A Bespoke Murder ihmasjk-1

by Edward Marston

  ‘Why not?’ asked Keedy. ‘It’s not going to put off new recruits. I reckon that it will do the reverse. If people really know what the Germans are doing to our lads, they’ll want to wipe them off the face of the earth.’ He looked at a wounded man nearby, both legs missing and a bloodstained bandage across his eyes. ‘What sort of life is that poor fellow going to have?’

  ‘I dread to think,’ said Marmion.

  ‘Aren’t you glad that Paul’s regiment is not in Ypres?’

  ‘Yes, Joe, I am.’

  Keedy gestured with an arm to take in the whole deck.

  ‘Are you going to tell Ellen about this? Are you going to describe some of the things we saw and heard at the front?’

  ‘There’s no point in upsetting her unnecessarily.’

  ‘What about Alice?’

  ‘She’s more likely to press for details,’ said Marmion, ‘and I won’t deceive her. Our daughter is not squeamish. She doesn’t get upset easily.’

  ‘I know,’ said Keedy, fondly. ‘Alice has an inner strength. I think she must get that from you, Harv.’

  Marmion’s laugh was hollow. ‘I don’t have much inner strength at the moment. I just feel depressed and humbled by it all.’ He pulled himself together and managed a smile. ‘But we didn’t cross the Channel to act as war reporters, Joe. We had a mission and it was successful. Two men will now be tried for the rape of Ruth Stein. The only disappointment,’ he added, ‘is that they were unable to give us any information regarding the other crimes committed that evening. I believe what Gatliffe told me. They never went inside the shop.’

  ‘We have to start all over again, then.’

  ‘It’s not that bad. I’m hoping that some new ground has been broken while we’ve been away and that we’ll get back to find there’s been some definite progress.’

  ‘We need to track down Jacob Stein’s two former employees,’ said Keedy. ‘The fact that they’ve disappeared so conveniently could be significant.’

  ‘We shall see, Joe,’ said Marmion. ‘The main thing is that we have good news to report to the commissioner. Cochran and Gatliffe have been arrested and there’s absolutely no doubt about their guilt. Sir Edward will be able to get Herbert Stone off his back now.’

  Ruth Stein sat in the living room with her mother, her aunt and two of her cousins. They had been receiving condolences from a string of friends who called in, one of whom was David Cohen, erstwhile manager of the shop. Ruth was too numb to do anything more than offer a pale smile of thanks to the various visitors. She was still locked in her private suffering, convinced that everyone now knew about her attempt at killing herself and condemned her for it. There had been long and painful conversations with Rabbi Hirsch and with her Uncle Herman. Her mother spared her any more questioning and tried to bathe her in a soothing love. It gave Ruth some much-needed relief but failed to disperse her corroding sense of worthlessness.

  There was a tap on the door and Herbert Stone popped his head into the room. When he asked to speak to Ruth, she felt the familiar sickness stirring. He was going to take her to task once more, she thought, and it would be gruelling. Stone escorted her to the room that her father had used as his office and he closed the door behind them. When they were both seated, he put a hand on her arm.

  ‘I have some news for you,’ he said.

  ‘What is it, Uncle Herman?’

  ‘I’ve just taken a phone call from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Oh!’ She drew back instinctively.

  ‘It’s good news, Ruth. You should be glad. Inspector Marmion is in charge of the case. Thanks to the information you provided, he was able to identify the two men who attacked you. They were arrested in Flanders, where they’d gone with their regiment. Both of them are now back here in custody. Can you hear what I’m telling you?’ he asked, squeezing her arm. ‘The crime has been solved.’

  Ruth was unsure what to make of the news. The sheer mention of Scotland Yard had brought the whole incident flooding back into her mind. It seemed extraordinary to her that something which had happened in an alley in London had sent detectives abroad in pursuit of the men responsible. Somehow she did not wish to hear any more. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and block out sound.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased?’ asked Stone.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But they’ll be punished for what they did to you.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘When they’re convicted, that is. One of the men has already confessed, I gather, but the other is maintaining his innocence. You’ll be asked to identify him in court.’

