The Clockmaker

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Then don’t go. We can go away together.’

  ‘I have no money.’

  ‘Money can always be got. There are always those with money that can be relieved of it.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You can, if you’re desperate enough.’

  ‘I can find work.’

  Addie had sighed and turned on her back. The truth was, she had thought, there was nothing either of them could do. They were imprisoned where they were, like wasps in a trap. They had flown in and now they beat their wings against the glass but could not get out.

  ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘Not like I love you. Do you love him?’

  Addie had shaken her head. ‘He’s a bastard,’ she had said. ‘I hate him. Sometimes I think I’d like to stick a knife between his ribs.’

  ‘What stops you?’

  She had lifted her head to look at him. The question had been so unexpected. ‘I don’t know if I could do it. Or if I did, I don’t know if I could do it right. What if I didn’t kill him and he told on me. I’d hang.’

  ‘You could leave him. He doesn’t own you. You’re not married to him. You don’t owe him anything.’

  ‘Oh, no? Really? And if I left him, what then? Where would I go?’

  ‘You said money could always be got.’ He had returned her words to her and it had hurt more than a knife between the ribs.

  ‘Not on my own.’ She had sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him, angry that he should understand so little.

  ‘Addie, come lie down; you’ll get cold.’

  Sighing, she did lie down, but there had been a distance between them now and a cold that she knew would never thaw; it had been chilling inside her for far too long.

  ‘And where the hell have you been?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  He came over and twined his fingers in her hair and then pulled tight. Addie gasped. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘I said, where have you been?’ He sniffed her as though sensing out the deceit … and the sex. ‘And who is it this time? I hope he’s paying bloody well.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  His hand tightened further in her hair and the second gripped just below her right breast, fingers digging in between her ribs, his hand vice-like. Addie gasped in pain. He never bruised her where it would show, but he knew exactly what to do to hurt her most. Abruptly, he let go and gave her a shove, and she fell backwards on to the bed. His hands moved to the buttons on his trousers and he shoved her skirt up around her hips.

  Addie had long since learned not to tell him no.

  TWENTY

  Information trickled in, reports of interviews and enquiries put out to pawnbrokers, but there was as yet nothing useful. More than a month after Joseph Levy disappeared, the most that could be said was that his body had been found and the young man buried.

  Henry had thought carefully about his conversation with Abraham Levy and the subtle change in tone he had observed. Previously, all that Abraham could think about was where his nephew might be and how he and his family could make things right for the young man by finding and bringing him home – dead or alive.

  Something had happened that Henry was not privy to, but the case had stalled and other investigations now took his time, and he had not found an opportunity to return to question the clockmaker further.

  He always found waiting difficult, and knowing that he must wait on other people gathering information made him restless. Henry immersed himself in other problems and a week had passed since the man had attacked him with the knife and he had spoken to Abraham Levy.

  Mickey had been making his way home after a rare Sunday afternoon with friends when he found himself waylaid.

  ‘I hear your boss had a touch of trouble the other night?’ Clem Atkins blocked the pavement, two of his lieutenants behind him. ‘Fancy a drink?’

  ‘Right now I’m on my way somewhere, so I’ll have to say no,’ Mickey told him. ‘One of yours, was he?’

  Atkins laughed. ‘Mine know a copper when they see one. I hear he got mistaken for one of our Hebrew brethren. Understandable, I suppose, if he decides to go where their kind congregates?’

  ‘The Workers’ Circle is open to all,’ Mickey objected mildly.

  ‘Started by Jews, though, weren’t it? What did they call it – something German-sounding? Had the sense to change it when the war happened. I suppose that means they’ve got some nous.’

  ‘The Arbeiter Ring,’ Mickey confirmed, ‘But it’s been a Friendly Society since I don’t know when. Open to all, as I understand it. The boss reckons there was a concert there last Sunday night.’

  Atkins made no comment.

  ‘You consider it fair game to attack Jews, then?’ Mickey speculated.

  ‘Me, I got nothing against the Jews. They keep out of my way and for the most part they only prey on their own kind. Especially the Russians in their black coats. Con their own, so why should I bother?’

  ‘And the man who attacked Chief Inspector Johnstone? You know him?’

  ‘Know him for a fool. And a bigger fool if he comes back this way.’ Atkins leaned closer to Mickey. ‘You can pass that on.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to,’ Mickey said.

  Atkins stepped aside, and he and his boys crossed over the road and headed back in the direction of Commercial Street. Mickey watched them thoughtfully, not quite sure what the encounter had really been about. His route home was well known, as was his tendency to walk in all but the foulest of weathers, when he might take the omnibus part of the way or scrounge a lift home with one of the official drivers. Walking home through the likes of Clem Atkins’ territory was, some said, foolhardy. Continuing to live in the same streets as those who had little concern for the police’s version of law and order attracted the same verdict, but Mickey had grown up in these streets, was comfortable with his neighbours and had no intention of changing his habits – and, more to the point, he was accessible this way to those who would not go near a police station but who still wanted to be able to pass on the occasional tip-off or ask for a bit of legal advice without attracting too much attention. Everyone and his dog chatted to Mickey. Chats of a more substantial nature therefore often passed beneath the notice of the likes of Clem Atkins.

