by Jim Eldridge
Married! In her head she’d spoken the M word, and it shocked her. But why not? If he asked her, she’d say Yes. Yes.
And if he didn’t ask her?
I can’t ask him, she decided. It’s not what I do. But if he doesn’t …
She sighed, picked up her music and made for the door. Showtime.
Mel McGuinness sat silently fuming in the rear of his Jaguar as his driver made his way through the streets of Lambeth towards Mel’s large detached house. It was half past ten and travelling at night in the blackout irritated McGuinness, even though he could see the sense in it. In the first few months of the war, cars had been forbidden to use any lights at all when being driven at night. The result had been hundreds of deaths as cars ran pedestrians over or crashed. Finally the authorities relented and allowed cars to use headlights at night, providing they were kept on dip, and the headlamps were fitted with covers over the top to stop the light being seen from the sky A twenty mile an hour speed limit was also in force during the hours of darkness. It meant that driving anywhere at night took ages.
It had been a long and unpleasant day. The meeting with the Bell brothers hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. He still wasn’t sure about them. Sure, they pleaded innocence, but that was what he expected from them. They weren’t to be trusted. And then there was DCI Coburg, coming into his pub and slandering him the way he did. He should have punched Coburg in the face for what he’d said about terrorising the woman. McGuinness prided himself on his attitude towards women, unlike many of his contemporaries. The Bell brothers, for example, with their stables of prostitutes run by violent pimps. That’s who Coburg should be directing his accusations at. Chuck and Lofty hadn’t terrorised the woman, of that he was sure. They knew Mel’s rules about treating women and they knew what would happen to them if they broke them. It came from the way his dad had treated his mum and sister. Brutal. Vicious. He remembered seeing them lying on the floor of the kitchen in their small, cramped terraced house, noses broken, blood everywhere, while the old man kicked and stamped on them.
McGuinness had been thirteen when he’d killed his father, smashing his head in with a coal hammer while he slept, drunk. Afterwards, he’d loaded his dad’s body into a wheelbarrow and dumped it in the canal, weighed down with stones in the pockets of his jacket. He hadn’t told his mum or sister what he’d done, just that the old man had been beaten to death by someone who’d got into the house, and he’d got rid of the body so there’d be no questions asked. He suspected they knew what he’d done, but they agreed to let it be known locally that the old man had left suddenly, and they didn’t know where he’d gone.
Again, the accusation from Coburg that he’d do anything to harm or terrify a woman filled him with rage. All right, maybe she had got frightened, but there’d been no threats made to her, he was certain of that.
‘Here we are, Mr McGuinness.’ Mel realised they were outside his house. He opened the car door.
‘Same time tomorrow, Mr McGuinness?’ the driver asked.
‘As usual,’ grunted Mel.
He got out, shut the car door, then headed down the short path to his front door. He stopped and looked at it, its heavy oak with brass numbers, the bay windows on ether side, and thought with satisfaction: Not bad for a boy from the back streets.
He was just about to put his key in the lock when he felt a presence behind him. He turned and saw a gun pointing at his head.
‘What the—?’ he began.
He never finished. The bullet smashed into his face and his head exploded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Coburg drove home after dropping Rosa at her house, his head filled with thoughts of her, and also of Raymond Harris. In the car, she’d seemed amused at the idea of Coburg and Harris sharing the table. ‘Was it a competition?’ she asked. ‘Was he sounding you out about us, seeing if he had a chance?’
‘Of course,’ said Coburg. ‘I have no doubt at all that he admires you for your looks as much as your talent. But this evening, I think his aim was to probe me about the case, and the millions King Zog has in his suite at the hotel.’
He then told her what he’d learnt from Sir Vincent Blessington.
‘Albanian?’ she said, stunned.
‘Only by birth. Everyone has to be born somewhere. But what’s equally interesting is this business of him being a spy and acting as an intermediary between British and American Intelligence.’
‘So, this business of him being a record company executive is a fake,’ she said angrily.
