A Bespoke Murder

by Edward Marston

  Stone blenched. ‘Is that true? Ours is the only one?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Keedy was not pleased to see him. He had simply come to take stock of the damage and to see if there were any clues that pointed to the culprits. Unhappily, there were none so far. A man walking his dog reported seeing a lorry driving away at high speed but it could not definitely be connected with the blaze. Detectives were still going from house to house in the vicinity in search of potential witnesses.

  Stone clearly took an almost proprietorial interest in the synagogue and, judging by the way the two men talked together earlier, he seemed to be an intimate friend of Rabbi Hirsch. Since he could not avoid speaking to Stone, Keedy took advantage of the opportunity to question him.

  ‘I understand that you had more than a passing interest in your brother’s business affairs,’ he said. ‘Is that true, sir?’

  Stone’s jaw tightened. ‘What if it is?’

  ‘You even had some say in who was employed there.’

  ‘Jacob always turned to me for advice.’

  ‘It was rather more than advice, Mr Stone. When I interviewed Howard Fine, he told me that you’d dismissed him in person.’

  ‘He should have gone much sooner,’ said Stone with disdain.

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He did not belong, Sergeant.’

  ‘Your brother apparently thought he did.’

  ‘He was the only one who did. Fine was a disruptive influence.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Keedy, surprised. ‘He struck me as a rather harmless and inoffensive fellow.’

  ‘You didn’t have to work alongside him.’

  ‘Neither did you, sir.’

  ‘I picked up the vibrations from the other members of staff,’ said Stone, bristling. ‘Burridge loathed him and – though he was far too well bred to voice his concerns – so did Mr Cohen, the manager. Howard Fine was a mistake. That’s why I sent him on his way.’

  ‘Do you think that he could be vindictive?’

  Stone glared. ‘His type often can be.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by “his type”?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘I leave you to guess. But if you’re asking if he should be treated as a possible suspect, the answer is no. Howard Fine wouldn’t have the guts to seek revenge,’ said Stone, contemptuously. ‘As far as I was concerned, his departure was a case of good riddance to bad rubbish.’

  ‘Yet he was able to find employment almost immediately.’

  ‘Then he’s someone else’s problem now.’

  Keedy was puzzled. When he’d spoken to Fine, there’d been no hint of vengefulness in the man. He’d accepted his dismissal and found more amenable work elsewhere. Evidently, there had been a deeper rift in the Jermyn Street shop than the tailor had indicated. What had actually happened during his time there, and why was Stone showing such animosity towards a man with whom he hardly ever came into contact? What had Howard Fine done to upset him?

  Stone shifted the conversation to another former employee.

  ‘You’re going to ask me about Burridge next, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I might as well tell you that I wasn’t sorry to see him go. That was no reflection on his work, mind you – it was exceptional. But his manner could be abrasive,’ said Stone. ‘He was respectful towards me and my brother, of course, but Mr Cohen had difficulties with him.’

  ‘Did he complain about them?’

  ‘No, Sergeant – David Cohen wouldn’t do that. He never told tales. He believed in settling differences by means of tact and diplomacy.’

  ‘According to the inspector,’ said Keedy, ‘Cyril Burridge was far from being either tactful or diplomatic. In fact, the wonder is that he lasted so long in your brother’s shop.’

  ‘He had his virtues,’ conceded Stone, ‘and he knew how to keep his head down whenever Jacob and I were about. When he was given his notice, however, he told me precisely what he thought of me and he didn’t mince his words.’ He smiled, darkly. ‘My back is broad,’ he boasted. ‘Insults like that just bounce off me.’

  Keedy wanted to pursue the topic but the rabbi was beckoning Stone over to him. The sergeant managed to get in one more question.

  ‘How is your niece bearing up, sir?’

  ‘Not too well,’ admitted Stone. ‘Ruth is still reeling from what happened to her and to her father. She’s still very fearful.’