  So, Mickey thought, what does he want me to know? That he wasn’t in any way responsible for the attack on Henry? Certainly. That if it had been one of his men, Henry might not have got off so lightly? Possibly. That he doesn’t hate the Jews? Why is that little idea suddenly so pressing? Is he anticipating trouble that way? Again, possibly.

  He thought of Atkins’ reference to the so-called black coats and the cons he claimed were perpetrated within that community. He knew what Atkins was referring to when he spoke of the black coats. The Orthodox Hassidic community, marked out by their appearance, had been subject to some particularly focused cons. Theirs was a community that did deal in diamonds; they were currency, portable and easily hidden, and also difficult to identify as genuine if you didn’t have the expertise.

  In a community where anyone who looked like you, seemed to hold the same beliefs or belonged to the same culture was considered a brother, it was easy to take advantage – and for men like Atkins to sneer at naivety.

  What typically happened was that a friendly-seeming stranger would stop a likely target in the streets. He would plead that he was new to the area, seeking to raise some money. He had diamonds that he wished to sell. If his new acquaintance could recommend a dealer, then he would gladly sell a diamond or two at a bargain price in gratitude for the deal. He would then, likely as not, take out a little bag and tip a handful of shiny stones, just to prove good intent.

  Often the new friends would go together to one of the many dealers and the one genuine diamond would be shown to the dealer. An offer would be made, but the seller suddenly needed more time to think about it.

  On leaving the store, the would-be diamond seller would
confide to his ‘friend’ that he had, on second thoughts, decided he would rather sell to the man who had shown him kindness. At a reduced price. No, at a bargain price.

  He couldn’t raise the money on his own? Not to worry, let him find friends with whom to share the good fortune; after all, did the dealer not say that the diamond he had seen was of top quality?

  Sometimes the bait was taken, sometimes not, but the chances, Mickey knew from the instances that made it to the courts, were even, if not better. The ‘diamonds’ would be bought and the delighted buyers would, often as not, go to the same dealer who had verified the one genuine stone in the collection to cash in their good fortune, only to be told that they had bought paste or even a handful of glass.

  Mickey had often wondered how such an obvious con could keep on running, month on month, year on year. How could people not know, not have heard? But the answer was, of course, that many instances went unreported. Embarrassment can overpower good sense – especially in a man of otherwise good judgement. And there was suspicion of the police, of law and order that was still alien and not something the community yet owned, even for the second or even third generation.

  One thing was certain: Clem Atkins had gone out of his way and almost off his patch to encounter Mickey on his way home, which meant that something was up or about to be.

  Atkins was rattled. Of that much Mickey was certain. But rattled about what? Mickey thought again about the kid from the Elephant mob who’d been beaten and then so badly cut up. Was the Elephant mob a threat? A bigger threat than Atkins – or Mickey, for that matter – had reckoned. And what did they have to do with the Jewish community on Atkins’ patch? The Yids had never been allied to the Elephants, and from what Mickey knew of the rival gangs, that was never likely to happen. Chalk and cheese – but with a lot more prejudice. So had Mickey got it wrong? Was Atkins looking for an alliance of some sort? Something that would strengthen his hand? Thinking of Atkins in alliance with either the Elephant mob or the Yids was laughable in Mickey’s book, but Sabini was still on the scene, wasn’t he? Or at least if he wasn’t on the scene, he was hiding in the wings. So was Atkins planning some kind of alliance with him? Was Atkins looking to expand his territory?

  Whichever way you looked at it, someone was going to suffer, Mickey thought. And likely there’d be police breaking heads in the midst of it and getting theirs broken in return.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was more than three weeks before she saw him again. He had arrived on the Friday evening but was not due to join his fiancée’s family until Saturday. He had told her that he should not be travelling, that he should be celebrating the Sabbath with his own family. He had told his father he was going to join his future in-laws and would arrive before sunset.

  ‘So you’re lying to everyone now,’ she had said.

  ‘Everyone except you. I wouldn’t lie to you.’

  They had returned to the same hotel and gone out to eat, even though she could tell he was feeling guilty because this was not the way he should be doing things. Childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, from sunset on Friday, things had been special, had been family, had been faith, and now she was taking him away from all of that, and for that she felt guilty, too.

  He had seen the bruises, of course. Gus had not ceased to punish her, to keep her in line, and she knew how much she was risking in defying him.

  ‘He did this to you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It matters and I won’t let him do it again.’

  She had laughed. ‘So what are you going to do? Thump him? He’d break you up and use you for kindling.’

  He had looked away, embarrassed at the truth of it. ‘I’ve got a way for us to be together,’ he had said. ‘A way of getting money.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I say. I’ve got a way of making us some money. Like you said, there is always money to be had and there are always those who have it and from whom it can be taken.’

