by Jim Eldridge
‘You promise?’ asked Stephen.
‘I promise,’ said Stark. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll explain when I get back.’
He could feel Sarah’s suspicious stare on his back as he pulled the front door shut. She knows something’s wrong. All of this on top of Dad dying, it’s too much for her. Somehow I’m going to have to make it up to her.
He walked to the taxi rank outside Mornington Crescent underground station and caught a cab to Finsbury Park. No one seemed to follow him, but he kept careful watch the whole journey.
His knock at the door of the terraced house in Hilldrop Crescent was answered by a surprised Billy Hammond. ‘Paul!’
‘I’m sorry to call unexpectedly like this, Billy, but I’ve got a problem.’
Hammond ushered him in and showed him into the front room, calling through to the kitchen, ‘It’s a friend from work!’
He gestured Stark to an armchair. ‘If you’re calling on me at home, rather than at the station, it suggests you’re definitely suspicious of things there,’ he said. ‘PC Fields?’
‘He’s just one,’ said Stark. ‘There are others at Scotland Yard, and more elsewhere.’
‘Is this about Israel Rothstein?’
‘In part, but it’s much bigger than that. I’ve been warned off, Billy, by some powerful people.’
‘The Daily Target?’
Stark nodded.
‘So what can I do?’
‘I need a private investigator and I’m hoping you’ll be able to recommend a good one.’
Hammond frowned. ‘Surely you’ve got your own contacts.’
‘Maybe, but lately I’m not sure whom I can trust. I’m guessing you’re more in touch with private detectives than I am. Being part of Scotland Yard shields you from a lot of the day-to-day stuff.’
‘Investigating what?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Hammond looked at Stark with obvious disappointment. ‘You don’t trust me?’
‘It’s not that. It’s politics, Billy. Deep politics. If this goes wrong, things will get bad. At the moment I’m the one in the firing line. I don’t want to bring anyone else down with me.’
‘That’s not fair, Paul,’ said Hammond. ‘We’ve always looked out for each other.’
‘I know, and that’s why I’ve come to you. After it’s all over, I promise I’ll tell you the whole thing. But right now, I can’t.’
Hammond thought it over, then nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘There’s only one guy I’d recommend. He’s a former copper. Smart. Intelligent. Honest. And very loyal.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Things that didn’t go down well with some of the top brass.’
‘Sounds the sort of bloke I’m looking for. Where can I find him?’
Hammond wrote a name, address and phone number on a sheet of paper and passed it to Stark. ‘He’s local, which is how I know him,’ he said. ‘His name’s Charlie Peters. You can say I sent you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Stark. ‘And this is between us, Billy. You never gave me this.’
‘Gave you what?’ asked Hammond. He looked quizzically at Stark. ‘Is there anyone else I should watch out for at my station, apart from Fields?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Stark unhappily. ‘That’s the trouble, Billy. I just don’t know.’
Charlie Peters lived in rooms four streets away from Billy Hammond’s house. Where Billy Hammond’s place had been so obviously a family home, with all the smells of laundry and cooking and kids that went with it, this house had an air of defeated loneliness about it.
Stark introduced himself at the door, and Peters responded with a wary look. ‘I know who you are, Chief Inspector. I read the papers. What can I do for the Yard?’
‘It’s a private matter. Billy Hammond gave me your name.’
‘You’d better come in, then.’
Stark followed Peters to his living room. The smell was of stale tobacco and cheap alcohol. The floral patterned wallpaper was faded and stained, the furniture rickety and old. Peters himself also looked shabby, his shirt dirty, his flannel trousers sprinkled with tobacco ash.
I hope this guy’s as good as Billy says, because he certainly doesn’t seem to be successful, thought Stark, wondering if he’d done the right thing in pinning all his hopes on Peters.
‘Let me guess? Divorce?’ asked Peters.
Stark shook his head. ‘No. Not that private.’ He gestured at a chair. ‘Can I sit down?’
‘Be my guest,’ said Peters.
