by John Gardner
‘What certain places, Tommy?’ throwing caution to the wind, using clichés in her head.
‘Homes of the brave of course. Ascoli homes. Montpelier Street, the gaffe up in Scotland where Freda spends most of her time. Even the Palmer drum in King’s Lynn. Point is that even though Pip shot down a brother, an Ascoli bride and a child, the others would probably form a square round him, hide him from the world.’
‘What about Sir Willoughby?’ Suzie frowned.
‘No point, not yet. Willoughby’s a lawyer. He’d stop us at his door, make life uncomfortable for all of us, warn the others, so we’ll keep well out of old Willoughby’s way. Interesting about the Ascolis and their connection with organized criminal activity in Italy, eh?’
He made his excuses, asked Suzie to knock him up some of that ham — ‘Sandwiches, heart, smidgen of mustard if you would, Coleman’s’ — and went through into the bedroom where he had this second telephone line which answered to his number in what he called his sordid hovel in Earl’s Court. First he dialled Billy Mulligan’s private number.
Mulligan had been his senior NCO, general overseer and major-domo since Tommy had been in charge of the Reserve; there were tales that — like Brian, his driver — Billy had worked for Tommy’s father. Now they discussed which magistrate they could get to sign search warrants for Montpelier Square and Scotland, told Billy the whole situation, talked about when they should pounce. ‘Get the warrants tonight, Bill, and I’ll come in and we do it around eight in the morning, catch Freddy and Helena, plus Benny’s widow all in one place, not exactly the dawn patrol, eh? Who’ve you got handy? Bert and his people, they’ll be good and I’ll do the charm offensive on the righteously angry senior Ascolis. Now, Scotland… Yes between Strachan and Birse… Marecht Hall… Yes, Billy, very good address. Not quite spitting distance of Balmoral but near enough to be select. You have reliables up there?… Good…probably only a housekeeper but tell them to be careful. Yes send it by a dispatch rider tonight if you can, then they can execute first thing in the morning, or the morn’s morn or whatever they bloody say up there… No, I’m aware they won’t be best pleased… Then, of course we should really deal with Paula Palmer and Thetis… Yes, that’s what I thought you said… You get those search warrants plus the Palmer one — “River Walk”, King’s Lynn. Yes, get it here, I don’t want any loose talk going on, you never know who’s listening in King’s Lynn nick and we won’t be using it until Thursday… Yes, I’ll talk to Molly tonight. See you at the Yard around seven so we can go in at eight… No, I’ll bring Suzie and Shirley with me… Yes, I’ll talk to her now.’
He rang off, went through and ate his ham sandwiches, telling them the good news, ‘Going to turn over that smart house of Freddy Ascoli’s in Montpelier Square.’
‘When?’
‘Got to be at the Yard around seven.’
‘Better get my hair washed tonight, then,’ Suzie grinned. ‘Shirley coming?’
‘Course, and she can come up to Taddmarten with us, extra pair of hands dealing with everything there.’
Suzie ran off to tell her old friend. Excited, told herself they’d close the case in a matter of days now. Tommy had said if they didn’t find Pip’s spoor in Montpelier Place, Scotland or in King’s Lynn he’d use the photograph and go on the offensive across the country.
Tommy smiled, ate his sandwiches and closed his eyes, drank his coffee and dreamed of cracking this one. Get bloody Pip Ascoli, put him away for good.
Suzie came back, ‘Means we’ve got two mad killers floating round, then.’
‘There’s a difference.’ Tommy put on his serious look. ‘Pip Ascoli’s utterly cracked, kills people because it’s a compulsion, likes doing it. Old Golly’s been programmed. Different. May not even know he’s doing wrong. Maybe thinks God’s telling him to do it.’ Remarkably enlightened view from Tommy.
*
As Tommy was chasing up Billy Mulligan, so the crew of Wild Angel II were having dinner at the Ritz. Well, some of the crew, the officers — Ricky LeClare, the Bombadier, Will Truebond; Navigator, Jimmy Cobalt; Willie Wilders the Radio Op; and Bob Crawfoot, LeClare’s second pilot.
