‘She’s took an overdose!’ she cried out. ‘The poor cow’s took an overdose!’
‘Is she . . . ?’ Albert whispered, stepping back a pace.
Sadie picked up the limp, cold hand and could feel no pulse. In desperation she looked around and saw the small oval mirror lying on the dressing table. ‘Give me that mirror. Quick, Albert!’
Sadie held the mirror close to the girl’s open mouth. ‘She’s still breavin’! Quick, run up the top o’ the street an’ phone fer an ambulance! While yer there yer’d better phone the police as well!’
Chapter Twenty–One
Monday the 29th of July began the same as any other Monday in dockland. The corner–shop owners had to listen to the customers’ moans and groans, everything seemed in short supply. The greengrocers took a large share of the complaints. Bananas had disappeared entirely from the shops, stalls and barrows, lemons and oranges were fast disappearing too, and only home–grown produce could still be bought in quantity. Corner–shop customers in the area had read of the recent haul at Sullivan’s Wharf and hoped that they would soon be able to purchase a tin of under–the–counter corned beef or peaches but knowing winks and vague gestures did no good. They finally realised that any goods that fell off the back of that lorry had not landed in the Tooley Street area. However, the odd luxury did find its way into a shopping bag, and the satisfied customer realised that all was not lost.
On that particular Monday morning the usual glumness was forgotten when the news of Kathy Thompson spread through the little backstreets. Alice Sutton heard it from Annie Barnes, who had just returned from getting her shopping.
‘It’s terrible, Alice, ’er poor muvver’s goin’ mad. A copper knocked on ’er door an’ told ’er the news. I bet that bastard Mason’s drove ’er to it.’
‘Where they took ’er to, Annie?’
‘Guy’s. Missus Thompson’s rushed up there. Gawd knows’ow bad it is, what wiv ’er bein’ in that condition.’
‘Well she’s in the right place. They’re marvellous at Guy’s, Annie.’
Annie Barnes nodded her agreement. ‘She’s ’ad an ’ard time of it, one way an’ anuvver.’
It was Alice’s turn to nod. ‘You’re right, ’er ole man’s got ter shoulder the blame as well. ’E kicked ’er out when ’e found out she was carryin’. ’E’s anuvver no good cow–son. ’E knocks Kathy’s muvver black an’ blue.’
‘I tell yer, Alice, I wouldn’t stan’ fer it, if it was me.’
‘Me neivver, Annie. I’d stab the whore–son when ’e was asleep.’
Danny did not hear the news about Kathy. He had left his house early to call in on the Arpinos’ shop. As he walked towards Bermondsey Lane he tried to think clearly about what he was going to say to Tony, but he was still feeling the effects of the party. His head was pounding and his legs felt leaden. As he walked along the line of shops he could sense something was wrong. The usual array of goods was absent from the pavement outside the Arpinos’ store. When he entered the shop, Danny stared in disbelief. The floor was littered with cans and packages, and one of the shelves had been yanked away from the wall. The grey marble counter had been smashed, and the large brass scales were lying on the floor. Lou Arpino stood amid the litter, his face grey with misery.
‘Dey done ma shop, Danny. Dey ’urt ma boy Tony. Look at da mess. It’s a no good, I’m tellin’ you, Danny. Dey ruined me.’
‘Where’s Tony?’ Danny asked, taking hold of the Italian’s arm. ‘Where is ’e, Lou?’
‘’E’s in da back. See if ma boy’s okay, Danny. Mamma’s wiv’im.’
Danny walked through into the back room and saw Sofia bending over her son. Tony sat slumped in a chair, blood coming from a cut above his eye. Sofia was parting his hair gently with her fingers and Tony winced. ‘It’s all right, Ma, it’s only a bump,’ he said impatiently.
‘Bloody ’ell! What ’appened, Tone?’
Tony Arpino looked up as his pal walked in. ‘They done us, Danny. They done us proper. They was too quick fer us.’
Sofia held her hands up to the ceiling. ‘Dey nearly killed our Tony,’ she cried. ‘Why dey do dis to us? We don’t ’urt anybody. Why, Danny?’
Tony took his mother’s hands in his. ‘Mamma, it’s okay. Yer go an’ make Danny a cup o’ tea. Go on mamma, yer forgettin’ Danny’s a guest?’
Sofia dabbed at her eyes as she disappeared into the kitchen, and Danny sat down facing his pal. ‘Tell us exactly what ’appened,’ he said.
