In Europe. He thinks that whatever prompted this man to kill Rosa Nowak may have occurred sometime in the past.’

  ‘On the Continent. Before she arrived here … yes, I get your drift, Angus …’ Bennett’s frown deepened. ‘But how does that tie in with Silverman?’

  ‘Ah, well, this is where my theory turns into guesswork, but we know Solly had a partner abroad. It was one of the reasons why we were never able to charge him: he didn’t sell any of the stuff he fenced in this country. So if this man does have European connections he might have got hold of Silverman’s name that way.’

  ‘Yes, but since he wasn’t active any longer – Silverman, I mean – what was he doing in Wapping last night?’

  ‘Again, I can only guess.’ Sinclair shrugged. ‘But off the top of my head I’d say he was made an offer he couldn’t ref
use. And since it’s Silverman we’re talking about, I’ll stick my neck out and say it involved sparklers – diamonds most likely. They were always his speciality; and he did have a jeweller’s loupe on him.’ The chief inspector frowned. ‘The trouble is, there’s nothing on the current list of stolen gems, nor in the recent past, that fits the bill. Nothing that would get Solly Silverman out of his slippers and down to Wapping on a freezing winter’s night. So what was the bait, I wonder – because that’s what it was, I’m convinced. This man wanted to lure Solly down there with a large sum of money and he used Alfie Meeks for the purpose.’

  ‘And then killed them both, and Benny Costa into the bargain, to cover his tracks.’ Bennett growled. ‘You’re right,Angus. You must keep an eye on this. But only from your desk, mind. I don’t want to hear again that you’ve been gadding about.’ He wagged an admonishing finger. ‘Where do we go from here, then? What’s next?’

  ‘That rather depends on what Styles finds out this morning,’ Sinclair replied. ‘He and Grace will be talking to whoever’s in charge at Silverman’s shop. Wapping will take care of the crime scene. They’ll question the landlord again and see if they can get any names of customers out of him, those we didn’t interview last night. Cook’s going down to Southwark. We need to find out how this man came to pick on Meeks to do his dirty work, and the market where Alfie had his stall is a good place to start.’

  The chief inspector prepared to rise from his chair.

  ‘And what of your fair helper, Angus?’

  ‘My what, sir … ?’ In the act of getting up, Sinclair checked himself.

  ‘WPC Poole. This building is abuzz with rumours of her presence in your office. Is it a sign of things to come, I am asked.’ Bennett’s eye had taken on a roguish glint. The commissioner’s wondering the same, especially since he’s the one who lays down policy. He wants a report from you: an explanation of why you have decided to go outside established guidelines on staffing and employ this young woman in a job usually reserved for a member of the CID. In writing, that is.’

  ‘Sir, really …’ The chief inspector started to protest.

  ‘No, no, Angus. You must put pen to paper.’ The assistant commissioner rubbed his hands. I look forward to reading the results myself. In the meantime, though, if it’s not impolite to ask, just what is she doing for you?’

  ‘A good deal, as it happens.’ Nettled by this inquisition, Sinclair spoke sharply. ‘Up until yesterday evening she was going through a list supplied by the governor of Wormwood Scrubs, names of felons who were in prison at the same time as Alfie Meeks and with whom he would have come in contact, violent criminals, in case one of them might be the man we’re looking for. She spent all day yesterday checking their records.’

  ‘Without success, I imagine, or you would have told me?’

  ‘That’s true. But it was a job that had to be done.’

  ‘Excellent. Then I take it she can return to her normal duties now?’

  The assistant commissioner wasn’t done with his ribbing yet, but Sinclair had regained his poise and he rose with a smile and a shake of his head.

  ‘Not for the present, sir. There’s something else I want her to do: it’s equally important. As I said earlier, I’m increasingly of the opinion that if we’re going to pick up this man’s tracks anywhere it will be abroad. I’ve told Poole to get hold of the International Police Commission files. Since the war began they’ve been gathering dust in the basement, but I want her to go through them. There’s a chance we may discover some trace of him there.’

  His instructions to the young policewoman a little earlier had been more precise. Finding her already at her desk when he’d arrived that morning, he had called her into his office. Bennett’s summons, brought by hand, lay on his blotter, but he had delayed some minutes to explain exactly what it was he required of her.

  ‘This is an area of policing you’re probably not familiar with, though I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Before the war the commission acted as a clearing house for its members. It enabled them to communicate with one another easily and also kept a register of certain types of offenders, mainly sexual, who had a tendency to move about from one country to another. Unfortunately it was based in Vienna and staffed by Austrian police officers, so the war brought a halt to all cooperation. Nevertheless, we have copious files dating back years, which include routine advisories sent out by the commission to all its members dealing with crimes that might involve more than one country – fraud, for example – but also requesting information about criminals who were being sought. It’s these I want you to look at carefully.’