They had spent the day together, one-day pass and had to be back by 23.59 hours, could just do it by taking the last local train out of London — flying tomorrow, an operation.
The meal, they agreed, had been good, beautifully presented, served with style and élan. Now LeClare was making a little speech, sitting down, naturally, didn’t want to draw attention to themselves.
He couldn’t know it of course but Ricky LeClare was echoing sentiments expressed in a letter written by Paula Palmer to Max Ascoli in October 1939.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began, his eyes stealing around the table, fastening on each man in turn, holding for a second and then moving on. ‘Gentlemen, we have spent a pleasant day in this great city and seen many things, Westminster Abbey, Tower of Big Ben, The Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, St James’s Palace, Hyde Park and Regent’s Park. Now, it is fitting that we should be dining here in the Ritz Hotel. We spend a large part of our time fighting this war close to the angels in the heavens, and we all know about that damned nightingale singing in Berkeley Square. We’ve all sung, “There were angels dining at the Ritz…” Well. Here we are boys, the crew of Wild Angel II, angels dining here, at the Ritz.’
The young men around the table tapped on it softly, their applause, then they lifted the glasses in a toast. ‘To the angels dining at the Ritz,’ they chorused.
*
Back in the flat in Upper St Martin’s Lane, Tommy had managed to get in touch with Molly Abelard: left a message with Mrs Staleways at the Falcon asking if Sergeant Abelard would telephone him from the line in his room. ‘Let her have the key, Mrs S,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a nice piece of ham here to bring over for you. Little thank you,’ and Hettie Staleways simpered away like a young woman being told that the French perfume was forthcoming from the man of her dreams.
Molly telephoned ten minutes later and sounded flustered. ‘Having a drink with the lads,’ she told him, ‘then old mother Staleways came bustling in, full of importance, said to me very loudly, “The Honourable Thomas Livermore says you’re to telephone him at his private number. Come with me.” Thinks you’re God, Chief.’
‘Don’t disillusion her then, Molly.’ Then he briefly filled her in on his travels around Europe, and went on, ‘There’s only one person in the frame now, Moll. It’s got to be Pip Ascoli, Max’s brother, so we’re going after him, no holds barred.’
He explained how he was taking a team into Freddy’s house in the morning and another team in Scotland would be going through Marecht Hall, the Scottish house that had belonged to Benny and his wife, before that to Antonio himself. ‘Any traces of Pip I want followed up, and I don’t want Mr Tait or the Norwich blokes tipped off, so don’t let the lads talk freely.’
With luck he would be in Long Taddmarten by the following night, bringing Suzie and Shirley Cox with him. In the meantime he wanted the team in Long Taddmarten to take a quick look at the situation in King’s Lynn. ‘Nothing too heavy. Just take a surreptitious peep, see if Paula and Thetis have come back from their jaunt.’
Molly, conscientious as ever, repeated the instructions back to him, said she looked forward to seeing him sometime tomorrow and closed the line. Never wasted time chatting on the phone about extraneous matters if there was work to get on with. In fact, Molly had a nice gin and tonic waiting at the bar downstairs and it was almost closing time. Brian was still in London and Trevor Skeggs had come over for the evening, to see Molly.
Fancied his chances.
*
Golly was in the house, up in his bedroom inside Knights Cottage. They had not come today, the police, but they would be here tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight he had gone out into the dark, hiding away in the shadows.
He had broken into a little shop, ‘Chamberlain’ it read above the door, only it was too dark for him to see that. Chea
p rubbishy lock on the door and it was a black dark night. He stole some food, not much, just biscuits, two packets, a little jar of jam and some cheese, all waiting there to be stolen, and he went back keeping clear of the men laughing and joking as they went home to the aerodrome, one of them with a girl in another doorway getting his hand up her skirt.
Golly was like a ghost — he thought — noiseless and unseen, flitting from corner to corner. He got back and ate biscuits and cheese, drank water, sat in the dark and went to bed again.
They would come when they were ready. In the meantime he thought he was like a big fat spider waiting at the centre of his web, laughed at the picture in his mind of him having eight legs and the ability to spin a web. He’d wrap them all up and bite them to death when they came. He thought that was funny and he laughed to himself.
