by Jim Eldridge
‘So you want me to have a word with this Danny Fields and see if I reach the same conclusion.’
‘Yes,’ said Hammond. ‘Or am I seeing bad things when there’s nothing wrong?’
‘I’ll talk to him, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to do any better than you.’ He looked questioningly at Hammond. ‘What makes you suspect him?’
‘Better I don’t say anything because it might colour your attitude towards him.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘No, but I want to be fair. It may just be prejudice against him on my part.’
‘All right, I’ll talk to him,’ said Stark. ‘Is he at the station?’
‘Yes. I’ve asked him to wait.’
‘Before I talk to him, I’d like to have a word with this Mr Rothstein to get his version of what happened.’
‘Gallipoli,’ said Danvers wearily. This was the fifth person he’d been put through to at the War Office. He was now talking to someone from Correspondence Archives, who had refused to give his name, and was asking the reason Danvers had been put through to him. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Danvers from Scotland Yard and we are investigating the murder of Lord Fairfax, who worked at the War Office. We are trying to ascertain a motive for his murder. It has been suggested that the root cause may lay in the Dardanelles campaign.’
‘I don’t see how,’ said the voice coldly.
‘That is what we are trying to establish,’ explained Danvers patiently. He turned as the door of the office opened and a uniformed messenger entered. Danvers held up a hand, asking the messenger to wait as he asked, for what seemed to him the umpteenth time, ‘Do you have in your files any threatening letters that may have been sent to the War Office from relatives or friends of those who died at Gallipoli?’
The person at the other end of the telephone replied coldly, ‘If any such letters were received, that information would be classified.’
‘Then how …?’ began Danvers.
‘I’m sorry, I am not allowed to discuss this matter,’ said the voice.
There was a click, then the hum of the dialling tone as the very unhelpful War Office official hung up. Danvers sighed and replaced the receiver, then turned to the messenger. ‘Yes?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been sent from Chief Superintendent Benson to find DCI Stark.’
‘I’m afraid he’s out at the moment. Can I help?’
‘I don’t think so. CS Benson specifically asked for DCI Stark.’
‘He’s gone to Finsbury Park police station,’ said Danvers.
‘Thanks,’ said the messenger. He was about to leave, when he stopped and said, ‘I couldn’t help but hear you asking about Gallipoli.’
‘The War Office,’ sighed Danvers. He gestured at the telephone. ‘No one there wants to talk about it.’
‘If you want to know about Gallipoli, you ought to have a word with Ted Bell down in Records,’ said the messenger. ‘He was there. He’ll tell you all about it.’ He grinned. ‘Once you get him started on it, it’s hard to get him to stop.’
There were four holding cells in the basement of Finsbury Park station. An elderly man in a crumpled suit was sitting forlornly on a bench inside one. He had a bandage around his head, and Stark could see where the blood had dried and crusted at the fabric’s edge.
‘You come to let me go?’ asked Rothstein hopefully, pushing himself to his feet as the turnkey opened the door to the cell and Stark and Hammond entered. Rothstein was short and overweight, and he swayed as he stood looking at them.
‘Not yet, Mr Rothstein,’ said Hammond. ‘Please, you can sit down. How’s your head?’
Rothstein put a hand to his bandage. ‘It’s not bad. I’ve had worse headaches. Have you told my Becky? My wife? She worries about me.’
‘Yes, we’ve informed Mrs Rothstein,’ Hammond did his best to reassure him. He gestured towards Stark. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Stark from Scotland Yard. He’s come to ask you some questions.’
‘Scotland Yard?’ echoed Rothstein, a touch of awe in his voice. ‘This is that serious?’
‘It’s murder, Mr Rothstein,’ said Hammond. ‘It doesn’t get more serious than that.’
‘I didn’t murder him!’ protested Rothstein. ‘I couldn’t murder anybody!’
‘Please, sit down,’ urged Hammond.
Reluctantly, Rothstein sat down on the bench. Stark sat down next to him.
