When Sally’s door remained shut, Frankie kicked it open. ‘Sally! Sally, you here, you old slag? Come out and face me.’ His strong voice resonated off the walls of the poky room, which appeared to be deserted.
Determined to wait until Sally returned from whatever pub she was spending his money in, Frankie walked further into the room, his nose wrinkling as the rancid smell of body sweat and lice hit him squarely in the face. Then he found himself beside a brass bed. Peering through the gloom he could make out a dim outline on the filthy mattress. With a cry of triumph, he moved forward and grabbed at the arm flung over the side of the bed. But Sally didn’t stir. Puzzled, Frank bent closer, ignoring the powerful odours that were emanating from the torn grey sheets.
‘Sal! Come on, wake up, you old cow. Sally! Sal?’
Alarm spread through him as the silent figure remained still. Gingerly now, Frankie lifted Sally up, then stepped back quickly as he realised she wasn’t breathing.
‘Oh, my Gawd!’ For a few seconds, he felt a surge of elation. The old cow had drunk herself to death and saved him the trouble. Then his eyes screwed up in bewilderment. Sally might have turned into an old soak but drunks didn’t usually die of it at her age. Casting a quick look around the bleak room he saw the outline of a lamp and lit it. The wick was nearly burned out, but the remnant threw out enough light to show the ghastly pallor of Sally’s face.
Frankie raised the lamp higher to get a better look, his eyes cold as he looked down at the wretched piece of humanity that had once shared his bed. There wasn’t a trace of the young, attractive girl he had once known, yet it was Sally – he would have known her anywhere, despite her drastically altered appearance.
A soft padding of feet sounded outside the door and he whirled round to face the intruder, then relaxed at the sight of Fred’s anxious face. ‘I thought I’d better come and see what was going on, Guv. You’ve been a while and – Oh, my Gawd! What’s happened to her? She – she ain’t dead, is she, Guv?’ The fear in the hushed tone was evident.
Frankie hissed, ‘Don’t just stand there gawping, you stupid bastard. Close the door before all the bleeding neighbours come to see what’s going on.’
Fred did as he was told and sidled into the room, his eyes shifting nervously towards the bed.
‘And you can take that look off your face,’ Frankie barked, ‘She was like that when I got here.’
Fred shuffled his feet, his face troubled. ‘All right, Guv, I believe you. But we’d better not hang around. The coppers would love to find you here with a dead body. There’s still plenty of them as wants the chance to pin something on you. Come on, Guv, let’s get outta here, please.’
Frankie grunted. Fred was right. If he was found here with Sally it would look bad for him. But something was tugging at his memory, something important. Then it came to him, and as the full import of the situation became clear, Frankie froze in horror. No! Don’t be so bleeding stupid, he berated himself. But the persistent voices in his head wouldn’t be silenced.
Passing a trembling hand over his chin, Frankie said urgently, ‘Hang on a minute, Fred. There’s something I wanna look at. Give us a hand, will you? Help me turn her over. Well, come on, man, what you waiting for, a bleeding tip?’
His face creased with worry and distaste, Fred helped Frankie turn over the heavy figure on the rumpled, disgusting sheets. Then Frankie uttered a cry. ‘No! Oh, shit.’
‘What’s up, Guv? What’s the matter?’ Fred croaked.
But Frankie, holding the flickering candle, was staring down at the back of Sally’s head. He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing at the ugly swelling surrounding a small cut, half buried beneath Sally’s matted hair. Dumbstruck, Frankie could only stand and stare at the incriminating evidence. Rose had told him she had lost her temper and gone for Sally, causing her to fall and hit her head against the bureau. But surely the knock hadn’t been hard enough to kill her? There was no way of knowing for certain. But once she was found, the coppers would start sniffing around. Knowing Sally, she had probably been shouting her mouth off down the pub about her new-found wealth. Even if she hadn’t, the two maids knew of her visits to the house. And the neighbours, too, must have noticed Sally’s comings and goings. Once the body was found, the newspapers would carry the story. There would be many people who remembered Sally Higgins from her days at the Red Lion. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before the law came knocking at his door. It would be no good denying that Sally had become a frequent visitor to the house: there were too many witnesses. Maybe the maids would keep their mouths shut, but Frankie couldn’t depend on that. Nor could he stop the neighbours from talking. And as Fred had pointed out, there were still some police officers with long memories who would like nothing better than an excuse to even old scores.