  ‘There’s no need to be,’ said Keedy. ‘Gatliffe would never dare to go anywhere near her and Cochran is safely locked up in prison. She has nothing to fear from either of them.’

  When the telephone call came, Sir Edward Henry was as annoyed as he was disturbed. After ridding himself of some biting criticism, he left the room and headed down the corridor to Harvey Marmion’s office. He knocked on the door then let himself in. Seated behind his desk, Marmion looked up from the report he was studying. He could see from the commissioner’s expression that something dramatic had occurred.

  ‘What’s the trouble, Sir Edward?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve just had a phone call from the Home Office.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The staff at Wandsworth can’t do their job properly.’

  Marmion understood. ‘Oliver Cochran?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Somehow – God knows how – he’s managed to escape and is on the run.’

  Major Raymond Marmion was such an irregular visitor to the house that Ellen always made a fuss of him when he did turn up. He had called in that afternoon to borrow his brother’s lawnmower and was immediately pressed to have tea, sandwiches and a slice of homemade chocolate cake. To someone who deliberately led a fairly spartan existence, it was a rare moment of indulgence for him.

  ‘Since I joined the Army,’ he said, relishing the cake, ‘I’ve had to make far more tea than I ever have chance to drink. I just get so much more pleasure out of satisfying the needs of others.’

  ‘You’re a saint, Ray.’

  ‘We don’t believe in canonisation.’

  ‘Well, you should do.’ Ellen cut herself a slice of cake. ‘I hear that Alice came to see you to discuss this mad idea she has of joining the Women’s Emergency Corps.’

  He was more tolerant. ‘Is it such a mad idea, Ellen?’

  ‘We think so. Alice has a profession to follow.’

  ‘She feels that she wishes to help the war effort.’

  ‘Is that what you advised?’

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’d never try to tell Alice what to do. I merely provided a pair of ears so that she could go through the pros and cons. She’s well aware of the disadvantages of the scheme, so it’s not an easy decision. It partly depends on this friend who teaches at the same school.’

  ‘Her name is Vera Dowling. She’s a rather timid creature.’

  ‘Miss Dowling is ready to follow Alice’s lead, it seems, but she’s getting impatient. Alice thinks that her friend may get fed up with waiting and will volunteer even if she has to do it on her own.’

  Ellen did not like the sound of that. Vera Dowling was a young woman who needed someone else to tell her what to do. If she was suddenly deciding to take independent action, it would act as a spur to Alice and that was worrying. Ellen tried to explain why she and her husband opposed the notion. Raymond listened with his customary patience and attention, making sure that he didn’t take sides. It was important for his sister-in-law to air her grievances so he let her talk uninterrupted.

  Barely a minute after Ellen had finally reached the end of her peroration, they heard the front door being opened. Alice had come home from school. At the sight of her uncle, she grinned broadly and rushed to embrace him. Then she looked at her mother and back again at Raymond.

  ‘Something’s been going on,’ she said, suspiciously. ‘I sense a conspiratorial air in this kitchen.’

  Raymond held up both hands. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said. ‘I only came to borrow your father’s lawnmower.’

  ‘You’d better wear
ear plugs when you use it, Uncle Ray. It makes the most terrible clanking noise.’

  ‘I can put up with that.’

  Alice saw the cake. ‘I wouldn’t mind a slice of that, Mummy.’

  ‘I’ll make a fresh pot of tea,’ said Ellen.

  ‘Thank you. Then you can tell me what you were saying about me before I came in.’

  ‘You weren’t even mentioned, Alice.’

  ‘Then why is there such an atmosphere?’

  Ellen clicked her tongue. ‘You’re imagining things.’

  While her mother went to the sink to fill the kettle, Alice turned to her uncle. Honest by nature, her uncle would never dissemble. He anticipated her question and sought to divert it.

  ‘You were the subject of discussion, Alice,’ he told her, ‘when I had an unexpected visitor yesterday.’

  ‘Oh – who was that?’

