Robin Hood Yard

by Mark Sanderson

  “True. You’re being held for questioning.”

  “On whose say so?”

  “Commander Inskip.”

  “Why here rather than Snow Hill?”

  “It was the closest place of safety.”

  “What happened?”

  “A bomb went off. Fortunately, it was only a small device. Adler would have been injured if you hadn’t slowed him down.”

  “So I’m a hero.”

  “That remains to be seen. I’d say you deserve a cup of tea though.”

  “Haven’t you got anything stronger?”

  Five minutes later Watkiss returned with two steaming mugs. It was cold in the cells. Johnny could hear the thud of pedestrians passing overhead.

  Watkiss handed him both mugs. He opened the gate and locked it behind him. He took one of the mugs and sat down beside Johnny.

  “A couple of spectators were hurt in the crush but, thanks to your intervention, the only real damage was to the float. The show could go on.”

  “Nothing must be allowed to impede City business.”

  “You can say that again.”

  The younger man was looking at Johnny in a different way. He didn’t recognize the expression because it was one of admiration.

  “How did you know the Mayor was in danger?”

  “I received a tip-off.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Quirk.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  Johnny, in spite of his sore jaw, couldn’t help laughing. “He wasn’t when he told me.”

  “Why d’you think that big feller was about to attack Adler?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “He didn’t half lay into you.”

  “So I’m discovering. What did Hollom – his name’s Hollom – do afterwards?”

  “He got into the coach. Adler’s face was a picture.”

  “Of what? Fear? Outrage? Recognition?”

  “Fear, mostly. Then indignation. He made him lie on the floor so no one could see him.”

  “The police didn’t try to get him out?”

  “No. They were too busy throwing a cordon round the burning lorry. They ensured the parade rolled on. Some of the spectators assumed it was all part of the show.”

  “Why were you in Cheapside?”

  “Keeping an eye on Adler. Making sure nothing happened to him.”

  “I reckon, all things considered, you succeeded.”

  “Well, I knew you weren’t a threat.”

  “Thank you – I think.” He drained his mug. “One sugar next time.”

  “I made it extra-sweet to counteract the shock.”

  “I’m not in shock.”

  “Not yet,” said Watkiss. “Henry Simkins is dead.”

  It wasn’t Johnny who came down to the foyer. A beefy young man, at least a foot taller than him, approached her. She’d have said he was a rugger player if it weren’t for his shyness.

  “Mrs Turner? Tim Tanfield.” He held out his hand. “We have met before.”

  Lizzie said nothing. It would be rude of her to say that she didn’t remember him.

  “How d’you do. Where’s Johnny?”

  “I think the correct phrase is he’s been unavoidably detained. Do come up to the newsroom though.”

  He smiled at Lila Mae who seemed dazzled by the sunburst ceiling.

  “I’m sure this cherub would like to see the rest of the parade. It’s much warmer and we can have a little chat there.”

  “What about?”

  “Henry Simkins.”

  It wasn’t difficult to appear shocked – she was surprised how fast the news had travelled. She reproached herself for her naivety. Alcohol loosened tongues even when gunfire wasn’t involved.

  She could see Tanfield was excited. His grey eyes shone. He had a lead on a fatal shooting and Johnny wasn’t around to steal the headlines. She wasn’t going to tell him anything.

  He led her over to the lifts.

  “The death of one of our own – especially in the line of duty – is always upsetting but what makes Henry’s so personally shocking is that we only had lunch last week.”

  “You were friends?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as that. Colleagues would be more accurate.”

  “Not rivals?”

  “Not in this case.” He looked away, shifting uncomfortably. “He certainly lived up to his name. Out in India, champagne is known as Simkin. Something to do with how the locals pronounce it, apparently.”

  “I suppose that’s the only way it touches their tongues.”

  He seemed even younger when he laughed.

  “I can see why Johnny likes you.”

  “And I like him.”

  Tanfield nodded, as if in possession of secret knowledge. “He and your husband are very close.”

  She was about to ask him what that was supposed to mean – had Simkins said something? – when the lift-doors opened and an elderly woman tottered out. Before they could enter, two gentlemen in handmade suits shoved past them.

  “Don’t mind us,” said Lizzie. “What happened to women and children first?”

  The older of the two, suave yet thuggish, held out his hand to prevent anyone else entering the car.

  “You’re not in any danger, madam. Yet.”

  He turned to the liftboy, who instantly wiped the grin off his face.

  “Mr Stone’s office – and no stopping on the way.”

  For a moment he felt nothing at all. They had been through a lot together – most of it unpleasant – but saving a man’s life bound you to him just as much as it bound him to you. If he had to describe the emotion that was slowly dispelling the numbness he would say it was relief not grief.

  Watkiss was enjoying the effect his bombshell had created. “Say something! It’s not like you to be lost for words.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He was shot.” He licked his lips. “Matt shot him.”

  Like a man on the scaffold, Johnny could feel the trapdoor swing open.

  “He must have had a good reason.”

  His gaoler let him stew for a moment before responding. “Self-defence was what I heard. Simkins pulled a gun and Matt managed to grab it off him.”