Tony winced as he pressed the cut over his eye. ‘We’d just opened an’ they walked in large as life. Two of ’em there was. I ain’t seen eivver of ’em before. They didn’t say a word. One of ’em pulled the shelf over an’ the uvver git took an’ ’ammer from under ’is coat ’an smashed the counter. I jump the one wiv the ’ammer but the uvver bastard clobbered me over the crust. It looked like a pick–axe ’andle ’e ’it me wiv. I saw stars. Our pop tried ter grab the geezer that whacked me, but they pinned’im ter the wall an’ they told ’im ’e’d better fink again about not payin’ up. They said they’d be back.’
Danny puffed out his cheeks. ‘I come down ’ere a couple o’ times last week lookin’ fer yer. Did your farver tell yer?’
‘Yeah, he told me. I’m sorry I wasn’t ’ere. I was over Clerkenwell.’
‘What yer bin doin’ over there?’
Tony winced again as he felt the bump on his head. ‘There’s a lot of Italians live over Clerkenwell. They call it “Little Italy”. Ain’t yer never ’eard of it?’
Danny nodded. ‘Course I ’ave. But what was yer doin’ over there?’
Tony looked towards the kitchen, then lowered his voice. ‘I ain’t told Ma what I’m up to, but I’ve gotta do somefink, Danny. It was lucky she wasn’t in the shop at the time. I bin ter see some people I know. Some o’ Pop’s family live over Clerkenwell. They ’ad the same trouble there a few years ago but they sorted it out fer themselves. This crowd round ’ere won’t stick tergevver. Most of the shopkeepers ain’t exactly friendly wiv us, I fink they reckon we’re spies. They don’t see us as bein’ the same as them, but we’re no different, Danny, you know that. Take me: I was born in Bermon’sey, I speak the same as you do. Me pop took out English nationality papers years ago. It’s ’is country as well, but they can’t see it. Anyway, all the shopkeepers ’ad a meetin’ last week. Pop said we should all stick tergevver an’ not pay up. ’Course, a few of ’em agreed wiv ’im, but most of ’em reckoned it was easier ter pay up an’ avoid the aggro. What they don’t seem ter realise is that this is jus’ one foot in the door. Once that mob get us payin’ up, they’ll be pushin’ the dodgy gear on us. All that under the counter stuff. Yer know what they’re like, Danny.’
‘Yer still ain’t told me what yer was doin’ over Clerkenwell, Tony.’
Sofia Arpino came into the room carrying a tray with two cups of tea. ‘It’s nice you come to see us, Danny. You stay wiv Tony. I mus’ ’elp Papa clear up da mess.’
She left the room, and when she was out of earshot Tony leaned forward. ‘Danny, I’ve looked up a couple of ole pals. They’re gonna ’elp me take care o’ Jack Mason. We’re gonna give ’im a goin’ over, an’ if ’e don’t get the message an’ leave us alone, we’re gonna get really nasty. Those two pals o’ mine ain’t no powder puffs. We can ’andle Jack Mason.’
Danny looked at his friend affectionately. ‘Tony, yer me pal, an’ I like yer family. I’d ’ate it if any of yer got ’urt. Yer don’t know what yer lettin’ yerself in for. Yer ain’t dealin’ wiv some ole plum. Jack Mason’s got ’is fingers in everyfink, ’e knows a lot o’ people. If yer not careful, yer gonna start anuvver war of yer own. There’s bound ter be comebacks, it’s a certainty.’
Tony’s face was set hard. ‘All right, yer tell me what we’re expected ter do? If yer fink we’re gonna pay up, yer wrong. We ain’t gonna do it.’
Danny sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t know the answer, Tone. I tried ter g
et Kathy ter come up wiv some info, but she was scared. Yer can’t very well blame ’er, can yer? She’s terrified of Mason. And I ain’t gonna ask her again, it’s too dangerous.’
An argument was developing in the front of the shop between the Arpinos. Sofia started to raise her voice and Tony looked at his pal and sighed in resignation. Danny put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘Stay put, Tone. I’ll give ’em an ’and ter clear the mess up. When yer feelin’ up to it we’ll ’ave a drink an’ a long chat. Okay?’