‘No, it’s genuine enough. But it’s also a very good cover for him moving back and forth between Britain and America.’
Coburg parked the car and walked to his flat, Rosa’s question pinging around in his brain. What had he told Harris? On reflection, nothing that he was sure the man didn’t know already. The questioning had been done very subtlely, innocuous comments, some about the situation in the Balkans, but there had been no direct questions, just gaps in bland talk left for Coburg to fill. Harris was good, there was no doubt about that. But there was one question that hovered in Coburg’s mind: was Harris a killer? Could he have been the one who cut Joe Williams’s throat? And if so, why? Were his orders to protect the King and his wealth? Or was he working for someone else? Many secret agents had more than one paymaster.
As he unlocked his door his telephone was ringing, and his first thought was that it was Rosa, that something bad had happened. He ran to the phone and snatched it up.
‘Coburg.’
‘Sergeant Elliott from Waterloo, sir. I’m sorry to trouble you so late, but something’s turned up and there was a note in the file from Sergeant Moss that said if anything happened connected to this particular individual, for you to be advised immediately.’
‘Which individual?’ asked Coburg.
‘Mel McGuinness, sir. He’s been shot.’
‘Shot?’
‘Yes, sir. Dead. It happened outside his house about an hour ago. We’ve got his driver here telling us the story of what happened. Charley Barnes has also arrived, says he’s here to represent the driver, but we think he might be useful. You know, see if he can throw any light on why this happened.’
‘Keep them there. I’m on my way.’
The roads were virtually empty, everyone apparently obeying the rules of the blackout, so Coburg made good time to Waterloo despite the speed restrictions. In peacetime the reception area of a police station at nearly midnight was usually heaving with drunks, pickpockets, muggers, burglars and prostitutes. Wartime, with ARP wardens and others patrolling the streets, meant that Waterloo police station was empty except for the night duty sergeant at the desk and a couple of uniformed officers. And Charley Barnes, sitting on a wooden bench, who leapt to his feet as he saw Coburg.
‘Mr Coburg!’
‘In a minute, Charley. Let me have a word with the sergeant, and then with Mel’s driver.’
‘Matt Dorsey. He’s a good bloke.’
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘He didn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘I never suggested he did.’
‘I reckon I know who did.’
‘I’m sure and we will talk in a minute. But first—’
‘I come in of me own accord,’ snapped Barnes.
‘I know you did, and that’s appreciated. But first I need to talk to Mr Dorsey.’
Reluctantly, Barnes sat down on the bench, but Coburg could feel the man’s eyes burning into his back as he walked away. He’s angry, thought Coburg. No, worse than that, he’s maniacal about what’s happened to Big Mel.
Coburg strode to the desk and the waiting sergeant. ‘DCI Coburg,’ he introduced himself. ‘Sergeant Elliott?’
‘That’s me, sir. And thank you for coming so quickly.’ He lowered his voice as he shot a look in the waiting Barnes’s direction. ‘He’s very edgy, sir. Very edgy indeed. That’s why I asked the constables to hang around, just in case he gets out of hand. I know what Charley Barnes can
be like.’
‘I’ll deal with him after I’ve talked to this Matt Dorsey,’ said Coburg. ‘But if Barnes starts playing up, you have my backing to chuck him in a cell.’
‘That won’t be easy,’ said Elliott warily. ‘I know three of us against one sound good odds, but Barnes is barely in control when he’s on edge like this. And with Big Mel being shot the way he was …’
Coburg nodded, then walked back to where Barnes was sitting. Once more, Barnes leapt to his feet, mouth open to start speaking, but Coburg held up his hand to stop him, then leant in so he could talk without the others hearing.