‘You were found semi-conscious in your office,’ said Stark. ‘The body of Harry Jukes was lying nearby. He’d been beaten to death. The bloodstained iron doorstop that had been used as a weapon was found with your fingers wrapped round it.’
‘I don’t know how that was! As I said before, someone must have knocked me out, killed Harry, then left that doorstop in my hand. Someone is framing me!’
‘You were heard arguing with Mr Jukes shortly before.’
‘Harry and I always argued. That was how it worked. We’d been doing it the same way for years! He asked for more money for my workers; I said no. We’d shout at one another and then sit down and reach a deal.’
‘Why would anyone want to frame you?’ asked Stark. ‘What about a competitor? Someone trying to put you out of business.’
Rothstein shook his head. ‘No. The garment trade is very tight. Everyone knows everyone. Yes, we’re rivals, but we never use violence against one another. Most of us are Jews. Why would we attack one another? Most of us had enough of that already in the old countries. Russia. Poland.’ He shook his head again. ‘This is against us Jews. That’s what I think is behind it.’
They left Rothstein miserably locked in his cell and mounted the steps back to Hammond’s office.
‘Now for Constable Fields,’ muttered Hammond.
They found Constable Fields sitting in the locker room, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper. He leapt to his feet when he saw Hammond, and looked suspiciously at Stark. Fields was tall and thin, with a narrow pencil moustache and slicked-back dark hair highlighting his very pale, pinched face. His uniform was meticulously neat. He was obviously a man who paid a lot of attention to his appearance.
‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Stark from Scotland Yard,’ introduced Hammond. ‘They’re taking an interest in this case.’
Stark smiled, doing his best to put Fields at his ease, but the constable remained wary. ‘You’ve done a good job on this one, Constable, by the sound of it,’ Stark complimented him.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘There’s just a couple of small issues to get clear, just in case the press or the top brass start asking any questions.’
‘What sort of issues?’ asked Fields, frowning.
‘You can use my office,’ offered Hammond. ‘Less chance of interruption.’
‘Thank you, Superintendent,’ said Stark.
He and Fields followed Hammond to his office. Stark took the chair behind Hammond’s desk and gestured Fields to the one opposite. Hammond left them to it.
‘As I said, Constable, excellent work,’ said Stark. ‘By all accounts, it looks like an open-and-shut case.’
‘That’s what I thought, sir, when I saw the scene. Especially taking into account the evidence from the witness about the shouting and the bashing sounds and all that.’
‘Absolutely,’ nodded Stark. ‘And that’s the person we might need to sew this one up.’
‘The tramp?’
Stark nodded again. ‘You found them, but your evidence can only be hearsay, retelling what the tramp told you had gone on. Because when you found them, Harry Jukes was dead and Rothstein was unconscious. At least, that’s what it said in your report. Is that right?’
‘Er … yes, sir,’ agreed Fields, slightly uncomfortable.
‘You see the problem, Constable. A clever defence lawyer could claim that it wasn’t Rothstein who did it at all. They could claim, for example, that it was the tramp who knocked Rothstein out and then killed Harry Jukes.’
‘But … why w
ould he? The argument was between Harry Jukes and the Jew.’
‘Again, you’ve only got the tramp’s word for that.’
‘But if he did it, why would he come and get me to take a look?’
‘To frame Rothstein.’ Stark gave a rueful shrug. ‘Again, I’m only saying what a good defence barrister will say. Which is why we need to get hold of the tramp.’
Fields looked doubtful. ‘I can’t see that happening, sir. These blokes aren’t easy to find, unless they want to be found.’
‘I’m guessing he must be local. After all, he knew enough to seek out Rothstein’s factory as a warm place to stay.’
‘Yes, that makes sense,’ admitted Fields reluctantly.
‘So I suggest we start a search for him. What did he look like?’
‘Look like?’ Fields was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
‘Yes. Tall? Short?’
