by Jim Eldridge
‘Milk and two sugars,’ she said.
‘I’ll be right back,’ he said, and hurried out of the room.
‘He’s been looking for me,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve been away. I only got back this morning.’
‘First, I’m really sorry about what happened to Alex,’ said Coburg.
At the mention of his name, her tears spilled out and ran down her cheeks, and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her eyes.
‘It was so unfair!’ she said. ‘He was so kind and gentle. He’d never hurt anyone.’
‘How long had you known him?’ asked Coburg.
‘Six months. He came into the cafe where I work and ordered a coffee. I thought he looked nice. He told me later he’d passed the cafe and seen me in there, working, and he kept coming back for two weeks because he wanted to come in and talk to me, but he never came into the cafe until that day. He didn’t have a lot of English, but enough to say “Please” and “Thank you” and talk about the weather. I thought he might be interested in me from the way he looked at me, but I’d never had a man look at me like that before. He told me later I was special. He made me feel special.’
‘And you started going out with him?’
She nodded. ‘Mostly, I went to his room to meet him and we’d go for walks in the park. I’ve got a room, but the landlady doesn’t like men in the rooms.’
The door opened, and Lampson returned holding a cup of coffee, which he put down on the desk in front of Anna.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘It may not be the Ritz standard, but at least it’s hot.’
She thanked Lampson and took a sip. ‘Actually, it’s not bad,’ she said. ‘As good as what we serve in the cafe.’
Coburg let her take another sip before asking: ‘Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm Alex?’
She shook her head, then paused thoughtfully. ‘There was someone who Alex seemed scared of. He came to see him a few times, and I was sure he frightened him.’
‘Who was he?’
‘I don’t know his name. I asked Alex, but he said it was better for me not to know.’ She paused, then said: ‘But I saw him.’
‘When? Where?’
‘Once, when I called for Alex in his room. The man was there, threatening Alex, but he walked out when I arrived. Alex said he was a bad man.’
‘What nationality was he? What language was he talking in?’
‘The same as Alex.’
‘Macedonian?’
She frowned. ‘Was Alex from Macedonia? He told me at first he was Swiss, but then he said he was really Albanian.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘I didn’t even know there was a place called Albania.’
‘What did this man look like? The one who frightened Alex.’
Anna thought, doing her best to remember, then she said: ‘He was about forty. About five foot six tall. Muscular, like he did boxing or something. He had a big moustache, thick and black like his hair. The worst thing about him was his eyes. They were always staring and angry, like he was about to attack someone. He frightened me, and I only saw him properly that once.’ She gave a shudder.
Coburg took the photo of Joe Williams from his desk and showed it to her. ‘Did you ever see Alex with this man?’
‘No. Who is he?’
‘Just someone we’re interested in. It does sound like this man you mentioned may have been the one who harmed Alex.’
‘I didn’t say that!’ she said, alarmed.
‘No, I know,’ said Coburg gently to calm her. ‘But I’d certainly like to talk to him.’
‘I don’t know who he is,’ she said. ‘Or where he lives or works.’
‘No, but there’s a possibility we may know someone who can help us find out who he is.’
‘Will I be in danger?’ asked Anna nervously.
‘No, not at all. The person I’m thinking about is one of our government people, very respectable. In his office he has pictures of people from abroad who live and work here.’
‘Including Alex?’ asked Anna.
‘No, I’m fairly sure not,’ said Coburg. ‘These people are politicals. The man you describe could be one, or he may not be. But, with your help, we might be able to find out.’
Anna looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know,’ she said uncertainly.
‘You do want to help us find the person who hurt Alex?’ said Coburg gently.
‘Yes, of course, but if it was this man—’
‘He won’t know about your involvement,’ said Coburg. ‘That I promise you. All we’d like you to do is come with us to look at some photos and see if you can spot him among them. His picture may not even be there. We’ll take you there in a car, and afterwards drive you wherever you want to go. Your home, or anywhere.’
‘And no one will know?’
‘No one will know,’ confirmed Coburg.