‘Charley, I know you’re mad about what happened, and I know that mad doesn’t even cover it. But that’s why I’m here, to get to the bottom of it and find out who did it. But first I need to talk to Matt Dorsey. While I’m doing that, I want you to stay here. I know it’s a waste of time saying keep calm, because keeping calm isn’t your style. But if you kick off while I’m busy with Dorsey, I won’t talk to you because anything you say will be just anger. I need your brain thinking over what’s happened, and who it might be.’ As Barnes opened his mouth to respond, Coburg held up his hand to silence him momentarily. ‘Not just the person you’ve got in your head already, but others. Think, Charley, while I’m talking to Dorsey. Then we’ll talk. But kick off and us talking is gone for the night, and that won’t help find Mel’s killer. All right?’
Barnes stood looking at Coburg, then he swallowed and nodded.
‘Good,’ said Coburg. ‘We have a deal. I’ll see you in a minute or two.’
Coburg returned to the desk. ‘We should be fine,’ he said to Elliott. ‘Now, take me to see Mr Dorsey.’
The sergeant gestured one of the constables to join them. ‘Take DCI Coburg to interview room one.’
‘You want me to stay with him?’ asked the constable.
‘No,’ said Coburg. ‘I’ll be fine. You come back here.’
Coburg followed the constable to the interview room. A uniformed constable was on duty outside.
‘Thank you, Constable,’ said Coburg, and he let himself into the room.
Matt Dorsey was a short, wiry man with thinning red hair, wearing a jacket too large for him and which hung on him like a tent as he walked around the room agitatedly. He stopped pacing as Coburg entered.
‘Hello, Mr Dorsey,’ said Coburg. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Coburg from Scotland Yard. Please, take a seat.’
Dorsey sat on one of the two chairs at the room’s only other piece of furniture, a wooden table, and Coburg took the other.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said.
‘Mel got shot,’ said Dorsey.
‘Yes, so I understand,’ said Coburg. ‘You drove him home, is that right?’
Dorsey nodded, his head bobbing furiously up and down, showing his nervousness.
‘Was this a regular trip?’
‘Every night,’ said Dorsey. ‘I’d pick him up from the Iron Horse. If he’d been anywhere before, he always went back to the Iron Horse for me to pick him up.’
‘What time?’
‘Ten o’clock. Regular as clockwork. Unless something had come up which meant he was late. In which case, I’d wait for him till he arrived.’
‘Was he often late?’
Dorsey shook his head. ‘No. Nine times out of ten he was there at the Iron Horse on the dot.’
‘And that’s what happened tonight?’
Again, Dorsey’s head jerked frantically up and down, causing his thin hair to flap like a bad wig.
‘It happened when you got to his home, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I pulled up outside Mr McGuinness’s house like I always do and waited while he walked up the path to his front door. It’s only a short path. He got to the door safe enough, so I was about to drive off and put the car away. Mr McGuinness has got a lock-up garage just a couple of streets away. You can’t trust it if you leave a car unattended overnight, not even in good areas. Someone’ll siphon off your petrol. Anyway, I was just driving off when I heard this bang. At first I thought it was a car backfiring, but I looked back just in case, and there was Mr McGuinness leaning against his front door and sliding down it.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
‘I’m coming to that. I saw a bloke, at least I think it was a bloke, but it was dark and whoever it was had a big baggy overcoat on and a hat pulled down, and he was just running round the corner of the house.’
‘Did you go after him?’
‘I started to, but first I wanted to check on Mr McGuinness. But he was dead. Shot in the head. Horrible, it was.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘Well, then I went after the shooter, but there was no sign of him. Round the side of the house there’s like rough ground, and a gate into the back garden. I went into the garden but couldn’t see anyone.’
‘How far did you go?’
‘Right down the bottom. There’s a wooden fence there, and beyond that it’s just small side streets.’
‘Did you have a weapon with you?’ asked Coburg.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Dorsey uncomfortably.
‘You were chasing someone who’d just shot your boss, so you knew he was armed. He could have shot you. Did you have a weapon on you to protect yourself?’
‘Yeh, but it wasn’t mine,’ said Dorsey. ‘I don’t have a gun. It’s illegal.’
‘So, whose gun did you have?’