‘Er … he was … about average.’
‘Hair colour? Red? Black? Fair?’
‘I … er … I’m not sure. He had a hat on.’
‘What sort of hat?’
‘Well … it was … like a gent’s hat. But old and battered.’
‘Colour? Black? Brown?’
‘I … I can’t be sure.’
‘Beard? No beard? Moustache?’
‘To be honest, sir, it all happened so fast. And I was more thinking about what the tramp had told me – that there was a murder being committed.’
‘He actually said that, did he? There was a murder being committed? Not that there was a fight going on?’
Fields looked even more uncomfortable. ‘I think that’s what he said.’
Stark nodded thoughtfully. ‘I understand, Constable. I’ve been there myself. It can be difficult to remember everything exactly in the heat of the moment.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fields, slightly relieved at these words.
And so it continued, Stark gently prodding and probing, the constable doing his best to come up with satisfactory answers. After another five minutes, Fields was relieved to be told he could return to his duties.
‘Well?’ asked Hammond, returning to his office.
‘Either Constable Fields is one of the least observant policemen I’ve ever met or there are question marks over this tramp.’
Hammond shot a look towards the door and lowered his voice as he asked, ‘You think Fields may have been involved?’
‘I think it’s worth looking into. He certainly has no liking for “the Jew”, as he terms it.’ He stood up. ‘I don’t necessarily think he did it, but there may be some collusion with whoever did. But that’s just my opinion.’
There was a knock at the door and a desk sergeant appeared. ‘Sorry to trouble you, sirs,’ he said. ‘There’s a telephone call for DCI Stark.’
Immediately, Stark was alert. The hospital? If so, it could only mean bad news. He felt a surge of relief at the desk sergeant’s next words. ‘It was Chief Superintendent Benson, sir. He said there was no need to talk to you, but he wants you back at Scotland Yard immediately.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant.’
Stark waited till the sergeant had gone and the door was shut, before saying, ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to suggest that everything was all right and Rothstein did murder Harry Jukes. It would have been much simpler.’
‘Simpler, but not just,’ said Hammond. ‘And that’s what we’re about, isn’t it, Paul? Justice?’
‘That’s what you and I are about, Billy. I wish I could be as confident about the rest of them.’
‘Thanks for coming. If there are any developments on the case, I’ll let you know.’
‘That would be good. And if I’m not in the office, you can leave a message with my Sergeant, Robert Danvers.’
‘Is he any good?’
Stark nodded. ‘Very good.’
FIFTEEN
Danvers sat across the table in the basement canteen from Ted Bell, clerk in the records office and Gallipoli veteran. On the table in front of them were two mugs of strong tea.
‘It was hell,’ Bell said. The messenger had been right: Bell was only too happy to talk about his experiences. Unlike Stark, Danvers reflected, who barely mentioned his own experiences of the war, and then only if it related to a case.
‘We were put ashore at Cape Helles, at the south of the peninsula. The Australians and New Zealanders landed further north at Gaba Tepe, which became known as Anzac Cove because of the Anzac forces being there.’
The Anzacs, thought Danvers. Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.
‘We were told it would be easy, that the Turks didn’t have the guts for a fight and they’d surrender as soon as we landed.’ He shook his head. ‘They couldn’t have been more wrong. The Turks were there in their thousands, behind strong defences they’d put at the top of the high cliffs overlooking the beaches. They’d dug in and they had all the weapons they needed. Machine guns, everything.
‘We found out afterwards they’d had plenty of time to get ready. We went ashore on the twenty-fifth of April, but British and French ships had been in the Dardanelles Straits from as far back as February, so the Turks knew that the invasion was coming and they’d had two months to prepare their defences. And it wasn’t just the Turks. The Germans were there as well, building the defences, supplying them with arms.
‘When we went ashore, they just cut us to ribbons. All we could do was dig trenches on the beaches to shelter in while our commanders tried to work out what to do. Those of us who didn’t get killed in the first few waves, that is.
