A Bespoke Murder

by Edward Marston

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Because of you, we’re up to our necks in shit.’

  ‘I’ve told you – I’m pleading not guilty now.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘The case might not even come to court.’

  ‘I don’t care about that now,’ said Cochran, advancing on him. ‘Killing you is all I care about.’

  ‘But we’re friends, Ol. I’ll stick by you.’

  When he backed away again, Gatliffe came up against the trunk of a tree. He was cornered. Cochran was on him in a flash, grabbing him by the shoulders and banging him hard against the tree. Then he landed a series of stinging punches. Gatliffe tried to fight back at first but he soon buckled under the onslaught and resorted to covering his head with his arms. The blows were unremitting. When he could not beat him to the ground, Cochran used his feet instead, kicking him repeatedly until he doubled up in pain. Shoving him down on the bank, he dived on top of Gatliffe and got both hands to his throat, slowly applying pressure.

  Gatliffe became desperate. Realising that he might be throttled, he took hold of Cochran’s wrists and wrenched them away so that he could speak again.

  ‘There’s no need for this, Ol,’ he bleated. ‘We’re friends.’

  ‘You betrayed me, you bastard.’

  ‘Get off. You’re hurting me.’

  But Cochran was in no mood for mercy. Pulsing with anger and prompted by the need for revenge, he went for the throat again and squeezed hard. Gatliffe began to panic and found a surge of strength that allowed him to grasp his friend by the arms and force him sideways. Locked together, the two of them rolled over and over on the grass until they fell into the water. It was very shallow but the shock of the cold water made Cochran release his hold at last. Gatliffe struggled to his feet, spitting out water. When Cochran surfaced, he, too, was spluttering but was the first to recover. As Gatliffe tried to wade to the bank, he was gripped from behind and hurled back into the river, disappearing from sight for a few seconds.

  Cochran was not going to let him go a second time. As soon as Gatliffe’s head rose above the water, Cochran grabbed his hair and pushed him down again, determined to keep him there until he drowned. Gatliffe flailed wildly but he could not shake off his attacker. It was only a question of time before his resistance was broken. Cochran was exultant, laughing at his triumph, thinking of nothing else but of meting out the ultimate punishment to his friend.

  He was so obsessed with getting his revenge that he didn’t see the two detectives running along the bank towards him. Keedy was in the lead but Marmion was only a yard behind him. Sizing up the situation, they didn’t hesitate for a second. They flung off their hats, tore off their coats, then plunged straight into the water. While Keedy knocked Cochran over with a crash tackle, Marmion helped the victim, taking Gatliffe by the scruff of the neck and hauling him up to the surface. Gasping for air, he was so weak that Marmion had to carry him to the bank.

  Keedy, meanwhile, was involved in a frenzied contest with Oliver Cochran. Waist-deep in the water, they traded punches, then grappled. Cochran did everything he could to get free, struggling, spitting and even trying to bite his assailant. Keedy did not stand on ceremony. Pulling one hand away, he bunched his fist and pounded Cochran’s face until the man yelled in agony, ending with a vicious right hook that caught him on the ear and momentarily dazed him. Keedy was quick to overpower him, twisting one arm behind his back and forcing him to the bank. Marmion was waiting to snap handcuffs onto the escaped prisoner. Cochran was not finished yet. Even though both detectives had hold of him, he managed to swing a foot and kick Gatliffe who was still sprawled on the grass.

  Keedy pulled the prisoner out of reach of his former friend.

  ‘It’s all over, Cochran,’ he said. ‘You’re going back to prison.’

  Uniformed policemen were now hurrying along the bank. When they arrived, Keedy handed over Cochran. As they dragged him away, he was howling with rage. Marmion assisted Gatliffe to his feet.

  ‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.

  ‘He tried to kill me,’ said Gatliffe in horror. ‘Olly tried to drown me.’ He gave a shudder. ‘Thank God you came, Inspector!’