But he hadn’t done anything, not this time.
No, but Rosie has. Rosie attacked Sally, causing her to fall. It had been an accident, but in the eyes of the law it would be murder.
The enormity of the situation paralysed him. His mind was screaming at him. Sally could have died of anything. The knock on the back of her head might have had nothing to do with her death. But he couldn’t take the chance. Not where Rosie was concerned.
Galvanised into action, Frankie began to wrap the body in the grimy sheets. He had to hide it, and the best place to dump it was in the river. With a bit of luck, by the time Sally washed up the fish would have done their work, leaving no evidence of the blow at the back of her head, which could mean the rope for Rose.
Feverishly caught up in his desperate plan, Frankie forgot Fred’s presence until the frightened man coughed uneasily. ‘What you playing at, Guv? For Gawd’s sake, leave her and let’s get outta here.’ Frankie stopped what he was doing and stared through the gloom at Fred Green. They had been together a long time, had been involved in some unpleasant escapades, many involving violence. But never murder.
Frankie surveyed him with affection. ‘This ain’t got anything to do with you, Fred. This is private business. I never killed her… but …’ Frankie bit down hard on his lip. He couldn’t explain any further. To do so would implicate Rose, and as much as he trusted this man, he trusted no one where Rose’s life might be at stake. So he nodded and added abruptly, ‘Go on, Fred. Sling your hook – and tell Joe to go home an’ all. Well, go on, then, you daft bugger. Clear off.’
Fred stood firm. He didn’t know what was going on, but Frankie was obviously in trouble, so there was nothing else for it but to help. Filled with quiet resolution, he moved nearer the bed. ‘You ain’t gonna get very far on your own with a dead body slung over your shoulder, Guv. Here, stand her up, like she was drunk or something. We can carry her between us. No one’ll take much notice, not round these parts.’
Hesitating only a second, Frankie nodded grimly. Fred was right. This was one task he couldn’t do by himself. Placing one of the corpse’s limp arms around Fred’s neck, Frankie took hold of the other and swung it around his shoulders. Then, together, they began the arduous journey down the rickety stairway.
Behind them doors opened furtively and Frankie was uncomfortably aware that their movements were being carefully watched, but there was nothing he could do about it. Once out in the street, the two men rested against the rotting entrance, trying to keep Sally’s limp body upright. Joe Perkins, who had been lounging against the waiting carriage, a cigarette hanging from his lips, sprang forward in startled surprise. Like Fred, Joe sensed his guv’nor needed help and reacted instinctively. ‘Gawd blimey, Guv, what’s going on?’
Sweating despite the night chill, Frankie said sharply, ‘Keep your noise down.’ Drawing in short, ragged breaths, he looked at both his men. He couldn’t tell them the entire truth, but they deserved the chance to walk away now. Fred was already implicated by helping to move the body, and Frankie knew he couldn’t place either man in any further conspiracy. His breath steamed in the cold air as he urged, ‘I can manage from here. Go on, the pair of you, piss off
home to your families. This ain’t got nothing to do with you.’
As one, Fred and Joe stood their ground, their expressions and bearing resolute. ‘Yeah, well, that’s up to us, ain’t it, Joe?’ Fred said, knowing without doubt what the answer would be.
‘That’s right, Guv,’ Joe said solemnly. ‘You ain’t getting rid of us that easily.’
Touched by their staunch loyalty, Frankie nodded. But this was no time to stand about talking. ‘Thanks, boys, I appreciate it.’ Pushing himself away from the wall, Frankie grunted, ‘Look, the best place to dump it is in the Lea. What I was thinking of is this…’ Lowering his voice to a whisper Frankie outlined his hasty improvised plan, and the three men began walking back to the waiting carriage, their voices now raised in laughter for the benefit of the bundled-up cabbie, their hard stares darting back and forth on the look-out for prying eyes. The street seemed to be deserted.