  Ruth’s brain was suddenly ablaze. The notion that she had to confront the man who raped her threw her into confusion. She never wanted to get anywhere near him again. He’d robbed her of something she could never get back and, in doing so, had shattered her confidence. She’d tried with all her might to put the whole incident out of her mind but it was back there with vivid immediacy. There was a choking sensation in her throat and her eyes began to mist over. It was too much to bear.

  Her uncle was very disappointed in her response. Expecting a sign of pleasure at his news, he shook her arm hard as if to force it out of her. It produced a very different result. Putting her head back and opening her mouth wide, Ruth emitted a long, hysterical, high-pitched cry and began to shake convulsively.

  After listening to his report, Sir Edward Henry congratulated Marmion on his success. As soon as they’d reached Dover, the inspector had telephoned him to say that the two suspects had been arrested, thus enabling the commissioner to pass on the tidings to Herbert Stone. Marmion had now given a much fuller account of what had occurred in the farmhouse near Ypres.

  ‘It’s a pity we can’t trumpet this in the press,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but the family has begged us not to give it publicity for the sake of Miss Stein. I suggested to Mr Stone that we could release details of the arrest while keeping the name of the victim anonymous but he was not happy with that idea.’

  ‘Her name will have to be mentioned when the case comes to court,’ said Marmion, ‘unless we can persuade Cochran to plead guilty and save everyone a lot of trouble.’

  ‘What are the chances of that?’

  ‘They’re rather slim, Sir Edward. He’s a bloody-minded fellow.’

  ‘We see far too many of those in our line of work,’ said the commissioner, dryly. ‘All the more reason to ensure that he’s exposed in court in his true light.’

  ‘Gatliffe’s confession makes his friend’s position untenable but there are some people who, even if caught red-handed, will never admit guilt. It’s an article of faith with them. Oliver Cochran falls into that category,’ said Marmion.

  ‘What — even after his assault on Sergeant Keedy?’

  ‘That never took place, apparently. Cochran is now claiming that he was the victim of an unprovoked attack.’

  ‘That’s palpably absurd!’

  ‘But I take your point about publicity, Sir Edward,’ continued Marmion. ‘Rape convictions are so rare that it would be good to send the message that we take the crime seriously. With so many soldiers on leave in London, looking for a good night out, it’s more than likely that there’ll be other young women like Ruth Stein who are in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Sadly, I must endorse that prediction.’

  When Marmion went on to ask what had been happening in their absence, the commissioner was glad to report that there had been no more incidents of mob violence in the West End and that the many roaming gangs in the East End seemed to have died away. It was a pattern repeated in other cities. In the immediate aftermath of the sinking of the Lusitania, summary justice had been sought by people with an anti-German bloodlust. It had peaked in ports like Liverpool, then slowly subsided. Police and other authorities were still involved in cleaning up the gigantic mess left behind. What they could not tidy away was the aggressive impulse latent in so many British people and liable to be aroused by the next enemy out
rage.

  ‘Needless to say,’ explained Sir Edward, ‘there’s been universal condemnation of the sinking. America is especially critical, of course, because so many of the victims were American citizens.’

  ‘What have the Germans said in response?’

  ‘Their argument is that the ship was carrying armaments and that it was therefore an acceptable target for their submarine fleet.’

  ‘Were there armaments aboard?’ asked Marmion. ‘It seems highly unlikely.’

  ‘The Germans are basing their claim on the fact that only one torpedo was fired, yet there were two explosions. According to their propaganda, the second blast could only have been caused by the presence of explosive materials in the hold.’

  ‘What response has there been from Cunard?’

  ‘A firm denial,’ said the commissioner.

  ‘Then the German excuse can be dismissed out of hand.’

  ‘That’s my feeling, Inspector.’

  ‘Had there been intelligence in advance to the effect that the vessel was carrying material destined for the war front, then every U-boat in the blockade would have been ready to ambush the Lusitania. Yet that isn’t what happened,’ argued Marmion. ‘She was hit by a solitary torpedo when she was assumed to be a passenger ship with no armaments aboard. That’s a violation of maritime neutrality.’