They would come.
Sure of it.
Chapter Nineteen
At just after eight o’clock the following morning three cars turned into Montpelier Square, Brian driving Tommy, Billy Mulligan, and Suzie in the Wolseley, Shirley with Bert and his team in the other two cars.
Tommy Livermore had been explicit in his instructions, taking his time, talking to them in the big conference room of the Reserve Squad’s offices on the fourth floor of Scotland Yard. Just after seven that morning, he’d prepared them for what was to take place, saying they were lucky he could actually speak to them at this time in the morning.
Polite laughter.
‘The members of the Ascoli family who we’re walking in on this morning are not going to be as happy as nuns weeding the asparagus,’ he began. ‘They won’t want us there and they’ll be exhibiting signs of outrage. Be polite but firm. They’ll be shouting for briefs and they’ll be expecting injunctions against the search warrants, keeping us out. Don’t let that worry you, these people may seem to be straight-up honest British ladies and gentlemen of the middle classes, but they’re not. You’ll meet one man, Freddy Ascoli, the last Ascoli in the male line. The last but for Pip Ascoli, the man we now know killed his brother, Max, Jenny and young Paul Ascoli, in their home at Long Taddmarten. Pip has spent most of his life in a clinic for the mentally unstable in Switzerland. Now we’re looking for him. That’s what this is all about, and when we catch him we’re going to put him away for the rest of his natural life.
‘Sadly, no court’ll sentence him to death, which is what he deserves, would save a lot of money.
‘Right, first we’re going into Freddy Ascoli’s house on Montpelier Square. At the same time, colleagues in Scotland will be turning over a house belonging to the late Benny Ascoli and his wife. We’re going into those properties to see if we can find any traces of Pip Ascoli. Look for anything that seems not quite in keeping with the house or the people in it, look for possible hiding places, or signs of disturbance, and remember that, and I’ve only just been made aware of this, these people will gather round their own and protect them. Although Pip has killed his brother and his brother’s family, Freddy won’t want him to fall into our hands. He’ll have the overwhelming desire to take care of this business himself.
‘You see, I’m sure that when this war is over and we get a peep into the files in Freddy’s native Italy, we’re going to find that the Ascolis ran a large segment of crime in Rome, Milan and many major cities on the Italian mainland. Possibly in Sicily as well.
‘So, I want you to take Freddie Ascoli’s nice home to pieces; when you empty cupboards really empty them, then examine the interior walls; measure up the thickness of partitions and walls, see if there are any hidey holes built into the place; if you see a picture hanging skew-whiff take it down and examine the wall beneath; if a carpet is rucked, take it up and examine it. You’re to go through the place like a hurricane.
‘Don’t heed the ladies either, they’ll make a fuss, they’ll complain, take no notice of them; and if we do flush out Pip Ascoli, watch out for him because he’s truly dangerous.’
Tommy leaned on the electric bell at the front door, Suzie a couple of paces behind him, the rest of the squad taking positions to her rear so the whole phalanx of policemen, some in uniform, were intimidatingly arranged in front of the house when Freddy himself opened the door.
‘Can’t get the help these days, can you, Freddy? Have to do it all yourself.’ Tommy smiled at the tall, greying immaculate man, whose eyes were lifting, taking in the police outside his own front door.
‘Awfully sorry to bother you, Freddy, but I’m afraid I’ve got a search warrant, to have a little look through your house.’
‘What the hell…?’ Freddy began, his eyes losing their usual twinkle, becoming cold, possibly angry, Tommy thought.
‘I’m sorry, really, but it has to be done.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Not required to answer that, sir.’ Tommy could feel a menacing anger coming off the man, it seemed to spray over him in waves, an invisible tide carrying with it unpleasant, and frightening vibrations. Tommy was still armed, a pistol holstered snug behind his right hip.
Later he was to say he had never missed Molly so much: Molly would have been the right backup for him, always gave as good as she got, always ready. For a few seconds Fredo Ascoli appeared to be stripped bare of pretence, the bonhomie gone, only power and aggression left in its wake. ‘I believe you know why we’re here, sir,’ Tommy remembering Freddy’s own words — You’d have Max’s murderer if Pip was out and about in this country. No doubt.
