by BK Duncan
She doubled back along East India Dock Road to drop into the police station on the chance she could catch PC Collier.
***
The desk sergeant shook his head. ‘You’ll have to go to Bow Circus if it’s him you want particular, he’s on point duty up there.’
May’s shoulders slumped. Once set on a course of action, she felt an almost physical need to see it through. Especially when she knew it to be questionable.
‘Can I help? I’m only here covering all them what’s in bed with the Spanish Lady but I know my way around the law.’
He didn’t look like the sort who would demand forms in triplicate.
‘I’m May Keaps, the coroner’s officer.’
His thread-veined cheeks squashed up to his eyes as he grinned. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from the lad. Truth be told, I reckon he’s a little sweet on you. And - old married man with three nippers though I am - I can see why.’
She flushed. Partly at the compliment, and partly at the white lie she was about to tell.
‘The coroner asked me to check on the details of what was found on a body discovered three weeks ago in Limehouse Causeway. Miles Elliott. He’s been released for burial but the inquest hasn’t been concluded and Mr Clarke thought there might be something amongst his effects that could help reach a verdict. He was called back to the City of London Coroner’s Court before he had time to sign a warrant but I wondered, as I was passing, if I could...’
The sergeant tapped the side of his nose as he pulled a ledger from under the counter. He scanned it then disappeared into the back room. May almost crossed her fingers. He returned with a brown foolscap envelope sealed with string.
‘I’ll have to ask you to sign for it if there’s anything you’re wanting to fetch away with you.’
‘That won’t be necessary; I only need to take a look.’
With his fat fingers, it took him an age to unwind the string from around the cardboard disks. At last the contents were spread on the counter before her. A pigskin wallet, a ration card, some coins, a cigarette lighter, a folded piece of yellow paper, two wrapped mints. But no key. Finally one of her hunches was paying off. Someone came in behind her and she took the opportunity to thank the sergeant and leave before she was forced to embroider her story even further.
Splashing out on a taxicab she could ill afford to take her into Millwall, May executed the next stage of her plan by paying a hasty visit to a man who’d helped her once or twice in past investigations. One she knew would be home in bed at this time of day.
***
Once back in the office she picked up the telephone receiver and put in a call to the switchboard of the East End News. Jack wasn’t there so she pretended to be one of his informants and left a cryptic message for him to meet her outside the Ship Aground at midnight.
Chapter Thirty
The stage was deserted. Having opened Easter Monday night to catch the locals itching for entertainment after rattling around the house and pubs all weekend, the manager had followed custom by giving the performers a night off the following week. Horatio had opted not to capitalise on the empty theatre by shoeing-in an extra rehearsal; he was finally ready to perfect the finale of his act and hadn’t wanted anyone present who might see how the sawing a lady in half trick was done and go around blabbing the secret. Vi, he’d asked to represent the viewpoint of the front row audience.
She was sitting there now waiting for him to come back from the dressing room with his assistant, Molly. Dressing room? That was a laugh. It was a closed-off backstage corridor smelling of gas and drains, partitioned with blankets strung over a rope to provide minimal privacy between the sexes. There were two rooms for the regular performers but, although now one of them by dint of slots on the regular bills, Vi had elected to share the rat hole with the amateurs in a misguided fit of solidarity. She’d already determined to move her make-up and costumes piece by piece into the better accommodation as the talent show got closer, and the turns didn’t need her Mother Hen routine so much.
Horatio virtually flew onto the stage. ‘Can you believe what the stupid bitch has done? Only gone and got herself pregnant. Caught her throwing up in the sink.’
Vi was seized with a spurt of alarm before she remembered Molly was engaged to the son of a wealthy stockbroker.
‘If she doesn’t show yet then it shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Oh, but it is. Seems they’re bringing the wedding forward to the end of the month and she’s been trying to find a way to tell me she wants out. Didn’t try very fucking hard, did she? All cheery chatter when I met her at the railway station this morning.’
Normally Horatio considered swearing the province of the working classes so he must be very angry indeed. Vi tried to think of what she could say - and what he needed to hear - to calm him down sufficiently for them to work out what could be done to retrieve the situation. She bought time by leaving her seat to join him on the stage. When she got there he was dismantling his equipment, flicking open the catches and flinging the sections of the coffin-shaped box into an untidy pile. She wanted to tell him to take care or he’d damage something except didn’t dare.
But in the short walk she’d found the solution. She’d do it. Be his conjurer’s assistant. She could learn the routine easily enough; there really wasn’t anything to it: stand around showing a lot of leg, hand him the props on cue, escort a member of the audience up on stage if he chose to go that way; lay in a box and pretend to be sawn in half. She’d been a dancer - her father had insisted she learn ballet to broaden her repertoire - and she was still supple; could do the splits if required. She was second on the bill, and he was closing the show; plenty of time to change costume, apply fresh make-up, and come on with a centred poise that implied she’d been sitting in a darkened room waiting for her big moment. Kitty, the Cockney act with her Pearly Queen impersonation, had the perfect wig she could borrow.