Stark sat down on the uncomfortable chair with broken springs and said, ‘I’ll lay my cards on the table, Mr Peters. I’ve come to you because something is going on and I suspect there could be collusion within the police force. I don’t know who I can trust. I can trust Billy Hammond, but I don’t want to put him in a spot if things go wrong. It’ll be the end of his career.’
‘Whereas, me, I don’t have a career anymore,’ grinned Peters. ‘How far does this “collusion”, as you call it, go?’
‘I don’t know. I suspect up to chief superintendent level. Maybe higher. It certainly goes through the ranks, and lots of stations. Including the Yard.’
Charlie Peters stopped grinning. ‘It sounds dangerous.’
‘It is,’ agreed Stark.
‘Why are you taking it on?’ asked Peters. ‘Why not just walk away from it and let it go?’
‘Because a friend of mine is in trouble. And because I don’t like bullies walking all over me.’
‘In that case, you’re in the wrong job,’ said Peters.
‘No, I’m in the right job. It’s just that some wrong people are also in the same job, and I want to flush them out and get rid of them.’
‘Impossible!’ snorted Peters. ‘It goes too deep, and they’re too powerful.’
‘In that case, I’ll just do that part I can do. Get my friend out of a tight spot.’
‘And who is this friend?’
Stark hesitated, studying Peters. Either he had to level with Peters and put everything at risk, or he had to walk out of this room before he said anything more.
‘Billy Hammond says you can be trusted,’ he said.
‘Billy Hammond’s a very trusting man,’ answered Peters.
‘I need to know you’re the right man,’ insisted Stark doggedly.
‘I’m not sure I am,’ said Peters. ‘I think there’s only one man you really trust, and that’s you. You don’t know me. You only know what Billy said. I could be fooling him.’
Stark studied the detective, taking in his face, his manner, trying to read what went on behind his eyes. Finally, he said, ‘All right. But if I find you sold me out, I’ll kill you.’
Peters smiled broadly. ‘That’s what I like to hear. A bit of honesty. OK, DCI Stark, I think we can do business. Now, who’s this friend, and what tight spot are they in?’
‘Lady Amelia Fairfax,’ said Stark.
Peters’ eyebrows went up. ‘Lady Communism?’ he said. ‘Well, well. And what tight spot is she in?’
‘She’s been kidnapped and is being held hostage.’
‘Who by? Or haven’t they told you?’
‘I’ve been told all right. Lord Glenavon.’
Peters scowled. ‘That bastard! It was him and that paper of his that got me kicked off the force. I was getting close to nailing some top gangster, and the Target ran a story about me being in the pocket of his rival. There was no proof, of course, so they made it up. Fitted up the evidence. And that was me out the door.’ He shook his head. ‘The bastard!’ He looked enquiringly at Stark. ‘Why’s he holding her hostage?’
‘To try to stop me making enquiries into what he’s up to.’
‘And what is he up to?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m making enquiries. So I’m doing it one stage at a time.’
‘First, rescue the damsel in distress,’ nodded Peters.
A damsel in distress hardly fitted Stark’s view of Amelia, but in this case it was apt. ‘Yes,’ he said
.
‘I don’t do that sort of action stuff anymore,’ said Peters.
‘I don’t need you to,’ said Stark. ‘Just find out where she is. I’ll take it from there.’
‘Have you any idea where they might be keeping her?’
‘My gut tells me at Lord Glenavon’s place, Red Tops at Parliament Hill. Do you know it?’
Peters nodded grimly. ‘After I got kicked off the force I went down there to look at his place. I was after some sort of revenge. I fancied breaking in and smashing the place up. But in the end, I just sort of stood there, looking at the place, and thinking that one day I’d get my own back.’ He grinned. ‘Perhaps this could be that chance.’
‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure that’s where they’re keeping her,’ said Stark. ‘Like I said, it’s just my gut feeling.’
‘Nine times out of ten, a copper’s stomach is right,’ said Peters sagely. ‘Any other tips you can give me? Anyone else who might be involved and be worth me keeping an eye on?’
‘An American called Edgar Cavendish. He’s over here under the cover of setting up moving picture deals. And a woman called Lady Ambleton.’