‘Mel’s. Mr McGuinness’s,’ said Dorsey. ‘I knew he kept one in his pocket, so I took that.’
‘Mel was a widower, wasn’t he?’
Again, Dorsey did his frantic nodding.
‘Anyone live with him?’
‘No. He was all on his own. I told him once he ought to get a housekeeper, he could afford it, but he said he preferred it like it was, being on his own.’
‘Was there ever any trouble any of the times you took him home?’
‘Trouble?’
‘Yes, anyone acting suspiciously, for example.’
Dorsey shook his head. ‘No. Never anything like that. People knew who he was, and they knew the car. No one with half a brain would make trouble.’
Coburg nodded. ‘All right, Mr Dorsey. I think that’s all for the moment, but in the morning I’ll be going to examine the crime scene and I’d like you there to walk me through what you saw.’
Dorsey nodded. ‘What time?’
‘Seven o’clock.’
‘Seven o’clock?’ said Dorsey, horrified. ‘That’s a bit early!’
‘I want to examine the scene before it gets trampled on,’ said Coburg.
Dorsey nodded again. ‘No problem.’
Coburg walked Dorsey back to the reception desk.
‘We can let Mr Dorsey go now, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I shall be seeing him when it gets light at the crime scene. Has it been roped off?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Elliot. ‘The constables who attended also put up “Police: Keep Out” notices.’
‘Good,’ said Coburg. He held out his hand to Dorsey to shake, who took it, surprised by the action. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘I’ll be there,’ replied Dorsey.
‘So will I,’ said Barnes, who’d walked over to join them. ‘In fact, hang on here, Matt, and you can run me home after I’ve talked to Mr Coburg.’
Dorsey made for a bench, as Coburg led Barnes towards the interview room.
‘So, you didn’t come in your car, Charley,’ he said.
‘No. A mate dropped me off.’
They entered the interview room and the two men sat in the same chairs Coburg and Dorsey had recently vacated. Barnes was visibly agitated, his movements jerky, but not through intimidation from being in the interview room, as Coburg guessed Barnes had plenty of experience being here.
‘Right. So, who do you think killed Mel?’ asked Coburg.
‘The Bell brothers,’ Barnes answered immediat
ely.
‘Why?’
‘Because they want to take over his territory.’
‘And move south of the river?’ said Coburg. ‘Frankly, Charley, that sounds a bit unlikely. The south is a foreign country to them, same as north of the river was for Mel, and for you.’
‘They’re greedy.’
‘I can’t see Danny and Den thinking it would be that easy to take over just by bumping Big Mel off,’ said Coburg.
‘Cut the head off and the rest follows, that’s how they see it,’ said Barnes flatly.
‘Obviously, that’s one line of enquiry we’ll follow—’
‘It’s the only line of enquiry,’ snapped Barnes. ‘They’re the only ones who benefit.’
‘But just in case, let’s look at other options,’ said Coburg. ‘Who else could be in the frame?’
Barnes fell silent, sullen, angry at Coburg doubting that the Bell brothers were behind the killing.
‘There must be someone else that Mel upset enough to want to kill him,’ pressed Coburg.
Reluctantly, Barnes thought. Then he said: ‘There’s always them fascists.’
‘The fascists?’
‘Yeh. Mosley’s lot.’
‘The British Union of Fascists?’
‘Yeh. Them.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, he had Joe Williams inside ’em, finding out what was going on. Then he passed on what Joe picked up. It was thanks to Mel that they ended up being jailed. He was a patriot, was Mel. Someone must have found out so this was their revenge. It could have been them that done for Joe as well.’
‘The BUF was closed down three months ago. Why wait till now?’
‘Maybe they didn’t know until just lately. After all, Joe only got killed a few days ago. And there were some pretty powerful people in it.’
‘Charley, I know for a fact that the Intelligence services had been keeping their own very careful watch on the BUF for the last couple of years, and they had their own people inside the organisation. I take your point that Mel passed on what Joe picked up, but MI5 and Special Branch would have known most of it already.’