  ‘Sergeant Joe Keedy.’

  ‘Why did he come to see you, Uncle Ray?’

  ‘He knows how long I’ve worked in the East End and how closely I’ve watched the activities of dissident elements in the area. We often have to pick up the pieces afterwards, you see. I was able to help him with a list of names.’

  ‘And you talked to him about me?’

  ‘Let’s say that your name came into the conversation.’

  Alice was curious. ‘What did Joe have to say?’

  ‘It’s not what he had to say but the way that he said it.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘You’ve made something of a conquest, Alice.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said with a touch of sadness. ‘Joe is only interested in his girlfriend. She’s a nurse, apparently, and she’s gone to Flanders to work in a dressing station.’

  ‘I can only tell you what I heard,’ said Raymond.

  ‘And what was that?’ asked Ellen, lighting the gas.

  ‘I heard a man who is extremely fond of my lovely niece.’

  Alice was pleased. ‘Did he say that in so many words?’

  ‘He didn’t need to,’ explained Raymond. ‘It was the way that Joe said your name. That’s what gave him away.’

  It was encouraging news but Alice was not quite sure how to take it. While she was delighted to have made a good impression on Keedy, she was critical of him for taking an interest in her when his affections were already engaged elsewhere. Her own feelings about him had not changed – Alice still thought him a handsome, engaging and thoroughly mature man. That put him streets ahead of any of her other admirers. Yet he was unavailable. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Keedy was already spoken for and she had to respect that fact. When she came out of her reverie, she saw that her mother was offering her a slice of cake on a plate.

  ‘Oh,’ said Alice, taking it from her, ‘thank you, Mummy.’ She had a first bite of the cake before announcing her decision. ‘By the way, Vera and I have made up our minds at last.’

  Ellen braced herself. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes – we’re going to join the WEC.’

  As soon as Keedy entered Scotland Yard, he saw Marmion coming towards him with a sense of urgency. Instead of being able to report on his visit to the synagogue, the sergeant was turned round and bundled into a waiting car. Marmion settled in beside him and the vehicle set off.

  ‘Oliver Cochran has escaped,’ he said.

  Keedy gaped. ‘How the hell did he do that?’

  ‘Let’s worry about that when we have him under lock and key. We have to catch him as soon as possible, Joe. If this gets into the press, they’ll start asking about the offence with which he’s charged and Ruth Stein’s name may be leaked.’

  ‘We must stop that happening, Inspector. I’ve just spoken to her uncle. The girl is still struggling badly. The last thing she needs is to see her name all over the newspapers. What’s the situation?’

  ‘We’ve launched a manhunt. Cochran won’t get far.’

  ‘He’s young and strong. If he’s clever enough to escape from Wandsworth, he could be very difficult to find.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Marmion, confidently. ‘He realises that he can’t stay at liberty indefinitely. In my view, that isn’t why he broke out of prison. Cochran has only one purpose in mind.’

  ‘What’s that, Inspector?’

  ‘He wants to get his revenge on John Gatliffe.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  He sat on the riverbank with his rod beside him, unable to summon up the energy or the interest to do any fishing. At least he was alone and free from the sustained disgust of his parents. Gatliffe had no rest at home. His mother and father had been horrified to hear that he’d been charged by the police, even though he insisted that he did not molest Ruth Stein in any way. His father had wanted to disown him and throw him out of the house. Only the intercession of his mother stopped it happening but she punished him in another way. While her husband ranted and threatened, she subjected her son to silent hostility, treating him to long withering stares and refusing to do anything for him beyond making meals that he was forced to eat by himself. Staying at home brought him unrelenting pain and guilt. Gatliffe had therefore fled to the river. Even though it was a dull and chilly day, he was content. They could not hurt him there.