‘All the titled people,’ observed Peters.
‘You’re not writing their names down,’ Stark pointed out.
Peters tapped his forehead. ‘I don’t need to,’ he said. ‘Instant recall. Lord Glenavon. Red Tops. Edgar Cavendish. Lady Ambleton. Lady Amelia Fairfax. You could reel off a hundred names and I’d remember them all.’
‘Very useful,’ complimented Stark.
‘And very safe,’ added Peters. ‘No bits of paper with incriminating names on them for people to find.’ He regarded Stark thoughtfully. ‘If she’s being held hostage, as you say, then there’s usually a time limit involved.’
‘They’ve told me three days,’ said Stark. ‘So, if I’m going to do anything about it, I need to make my move inside the next two. In which case, I’ll need you to get me a report by tomorrow night, as early as possible.’
‘It’s tight,’ said Peters doubtfully.
‘Can you do it?’
‘I’ll do the best I can. But if she’s not at Red Tops …’
‘I know,’ nodded Stark. That was his worst fear. If she wasn’t at Red Tops, then he’d lost. He pulled out his wallet. ‘We haven’t discussed your fee. How much do you want in advance?’
‘Put it away,’ said Peters. ‘We’ll talk money afterwards.’
‘I need to know how much I’m letting myself in for,’ said Stark.
Peters reached into a drawer and took out a printed sheet of paper.
‘These are my charges,’ he said, giving it to Stark. ‘So much a day and expenses. It won’t be much more than a day.’ He smiled again. ‘But if this gives me a chance to nail that bastard Lord Glenavon, there’ll be a big discount.’
THIRTY-THREE
Stark arrived home to find his mother in the scullery, plunging her hands into a sink filled with washing. She needs to keep busy to stop thinking about Dad, he told himself. The same as me.
‘Where’s Stephen?’ he asked.
‘He’s gone to bed. Just a minute or so ago, though.’
Stark headed upstairs. He pushed open the door of his son’s room and heard a sniffling sound coming from the bed, and as he sat down on the edge of the bed, he realized that Stephen was crying.
‘I’m back, son,’ he said.
There was a pause, then Stephen pushed himself up, wiping his eyes. ‘I try not to cry downstairs,’ he said. ‘For Grandma’s sake. I don’t want to upset her.’
Stark reached out and pulled Stephen towards him, enveloping his son in his arms. ‘I know, Stephen,’ he said.
‘I’m never going to see Grandad again. Mrs Pierce said I’d see Grandad in heaven, but I don’t know where it is. She said it’s in the sky, but I looked up and I couldn’t see anything.’
‘Mrs Pierce means well, but …’ Stark stopped. What could he say? That there was no such place as heaven? That Henry was gone for ever. That nothing of him existed anymore. But even some very intelligent people he’d met had talked about an afterlife. About reincarnation. Souls coming back, being reborn.
‘Stephen, the sad truth is that we all die. The good thing for your grandad was that he lived to a good age, so he spent time with you. Lots of people die very young.’
‘Like my mum?’
‘Yes, like your mum. Some even younger.’
‘Will I die?’ asked Stephen fearfully. ‘Soon, I mean?’
I’ve said the wrong thing. Stark mentally kicked himself. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean that. That happens sometimes when young people get very ill. Or an accident happens. A car knocks them down when they’re crossing the road. That’s why your grandma and grandad and me have always been careful about making sure you eat properly and are kept warm, and you keep safe when you’re going to school and places. And now Grandad’s gone, me and your grandma will keep making sure that you’re safe and looked after.’
‘Grandad was looked after, but he got ill.’
‘Grandad was old. And he always got ill in the winter with his lungs. It may have been because of the way he lived when he was a child. When he was growing up, he worked at the forge with your great-grandad, who was a blacksmith, and I think the smoke got into his lungs. And when he was a carpenter, he worked a lot outside in all weathers, and that didn’t help his lungs. But he was a strong man, your grandad, and he didn’t let it stop him doing things. Especially doing things with you.’