‘’Ere, what’s up with her? You ain’t putting no drunken tart in my cab.’ The disgruntled voice of the cabbie floated in the air. With an oath, Frankie reached into his pocket and pulled out a five-pound note, while at the same time bundling Sally’s lifeless body into the safety of the cab. ‘Quick, Fred, give him this, before he has the street out with his bleeding shouting.’
The note silenced any further protest from the grizzled Cockney, and with a sharp flick of the reins and a low, ‘Giddy-up’, the cab pulled away.
* * *
Woken by urgent voices from a drunken sleep, Nobby Summers opened a bleary eye to see what the fuss was about. Shuffling from the pile of rags in a corner of the tenement basement that was his home, the crippled beggar crawled forward tentatively. He stayed hidden in the shadows, listening attentively to the hurried conversation above him, then smiled cunningly.
Since Frankie Buchannon’s bully boys had broken his fingers all those years ago, Nobby hadn’t been able to ply his trade. His life had been filled with hunger and desperation, and a burning desire for revenge. Now he saw a chance to get even with the man who had crippled him and robbed him of his livelihood. Careful not to be seen, Nobby waited until the cab moved away then, with a swiftness that surprised even him, he shambled into the night in search of a copper.
* * *
Inspector Jack Adams was in his office working a night shift when the call came through from the front desk. Listening carefully to the desk sergeant’s rapid words, Jack’s face muscles began to twitch in growing excitement. Before the other man had finished talking, Jack hung up the earpiece, breathing a fervent whisper of triumph. ‘Gotcha!’
Almost at a run, he hurried across his office, dragging his hat and coat from a peg, and within minutes, flanked on all sides by uniformed officers, he ran from Hackney police station and climbed inside a waiting Black Maria.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Prince of Wales public house was situated on the south bank of a meandering section of the river Lea. In the summer months, the pub was popular, with families converging in large numbers to sit outside with their drinks while their children fished or sat happily with their feet dangling in the warm water. But at this time of year, with the nights dark and freezing, the pub landlord had to make do with a few regulars from the neighbouring houses, and on this December night, the pub and surrounding area were quiet, almost deserted – which was why Frankie had chosen to come here. It was the perfect spot for what he had in mind. And if someone saw them, well, then, they were just three mates out for a drink with a ladyfriend. Nothing unusual in that.
It was around eleven o’clock when the cab pulled to a stop outside the pub, just in time for last orders. With much guffawing and play-acting, the three men clambered out with Sally’s body propped up between them.
‘’Ere you go, mate. Another ten bob for your trouble.’ Frankie grinned up at the now affable cabby and was quickly relieved of four half-crowns.
‘Much obliged, Guv’nor. Much obliged!’ Tipping back his bowler hat, the heavily wrapped-up man peered down at the unusual trio standing waiting for the tall man in evening dress and high hat. ‘Bit of a long way to come for a drink, ain’t it, mate? And your ladyfriend looks well gone to me. I doubt if the landlord will serve her any more drinks. I…’ The words seemed to freeze on the man’s lips as he felt menace fill the air around him. Drawing in his chin under the woollen muffler tied round his neck he decided to keep any further comments to himself. Clicking his tongue he urged the horse onwards.
Beckoning his men to follow, Frankie moved quickly away from the bright lights of the pub to a narrow turning at the side where they could hide until it closed for the night.
‘What now, Guv?’ Fred was clutching the body with obvious reluctance, as was Joe.
Afraid that the two men were losing their nerve, Frankie said sharply, ‘Look, I’ve already told you both, this is my problem and I’ll sort it out. Besides, the worst part’s over. All I’ve gotta do now is wait till the pub clears, then take her over to the bridge at Millfields and chuck her in. So you might as well clear off home. If – Hang on!’ He was interrupted by a sudden loud discharge of half a dozen men from the pub. Moving into the shadows, the three waited with bated breath until the rowdy revellers had passed on.
