Robin Hood Yard

by Mark Sanderson

  “I hadn’t forgotten about the photograph.”

  “How could you?” Their eyes met. “Give us a gasper.”

  Johnny lit one for them both. “Come on. We’ll share a taxi – if we can find one.”

  “Where to?”

  “Saffron Hill. We need to warn Hollom. He could be the next victim.”

  “Unless he’s the killer,” said Matt. “He stole the membership list, so he’d have known where everyone lived.”

  “He works for the government though.”

  “And governments don’t kill? He warned you off, didn’t he? He was afraid you’d queer his pitch.”

  “Like you did for Hext.”

  Johnny felt guilty as soon as he’d said it. Matt was dismayed.

  “I didn’t know I was putting the little turd in danger.”

  “I’m not saying you did. Besides, his fellow fascists have shown no consideration for the safety of others. Perhaps that’s why the government is bumping them off one by one – mutilating them purely to complicate the picture. A secret plan to pre-empt the group collaborating with the Germans.”

  “It makes sense to me,” said Matt. “Even if it does sound rather far-fetched. You do let your imagination run away with itself sometimes.”

  “If you say so. Wouldn’t it be good, though, if it were true? Anyway, there’s only one way to find out. We’ll ask him and see what happens. If he were going to kill me to guarantee my silence he’d have done it by now. He can hardly kill a cop and a journalist in broad daylight. He’s supposed to avoid unwanted attention.”

  “I ought to inform Tyser.”

  “Well, there’s a police box in Hatton Garden. If Hollom’s not at Otarelli’s we might find him in the Mitre.”

  Zick, a look of sheer terror on his face, bolted for his upstairs hidey-hole.

  “Stay where you are, Mr Zick. Can’t stay away from my wife, can you? I must say I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

  He turned to Lizzie. “Hello, darling. Am I glad to see you.”

  What on earth was she doing here? She was flushed but, apart from that, appeared to be well. Had her disappearance been down to Zick after all?

  Lila, hearing her father’s voice, tried to speak. Matt tickled her under the chin. The happy gurgling made his heart swell.

  “And how’s my little angel? I’ve missed you both so much.”

  “Sorry,” said Lizzie. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Not now, dear. We’ll talk once this sordid business is completed.”

  Simkins, who had watched the exchange with amusement, stood up.

  “Worthy of a weepy, I’m sure.” He picked up the envelopes. “However, I must tear myself away and get back to the office.”

  “The only place you’re going, Mr Simkins, is Snow Hill.”

  “You can’t arrest him,” said Zick. “You’re not in the City of London. The land you stand on belongs to the see of Ely and as such is under the jurisdiction of its Bishop.”

  “The last person to question my authority is currently lying in the mortuary,” said Matt. “However, should you wish to turn yourself over to the Bishop rather than the Lord Mayor you have the right to do so. Of course, Commander Inskip will be powerless to help you if you do.”

  Zick sat down without a word.

  “Henry Simkins, I’m arresting you for the attempted blackmail of Elizabeth Turner and John Steadman …”

  “Where’s your proof?”

  Matt pointed to the envelopes. Simkins dropped them.

  “They’re not mine – they’re his!” He pointed at Zick.

  Matt knew this was true. Arresting him would still hurt Zick though – and help Johnny.

  “He likes little boys,” said Zick. “I can show you the film, if you wish.”

  “No, thank you. I don’t want to see images of any kind.”

  “Not even the ones of your good self?”

  Simkins managed to combine a sneer with a leer. “They’ve given a lot of pleasure to a lot of people – including your wife and Johnny.”

  “That’s not true!” Lizzie, still holding Lila, struck him across the face. “You poisonous ponce! Johnny saved your life. Is this how you repay him? Why are you trying to destroy him?”

  “Not sure,” said Simkins. “Boredom, I suppose. I’m actually rather fond of him.”

  “You’ve an odd way of showing it,” said Matt.

  “Loyalty seems to be a rare commodity these days,” sighed Simkins. “I look forward to telling you all about Zick’s various ventures.”