  ‘There’ll be more repercussions to come, I suspect.’

  ‘More disorder in our streets, you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking about international responses,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but there’ll be further work for the Metropolitan Police, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘You told me that everything had quietened down.’

  ‘That could be a temporary respite, Inspector. There’s still so much danger in the air,’ said the commissioner, sucking his teeth. ‘We’ve not done with this business yet.’

  St Saviour’s church gave Irene Bayard a warm welcome when she attended morning service there on Sunday. She was introduced to the vicar, the churchwardens and to a number of her sister’s friends. When they discovered she was a survivor of the Lusitania disaster, people crowded round to offer their sympathy and to ask for details of the event. It served to give Irene an eminence she neither sought nor relished. After the service, Dorothy, as its secretary, needed to discuss the next meeting of the Parochial Church Council. Leaving her sister behind, Irene slipped out and made her way back to the house alone. In spite of the attention she was given, she was glad that she had gone to church. It was as if she had touched a spiritual base that had been lacking in her life for some time. She felt restored.

  Her sense of well-being only lasted until she turned the corner into her street. Coming towards her was the unmistakable figure of Ernie Gill, wearing his best suit and strutting jauntily along. When he spotted her, he whisked off his hat to wave at her. Irene stopped in her tracks. He was the last person she wanted to meet but, for old times’ sake, she steeled herself to be pleasant to him.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, rushing towards her and kissing her on the cheek before replacing his hat. ‘Miss James said that you went to church with your sister.’

  ‘That’s right, Ernie.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Oh, Dorothy had something to sort out with the churchwarden.’

  ‘I was looking forward to meeting her.’

  ‘That … won’t be possible,’ she said, guardedly.

  ‘I bet you’re wondering how I found you,’ he said, grinning at his cleverness. ‘When we parted in Liverpool, I knew I’d want to see you again and so I followed you back to your digs. I saw you go in and thought I’d let you recover for a day or two before I turned up again.’

  ‘Mrs Hoskins gave you this address, didn’t she?’ guessed Irene.

  ‘Yes — your landlady took a bit of persuading, mind you, but she told me you’d come to London. She was used to forwarding letters and things when you were staying with your sister.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s a nice little house.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  ‘No, Ernie, it’s … not convenient.’

  ‘But I was hoping to meet your sister.’

  ‘Dorothy won’t be here for ages and I have lots to do. I’m sorry but this is a bad time for you to call.’

  ‘That’s no problem, Irene,’ he said, cheerily. ‘I’ll come back another time. Just you name the day.’

  It was the moment when she ought to have told him that she didn’t really wish to see him again but the words simply wouldn’t come out. Instead, Irene stood there and gesticulated nervously. Sensing rejection, Gill spoke with subdued anger.

  ‘You’re ashamed of me, is that it?’ he challenged.

  ‘No, no, it’s not that, Ernie.’

  ‘I’m not good enough to meet your precious sister.’

  ‘You’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Then why aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  ‘I am — in a way,’ she lied.

  ‘I’m not Miss James,’ he retorted. ‘I’m not blind like that old biddy. I can see it in your face, Irene. You don’t even want to speak to your old shipmate, do you?’

  ‘Of course I do, Ernie.’

  His anger was surging. ‘Then why are you giving me the cold shoulder? I’ve got rights, after all, and I don’t just mean that we sailed together so often. Have you forgotten what happened when we jumped overboard?’ he said, wagging a finger. ‘I didn’t have to come to your rescue, you know. I could have thought only of myself. But I didn’t, Irene. I looked around for you then swam over. I saved your life. Is this all the thanks I get? Don’t you think you owe me something?’

  There was hurt as well as accusation in his voice and it melted her resolve. Gill had come to her aid in the water. She would always remember that. After all they’d been through together, it was both wrong and unfair to antagonise him. Irene accepted that now. Reaching out a consoling arm, she touched his shoulder.

