by Jim Eldridge
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In that case, you can rest easy, Mr Stark. We’ll take watch from here on in.’ He smiled. ‘The mother tiger will keep him safe. And you’ll need to get some sleep if you’re going to be investigating this tomorrow. Need to be on top of your game.’ Then he gave an apologetic frown. ‘Sorry. You’d know all about that, of course, as an ex-soldier. Sleep when we can – that’s the motto.’
‘It is indeed, Colonel.’
Stark returned to the small side room to make one last check on Danvers. His sergeant was sleeping again, but more peacefully, his breathing normal. The staff nurse was checking his signs, his pulse and heart rate, and seemed satisfied.
‘We cannot thank you enough for looking after Robert the way you did, Mr Stark,’ Danvers’ mother said earnestly. ‘Not just tonight, but ever since he’s been assigned to you.’
‘Thank you, but there has been very little looking after to do,’ murmured Stark.
As he headed down the marble stairs to the exit and the waiting car, he told himself off angrily for being a fraud. I did not look after him. If I had, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed, his head swathed in bandages.
He found Danvers’ father’s car parked a few yards from the hospital, as the colonel had described.
‘How is Master Robert, sir?’ asked Bridges as Stark opened the car door.
He’s been expecting me, realized Stark. The colonel’s orders.
Stark filled Bridges in on Danvers’ condition, then let himself be driven to Camden Town. At this time of night the roads were virtually deserted, just the occasional horse and cart trundling along laden with early-morning deliveries.
Stark let himself into the house as quietly as he could, but even as he closed the front door he heard a sound from the landing. His mother appeared down the stairs, a look of concern on her face.
‘How’s your sergeant?’ she asked.
‘He’s regained consciousness. He was kicked in the head. I hope he’s going to be all right. Any phone calls from the hospital about Dad?’
Sarah shook her head.
‘No news is good news,’ said Stark. It was a platitude, but he felt at a loss to say anything else.
‘Will you take me to the hospital in the morning, like you did yesterday?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ said Stark.
Sarah was about to return to her room, when she stopped and said, ‘Your sergeant had better be careful. Head wounds can be bad. Tell him that from me. He’s a good young man. He’s got to be careful.’
‘I will,’ said Stark. ‘I’m sorry I woke you, Mum.’
‘I wasn’t asleep, anyway. I can’t sleep properly without your dad.’ She headed back up the stairs. ‘Goodnight, Paul.’
‘Goodnight, Mum.’
TWENTY
Next morning Stark was up at his usual time of seven thirty, shaved and washed and sitting down to breakfast with Stephen and Sarah as the clock neared eight. He was just about to take his first spoonful of porridge when the sound of the telephone shattered the household.
Stark hurried to the phone, apprehensive. Which one was it? His father? Or had Danvers relapsed in the night? Had the injury been worse than they’d thought?
He snatched up the receiver.
‘Mr Stark, it’s Victoria Danvers.’
‘Yes, Mrs Danvers.’
‘I’m just letting you know that Robert’s home. The hospital said that he’s fit enough to be discharged, but they advise he needs to be looked after for a day or two, until we can be sure that everything is all right, so he’s staying with us. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Thank you. If it’s all right with you, I shall call on him later today.’
‘I think that is a very good idea. I know he’ll be looking forward to it.’
‘It’s all right; it wasn’t about Dad,’ he told his anxious mother as he returned to the kitchen. ‘It was Sergeant Danvers’ mother to tell me he’s home from hospital.’
As Stark picked up his spoon once more, he told himself, And the next thing to do is get the bastards who did it.
When Stark’s driver arrived, it was a repeat of the previous morning: they let Stephen off at the school gates, then on to University College Hospital.
‘I won’t be a moment,’ Stark told his driver.
Stark escorted his mother to the reception area. ‘You take a seat, Mum. I want to see if I can have a word with the doctor.’
‘I want to know how your dad is.’
‘That’s what I’m going to ask,’ said Stark.