  “What will your father say? And his political allies?” Lizzie was fascinated by his loathsome self-interest.

  “That’s what I’m looking forward to most of all. Knowing my luck, he’ll succumb to apoplexy before the whole story comes out. He hates me and I hate him.”

  “You never did know when to button it,” said Zick.

  He pulled out a pearl-handled pistol.

  A miasma of misery always seemed to hang over Saffron Hill. The ghosts of Fagin’s pickpocketing catamites still lurked in the network of narrow alleys that connected the hotchpotch of workshops and laboratories. Toxic fumes from furnaces and refineries added to the fug.

  Hollom was not at work. He had gone to watch the Lord Mayor’s Show and would be back around two o’clock. Was the secret agent expecting an attack on Adler? Had the EFF planned something special? Hollom would know. The procession was about to start.

  Johnny trotted down Hatton Garden. A taxi with its flag out had stopped at a pedestrian crossing. The flashing amber globes of the Belisha beacons made him see the light. Adler wasn’t the victim in all this: he was behind the campaign. That’s why he hadn’t been concerned for his safety. He knew what was coming – at least he thought he did …

  The driver’s delight in picking up a fare soon faded when Johnny told him the destination.

  “You’ll be lucky! The City’s chockablock. This ain’t a magic carpet.”

  “Prefer me to get out? Thought not. As near to the Mansion House as you can, please.”

  Leslie Hore-Belisha, the Minister of Transport who’d introduced the lights, was half-Jewish. Dimeo and Hollom were half-Italian. Becky danced at both ends of the ballroom. Life wasn’t black and white like the pole of a Belisha beacon. It wasn’t a question of being one thing or the other. Light was both a particle and a wave. Two opposites within one form. Good men did bad things and vice versa. Adler had two faces. He was a double-dealer.

  The two stories he was working on were somehow linked. Everything meant something and everything was connected in London’s giant web. If Hollom was involved in both cases then Adler had to be too. That’s why he’d wanted Johnny, rather than the police, to investigate: he was buying time. For what though? For more crooked deals to go through? For the gold to reach Canada? Or for Hollom to get the last man on the list?

  Gresham Street was as far as the cabbie could go. Gresham’s Law: bad money drives out good. There was no such thing. Money was a concept – without morals, without intrinsic value. Midas learned this lesson the hard way. He starved to death.

  Johnny didn’t wait for his change. He started running.

  Alex was so wound up he’d walked all the way from Fenchurch Street to Holborn Circus. Most pedestrians seemed to be heading into the City, not out of it. Yet again, he was swimming against the tide.

  He bought a bouquet of red carnations – that he could now ill-afford – from a barrow outside the bank and hurried into Bartlett’s Buildings. He couldn’t wait to see her. Would she be pleased to see him?

  Standing on the threshold, he realized he was shaking. Anger with Wilderspin? Nervous exhaustion? He hadn’t slept a wink last night. Sexual anticipation? All three most likely.

  He knocked gently. She might be in bed. He knocked again, harder this time. Still no reply. Slowly, he turned the knob. The door was locked.

  He took out his wallet and extracted a nail file. Lovers shouldn’t have secrets
.

  Matt immediately placed himself between Lizzie and Lila and the gun.

  “If you fire that thing you might as well shoot yourself. Even Inskip won’t be able to cover it up.”

  “He hasn’t got the balls,” said Simkins.

  “Hark who’s talking!”

  “Shh!”

  Matt could tell Lizzie was more livid than afraid. She held Lila tightly, glaring at Simkins not the gun.

  “Don’t do it,” said Matt. “He’d rather die than face public humiliation.”

  Lizzie couldn’t help herself: “Johnny will so enjoy covering the court case.”

  Zick lowered the pistol but stepped back and raised it again when Matt moved to take it from him.

  “Stay where you are. How do I know you won’t arrest me too? You’re clearly not a man to let bygones be bygones.”

  “You’ll have to trust me,” said Matt.

  Simkins laughed.

  “There’s no one more honest than my husband,” said Lizzie. “I should know.”