  She had looked aghast. ‘You’d steal for me?’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean? Joseph, don’t play games with me.’

  ‘I’m not. I have a way to get money.’

  ‘But it’s not your money, is it?’

  ‘No, but it will be. Soon.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You don’t need to understand. When I tell you, you just have to meet me on the train. Just go away with me.’

  ‘I can’t. He’ll kill me.’

  ‘Trust me, he won’t find you.’

  For an hour or so she had allowed herself to believe. But by morning she had known that this could not be true; there was no escape for either of them. She had thought again about wings beating against the glass, until eventually the wasp was dead, exhausted, bruised, broken.

  She had not expected him to come back, even though she had left messages in the usual places, but he had come back, and had forgiven her for her lack of faith. Twice more they had met in the same little hotel, and finally she had agreed to go away with him.

  ‘You don’t know me,’ she had argued. ‘We have spent a scant few hours together. Is that enough for you to decide you want me?’

  He had stroked her arm, his fingers almost too gentle. ‘I’ve known from the very beginning,’ he had said, and Addie had laughed, wanting to believe him but knowing that he was lying to himself. He didn’t know her at all; the Addie he saw was an invention born of a few snatched and very precious hours. She found it hard to believe that his vision would survive the harsh light of real life. But sometimes, when she lay beside him as he slept, she had wanted to believe.

  ‘I have money,’ he had said again. ‘I will have, after this weekend.’

  She had tried to press him about the source of his wealth, about what he meant; she had come to the conclusion that something must be happening with his in-laws and that perhaps the money or whatever was theirs and he was carrying it back to London for some reason.

  ‘Meet me on the train. I will look after you. I promise I will look after you.’

  Addie had no doubt that he would have done, that he meant it. But some people are not destined to have any luck, and Addie knew she had pushed hers to breaking point. When she left the hotel with Joseph, and after they had parted and she had walked down a side street away from him, she was grabbed by the throat and pushed against a wall. ‘Him!’ Gus was more furious at her choice than he was at her betrayal. ‘You’ve been screwing him?’

  And that was it. He made her tell him everything that Joseph had said, and when Sunday came, he told her, ‘You get on that train and you play your part and then you get him off that train and I will deal with the rest.’

  And Addie got on the train and she smiled and pretended to be a stranger, as she and Joseph had agreed – Joseph still afraid that someone who knew his fiancée’s family might chance to see him – and then she got off the train as Gus had ordered and Joseph, puzzled and concerned, stared out of the train window, trying to understand what she was up to. And then, seeing Gus standing on the platform, arguing with her, Joseph followed, just as Gus had planned.

  He rushed over to her, hand outstretched to draw her back. ‘Addie, leave him. Come, get back on the train. We can tell the guard that you’re in trouble.’

  But she hung back, uncertain what to do, not believing that she could really get away – not believing that she really deserved to get away.

  She still did not believe that Gus had intended to kill. All Joseph had to do was hand the money over and that would have been that. He had sworn to Addie that he’d have money, enough so they could run away, and yet when it came to it …

  All he had to do was hand it over. She would have gone with Gus. They would have gone on their way. She would never have seen Joseph again, but they would all have survived. But Joseph must have lied to her. He refused to hand over the money, and when they searched him, it turned out he had no mone
y. He had lied to her when he had told her that he’d make it possible for them to go away. Joseph had lied; he was just another con artist, getting what he wanted by spinning a line, and she had fallen for it.

  Now Joseph was dead and Addie’s heart was broken.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Henry had been waylaid by Albert, which meant that the two of them had withdrawn to Albert’s study and imbibed before he got the chance to go up and see Cynthia.

  ‘How was your trip?’

  ‘Dismal. No, that’s not fair; Cynthia showed me a wonderful time. But then we had to turn to business and things went downhill with the rapidity of a bobsleigh. I think I’m done with business, Henry. I think I’ll throw in the towel and become an art dealer instead.’

  Henry was bemused. Albert knew nothing about art. Henry said so.

  ‘I think that’s the point, old chap. The world I know about is falling apart around my ears; I may as well embark upon an adventure. Besides, if I wanted to become an art dealer, I’d just give the whole kit and caboodle over to that sister of yours; likely she’d make more sense of it than I ever could. She at least has an eye.’

  He looked more depressed than Henry had ever seen him. Albert was naturally an upbeat sort of person, not given to moods of introspection and certainly not to misery.

  ‘Cynthia said you are withdrawing from Germany.’

  ‘Not much choice. The way I see it, things can only get worse.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll speak to you man to man, Henry – there are things I didn’t want to worry your sister with. Cynthia has a good head on her shoulders, but she can’t be expected to take on everything, not everything that’s in a man’s world. Women are not cut out for such unpleasantness.’

  Henry raised an eyebrow, wondering how much Albert had had to drink before he had arrived. He decided, however, that if his brother-in-law was upset about something, he should let him tell his story in his own rambling way.

  ‘I had a couple of private meetings with some chaps I know. Consensus is that nationalism’s on the rise and Germany is about to start re-arming.’