  He’d been wrong. He could see that now. He should never have confessed to the crime. It had not only ruined his life but broken his closest friendship. He and Oliver Cochran had grown up together, making light of the deprivation they suffered in a poverty-stricken area and supporting each other to the hilt at all times. They were no strangers to petty theft but had always got away with it because they were such convincing liars. Their respective parents had no idea how often they had gone astray. Mr and Mrs Gatliffe thought that their son was a decent and law-abiding young man. The revelation that he had been involved in the rape of a girl in the West End had come as a thunderbolt.

  He’d let his friend down. That’s what hurt Gatliffe most. In being unable to defend himself against police interrogation, he’d betrayed Cochran and would never be forgiven. In hindsight, the situation was clear. He should have maintained his innocence. There was no certainty that the girl would be able to identify them in court and she might well lose her nerve before the trial took place. According to Cochran, that often happened. The girl in the alley had not been his first victim. While Gatliffe had kept watch, Cochran had once raped a drunken girl after a dance. Though she’d vowed revenge, there’d been no repercussions – no report to the police, no hostile questioning, no charges. Even if there had been, Gatliffe would have been prepared to lie outrageously on his friend’s behalf. Why hadn’t he done so this time?

  He sought for ways to make amends, to win back a friendship that had been the mainstay of his life. He had to convince Cochran that he was still on his side and would go to any lengths to get him off the charge they were both facing even if it meant committing perjury. Brooding on his folly, he glanced into the dark water and saw a face appear in it behind his own. Gatliffe sat up in alarm and turned round to find Oliver Cochran hovering over him.

  ‘What’re you doing here, Ol?’ he croaked.

  Cochran gave a crooked grin. ‘Guess.’

  She had to know the truth. After hours of thinking it over, Irene Bayard decided that she could stand it no longer. The cutting from the Liverpool Echo had raised a frightening possibility. At first, she tried to dismiss the notion as a wild fantasy but the strategy failed. It was the date that was critical. She’d checked it in her diary. When Irene was staying with her sister in London, her landlady in Liverpool often sent her cuttings from the local newspapers that she deemed might be of interest. None had had such a stunning effect as this one, nor held such potential significance for her. Yes, it could be an unfortunate coincidence – she prayed that it was – but the signs indicated otherwise. Irene had to find out.

  Reaching for her handbag, she took out the slip of paper on which she’d scribbled an address then she tried to work out the best way to reach that par
t of the city. Minutes later, she left the house and went striding off along the pavement.

  Gatliffe scrambled quickly to his feet and took a precautionary step backwards. One glance at Cochran’s face told him that he was in dire trouble.

  ‘Have they let you out, Ol?’ he asked.

  ‘I let myself out.’

  Gatliffe was astounded. ‘You mean that you escaped?’

  ‘Remand prisoners have more leeway. They gave me too much.’

  ‘So the police will be out looking for you.’

  ‘Bugger the police!’ snarled Cochran.

  ‘I’ll help you to hide,’ said Gatliffe, anxious to placate him. ‘You obviously can’t go home and we can’t take you in. But there must be somewhere you can lie low.’

  ‘Forget it, Gatty.’

  ‘What about that derelict house by the canal?’

  ‘I told you to forget it. I’m not looking for a hiding place.’

  ‘Then what are you looking for?’

  He saw the glint in his friend’s eye and stepped even further away. Cochran wanted retribution. He knew where to find Gatliffe. That was the whole purpose of his escape from prison. He was there to inflict punishment. Gatliffe’s mouth was dry. He glanced around but there was nobody to whom he could call. Nor could he hope to outrun Cochran. His friend was much faster than him. His only hope lay in appeasing Cochran.

  ‘I’ve changed my plea,’ he said with a hollow laugh. ‘I told the police we were nowhere near Jermyn Street that night. They can’t prove it, Ol. I mean, that girl wouldn’t dare to come forward. Think of the one you shagged after that dance. She knew it was a waste of time going to the police. It’s the same here. They got nothing on us. If we stick together, we’re in the clear.’ His mouth was drier than ever. ‘Well, aren’t we?’

  ‘You should’ve kept your trap shut, Gatty.’