Reluctantly, Sarah allowed him to steer her towards the long bench. Stark went to the desk. A different nurse was on duty, but she had the same severe look about her.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Stark.’
‘Yes, sir,’ nodded the nurse, and Stark was surprised to catch a hint of a smile of sympathy. ‘I recognized you from your picture in the newspaper. I’m sorry about your father.’
‘Yes, well …’ Stark felt awkward. He’d come to the desk expecting to do battle against the forces of officialdom. ‘How is my father this morning?’ he asked.
‘If you hold on a moment, I’ll ring through to the ward.’ She picked up a handwritten list of wards and patients.
‘Ward ten,’ Stark told her.
‘Thank you.’
The answer she got to her enquiry was brief. ‘Mr Stark had a comfortable night,’ she told him.
‘Is there any change in his condition?’
‘Not according to the ward sister.’
‘Is it possible to speak to Doctor Meek?’
She checked her lists again, then told him, ‘I’m afraid Doctor Meek is on his rounds at the moment.’
‘Is there anyone else I can talk to? Another doctor who’s looking after my father?’
‘I’m afraid they’re all on their rounds. I can take a message. I’ll see that Doctor Meek gets it.’
Stark nodded. Ideally, he’d have preferred to talk to Dr Meek – he’d been impressed by the doctor the previous evening – but the nurse seemed sincere when she said his message would get to Meek.
‘Thank you, I’ll be grateful if you would. Would you tell him that Mr Henry Stark’s son, Detective Chief Inspector Stark …’
‘He knows who you are,’ she said gently, writing on a notepad. ‘We all do.’
He gave her a grateful smile. ‘Would you tell Doctor Meek that Mr Stark’s son asks that if anything can be done to help his father’s situation – a private room, private treatment, anything – DCI Stark will pay for it. I don’t want his treatment to be limited under the Poor Law.’
She finished writing, then looked at him full in the face and said, ‘I can assure you, Mr Stark, that is not the case here. Doctor Meek is deeply conscientious and will do everything above and beyond the call of duty to care for your father.’
‘I apologize if I offended you,’ said Stark. ‘It wasn’t my intention. I certainly didn’t intend to cast aspersions on the staff here. It’s just that, as I’m sure you are aware, we are very concerned. It’s a very fine line between life and death.’
‘I understand,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll see that Doctor Meek gets your message.’
Stark gestured towards Sarah on the bench. ‘In the meantime, that is my mother sitting there.’
‘Yes, I saw her yesterday.’
‘She knows that visiting doesn’t happen until ten o’clock, but she and my father have never been parted in over forty years of marriage. You seem a very kind person. I’d be most grateful if you could keep an eye on her. She won’t be any trouble, but …’
‘Of course.’ She gave him that same gentle sympathetic smile. ‘We’ll do our best, Chief Inspector.’
The attack on Sergeant Danvers was the main topic of conversation when Stark arrived at the Yard. The newspaper headlines he’d seen at the news-stand as he’d left the hospital had made sure of that, with one blaring, ‘Copper in coma.’
And another: ‘Detective at death’s door.’ They do love their alliterations, reflected Stark.
The desk sergeant, Sergeant Thorpe, was reading the report of the attack in the Daily Target.
‘That’s bad news about your sergeant, sir,’ said Thorpe.
‘Fortunately, his situation’s improved since the press got hold of it,’ said Stark. ‘He’s at home, recovering.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said Thorpe. ‘We ought to hang the bastards when we catch ’em.’ He pointed upwards. ‘The guvnor was in early today. He told me to tell you he needs to see you as soon as you got in.’
‘Message received,’ said Stark.
It had to be politics, Stark decided as he mounted the stairs to Benson’s office. He couldn’t think of any police reason why Benson needed to see him so urgently. Some politician must have been on Benson’s back.
Benson was sitting at his desk when Stark entered his office. Stark was surprised to see the chief superintendent had a copy of the Daily Target open in front of him. A bit beneath Benson’s opinion of himself, he thought. He was usually seen with The Times, or sometimes the Telegraph.