She walked over and tried a sympathetic embrace. But Horatio was too buzzing with thwarted energy to endure it and she ended up merely patting the back of his shoulders.
‘Molly was never right for you anyway. Oh, she could do the business well enough - should do after all the coaching you’ve given her. But she didn’t have nearly enough stage presence for such a great illusion. It’s the climax of the whole show-’
‘Don’t I bloody well know it? The half-witted cow has really left me in the lurch this time. It was bad enough when she decided in Brighton that the varnish brought her out in blisters. Thank Christ I never intended including her in the Glasgow engagement. Now I’ll have to get the posters redone for here, and with only nine days to go they won’t be worth the ink if I can’t get them turned around virtually overnight. More buggering about I could do without; as if I haven’t enough carrying this whole debacle single-handedly...’
His ranting was dissipating some of his anger, and the hurt and pain of his potential failure was beginning to grin through.
‘Sorry, Vi, it’s not your fault. I know I shouldn’t take things out on you but you’re the only one close enough to understand what this means to me.’
The warmth of his smile made up for everything. But she knew him too well to make her proposal outright: like all men, he had to believe it had been his idea.
‘What you need is someone who knows how to draw attention to herself at the moment of distraction, and then blend in to make herself part of the trick itself. It’s a tough act to pull off but something any good actress does naturally every time another player enters the stage. And the truly generous ones can take their energy and project it - a little like a vent does his voice - so the audience is left in no doubt who to focus on.’
‘She’d have to be pretty as well. No point her having all that stagecraft if she hasn’t got every man in the place wishing he was me bedding her down in her box, and every woman i
magining what it would be like to have such power.’
‘Agreed. Being supple is just as important though: remember her movement to curl up has to be slick if she’s to avoid the saw. You don’t want to be afflicted by cramp at a time like that.’
‘You are marvellous.’
Horatio threw his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor. It was so unexpected Vi let out a little scream.
‘You’ve given me such a brilliant idea.’
He whirled her around, laughing, and Vi’s world was complete. Once her feet were back on the stage he let go and headed for the wings.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ve got a picture in my head and don’t want to lose it. I want to imagine it on the publicity board...’
He was through the pass door and halfway down the auditorium. Vi had to run to catch up with him. They entered the foyer together.
‘There’ll have to be costume alterations of course - there may not be an awful lot to it but spangles and fishnet but it has to fit perfectly to not look tacky. Which, I must say, it had a tendency to do on Molly at times.’
‘Don’t you worry your lovely head about that; I’ll ask around for the best seamstress in Poplar. Maybe get her to create a completely new look, something more glamorous and sophisticated.’
She’d got him thinking exactly along her lines. They were standing in front of the publicity board at the bottom of the gallery steps, and he was staring, squint-eyed, at the photograph he’d had taken of himself mid-act. Only his assistant’s hand was visible as she passed him a playing card. That would have to change. Vi waited for him to communicate this wonderful vision of his so she could think of which poses would present her in the best light. A clink of coins made them both turn. Alice was in the box office. Horatio bounded over to her.
‘I thought everyone had the night off.’
‘Not front of house, worst luck. Money weren’t right Saturday night and he had me come in when it’s quiet so you can resist all those distractions interfering with your ability to count. It ain’t fair, him making out like I’m stupid or something. Turns out it was a bunch of tickets he’d tucked away for his pals. But it’s taken me hours to work that out.’
‘Cheer up.’
Horatio took a shilling from the pile, held it in his thumb and forefinger, shot his cuffs in the manner of the great Howard Thurston, and half a dozen sixpences dropped down with a rain of tinkles on the metal counter.
Alice laughed with such childlike delight that Vi felt a hundred years old in comparison.
‘And that is only a fraction of the good fortune this evening has brought you. How would you like to be the assistant in my magic act?’
‘Would I like it? Crikey. Why pick me?’
‘Because you’d be perfect. It was Vi’s idea actually, she’s always so good at reading my mind for exactly what it is I need. So, you’ll take it on then?’
‘Course I will. If you think I’m up to it.’
‘Between us, Vi and I will make sure you jolly well are. We’ve the full dress on Sunday, and then another two rehearsals - bags of time. Can you stay behind after the theatre closes Saturday night, so I can show you the equipment and what you’ll be expected to do? It’ll be a late one though.’
‘That’s okay, I’m bunking around the corner with a mate and they keep a key on a string so I can come and go. Her ma says how she knows the theatrical life’s not one of the regular variety and that...’
The wisdom of Mrs Gibson was swallowed by the swishing of the foyer door as Vi managed to make it into the auditorium before the sobs burst out and she knew that - like the rabbit in the hat trick - she would never be able to squash them back down.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was close to half past twelve when Jack turned up outside the Ship Aground. May had only been prepared to give him another ten minutes. With his hands in the pockets of that ridiculous jacket he sauntered up to her, the attempt at casualness ruined by the electricity of his excitement.
‘So what adventure have you got in store for me this time, Miss Keaps?’
At least he had stopped calling her that ridiculous Blossom of May.