Rosa followed Warren into his office, and they resumed their chairs.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘That was an excellent drive. I had to test you because we get an awful lot of people coming in claiming all sorts of things. We had one man who turned up saying he drove tanks in the First World War. When he hit our outside wall with the lorry as his first action, he said it was because the foot controls were different. I’m sure they are, but we couldn’t trust him. You, I would trust.’
‘You mean I’m in?’ asked Rosa, doing her best to suppress her delight.
‘Yes and no,’ said Warren. ‘You’ve passed the first test, being able to drive one of our ambulances. You’ve also passed the second, confidence but care. I’ll need to get confirmation from head office, which will take a day or two, and then you can start your training.’
‘Training?’
‘Your first-aid training. Our standard is slightly higher than that for Girl Guides, but then we are often coming up against very serious situations, and although there will be fully qualified medics with you, we like all our crews to be able to work together.’ He stood up and smiled as he held his hand out. ‘So, welcome to the St John Ambulance Service, Miss Weeks. And thank you.’
Coburg and Lampson stood in Inspector Hibbert’s office at Wormwood Scrubs, the three men watching as Anna Gershon sat at a table and went through a book of photographs. Coburg had told Hibbert of the description given to him by Anna. Hibbert had then produced a thick photograph album with page after page of head and shoulders shots of men looking at the camera, most of them with deep suspicion. There were no names on the page, just numbers.
‘These are the known Albanians,’ he’d told them.
‘There’s a lot of them,’ commented Coburg.
‘We started the file in the early 1930s when the first refugees started to arrive from Germany and elsewhere,’ said Hibbert. ‘So, there were only a few at first, but in the last couple of years it’s become a bit of a flood.’ As Anna turned over more pages without recognising anyone, Hibbert asked: ‘You sure he’s Albanian?’
‘We think so,’ said Coburg. ‘He was heard talking to Alex Ollen in Ollen’s language, and we’re fairly sure Ollen was Albanian, despite claiming to be Swiss.’
‘There’s lots of languages similar,’ said Hibbert. ‘Macedonian. Slav.’ He gestured at the row of photo albums. ‘One for every country.’
‘Ollen had documents in Macedonian in his room,’ admitted Coburg.
‘There you are, then,’ said Hibbert.
‘This is him,’ said Anna suddenly.
The three men gathered round her and looked at the photograph she had her finger on. He did indeed have dangerous and vengeful eyes, thought Coburg.
‘You’re sure?’ he asked.
She nodded and gave a little shudder. ‘It’s not a face I’m likely to forget.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Coburg agreed. He turned to Lampson. ‘Sergeant, will you take Miss Gershon to wherever she wants to go, and then come back afterwards and pick me up. I just want to discuss a few things with Inspector Hibbert.’
‘Certainly,’ said Lampson.
He smiled at Anna. ‘This time you can sit in the back and think of me as your chauffeur.’
Coburg waited until Lampson and Anna had left the room, then asked Hibbert: ‘Who is he?’
Hibbert noted the number beneath the file, then went to a drawer of index cards, flicking through them until he came to the one he wanted. He took out the card and read out the information: ‘Anton Xhemel. Albanian, and a known communist,’ said Hibbert. ‘A bit of an agitator.’
‘What else do you know about him? His associates?’
‘To be frank, we haven’t paid much attention to him, or the communists who’ve recently arrived. All of our efforts have gone into trying to identify fifth columnists and those who support Hitler and Mussolini.’
‘Do you have an address for him?’
‘Of course. And where he works.’
‘Which is where?’
‘He’s a delivery driver for a laundry,’ said Hibbert, handing Coburg the card.
Coburg read the information on the card: ‘Employer: Kleen. Specialise in hospitals and commercial customers.’
‘Commercial customers,’ said Coburg thoughtfully. ‘Hotels?’
‘I expect so,’ said Hibbert. ‘Sheets. Uniforms. Tablecloths.’
So, that’s the connection with Alex Ollen, thought Coburg. I bet when we check we’ll find out he picked up and delivered laundry to the Ritz.