It was a week since the warehouse break–in had been reported and Inspector Flint was getting impatient. There were no leads, and no information forthcoming from the usual informers. It was as though the whole load had vanished into thin air. Inspector Flint stood up from his desk and looked thoughtfully out of his office window. Down below people were moving around in the yard; timber was being neatly stacked, and two workers were loading deal boards on to a lorry. For a few moments he watched the activity. At times like this, it would be nice to have a job that ended when the five o’clock whistle went, he thought. That idiot Stockbridge is an incompetent ass. I seem to be surrounded with brainless idiots. Surely someone would have spotted that stolen gear being sold off by now? Apparently Limehouse nick was drawing a blank, too. Still, maybe the impossible has happened, maybe Stockbridge has got a new slant on the business. Anyway, it’s about time I shook him up a bit, he decided, opening the door and screaming out for his subordinate.
Detective Constable Stockbridge was dreading the call. He had contacted all his snouts and filled up two notebooks with memoranda, and his feet were sore from all the walking. Stockbridge was convinced that the stolen cases had been unloaded locally and shipped out of the area. The lorry belonging to Sullivan’s Wharf had been left in Limehouse to draw the scent away from Bermondsey, he told himself. If none of his snouts had seen anything, then there was nothing to see. They had never let him down before. Problem was getting that dopey git of an inspector to see how sensible his assumptions were. It was a pity that the inspector’s predecessor had let his sexual hang–up become his downfall. If he had been a little more discreet, he could have pursued his pastime and still kept his job, there would then have been no threat of going back to the beat.
When he walked into the inspector’s office, Stockbridge feared the worst. Flint had a face as long as a month of Sundays, and he was drumming his fingers on the polished surface of his desk.
‘Well, Stockbridge, it’s been a week now. What have you got for me?’
Fat Stan grimaced. ‘It’s quiet, sir, none o’ me contacts ’ave reported anyfink. They’ve ’eard nuffink, an’ there’s no whispers about the local villains bein’ involved.’
‘Well someone broke into the warehouse, man, and it wasn’t the bloody fairies. The lorry was found in Limehouse, okay? It was full of Orientals and Oriental fingerprints. The results are, the local police make a pinch and we’ve got sod all!’
Fat Stan winced. ‘I reckon the stuff was unloaded in Bermon’sey, sir. There’s loads o’ railway arches an’ yards round’ere.’
‘What about the lorry?’
‘I fink it was a red ’errin’, sir.’
‘That’s what the villains want you to think, Stockbridge. While I’m wasting manpower turning over the thousand and one likely sites in Bermondsey, they’re knocking the stuff out in another area. Think about it, man. I’d be a bloody fool walking into, say that timber yard opposite, and telling them I’m looking for some corned beef! I’d be a laughing stock. No, Stockbridge, the stuff’s being sold in the East End. What we’ve got to do is apprehend the thieves. Tell me, Stockbridge, you must know the local villains, have you got any suspects?’
Fat Stan thought hard. Tony Allen would be the most likely person among the local criminal fraternity to be involved, but Tony always played ball. His name had to be kept out of the frame. There was no way he was going to cut off his own private source of income by nailing Tony Allen. After all, no one had got hurt, and Sullivan was probably well insured against that very eventuality. Fat Stan realised, too, that he would now be able to put the squeeze on Tony Allen for a little more security against being named as a suspect.
‘Well, sir,’ Stockbridge began, ‘there’s a nasty little team tryin’ ter put the clamps on the shopkeepers in Bermon’sey Lane. Me snout tells me they’re not from this area. ’E reckons they come from over the water. Maybe they was involved in the robbery?’
Flint banged his desk. ‘Cobblers! The other side of the water used to be my manor. The East End villains don’t get involved outside their own patch. Take my word for it, Stockbridge, they’re local villains who clobbered the warehouse, and they’re local villains operating in Bermondsey Lane. Now you get out there and bring back something. I want action! Understand?’
Fat Stan understood only too well. His feet were already reminding him of the rigours of walking the beat.
Ginny Coombes spread margarine over a thick slice of bread and then smeared a thin coating of strawberry jam over the top.
‘Now take that an’ get out in the street wiv yer bruvvers an’ sisters,’ she said to her son. ‘And mind the road.’
Joey Coombes grabbed the slice of bread in his grubby hands, a grin breaking out on his dirty face. ‘Cor, fanks, Mum. Is Danny comin’ roun’ terday?’
‘’E comes round every day ’cept Sundays. Now get out from under me feet.’