‘You wanted to see me, sir,’ said Stark.
‘Yes,’ nodded Benson. He tapped the newspaper. ‘Dreadful business about Danvers. Nearly killed. In hospital, life hanging by a thread.’
‘Yes, sir. Fortunately, he’s been discharged and is at home now.’
‘An attack by some Jewish thugs, I understand.’
‘We’re not sure about that, sir.’
Benson regarded Stark with a frown. ‘Well, Lord Glenavon is, and he was at that meeting last night. The place where Danvers was attacked.’
‘The BUP meeting at the Mitre Hall.’
‘Yes. And so was General Squires. Both very respected men, and they are in no doubt about who was responsible.’
‘Yes, General Squires gave me the same information when I saw him last night at the hospital.’
‘There you are, then,’ said Benson. He shook his head. ‘We can’t have this sort of thing, Stark. Attacks on police officers. It strikes at the very heart of society. Fortunately, Lord Glenavon has offered his assistance in solving the case and bringing the thugs who did it to justice.’
‘His assistance, sir?’
‘Lord Glenavon owns one of the most popular daily newspapers, the Daily Target. They are offering a reward of a hundred pounds for information leading to the arrest of the people who attacked Sergeant Danvers. What do you think about that?’
‘Very generous of them, sir.’
‘And in return I’ve agreed that one of their reporters can be involved in your investigation.’
Stark regarded the Chief Superintendent with stunned incredulity. ‘Involved?’
‘Yes, Stark.’
‘How involved?’
‘By accompanying you as you carry out your investigations.’
Stark shook his head. ‘No, sir. Absolutely out of the question.’
Benson stared at Stark, equally incredulous. ‘You are refusing this generous offer?’
‘It is not a generous offer, sir. It is a way of this newspaper attempting to control the investigation and slant any evidence that is turned up to their political agenda. Frankly, sir, I have grave doubts that there were any so-called Jewish thugs involved in the attack on Sergeant Danvers. In fact, it is more likely that the attack was carried out by members of the British Union of Patriots.’
‘That is preposterous! We have the word of General Squires! Are you saying he is lying?’
‘We have the word of someone who reported that so-called fact to General Squires. I have the word of Sergeant Danvers, who informed me last night that he is fairly sure that one of the men who attacked him was from the BUP meeting at the Mitre Hall last night.’
Benson fell silent, mulling this over, before saying dismissively, ‘Sergeant Danvers suffered a serious concussion. He is obviously confusing this man, who came to his aid, with those who attacked him.’
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘Whatever the case, we have an excellent opportunity to get vital publicity for your investigation. This is the future, Stark. Working in cooperation with the newspapers! Think of the huge number of readers they have. Getting those readers on side increases the numbers of eyes and ears we have working for us.’
‘The Daily Target will distort facts to suit its political agenda. We are supposed to be impartial, sir. There will be nothing impartial if we align ourselves with one particular newspaper.’
‘Lord Glenavon is an honourable man, Stark. And a patriot. He supports the police, while some of those other so-called newspapers are vitriolic towards us in their editorials, with their allegations of corruption and favouritism.’
‘That is why we should not be associated with any particular newspaper, sir.’
‘And if I order you to take this reporter under your wing?’
‘I shall refuse, sir. And if it becomes a resigning issue, then I shall resign. And I will give the reasons for my resignation in my letter to the Chief Constable, and to the Home Secretary.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘And, of course, to the newspapers. All the newspapers.’
Benson glared at Stark, a red flush of anger rising up from his collar. ‘You are treading on very dangerous ground Stark,’ he growled.
‘Yes, sir. I believe I am. And so was Sergeant Danvers, which is why he was nearly killed.’
Stark felt a sense of rage inside him as he walked to his office. What was it that Short had said? ‘We’ve got a lot of your people among us. Senior officers.’ Was Benson part of this conspiracy, or was he just stupid, letting his vanity dominate his decision-making?
As he neared his office, he saw Donald Noble waiting outside. He, too, had a copy of the Daily Target clutched in his hand.