‘You think he’s the one who killed the kitchen hand?’ asked Hibbert.
‘I think there’s a very high likelihood,’ said Coburg, writing down Xhemel’s details in his notebook. ‘I’ll know more once we talk to him. Can you let me have a copy of that photo? If he’s not at that address, we’re going to have to get a search going.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The first thing Coburg did on getting back to the Yard was phone the porter at the Ritz.
‘George, it’s DCI Coburg. Do you know the name of the firm who does the hotel’s laundry?’
‘I do,’ said George. ‘It’s a firm called Clean, although they mis-spell it as K-L-E-E-N,’ he added disapprovingly.
‘Thank you, George,’ said Coburg. He hung up and turned to Lampson. ‘It’s him,’ he said.
‘You sure, guv?’
Coburg nodded. ‘This is the way I see it. Joe Williams gets into Count Ahmed’s empty suite prior to getting into the King’s rooms where the money is stored. While he’s there this Anton Xhemel turns up with a couple of his associates on the same mission. Or maybe they were there when Joe walked in. Whichever way it was, they killed Joe, and then had to run for it.
‘Xhemel had an inside man at the Ritz giving him info, and that was Alex Ollen. But when Joe was killed, Ollen gets cold feet. This is suddenly a hanging matter and he doesn’t want any part of it, so he tells Xhemel he wants out. But Xhemel doesn’t trust Ollen to keep his mouth shut. He’s a danger to him and his comrades. So he kills him.’
‘It’s a theory.’
‘It is, I admit. But let’s see what Xhemel has to say about it when we bring him in for questioning.’
Lampson looked thoughtful for a moment, then he said: ‘Talking of theories, guv, I’ve got one on who did Big Mel.’
‘Oh? One of Mel’s victims that Barry Moss thought looked interesting?’
‘Well, the ones I’ve talked to haven’t been very promising, but there’s one I haven’t been able to get hold of. His name’s Mike Bassett and he strikes me as the most likely candidate.’
‘On what basis?’
‘Do you remember Barry Moss told us about a warehouse that Joe Williams and Billy Thackeray knocked over, but they didn’t even get charged?’
‘The sugar,’ recalled Coburg.
‘That’s the one,’ said Lampson. ‘Bassett owns the warehouse where the sugar was taken from. It was his manager who pulled back from his identification of Williams and Thackeray, and Bassett was livid about that. He wanted them both done for it. As well as McGuinness.’
‘I’m sure plenty of his victims were pretty angry that they’d suffered, and McGuinness and his crew had got away with it.’
‘Yes, but Bassett has suffered more than most. I think robbery at his warehouse was the last straw.’
‘McGuinness and his mob had robbed him before?’
‘No, I mean personal suffering. Family tragedies. I got all this from Bassett’s next-door neighbour.’ Lampson recounted what he’d been told by Mrs Hudson.
‘And Thackeray and Williams walked away, as did McGuinness,’ said Coburg thoughtfully.
‘You see, guv, when the neighbour told me all this, I was remembering the sight of Billy Thackeray on the slab. He hadn’t been just beaten to death, he’d been smashed over and over again, his face looked like a broken boiled egg. And I thought …’
Coburg looked at his sergeant admiringly.
‘And you thought right! You’re wasted as a sergeant, Ted. You should be an inspector.’
‘I don’t know about that, guv,’ said Lampson awkwardly.
‘Well, I do!’ said Coburg.
‘But we’ve got no proof,’ said Lampson. ‘Not in either case. Not with this Xhemel bloke or Bassett.’
‘We’ve got strong enough suspicions to bring them both in for questioning,’ said Coburg.
‘Which one do we bring in first?’
‘Both. We split it: you take some uniforms with you and bring in one, while I do the same and bring in the other. The sooner we lay this to rest, the better.’
‘Right. Shall I take Bassett?’ asked Lampson.
‘No, I’ll arrest Bassett, you take Xhemel.’
‘Yeh, but Bassett’s got a shooter, Xhemel’s only got a knife.’
‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be carrying a gun,’ Coburg told him. ‘And I’m ordering you to book one out as well. This Xhemel sounds like a nasty piece of work. So, do it by the book: hold the gun on him while you have him searched for weapons, and make sure the uniform who does it doesn’t get between you and him.’
‘I have done this before, guv,’ complained Lampson.
‘I know, but I want you to come back safe.’
‘You’re going up against a man armed with a shooter.’
‘It’ll be fine. In the last war people were lining up to shoot me, and I survived. I’ll be armed, and I’ll have backup. The same as you.’ He copied Xhemel’s address, and his place of work, on to a piece of paper and gave it to Lampson. ‘Have you got the address for this Mike Bassett?’
Lampson handed it to him. ‘Here, but he wasn’t there when I called. I also tried his warehouse, but they say they’ve hardly seen him lately.’
‘Well, he must be staying somewhere,’ said Coburg. ‘Did Sergeant Moss have any more information about him?’
Lampson shook his head. Coburg picked up the phone and put a call through to Waterloo police station.
‘Sergeant Moss, it’s DCI Coburg. Do you know where Mike Bassett hangs around when he’s not at home or at his warehouse? I’d like a word with him, but we can’t seem to track him down.’
‘One of his workers at the warehouse says he seems to spend a lot at time at the cemetery,’ said Moss.
Of course, thought Coburg. His dead family.
‘Where were they buried? His wife and sons?’
‘Only his wife and one of his sons,’ said Moss. ‘The one who was killed at Dunkirk, his body was never recovered. His missus and other son were laid to rest at West Norwood.’
West Norwood in Lambeth, thought Coburg. The regular cemetery for south London.
‘Right, Ted, you go to the armoury and sort out weapons for both of us. I want a nice straightforward revolver, nothing where the bullets can get stuck. Also, arrange for uniformed officers to go with us. Two each, I suggest.’
‘Will that be enough?’ asked Lampson.
‘Two will be enough for me,’ said Coburg. ‘I don’t want to turn up with a small army, that’s bound to set him off.’ He stood up. ‘I’d better go and tell the super what we’re up to.’<
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‘He should be pleased,’ said Lampson. ‘Two cases solved at once.’
‘Only if we’ve got the right men,’ said Coburg. ‘At the moment, it’s still supposition on both of them.’
Superintendent Allison looked up from his desk as Coburg entered his office.
‘Come in, Coburg,’ he said.
He’s looking very unhappy, thought Coburg. No, not just unhappy, there’s simmering anger there as well. Well, whatever it is that’s upset him, here’s hoping my news will cheer him up.
‘There have been developments on both the murders at the Ritz, and the killing of Mel McGuinness and Billy Thackeray, sir,’ he said. Briefly he outlined what they’d learnt, and their suspicions concerning both Anton Xhemel and Mike Bassett. Allison took it all in thoughtfully, but his face didn’t reflect any pleasure at the news. On the contrary, he remained sombre.
‘So, we’re going to bring them both in for questioning. And if we’re right, that’ll be the four murders solved, along with Charley Barnes under lock and key for the killing of Den Bell.’
‘Ah, I’m glad you mention Barnes,’ said Allison, and he gave a deep and unhappy sigh.
Coburg looked at him quizzically; there was something in the superintendent’s voice that suggested embarrassment, confirmed by the fact that he avoided looking at Coburg.
‘We’ve had a complaint from the Home Office,’ continued Allison.
‘About what?’
‘About Barnes being held in prison on remand when there’s no hard evidence against him.’
‘There is hard evidence. We have a witness who identified him.’
‘But whose name you haven’t disclosed.’
‘If we disclose it at this stage, she’ll be dead within twenty-four hours. You know that, sir; that’s been the way that McGuinness and his crew have been able to stay out of jail, by threatening and even killing those who were ready to give evidence against them.’
‘That may be so, but we have to look at the legal aspect. A very prominent Member of Parliament has raised the case of Mr Barnes with the Home Office—’
‘Which Member of Parliament?’ demanded Coburg angrily.