‘And I believe that I can speak to my lawyer before you enter the house.’
‘Not necessarily, sir,’ Tommy formal now as Helena and Freda suddenly appeared with a clatter of heels on the hall’s marble flags. ‘But, as we know who you are, and are aware of the strain you’re under, I’ll wait for you to make your telephone call.’ There was muttering and sharp looks as the two women closed on Freddy. ‘What?… Why?…How?… They can’t… I’ll talk to Willoughby.’
A long table stood against the far wall of the hall, on it a telephone and an electric lamp made from an antique oil lamp. Freddy crossed to the telephone, picked up and when the operator came on asked for a number. When there was an answer he spoke rapidly, his back towards Tommy, his speech low.
Eventually he turned and imperiously beckoned Tommy. ‘Sir Willoughby Sands wishes to speak with you.’
So, Tommy was in. He walked to the ’phone and held the warrant in front of Freddy. ‘Willoughby?’ he said pleasantly into the telephone.
‘What the bloody hell’s going on, Tommy? Some kind of harassment, is it?’
‘’Fraid not Will old chum. This is a serious matter.’
‘Not connected with Max, I hope?’
‘Very much connected with Max.’
‘But you can’t think…?’
‘We’re looking for someone, Willoughby. You know, old love. I know you know. You have left undone those things which you ought to have done. Book of Common Prayer. The General Confession, Wills, remember that?’
‘I know you aren’t obliged to say anything to Freddy. Can you tell me?’
‘I’ve told you. We’re looking for someone, and you should know who that someone is. You should’ve told me about him. Erred, old love, erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. Book of Common Prayer again. Want to hear any more?’
Willoughby made a noise like a kind of bleating. ‘Tommy, if any damage is done to Freddy’s house I shall hold you responsible.’
‘Of course old horse. Sorry about all of this.’
‘Tommy, you have to understand that my life and my practice are integrally bound to the Ascoli family and their various businesses. Put Freddy back on, would you.’
‘I probably understand more than you know,’ and Tommy handed the phone back, flicking his hand in the direction of his waiting officers, who began to enter the house.
Helena and Freda began to make more noise, loudly demanding to know what the police thought they were doing. A uniformed officer stood guard outside and a smal
l crowd was starting to collect.
Freddy finally put the telephone down and turned to Tommy. ‘It appears that you win, but —’
‘I know about the but, Freddy. Let us get on with it and we’ll be out of your hair.’
It took them until after five o’clock that afternoon: searching every room, going through the attics, the cellars and the small outbuildings. They found no traces of anyone either hiding or having hidden and, as the day wore on, so Freddy and the Ascoli women became more annoyed. They damaged nothing, but there could be no doubt that the lovely house was clean.
Around three in the afternoon Tommy allowed Shirley Cox to go back to her digs and collect clothes. ‘I need you up with me in Taddmarten tomorrow,’ he told her, ‘so I suppose you should have at least a change of clothes so that the eyes of the locals won’t get bored.’
He also received a message from Scotland, late in the afternoon, dispatch rider from the Yard on his BSA motorcycle. Nothing of any significance had been found at Marecht Hall. He was pleased to be able to tell Freda that his people were now out of her house because she had raised seven bells of hell when her housekeeper had telephoned to ask what she should do.
Tommy remained polite to the Ascolis throughout the search, and particularly courteous when he thanked the still seething Freddy for his cooperation.
They went back to the Yard, and after an hour’s deliberation Tommy instructed Brian to take them up to Taddmarten, calling in at the Upper Grosvenor Street flat to collect cases and what was left of the ham he’d promised to Mrs Staleways.
They also took one of the other cars with them, Shirley at the wheel, a most competent driver, having worked through the verbal assaults of her old DCI at Camford who believed all women drivers had two left arms and three left feet.
As they made their way out of London, Tommy said, ‘Let’s hope we have more luck in Taddmarten, or rather at “River Walk” in King’s Lynn. He’s got to be hiding out somewhere and I’d rather like to stop him before he goes berserk and kills someone else.’