  ‘The person to thank is your mother, sir. When we called at your house, she told us you’d gone fishing and where we’d be likely to find you. We had a feeling that Cochran might have got here first.’

  ‘It’s where we always used to come. It was our special place. Me and Ol spent hours fishing here.’

  ‘Well, you won’t ever do it again,’ said Keedy. ‘Cochran’s fishing days are over.’ He glanced down at his sodden clothing. ‘Look at the state of me,’ he moaned. ‘I’m soaked to the skin.’

  ‘We all are, Joe,’ said Marmion, examining his own dripping trousers. ‘Let’s find somewhere to dry off – come on.’

  The address she’d been given was in one of the less salubrious areas of the city. An air of unspecified danger hung in its grimy streets. Had she not been so determined, Irene would have turned back and sought the safety of her own home but she had not come this far to be thwarted. Ignoring the lustful stares and the coarse comments she attracted from ragged men loitering in doorways, she walked quickly on and averted her gaze from the scrawny women who looked at her smart clothing with an amalgam of envy and hatred. Disappointment awaited her. When she reached the house where Ernie Gill was lodging, she was told that he was not there. The most likely place to find him, she was informed, was in the pub two streets away.

  It was bad news for Irene. If Gill had been drinking, he might become unpredictable but that could not be helped. She simply had to see him. Though it meant braving the denizens of the Three Tuns, she was not afraid. Irene pushed open the door of the lounge bar and stepped into the fug. Through the curling smoke from cigarettes and pipes, she tried to pick out Gill from the dozen or more people there, conscious that all eyes were on her. An old man spoke up.

  ‘Eh, ’ow much d’you charge, darlin’?’ he asked.

  There was a roar of laughter at Irene’s expense. She rose above it and took a few steps forward so that she could peer around. Three men were sitting at a table in a corner. One of them leapt to his feet and came scurrying across to her.

  ‘Is that you, Irene?’ asked Gill in amazement. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I need to speak to you, Ernie.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. Let me buy you a drink.’

  ‘No, no,’ she said, touching his arm as he turned towards the bar counter. ‘I only came for a talk.’ She looked around. ‘Is there somewhere more private than this?’

  ‘Let’s go into the snug.’

  As he took her through a swing door into a tiny room, there were jeers from the other patrons and a barrage of crude remarks. They sat down either side of a small, round, beer-stained table. Gill grinned expectantly.

  ‘This is a lovely surprise, Irene,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not a social call.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘A lady at your house suggested I might try here.’

  ‘That would be Maggie – Maggie Thompson. She’s Brad’s wife. He’s the friend who took me in.’

  ‘She told me that you spent a lot of time here,’ said Irene with disapproval. ‘Whereas you reckoned you were looking for a job.’

  ‘I found one,’ he said, proudly. ‘I start tomorrow at a barber’s not far from here. It’s not the same as working on a liner but it’s a job. What about you? I thought you’d have started in that toy factory by now.’

  ‘Not until next Monday.’

  He leered at her. ‘So what did you want to speak to me about?’

  ‘I want to ask you about this, Ernie.’

  She opened her bag and fished out the article from the Liverpool Echo. She slapped it on the table in front of him and watched his reaction. He was nonplussed at first. Puzzlement gave way to wariness then turned into positive alarm. He read the article twice.

 
‘Well?’ she pressed. ‘What have you got to say?’

  ‘I’m … very sorry that it happened.’

  ‘You were involved, weren’t you?’

  ‘No!’ he cried.

  ‘You were part of the gang that smashed up that house.’

  ‘Of course I wasn’t, Irene.’

  ‘Look at the date. It was the day we landed back in Liverpool.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You told me that you went out drinking then decided to go in search of a German family you knew about. It was them, wasn’t it?’ she challenged, pointing at the press cutting.

  ‘I never went anywhere near this place.’

  ‘The wife managed to escape but the man was beaten to a pulp. He hung on in hospital for days but eventually died. That means the people who attacked him committed murder.’ She grasped his wrist. ‘Were you one of them, Ernie? Are you a killer?’