  Matt looked at her in a new light. He wasn’t sure what impressed him most: her loyalty or bravery. Was he still honest though? The money remained in his locker.

  Lila Mae, wanting to join in the game, held out her arms to her father.

  “In a minute, Angel. Daddy’s busy.”

  “He’s scared what might come out in court,” said Simkins. “Oh, the stories I could tell …”

  “I went to great lengths to keep you happy,” said Zick.

  “And silent.”

  “Very true,” said Zick, and shot him.

  The Lord Mayor’s coach – a fantasia in red and gold – emerged from Prince’s Street by the Bank of England and turned, groaning on its leather straps, towards Poultry. Adler, leaning out of the window, doffed his cocked hat to the dignitaries assembled under the portico of his new home, the Mansion House. The ostrich feathers on his hat rippled in the chilly breeze.

  The cheering crowds that packed the pavements did nothing to scare the horses. Pairs of mounted policemen protected the coach at the front and rear. The floats that followed were also mainly drawn by horses, whereas others relied on another form of horsepower. It was one of these that stalled. The actors portraying Sir Francis Drake and his fellow bowlers staggered as the truck coughed then lurched to a stop.

  The theme of this year’s show was physical health. Everywhere banners proclaimed FITNESS WINS! Dancers, boxers, golfers and rowers continued to demonstrate their moves.

  The plaster of Paris mountain being climbed by the alpinists started to emit smoke. Johnny watched in disbelief. No one climbed an active volcano.

  The army jeeps and wagons of the auxiliary fire brigade rolled on. They were on parade, not on duty.

  As soon as a gap appeared in the procession, Johnny pushed through the crowd lining the route and crossed Cheapside.

  He weaved his way through a maze of penny-farthings, unseating a couple of the riders. Their companions, cursing loudly, wobbled precariously but somehow remained upright and continued to pedal. Some of the spectators started to boo.

  A few members of a marching band, distracted, fell out of step. The loss of rhythm was accompanied by an unscored clash of cymbals. The catcalls got louder.

  One of the police outriders craned his neck to see the cause of the commotion. Calling to his colleagues, he turned his mount around and headed towards Johnny.

  Adler, arm aching from waving to his devoted citizens, stuck his head out of the left side of the coach. Below him, on a painted panel, Mars, god of the City of London – and not, as many assumed, Mammon – pointed to a scroll held by Truth. What was going on?

  His molehill had become a mountain.

  Johnny, surrounded by coppers, indicated the flames on the back of the float. They ran towards it.

  Hollom emerged on the other side of Cheapside and headed for the coach. Was he going to kill Adler too?

  Before he could do so Johnny rugby-tackled him. It was like head-butting a tree. Both men fell to the ground and scrabbled in the sand and sawdust.

  More cops ran towards the melee. Jeers, whinnying and whistles competed with the faltering brass. Johnny glimpsed wheels, hooves, running feet. He smelled Hollom’s garlicky sweat, felt his enormous strength. He didn’t have a chance.

  The last thing he saw was Watkiss – half-shocked, half-amused – bearing down on them.

  The City’s bells – including those of St Olave’s, St Margaret Pattens’, St Swithin’s London Stone, St Mary’s Woolnoth and St Bride’s – continued to ring out the good news.

  Hollom’s fist met his chin. The whole world exploded.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Simkins didn’t bite the bullet – he swallowed it.

  At first Matt thought Zick had missed him altogether. Simkins, clutching his throat, fell backwards. A chair toppled over as he met the floor with a crash. He didn’t move.

  Neither did Matt. The explosion roared in his ears – as if the confined space had instantly filled with hot water. It was hard to breathe.

  Lizzie and Lila Mae both had their mouths open in silent screams. Zick dropped the gun and disappeared behind the hidden door. Matt let him go.

  Black blood pooled behind Simkins’s head. His chestnut curls glowed against his blanching skin. His eyes were open but for him the picture was over.

  Jubb peeped round the edge of the door.