‘The Navy did their best, shelling the Turkish positions from the Straits, but the Turks had dug in well. They just took cover until the shelling stooped, then they opened up with their machine guns at us again.
‘A few times our commanders ordered some of us to launch an attack, but it was hopeless – the cliffs were too steep. We couldn’t get up those cliffs, not under fire. It was stalemate. We couldn’t get up the cliffs. They wouldn’t come down. They didn’t need to. They had us where they wanted us.
‘We were there for nine months before we were evacuated from those beaches. In that time we took over two hundred thousand casualties, including forty-three thousand dead. I was one of the lucky ones.’
‘There must have been a lot of anger among the troops over what had happened,’ said Danvers.
‘It was war,’ said Bell with a shrug. ‘That’s what happens in war.’
‘But someone must have been to blame,’ persisted Danvers. ‘The top brass and politicians who organized the campaign.’
‘Organized?’ laughed Bell caustically. ‘It may have been planned before it happened, but once it kicked off there was no organization. It was just about trying to survive. The politicians blamed Churchill; he carried the can for it, didn’t he? Resigning and all that. But, if you ask me, it wasn’t his fault. It was the commanders there who messed it up. They underestimated the Turks. They thought we’d just be able to walk in. They were wrong.’
‘What about Lord Fairfax?’
‘The bloke who was murdered?’
Danvers nodded. ‘It was said he was one of the organizers of the campaign, along with Churchill.’
Bell shook his head. ‘He wasn’t there, though, was he? Nor was Churchill. No, the only one of that lot who was involved in the action was Kitchener, and he’s long dead.’
When he got back to Scotland Yard, Stark considered seeking out Sergeant Danvers first to find out what was so urgent that Chief Superintendent Benson had sent for him, but then decided against it. Politics dictated that he report to the man himself, so Stark headed straight for Benson’s office.
The chief superintendent was not in a good mood. As Stark pushed open the door of Benson’s office in response to the chief super’s growl of ‘Come in!’, Benson was on the telephone, and scowling heavily. ‘I want to know what levels of authority this man has!’ he barked into the phone. ‘Surely someone at the Home Office has the answer
to that simple question?’ He listened a bit more, then interrupted curtly, ‘I want an answer, and soon.’ With that he replaced the receiver and glowered at Stark. ‘What were you doing at Finsbury Park, Stark?’
‘Giving advice to a senior colleague on a murder case. A factory owner has been arrested for allegedly killing a business associate.’
‘Is it connected with the Lord Fairfax and Carl Adams murders?’
‘There was a suggestion it may have been, sir. That’s why I went. However, it would appear not to be related.’
‘I could have told you that, Stark, without going all the way to Finsbury Park!’ growled Benson. ‘Get your priorities right! We have a murder here where important people are involved. Concentrate on that!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And to that end we’ve got a visitor here from America who’s been waiting to see you. Special Agent Donald Noble of the American Bureau of Investigation. He just arrived from America today. Although, officially, Mr Noble has no territorial powers in this country, the Home Secretary has agreed that Mr Noble can be involved in the investigation as the double killing involved an American citizen.’
Stark frowned. ‘The journey from America takes about a week, sir. Do we know why Agent Noble was coming to England?’
‘No. I’ve left that for you to deal with.’
‘Where is he? With Sergeant Danvers?’
‘Noble is a top official from America, Stark. He wants to talk to the man in charge, not his lackey. I found an empty office for him while I chased around trying to find out where you were. I left him with some newspapers to read, so he could get an English perspective on the case while he waited.’
‘DS Danvers knew where I was, sir. I’d left him a note of my whereabouts in case there was an urgent break in the case.’
‘Yes, as I discovered. But I wasn’t going to leave Agent Noble kicking his heels in your office with Sergeant Danvers. It doesn’t create the best impression for someone from America. They’re used to efficiency there. Well, you’re here now. I’ll take you to him.’