  ‘I would like to see you sometime, Ernie,’ she said with a degree of enthusiasm, ‘only it can’t be today and it can’t be here.’

  His chirpiness returned. ‘That suits me,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a date, shall we? Give me a time and place and I’ll be there.’

  Joe Keedy was delighted to be invited to tea with the Marmion family. Ordinarily, he would have spent Sunday afternoon with the nurse he’d been courting for some months but she had decided her skills were needed on the Western Front and had volunteered for army service. Sad to see her go, Keedy had admired the impulse that took her across the Channel but they’d made no arrangement to meet up again on her return. The romance was over. In practical terms, it meant that what might have been a pleasant day with his girlfriend had now turned into a yawning chasm. A visit to the Marmion household was the ideal way to fill it.

  They had clearly made efforts on his behalf. The place had been thoroughly cleaned, the meal was excellent and the conversation never flagged. Keedy always enjoyed seeing his colleague in his domestic setting where Marmion could relax, smoke his pipe and put the world to rights from his armchair beside the fireplace. Ellen and Alice were so hospitable that he almost felt like a member of the family. There was one proviso to the visit. Ellen insisted that it was a social occasion and that the detectives were not allowed to talk about their work. It was a condition to which both men readily acceded.

  When the meal was over and the hours had rolled by, Alice offered to do the washing-up and Keedy insisted on helping her. Alone with him in the kitchen, Alice broke the embargo.

  ‘What was it like when you went after those two men?’

  ‘I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about work.’

  ‘That was Mummy’s idea,’ she said, ‘not mine.’

  ‘Hasn’t your father already told you?’

  ‘He’s told me bits of what happened, Joe, but I had the sense that he was holding a lot back. What he did mention was the fight
you had with one of the men.’

  He was modest. ‘It was over so quickly, Alice.’

  ‘I don’t believe that. Tell me what happened.’

  While she washed the dishes and he wiped them dry, Keedy gave her an abbreviated but straightforward account of their visit to Ypres. He admitted how shocked he was by what he saw at the front and how he feared for the lives of some friends who were fighting there. One particular man came to mind.

  ‘I wondered if Palm Tree was still alive,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His real name was Detective Constable Ralph Palmer but we called him Palm Tree because he was so tall and skinny. The day that war was declared, he resigned his job and joined the 5th Field Company, Royal Engineers. They’re real heroes, Alice.’

  ‘Are they?’ she asked.

  ‘They were the unit that dug our army out of Mons then provided them with trenches during the long retreat. They blew up bridges to hinder any pursuit, then they had to rebuild them when the Germans drew back and our lads were able to reclaim territory that they’d just given up. And all this, remember,’ said Keedy, taking another wet plate from her, ‘was done in full view of the enemy infantry. Palm Tree and his company deserve medals.’

  ‘Where are the Royal Engineers now?’

  ‘They’re where we left them, Alice — in Flanders. They dug those trenches in Ypres.’

  ‘Did you never have the urge to join up yourself?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but I’d just been promoted and I felt there was important work to be done on the home front. Well, the current investigation is a case in point.’

  ‘You’ll never catch all the people in that mob.’

  ‘That won’t stop us from trying.’

  ‘What about the killer?’

  He was adamant. ‘Oh, that’s one crime we will solve.’

  ‘How can you be so categorical?’

  ‘I’m working with your father,’ he said, grinning. ‘And Inspector Marmion has never failed yet. You should know that.’

  As they chatted happily, their shoulders touched and both of them enjoyed the proximity. Keedy had always been attracted to Alice but had held back from seeking a closer acquaintance with her because of the age gap between them and because he felt that her father would disapprove. For her part, Alice was very fond of him, though she had never entertained serious thoughts about a closer relationship. Working side by side with him, however, she was increasingly drawn to Keedy and hoped that the pleasure was mutual. It was not the most romantic setting. With her hands in a bowl of water, she could never be seen at her best, and he was hardly at his most dashing while buffing plates with a tea towel. Yet it was companionship of the most satisfying kind. They were at ease with each other.