  “Call Snow Hill immediately,” said Matt. His voice sounded odd. “Ask for DI Tyser and Commander Inskip. Tell them Henry Simkins has been shot dead.”

  The landlord stared at the cooling corpse. Simkins had been one of his best customers.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll be needing the second bottle now.”

  “Keep it on ice,” said Matt. “Go on then. Shift yourself!”

  Matt closed the door against a huddle of excited drinkers. He picked up the gun, wiped Zick’s prints off it, and pressed it into Simkins’s right hand.

  Lizzie watched in horror.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If anyone asks, I shot Simkins with his own gun.” He took it out of the dead man’s hand. His prints now overlaid those of the “assailant”. It was about time Simkins was the fallguy. “It will be far simpler this way, believe me.”

  “I do.”

  Matt held his wife and child in a wide embrace. They were safe. They were all safe.

  “My ears hurt,” said Lizzie. “God knows what damage has been done to Lila’s.”

  She was shaking, but her voice, as far as he could tell, was steady.

  “We’ll have them checked. In the meantime you need to get out of here. If my bosses learn you’ve been here, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll keep the ghouls at bay.”

  “Where should I go?”

  She was at a loss what to do. Were they safe now or in greater danger?

  Matt kissed her on the forehead. He stroked Lila’s silky hair.

  “The Daily News. Johnny’ll look after you. There’ll be a good view of the parade from his office. I’ll collect you from there as soon as I can. We’ll go home together.”

  “That will be nice.”

  Embarrassment and pride could be glimpsed in her fleeting smile. Matt thought she’d never looked so beautiful.

  They both jumped as another door in the wainscoting opened. Jubb had clearly been listening at it.

  “This way, madam. That mob ain’t going nowhere.” He nodded towards the bar. “I’ll show you to the back door – you’ll be able to slip out into Farringdon Road.”

  “Thank you,” said Matt.

  He kissed his girls goodbye. As soon as they’d followed the landlord out Matt, burning the envelopes first, threw the photographs on the fire. His and Johnny’s naked bodies writhed in the flames. He stared into the hearth long after the images had gone.

  The landlord reappeared. “The birds have flown.”

  “Thank you. That’s one thing l
ess to worry about.”

  “What about him?” Jubb pointed to the ceiling.

  “Is he still here?”

  “Indeed. Awaiting instructions.”

  “Tell him he can go too – by the same exit, if you please. We know where to find him.”

  “Is he in lumber?”

  “Of course – but he seems to like it this way.”

  “Pity,” said Jubb, scratching his bald patch. “Zick and I go way back.”

  Matt shook his head. He wasn’t surprised. He was trying to clear his muffled hearing.

  “If I were you, I’d keep quiet about that.”

  Johnny woke up in gaol. He was lying on a narrow shelf that ran round a windowless cell. A similar one opposite was unoccupied. Previous inmates had scratched names and curses into the slime-green paint that covered the walls. There were no doors, only floor-to-ceiling bars. His head hurt. It felt like someone had stamped on it.

  Footsteps echoed down the subterranean corridor.

  “Sleeping Beauty awakes!”

  “You’re no Prince Charming.”

  “Don’t be like that.” Watkiss sniggered. “You’re in the Birdcage. They used to keep female prisoners here. The other one was for the men.”

  “Where am I?”

  “The Magistrates Court.”

  Johnny had sat upstairs in the press gallery many times but he had never been down here. He knew a tunnel led to the Mansion House next door to protect the Lord Mayor from angry mobs.

  “What time is it?”

  “Why? You’re not going anywhere.”

  Johnny, stiff all over, got to his feet and went over to the bars.

  “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.” He patted his pockets. “My possessions seem to have been confiscated. Why?”

  “Why d’you think? You tried to attack the Mayor.”

  “As if! I was trying to save his life. Where’s Hollom?”

  “Who?”

  “The chap who clobbered me.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Well, who is?”

  “No one. I’m holding the fort. The court, for obvious reasons, isn’t sitting today. We’re all alone.”

  “Let me out then. I can’t be under arrest because you can’t arrest an unconscious man.”