  ‘No – I swear it on my mother’s grave!’

  ‘But you boasted about killing Germans.’

  ‘That was just talk.’

  ‘It didn’t sound like it to me.’

  ‘Irene,’ he said, putting a hand to her cheek, ‘you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve got faults and lots of them but you surely can’t think me guilty of this. What sort of a man do you think I am?’

  ‘That’s what I started to wonder.’

  ‘Listen, I did go out boozing that night, I admit it. And I did go off with a few others to a house where a German family used to live. But they weren’t there any longer. They’d moved away.’

  ‘So why did you say you taught them a lesson?’

  ‘I was just showing off.’

  ‘“We did what needed to be done,” you said.’

  ‘I wanted to impress you.’

  ‘Impress me!’ she repeated, indignantly. ‘Do you think I’d be impressed to hear about an innocent family being assaulted?’

  ‘It never happened, Irene.’

  ‘Yes, it did, and this article gives all the details. The police are still looking for the men involved. Is that why you came to London all of a sudden, Ernie? Are you on the run?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ he said, angrily.

  ‘There’s no need to shout at me.’

  His tone softened immediately. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that I hate being accused of something I didn’t do. Since we’re old friends, you deserve to know the truth.’ As he chose his words with care, he chewed his lip. ‘I did go out looking for trouble that night. I admit it. But we never found it. We ended up getting drunk and singing rude songs about the Germans.’ He gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Are you satisfied now?’

  ‘What about that group you know here in London? The one you said I’d be too law-abiding to join. You told me that you hit and run.’

  ‘Oh, that only lasted for days. Brad took me along. They were all talk, really. I soon got bored with them. I am who I am, Irene – the same Ernie Gill you’ve known all these years.’

  Irene looked at him, then down at the article, then back at him again. She was not sure what to believe. Hoping with all her heart that he had nothing to do with the crime, she still had vestigial doubts.

  ‘How do I know that you’re telling the truth?’

  His voice became earnest. ‘Fetch me a Bible,’ he told her, ‘and I’ll swear on that. You know me, Irene. I’m a good Catholic boy. I wouldn’t lie with my hand on the Holy Book.’

  ‘There’s no need to do that.’

  ‘How else can I convince you?’

  There was a pleading note in his voice. Irene looked deep into his eyes but saw no hint of guilt or dissembling. She looked down at the article once more then she picked it up and scrunched it in her hand. Her smile was edged with slight embarrassment.

  ‘I think I owe you an apology, Ernie.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, effusively. ‘I’m glad you came. You did the right thing, Irene. I can see exactly what you must have thought and I’m glad I was able to set the record straight.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘I take my hat off to you for walking in here the way you did. Ladies like you don’t come in here by themselves. They know the kind of greeting they’ll get. It was very brave of you.’

  ‘I had to know the truth,’ she explained.

  ‘And now you’ve heard it. Come on,’ he said, getting up. ‘This is no place for you, Irene. I’ll walk you to a place where you can get some transport home. Ernie Gill, a murderer,’ he went on, laughing. ‘You should know me better than that. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  * * *

  Ellen Marmion had been torn between concern and amusement when the two of them turned up soaking wet. Since his house was closer, Marmion had asked to be driven there so that he and Keedy could change into dry clothing. Shoes, socks, trousers, shirts, ties and underclothes were discarded and hung on the clothes line. While the inspector was able to put on a different suit, Keedy had to make do with borrowed items of clothing that neither fitted properly nor suited his taste. He was embarrassed when Alice came in from the garden in time to catch him in a pair of trousers that were noticeably too baggy.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Joe is a hero,’ replied her father. ‘He saved a man from being killed and arrested an escaped prisoner. Unfortunately, it all took place in a river.’

  As he supplied more details of the incident, Alice’s interest and admiration grew. She tried not to notice that Keedy’s shoes were sizes too large for him or that his coat and trousers did not match. Keedy stressed that it was Marmion who’d rescued and resuscitated John Gatliffe. As a precaution, he’d been taken to hospital and examined before being released. Cochran had been returned to Wandsworth.