Anxious for his boys to leave, Frankie attempted to take the dead weight of Sally from their grasp, saying gruffly, ‘Go on, get off, the pair of you, you’re getting on me nerves.’ But both men still stood firm.
‘We’re staying, Guv.’
Frankie heard the resolution in Fred’s voice and nipped guiltily at his bottom lip. He should never have put either of them in such a dangerous position. He hadn’t intended to, but when he had spotted them walking ahead of the cab, he had reacted instinctively. Both Fred and Joe had always been alongside him in times of trouble, and he had ordered them into the cab out of habit. Knowing it was useless to argue, and secretly glad they were staying, he lapsed into silence.
The narrow turning in which they were hiding was filled with the sound of their rapid breathing, the air around them filled with thick grey plumes of the steam that streamed from their mouths and nostrils as they tried to ignore the biting winds sweeping in from the dark river.
Another twenty agonising minutes passed before the pub discharged the last of its customers. When Frankie was sure that the landlord had closed for the night and there was no danger of being seen by a last-minute drinker, he beckoned Fred and Joe to follow him. Without the bright lights from the pub, the path leading to the bridge was as black as coal, which was exactly what Frankie had been banking on.
On the short journey he stooped and felt in the dirt road for any large pieces of rock or stone that might be lying around. His fingers closed around a heavy object and he slipped it into his pocket. Then he led the way up the slight incline to the bridge.
Frankie craned his neck to left and right, to make sure they weren’t being observed. Then, his voice low and deep, he said, ‘Let her go, lads. I’ll do the rest.’
The two men stood back panting, glad their nerve-racking ordeal was nearly over.
Dropping to his knees, Frankie pulled Sally’s skirt around her face and head to avoid any blood splattering on his clothes. Then, raising the heavy rock, he began to pound the covered head and face.
Neither Fred nor Joe would have called themselves squeamish, yet when Frankie began to bludgeon Sally’s lifeless form, they turned away. Even though they couldn’t see the mutilation being perpetrated, they could hear the dull, sickening sound as the rock thudded down. Assuming that Frank was attempting to obliterate the features of the dead woman, and therefore draw attention away from himself, they waited stoically until he had finished. Then they heard him panting with exertion as he lifted the body over the side of the bridge.
Suddenly the quiet night was rent apart as a dozen wavering torches lit up the night sky and a steady stream of police officers appeared. Immobilised with horror, the three men stood rigid, like rabbits caught in the glare of a poacher’s lamp, at the sight of the polic
emen swarming towards them from the bottom of the bridge, torches and truncheons held out before them.
As the horde of uniformed men advanced, Joe and Fred regained their senses and rushed to Frankie’s side, obliterating the sight of the ragged bundle slumped over the bridge. Frankie seized the opportunity with which his men had presented him and, with one last savage push, he toppled the dead weight of Sally Higgins and the rock into the fast-flowing river beneath.
There was a loud splash, followed by a string of oaths from the rapidly approaching policemen.
Knowing it was pointless to run, Frankie turned to meet them, a wide grin creasing his good-looking features. ‘Evening, Officers. Nice night for a walk, ain’t it? ’Ere, get that torch outta me face, will you? You’re blinding me!’
Rough hands grabbed at his arms, but he offered no resistance. He watched in amusement as three policemen scrambled down the grass knoll in a desperate attempt to recover the object that had just been thrown from the bridge.
A man moved forward from the ranks of his colleagues, coat collar turned up around his ears, felt hat pulled down low over his eyes. ‘Hello, Frank. Nice to see you again after all these years. How you been keeping?’ Jack’s voice was pleasant, almost friendly. To the two men holding Frankie captive he added, ‘Let him go.’
Freed, Frankie hitched up his shoulders and walked slowly towards the man in plain-clothes, his ever-active brain already formulating an escape route. One of Sally’s neighbours must have smelt a rat and fetched the coppers. Funny that. Frankie hadn’t thought the kind of people who lived in those rat-infested places would have bothered. But how had they known where to find him? Unless someone had overheard him and the boys talking.
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