‘We were going to make a model car, now we’ve finished the Sopwith Camel,’ said Stephen.
‘You can still make one. I’ll help,’ offered Stark.
‘You’re always busy with work,’ pointed out Stephen.
Yes, I am, thought Stark bitterly. ‘Once this case I’m working on is over, I’m going to spend less time on work,’ he said. But that’s what I always promised, and it never happens, he admitted to himself. I have to change things. To ease the sombre mood, he asked, ‘What car were you and Grandad going to make?’
‘A Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost,’ said Stephen. ‘Like the one you came home in today.’
Stark smiled. ‘Well, that’s perfect! I’ve been in one, so I know what it’s like from the inside. I’ll certainly know how it should be when we start making it.’
‘Can I get a ride in it?’ asked Stephen.
‘Possibly,’ said Stark. ‘I’ll see what I can arrange. What colour were you thinking of painting it?’
‘Well, me and Grandad talked about crimson, like the one you were in, but I like the silver colour.’
And for the next ten minutes or so, Stark listened as Stephen talked about the Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, and other cars and aeroplanes, until, as he saw his son’s eyes begin to droop, he said quietly, ‘I think it’s time for sleep now, Stephen. Snuggle down.’
Stephen snuggled down into the bedclothes. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been here more often, son,’ said Stark. ‘But I will be.’
When he got downstairs, he found Sarah sitting in the kitchen by the range.
‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.
‘Mum, I want you to go away for a day or two. And take Stephen with you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there’s danger out there.’
Sarah studied him questioningly. He gave a deep sigh. He was going to have to tell her the truth, or she wouldn’t go.
‘This investigation I’m doing. These murders. I’ve uncovered something rotten. Some top people are involved.’
‘What sort of top people?’
‘Lords and ladies. Members of Parliament. Top army people. Even some top police.’
She stared at him, her mouth dropping open in shock. Then she clamped it shut again, and her eyes took on a suspicious angry look. ‘They’re trying to shut you up?’
‘Yes.’
‘That big car you came home in?’
He n
odded. ‘Yes. The man who owns that is part of it.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s not important, Mum.’
‘It is to me. And to Stephen if he comes round here threatening us. That’s why you want us to go away, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Stark.
‘Being driven out of our own home,’ she said angrily. ‘We were never driven out, not even when the Zeppelins were coming over, dropping bombs on us.’
‘This is worse than Zeppelins,’ said Stark. ‘These people look like they’re on our side. Ordinary people. Workers. Coppers. Lords and ladies. Toffs who’ll charm you.’
‘They won’t charm me,’ snapped Sarah. ‘What do they want?’
‘They want me to leave off the investigation for three days.’
She looked at him, puzzled. ‘Well, what’s wrong with that? Three days is nothing. Some murder investigations take years.’
‘Because they’ve also got Amelia. They’ve threatened to kill her. And I think they’ll do it anyway. I’ve got to try to save her.’
Sarah fell silent. She stood up and paced around, thinking. Finally, she turned to Stark and said, ‘Your Aunt Mabel in Finchley.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Then he added quickly, ‘But don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Not even Mrs Pierce. These people might ask her where you’ve gone.’
‘I’ve got to tell her something,’ Sarah said defensively. ‘I’ll tell her we’ve gone to your Uncle Walter in Canvey Island.’
‘Good.’
‘What about Stephen’s school?’ asked Sarah.
‘I’ll write a note saying that you’ve taken him away to help him get over his grandad passing away. They’ll understand.’
She nodded. ‘You going to get Amelia back safely?’
‘I am,’ said Stark.
‘And afterwards, we’ll be safe?’
‘I’ll make sure of it,’ Stark promised.
THIRTY-FOUR
That evening he telephoned Danvers, then Noble at his hotel, and arranged to see them both the next morning.
‘Eleven o’clock by the fountains in Trafalgar Square,’ he told them.
That done, he walked through to the kitchen where Sarah was sitting by the range, staring into the flickering flames that wrapped around the coals. Stark sat down and watched her. What could he say? Nothing.