  ‘Does this mean you’ll get some good publicity for a change, Daddy?’ said Alice. ‘You and Joe should be in all the newspapers.’

  Marmion shook his head. ‘We’re more likely to be blamed for letting him escape than for actually catching him.’

  ‘But it was the prison officers who should be blamed for that.’

  ‘The press don’t make distinctions, Alice. They lump us all together as the forces of law and order. If they have an excuse to take a potshot at us, they will.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘They’re already criticising us because we haven’t caught the man who killed Jacob Stein yet.’

  ‘They can’t expect instant results,’ said Ellen.

  ‘They can and they do.’

  Alice wanted to hear Keedy’s version of the arrest of Oliver Cochran but he was too modest to give it. Instead he told her about the fire at the synagogue and what he found when he went there. It was the first time that Marmion had been with his daughter since she made her decision. Ellen cued her in.

  ‘Alice has something to tell you, Harvey,’ she said.

  Marmion turned to his daughter. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘I’m going to join the WEC.’

  ‘Talk her out of it,’ urged Ellen. ‘You help him, Joe.’

  ‘This is nothing to do with me,’ said Keedy, holding up a hand.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me either,’ said Marmion, calmly. ‘Alice is old enough to make up her own mind and we must respect that.’

  ‘Thank you, Daddy,’ said Alice.

  Ellen was simmering. ‘How can you say that, Harvey?’ she asked. ‘You were as strongly against the idea as I was.’

  ‘I was,’ conceded Marmion, ‘and I left Alice in no doubt about my opinion on the subject. But we can’t let this drag on forever, Ellen. If the decision has been made, we should have the grace to accept it.’

  ‘You can’t just let it go like that.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘Let’s discuss this in the kitchen.’

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss.’

  ‘I think there is,’ said Ellen, eyes flashing. Forcing a smile, she looked at Keedy. ‘You’ll have to excuse us a minute. We won’t be long.’

/>   She led the way into the kitchen and Marmion followed her. When the door was shut behind them, Alice was uncertain whether to smile or to apologise.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she said. ‘You’ve caught us at a rare moment, Joe. My parents almost never have an argument. It’s my fault that they’re about to have one now.’

  ‘You’re entitled to run your own life, Alice.’

  ‘Tell that to Mummy and Daddy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Did you ever have arguments with your parents?’

  ‘All the time,’ he said. ‘When I told my father that I didn’t want to stay in the family business, he almost exploded. My mother was just as bad. She kept going on about the importance of tradition.’

  ‘I can’t see you as an undertaker somehow,’ she said, then put a hand to her mouth to smother her laughter. ‘Especially in a pair of trousers like the ones you’ve got on.’

  ‘They were all that your father could find.’

  ‘You always take such a pride in your appearance.’

  ‘I like to look smart, Alice. It’s important.’

  They looked at each other with mutual affection and there was a long silence that neither of them had any inclination to break. They were simply savouring each other’s company. Alice felt drawn to him once more but controlled her feelings when she recalled that he was not available. She picked up an envelope from the mantelpiece.

  ‘We had a letter from Paul this morning,’ she said.

  ‘Yes – so your father said.’

  ‘I don’t know how he can be so cheery. Living in a trench sounds like being in purgatory. I’d hate it.’

  ‘So would I, Alice. But your brother is an optimist. Paul always tries to see the good side of things.’

  ‘There is no good side of things at the front, Joe.’ She put the envelope back on the mantelpiece. ‘But I daresay you’ll get your own reports to that effect.’

  He frowned. ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘According to Daddy, you have a friend who’s just gone to Flanders to work as a nurse there.’

  ‘Oh – you mean Pam,’ he said, noting the wistfulness in her voice. ‘I don’t think Pamela will bother to write to me. When she told me her decision, we agreed to go our separate ways. She’s going to be fully occupied from now on.’