Joey bit into the bread and a blob of jam stuck to his nose. He looked up at his mother with large blue eyes and said, ‘’Ere, Mum, ’ow much d’yer like Danny?’
Ginny glanced at her son enquiringly. ‘What d’yer mean,’ow much do I like ’im?’
‘Well, Billy Brightman’s mum said it’s on the cards you an’ Danny could get really friendly. What cards she talkin’ about, Mum?’
Ginny hid her smile. ‘Look, Joey, yer get out an’ keep yer eye out fer yer bruvvers an’ sisters. Don’t stand there askin’ stupid questions. I’ve got a lot o’ work ter do.’
Joey took another bite from the slice and jam dripped onto his tattered pullover. ‘Are we gonna ’ave anuvver dad one day, Mum?’
Ginny felt the question strike into her insides and she wanted to hug the child, but instead she swallowed hard. ‘Your farver’s dead, Joey. Yer can’t ’ave two dads,’ she said.
‘I know that, Mum, but we could ’ave a pretend dad if yer got married, couldn’t we?’
‘Look, Joey, I am not goin’ ter get married. I was married ter yer farver, an’ I don’t wanna get married again.’
‘I wouldn’t mind Danny fer a pretend dad,’ Joey said as he made for the door.
Ginny felt tears welling up and she dabbed her eyes with the apron. Sleep had come slow last night, and she had been troubled by her guilty thoughts. Her lad had caught her off balance, and she was worried about the rumours. There was obviously gossip going around about her. She would have to be careful not to fuel the fire, but she knew that the backstreets did not allow for much privacy. Everyone lived in each other’s pockets, the slightest impropriety was discussed and disseminated at one end of the houses until it became scandal at the other end of the row. News travelled fast in the backstreets. Word of Kathy Thompson’s suicide attempt had spread around in minutes. The terrible news added to Ginny’s own sadness, and she tried to blot out her dismay by working about the house. She got so involved that she forgot the time, and when Danny knocked on her door the kettle was not yet over the gas. When he walked in Ginny expected him to say something about Kathy, but he was cheerful.
‘’Ello, Ginny, I saw yer brood outside. School ’olidays started?’
Ginny pulled a face. ‘I’ve got six weeks o’ this. “Mum I fell over” an’ “Mum gi’s a slice o’ bread”. It’ll be Mum this an’ Mum that. It’s a wonder I ain’t grey.’
Danny smiled. ‘Ginny, yer don’t look a day over firty–five.’
Ginny suddenly became serious. He can’t know she thought, he would have mentioned it. ‘Danny, ’a
ven’t you ’eard about Kathy?’
Danny’s face took on an anxious look. ‘’Eard what, Ginny?’
‘She took an overdose.’
Danny’s face went white. ‘Bloody ’ell! Is she . . . ?’
‘They took ’er ter Guy’s ’Ospital, Danny. ’Er next door neighbour found ’er. That’s all we know.’
‘I wanna go an’ see ’er, Gin.’
‘It’s no good, they won’t let yer in. ’Er muvver’s up there wiv ’er, but they won’t let anybody else in yet. Please Gawd she’ll pull frew.’
‘When did it ’appen, Ginny?’
‘Last night. The police came round. I ’eard a commotion when I was puttin’ the milk bottles out. It must ’ave bin well after twelve. I’m normally a–bed by that time, but last night I fell asleep in the chair. The kids wore me out yesterday.’
Danny sat down heavily in the chair. ‘Did yer know she was carryin’?’ he asked.
Ginny nodded. ‘It was no secret, yer could tell anyway. That was why ’er ole man kicked ’er out, wasn’t it?’
Danny nodded. ‘What’ll ’appen ter the baby, Ginny?’
‘Gawd knows. If they manage ter pull ’er frew it’s quite possible she’ll lose the baby. It ’appened ter that girl in Tooley Buildin’s only last year. She took an overdose. She was all right, but she lost the baby. Four months gone she was.’
Danny ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Kathy’s gonna be all right, ain’t she, Gin?’
Ginny smiled. She had noticed how he reacted when she told him the news. She sensed there was something between them, it showed on the lad’s face. ‘She’ll pull frew, Danny. If she gets over this okay it might be a blessin’ in disguise. She can make a clean break from that ’orrible bloke. I knew all along no good would come out of ’er goin’ wiv ’im. Did yer know ’e left ’is wife an’ kid?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Danny jumped up, his face dark with anger.
Tuppence to Tooley Street Page 23