  “Hoist with his own petard.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Where was this?”

  “Ye Olde Mitre Tavern.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “Not sure.”

  Footsteps – more than one pair – could be heard coming down the stairs.

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  Matt, unscathed and unsmiling, appeared at the bars – closely followed by Inskip.

  “What the fuck are you doing in the cell, Watkiss?” Inskip held out his hand for the keys. “If we weren’t so overstretched I’d leave you in overnight. You don’t fraternize with prisoners.”

  “He’s no longer a prisoner, though, is he, sir?” Matt injected the honorofic with as much contempt as he could muster.

  “That remains to be decided. Get back to the station, Watkiss. DI Tyser needs all the help he can get.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Watkiss flinched as he made his exit, half-expecting the Commander to clip him round the ear.

  When he was certain the three of them were alone, Inskip sat down and gestured for Matt to follow suit.

  “You’ve got your friend here to thank for your immediate release, Steadman – but don’t go thinking that we’re now on the same side. We may have certain shared interests, but that’s as far as it goes. Your sort are nothing but trouble.

  “Saved your bacon though, didn’t I?”

  Johnny took the envelope Matt was holding out to him. It contained his watch – Ah! It was nearly four – wallet, cigarettes and loose change, but not his notebook.

  “If Adler had died, you’d have had to fall on your sword.”

  “He’s very much alive – and according to Hollom – kicking. It seems he do
esn’t like sharing the limelight.”

  “Were you aware of his investigation?”

  The Commander hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to tell the truth.

  “No. It’s nothing to do with the City of London Police.”

  “It is if he’s been eliminating fascists in the Square Mile. Wouldn’t you like my help with that?”

  Matt glared at him to make him shut up.

  “What?” Johnny felt the noose tightening round his neck.

  Inskip pulled out Johnny’s notebook and riffled through it.

  “You’re delusional, Steadman. You see conspiracies everywhere. If the governor of the Bank of England isn’t a closet Nazi, a government agent is a contract killer. What happened to checking your facts? Your front-page splash today has made you a whole new set of enemies. Still, it’s not my job to silence you this time. I’ve got a multiple murderer to deal with.”

  “What makes you so sure Hollom isn’t a killer? Or, for that matter, Adler? He could have planted the bomb himself.”

  Matt put his head in his hands. Inskip stared at Johnny as if he were genuinely mad.

  “Perhaps you’re suffering from concussion, or nervous exhaustion or full-blown paranoia. Whatever the problem, I suggest you let Turner here look after you in future. If you’re not careful, someone less understanding than me might have you carted off to the booby hatch. You know, once you’ve been admitted it’s almost impossible to get out …”

  Johnny snatched his notebook out of Inskip’s hands.

  “What don’t I know? Why do I feel I’m a hanging man?”

  Inskip stood up. “I’ll let you do the honours, Turner. My driver’s waiting. Don’t take too long about it. Tyser needs you.”

  Johnny needed Matt. He had always taken care of him. They waited until Inskip was out of earshot.

  “What’s happened? Is it to do with Simkins?”

  Matt put a hand on his shoulder. “No. He’s no longer a problem – for either of us. Zick shot the bastard. Inskip’s overseeing the case. The story is that Simkins pulled a gun on me and Zick. He got hurt in the struggle.”

  “Why would he pull a gun on you?”

  “Zick was threatening to expose him as a child molester. A botherer of little boys. He says he has film of him doing it.”

  “I knew Henry was capable of almost anything – but I never suspected him of that. I thought he was after me.”

  “Maybe he was.”

  “I hope he refrained after I saved his life.”

  “No doubt Zick will be able to tell us.”

  “So he’s got something else on us now, besides the photographs.”

  “Forget about the photographs. They’re gone. Simkins’s final act placed me in a far more compromising position. Let’s just say I’m now well and truly in Inskip’s pocket.”

  He would tell Johnny about the money later. There was further information to pass on.

  “You need to get back to the News. There was another murder this afternoon. Neither Hollom nor Adler could have done it. In fact, Hollom could have been the next victim.”

  “What proves their innocence?”

  “They both have an alibi.”

  “Have they been checked? Perhaps they’re in it together. They might have an accomplice.”

  “Johnny, Johnny, listen to me. It’s over.”

  He couldn’t believe it. He knew in his bones that Adler was up to no good. He’d already admitted that he’d blackmailed Montagu Norman. Perhaps it was true that morality played no part in business.

  “They might be in cahoots – which would explain Adler’s fury at being seen with Hollom. What was he doing at the show? What did he say to Adler? They could be in league with others. Something, something of paramount importance, must have happened that made it imperative for them to talk – even during the parade.”

  “Johnny, Johnny, listen to me. It’s over. We’ve arrested the killer.”

  The rope reached its full extent. However, it wasn’t his neck that snapped but his patience. Matt waited for the stream of invective to dry up.

  “Tanfield is at the scene now.”

  Johnny opened his mouth to start cursing again. Before he could do so, Matt put a giant hand over it and laughed when he tried to bite him.

  “Don’t you try to silence me as well!” Johnny was beside himself. “I will not be gagged.”