‘I see in the paper your sergeant got a pretty bad going-over. Nearly killed. Is that right?’
‘Yes. He was badly beaten and knocked unconscious. Fortunately, he seems to be recovering well. He’s been discharged from the hospital.’ I think it would be a good idea to print a statement I can just hand to people, he thought. I’m going to be getting this all day.
Noble followed him into the office. ‘According to this paper, he was beaten up by some Jewish gang,’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s what that particular newspaper would have us believe.’
‘You don’t buy it?’
‘No. Even though a member of the British Union of Patriots claims to have identified one of the thugs as some kind of Jewish gangster called Izzy.’
‘A stitch-up?’ frowned Noble.
‘Yes, I believe it may well be. I think that Danvers was beaten up to stop him noting who was going into the Mitre Hall. And also as a warning.’
‘What is this British Union of Patriots?’ asked Noble.
‘Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me with that,’ said Stark. ‘With your knowledge of the Ku Klux Klan, and your theory that Cavendish is over here to form links with right-wing groups in Europe.’
‘He is,’ said Noble firmly. ‘The trouble is, there are so many of these groups springing up we can’t keep tabs on them all.’
‘Sergeant Danvers mentioned before he went to the meeting that his mother knew some of the people involved. I told her I’d pay the sergeant a visit at home. See how he is, and also get some names. Fancy coming with me?’
‘Good idea. The more I can find out about what’s going on, the nearer I’ll be to nailing Cavendish.’
‘You’re convinced he’s our murderer?’
‘He’s involved – that I’m sure of. How far is your sergeant’s place?’
‘His parents’ home. Hampstead.’
‘In walking distance?’
‘If you’ve got an hour to spare. I suggest we get a car from the motor pool.’
They headed down the stairs and into the main reception. Stark was just leading the way to the door that led to the underground car park when he hear
d Amelia’s voice call out, ‘Paul!’
He turned, surprised, and saw her hurrying towards him. Like nearly everyone else he’d met today, she was holding a newspaper, and she thrust it towards him. ‘Is this true? About Bobby?’
‘It’s true that he was badly beaten and hospitalized. As to the culprits, we’re still working on that.’ He saw that Noble was watching this encounter with interest, and he introduced him. ‘This is Special Agent Donald Noble with the American Bureau of Investigation. Agent Noble, this is Lady Amelia Fairfax.’
As Noble took Amelia’s hand to shake it, he stopped. ‘Lady Amelia? Lord Fairfax’s widow?’
‘Ex-wife. We were divorced,’ said Amelia.
‘I am still sorry for your loss,’ said Noble.
‘Agent Noble is investigating Carl Adams’ death,’ explained Stark. ‘We therefore have a mutual interest that has led to us working together.’
‘How is Bobby?’ asked Amelia. ‘I telephoned the hospital, but they refused to give out any information about his condition except to family. I did think of saying I was a relative, but I thought that might make things unpleasant for Victoria or Lettie if they telephoned.’
‘He’s been released,’ said Stark. ‘Agent Noble and I are going to visit him at the family home.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Amelia. She saw Stark’s hesitation, and added hastily, ‘No, of course not. Official business.’
‘It’s not just that,’ said Stark. ‘He’s still recovering. Too many people …’
‘Of course,’ she said quickly. She hesitated, then asked, ‘Can we have a private word?’
Noble nodded and moved away a discreet distance, but Stark was aware that he was watching them. A policeman’s curiosity aroused? That, and plain nosiness, just like Stark.
‘I hear that your father’s in hospital,’ she said.
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘A friend.’
‘A friend?’ he echoed.
‘All right, it was at a women’s meeting. Last night.’
‘Social?’
She glared at him, insulted.
‘All right, I apologize,’ he said. ‘Politics. Equal voting rights.’
‘Among many things that are unequal in this society. Property rights. The right to be a doctor.’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘My turn to apologize. I didn’t intend this to be political. Someone I know was at this meeting. She’s a staff nurse at UCH, and she was telling me about the famous Chief Inspector Stark coming in.’