‘I knew it would be you the minute I saw the message. A real agent provocateur doesn’t talk like that, you know; you might as well have said “and come alone” it was so obvious.’
She kept her sharp retort to herself. He was a man full of words with every intention of saying them; better he get them out of his system now.
‘You’re lucky to get me. It’s only because some pals of mine are over from Dublin that I’m not out chasing more leads for my exposé. What’s the scoop? Are we off to taste the delights of another yen-shi establishment?’
He was smiling as he eyed May up and down. She was wearing her sailor’s garb but with a jumper instead of the pea-jacket.
‘You can go smoke more opium on your own time; this is something altogether different. I’ve asked you along because I wanted a witness but if you’re to be a part of this, then you’ll have to do what I say and not try to turn it around to your own advantage.’
‘How can I agree to that when I don’t even know what it is?’
She beckoned to the doorway behind her. ‘This is Sid. He’s a cracksman.’
‘A safebreaker? You thinking of robbing the Crown Jewels?’ Jack’s grin grew wider.
‘We’re going to pay a visit to Elliott Shipping. Miles always kept the key on him but it’s missing. And I think his murderer might have taken it because there’s something incriminating in that office. And we’re going to find out what it is.’
‘Have you finally lost all your marbles?’
May noted with satisfaction that the patronising amusement had gone.
‘Even if you’re right, he’s had weeks to retrieve it. And wouldn’t Mr Elliott have noticed if there was something strange?’
‘Why would he know? He said in his deposition he hadn’t set foot on the premises after he handed the running of the business over to Miles, and I happen to know since his son’s death he’s winding it up. As for the killer, maybe he’s waiting until the coroner’s indicted someone else before he draws attention to himself by going back there.’
‘I’ve never heard a story based on anything like such half-baked notions.’
‘That including your own?’
‘Answer me this: do you, or do you not, know who has the key?’
‘I’ve a pretty good idea.’
‘Get them arrested then. Jesus, May, I don’t see why you have to make everything so difficult.’
‘Maybe it’s something I learned from you. Are you coming or not?’
‘Do you have the faintest notion of what my uncle will do if I end up in a police cell again?’
‘He’ll cut off your sweetie money?’
‘Don’t be facetious. I’ll be packed up and shipped off back to Ireland in disgrace.’
‘Some Great Journalist you are.’ His self-regard was jangling her nerves. ‘There’s much more at stake tonight than your job - or mine either for that matter, which, if it interests you, I will probably lose anyway. So you can shut up and come along, or go back and get drunk with your cronies - no doubt to weave this into some funny little tale with you at the centre of it all. It’s entirely up to you. I couldn’t care less. Come on, Sid, it’s time we got going.’
She started to walk away and then turned back.
‘You’re nothing but a schoolboy playing in the East End because you think it’s spicy to see how the other half lives. Well, some of us have no choice but to get our hands dirty because we’ve nowhere else to run to. Neither, in case you’ve forgotten, does Miles Elliott any more; he was another rich kid who thought he’d got the measure of what goes on around here. Someone made him pay for that. And I
’m going to find out why.’
***
They arrived in Narrow Street in a strung out zigzag - May in the lead, Sid a few yards behind and on the other side of the road, Jack as an adrift afterthought. The stumpy alleyway they wanted was formed by warehouse walls and ended in a high metal gate and railings. According to Sid (who knew a thing or two about concealment) the main entrance to the wharves on Limekiln Dock was exposed by the open ground in front and overlooked by the watchman’s hut, but this gate was no longer in use since the grain ships had started using Millwall.
Sid made a sign to indicate that there should be no talking and then, grabbing hold of the fence, started to walk up the adjoining wall like a lopsided crab. When his feet were above his head he twisted his body until he could wedge them between the railings and the first of the horizontal bars, then pulled himself up hand over hand into a crouch. He repeated the effort twice more then uncoiled the rope he had wrapped around his waist under his shirt, tied it to the top of the gatepost and threw the end down. May’s stomach began to churn a little less. She’d thought she might be expected to replicate Sid’s acrobatics, but the rope was dangling just above her head. Then Jack was beside her, making a cradle of his hands for her to step into. With Jack hoisting her up, and Sid reaching down, she laboured up to the top bar. From there she had to twist herself over, find the bar again on the other side with her feet, then clutch hold of it and lower her body until she had a drop which was reasonable enough not to end in broken ankles. She took a deep breath and let go. Her joints and spine juddered as she hit the ground but she’d made it. Sid had climbed down the rope and was giving Jack a bunk-up until he could pull himself up to the top and drop down beside her. Then Sid did his crab impersonation once more and joined them on the wharf.
With Sid leading the way they scurried around the bulk of the first building; a timber warehouse, its stored hardwoods releasing the exotic odours of jungles and spice islands. Ahead stretched the wide concrete of the quay and beyond that the sleek nothingness of the River Thames, the lights on the far bank glinting enticingly. A run across open space and then a square brick edifice with a flaking sign spanning the front: Elliott Shipping Company. It was the last building before a lamp glowing in the drifting river mist signalled the end of the quay.