  “Keep your hair on. Inskip, in a token gesture of gratitude, has agreed to let you interview the killer so you’ll still have an exclusive at the end of the day.”

  “Thank you. I know it’s you I should thank, not him. There’s not enough time though. I’ve got to write up how I saved the life of the Lord Mayor – and how a man whose life I saved has been killed by a wicked policeman.”

  Johnny was correct. He was wicked.

  “I think you’ll find that Tanfield has both stories covered.”

  “But he doesn’t know what I know.”

  “That’s true – which will make your follow-ups seem all the better. Now, do you want to come face to face with the killer of six men or not?”

  Matt, none too gently, pulled Johnny to his feet.

  “You’re going to have a black eye.”

  “Good. It’ll make for a striking picture. Hollom really went for me.”

  “You’d disobeyed his orders. Made him break cover.”

  “Not deliberately. Not in this instance. He never mentioned Adler.”

  “Well, Hollom was the one who insisted you were locked up.”

  “Did he say what he was doing in Cheapside?”

  “No. As soon as his identity was verified, he made himself scarce.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “First things first. The killer awaits.”

  “What’s he called?”

  “She. A true femme fatale. So far we’ve only got a first name out of her – Rebecca.”

  THIRTY

  Lila Mae was hungry. They both were. She had enjoyed watching the marching soldiers and pretty horses through the open windows but now needed a feed. However, Lizzie wasn’t leaving without Matt. They had been apart for too long.

  Lila’s angry cries attracted disapproving glances even amid the office din of frantic typewriters and unanswered telephones. The newsroom was no place for a woman.

  An athletic man with Mediterranean features – olive skin, eyes black as Whitby jet – sauntered over to them.

  “May I fetch you anything?”

  “No, thank you. Although you might show me the way to the Ladies – if you don’t have a deadline.”

  “All done. Not much happens on a Wednesday at this time of year. Follow me.”

  Tanfield, flushed and panicky, brushed past them. He threw off his hat and coat and was flicking through his notebook before his backside hit the chair.

  “Louis. Where are you taking Mrs Turner?”

  “Upstairs, if that’s all right with you. Baby Dumpling’s tum-tum is empty.”

  “She’s a girl, not a boy.”

  Lizzie was grateful for the fact. Males were so transparent. Most of them, anyway.

  “Whoops! My mistake.”

  Dimeo, unabashed, bent down and kissed Lila Mae.

  Tanfield envied him his nonchalance.

  “Okay. I’ll let Johnny know where you are. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

  After the Lord Mayor’s show came the dustcart. Gaiety gave way to squalor.

  From the back of a cab, Johnny watched an army of men shovelling horseshit, collecting litter and sweeping away the sand and sawdust from the streets. He had his own mess to clear up.

  Matt filled him in on the way to Snow Hill. At one o’clock that afternoon a report came in that a naked man had fallen through a top-floor window of a block near Holborn Circus. Not from the window – which could be explicable – but through its panes of glass. He’d died at the scene.

  Shortly thereafter, as police entered the house, a woman was seen abseiling down the front of
the building that backed on to it in Thavies Inn. She was using a safety device, known as a Spiderline, intended to aid escape in the event of a fire. However, its spool had jammed and left the woman dangling in mid-air. On seeing the cops she had tried but failed to slice through the line with a sharp knife.

  Tyser, sweating and stubble-chinned, emerged from the interview room in triumph.

  “She’s told us everything. Made a complete confession. Says she wants to die.”

  He held up a jar containing what looked like dried rose petals. Shrivelled flakes of brown and red.

  “What d’you think these are?” He opened the lid. “Have a sniff. Go on!”

  Matt declined but Johnny, true to form, stuck his nose in. They smelled musty – nothing like roses.

  “Foreskins!” Both men laughed as Johnny recoiled. “She was going to bind a book with them – when she’d collected enough.”

  “She must be insane,” said Johnny.

  “Perhaps,” said Tyser. He stopped laughing. “Then she’s every reason to be. You’ve got ten minutes – and not a second longer.”

  He held his breath as Matt opened the door. A handsome, dark-haired woman sat at the stained wooden table. It wasn’t Tooting Becky.

  Matt told the constable to wait outside.

  “Right, you’re on your own. I’ve got a couple of things to do, then I’m off to meet Lizzie.”

  “So she’s turned up?”

  “Indeed. I don’t have all the answers yet. I’ll tell you the full story tomorrow. This bloody business should be completed by then.”

  “I’m glad,” said Johnny. “For both of you.”

  She waited until the door closed behind him.

  “Are you glad? Reporters aren’t supposed to tell lies.”

  “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind. There isn’t much time.”

  This short but pneumatic woman had killed six men and yet for some reason he wasn’t afraid. Her eyes – black flecked with amber – were full of hurt rather than hatred. He felt as though she could see deep inside him.

  “Thank you for speaking to me. I appreciate you don’t have to.”

  “It’s not as if I have anything else to do. Besides, it’s what’s not said that means the most.”

  He opened his notebook.

  “Make sure you spell my name correctly. R-E-B-E-K-K-A-H. Rebekkah Maslow. M-A-S-L-O-W.”

  “And the man you love?”