  Standing stiffly before his desk, Poole had received her orders in silence, but her eagerness had been palpable and the chief inspector was put in mind of a greyhound trembling in the traps, poised to be off.

  ‘Before you go down to records, though, I want you to read this.’

  A copy of the same report Bennett had secured from registry had already been delivered to Sinclair’s desk and he handed it to Poole.

  ‘It’s an account of the shooting in Wapping last night. Study it carefully. I’m convinced this man we’re seeking is an experienced criminal, and it would be strange if he hadn’t left his mark elsewhere. It appears he’s also a thief, and the presence of a well-known fence at this get-together suggests that jewellery might have been his line. Keep all these factors in mind when you go through the files. Look for similarities.’

  At least one of the chief inspector’s assumptions was confirmed a little later when Billy Styles with Grace in tow returned from their visit to Solly Silverman’s shop in Holborn. The two detectives had been waiting there when Silverman’s sole employee, a middle-aged woman named Mrs Delgado, arrived to open the store.

  ‘She went to pieces when she heard what had happened, sir,’ Billy told him. ‘It was genuine shock. And when we told her what Solly had been up to in his wicked past she threw another fit. I don’t think she had the first idea what sort of bloke he was. Or had been. Mind you, if we’re right about him and he’s been straight since before the war, that would make sense. She’s only worked there for the past two years.’

  Their experience the night before had left its mark on both detectives, whose drawn faces showed signs of fatigue and lack of sleep, and Sinclair had Poole bring in an extra chair from next door so that they could sit down and then ordered the young officer to remain while they made their report.

  Once she’d collected herself, Billy told him, Silverman’s employee had proved to be a good witness with a memory for details. She had confirmed Alfie Meeks’s visit four days earlier – he had used his own name – and recalled that he’d asked to see Silverman ‘on a matter of business’.

  ‘According to her, Solly used to spend most of the day in his office at the back of the shop. He’d only appear if he was needed. When she told him about Meeks wanting to see him he took a look at Alfie through his peephole and instructed her to get rid of him.’

  ‘Do you think Silverman recognized him?’ Sinclair asked.

  ‘I doubt it, sir. Alfie Meeks wasn’t in his league: I’d be surprised if their paths ever crossed. But he probably spotted him for what he was and didn’t want him on the premises. Anyway, Mrs Delgado went back with the message, but instead of shoving off Alfie produced a small velvet box – the kind you keep a piece of jewellery in – and asked her to show it to Silverman. Said if he still wasn’t interested he’d leave. So she did that, went back into the office and gave it to Solly, who told her to wait outside.’

  Billy grinned. ‘I don’t know what was in the box – Mrs Delgado says she didn’t look – but whatever it was it made Solly change his mind. He had her send Meeks in and they spent the next twenty minutes together, and when Alfie left, Mrs Delgado said he was looking pleased with himself. Like a cat that had swallowed a canary was how she put it.’

  ‘So …’ Sinclair sat back in his chair, fingers laced across his stomach. ‘It looks as though Meeks had a piece
of jewellery to show Solly. Something calculated to capture his interest. But there must have been more to it than that.’ He looked for confirmation to Billy, who nodded.

  ‘That’s what we thought. Meeks must have been showing him a sample of the goods on offer. Then Grace had an idea …’ He turned to his colleague, who’d been sitting silent in his chair beside him. ‘Go ahead, Joe. Show the chief inspector what you’ve come up with.’

  With seeming reluctance, Grace gathered himself. Never one to seek the approval of others, his harsh manner had antagonized many over the years and promotion had been slow in coming. But none questioned his sharpness, and Billy was among those who had learned to turn a blind eye to those traits of his personality, including a sheer bloody-mindedness, which had made him a burden to many of his superiors.

  ‘It was something I found in Solly’s wallet last night, sir.’ Grace spoke gruffly. ‘It didn’t mean much at the time. Just some sort of list with figures and letters. But after what we heard at the shop today it gave me an idea, and Mr Styles and I went by forensic to collect it on our way here.’

  He passed a folded sheet of paper across the desk to Sinclair, getting to his feet as he did so.

  ‘We reckon it’s a list of jewels. Stones. Diamonds, maybe.’

  Grace twisted his head to squint at the paper upside down as the chief inspector unfolded it and Sinclair beckoned him round the desk.

  ‘Show me what you mean,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a column of numbers – ’Grace pointed – ‘with ct after each, which must be carats, and then some other stuff, letters that don’t make much sense, but might be descriptions of the stones.’

  He bent over Sinclair’s shoulder as the latter emitted a humming sound, his eye running up and down the neatly penned column.

  ‘Eight, ten, twelve … there’s one of twenty-five carats at the end of the list. That’s a fair-sized stone.’ The chief inspector grunted. ‘A score in all. If they’re good-quality diamonds they’d be worth a pretty penny. So you think this is what brought Solly down to Wapping with his loupe in his pocket?’