Kith and Kin

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Anniversaries are hard,’ Henry said. ‘You were both very young when you lost her.’

  ‘She was very sick,’ Malina said. ‘But she knew we’d not be left to fend on our own.’

  ‘That must have been a comfort.’

  Mickey deposited a tray of drinks on the table, distributed them and then took his seat, propping the tray against a table leg. Henry took a manila envelope from the pocket of his coat and set it down.

  ‘You both knew Grigor Vardanyan,’ he said. ‘I have other pictures to show you, other information I must ask you for. Miss Cooper, I showed you the press clippings that Grigor had kept. Mr Cooper, if I might show you now.’

  He laid the clippings out in front of Kem. ‘The Spilsbury image I think we have accounted for. The one that concerns Nat Timmins might have been kept just because he was a friend. The shipping tables remain a mystery but the woman in the wedding announcement has been identified. Her maiden name was Emma Joan Phillips, and this is what she looked like before her marriage.’

  Malina picked up the mug shot. ‘I remember her now,’ she said. ‘But she was just a young girl then, maybe sixteen or so.’ She passed the picture over to Kem.

  ‘She looks familiar,’ he said. ‘But I can’t be sure. If Malina remembers her …’

  ‘Would she have known Mr Vardanyan?’

  Malina thought about it and then nodded her head. ‘She might well have done. They’d have been about the same age, I think. And she lived only a street away, if I remember right.’

  ‘She was reported missing about three years before she married. It seems she was a prostitute before that. Did you know that?’

  Malina shrugged. ‘One reason our mother took us away,’ she said. ‘It seemed like half the girls we knew ended up there one way or another. Either that or married too young. If you wanted to get away, you had to get right away, you know? Get a job, break from it all. It’s not that parents wanted that for their kids, you know.’ She felt that she needed to defend the place she had been born. ‘But the pressure’s on, people like Bailey are always putting the pressure on.’

  ‘People like him, they get rich by making sure whatever they say goes. You earn money, they take part of it. You have family, they take part of that too, one way or another.’ Kem sounded bitter. ‘They get your kids involved as soon as they can walk in a straight line. Running numbers, delivering packages … and the boys soon get into trouble and the girls have to play nice.’

  ‘But your mother took you away.’

  ‘And our dad wanted to take us back.’

  ‘The cottage where you were staying. The owners were Coopers too. They were family?’

  Malina nodded. ‘Cousins of some sort.’ She laughed. ‘We’ve got so many cousins, second cousins, third cousins twice removed. I can never work it out. Peetie worked on the farm. He fell in love with the daughter. The dad wasn’t happy but he realized eventually that at least he’d get a good worker for a son-in-law, and that was better than them taking it into their heads to elope. That was a couple of generations back, but Coopers own the farm now and Coopers owned the cottage.’

  That explained a lot, Henry thought. A lone woman would have trouble getting a lease or a rental contract without a male signatory. That the Coopers were kin made a lot of sense. ‘So, when the cottage was burned down they must have been worried about you all.’

  ‘They put the word out and someone let them know we were safe.’

  ‘We need another round,’ Kem said. ‘I’ll buy.’

  ‘No,’ Henry told him. ‘This is my turn.’

  While he was gone Mickey took photographs from the envelope. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘These might be upsetting but I need you to look.’ He spread out on the table the pictures of Max Peterson and Billy Crane. ‘There’s also this fellow.’ The image of Tommy Boswell followed.

  Malina drew a quick breath.

  Kem pointed to the picture of Thomas Boswell. ‘He came to the house, with that one.’ Billy Crane. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Malina nodded. She had paled but was otherwise calm. ‘I don’t know the other one. I told you that when you showed me the mug shots.’

  ‘No, but I do,’ Kem said. ‘I mean, I don’t know him but I’ve seen him with Crane.’

  ‘You’ve seen Billy Crane since that night at the cottage?’

  ‘I go ashore at Millwall and at East India.’ He shrugged. ‘Wherever. Go and buy provisions for the boat, and if I’ve a night off I go to the flicks. But sometimes … once or twice, I’ve gone back to where we used to live, just to look around. It was after Malina saw Grigor, I got to thinking about people I’d known. And I saw Grigor more than just with Malina.’ He turned to his sister. ‘I didn’t want to tell you because you wanted to keep your distance when he came out of gaol. But I saw him a week after he came out.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I thought you’d be mad with me.’

  Henry returned, setting the glasses on the table and, as Mickey had done, stowing the tray.

  ‘And how did he seem?’ Mickey asked.

  For the first time, Kem seemed to hesitate. ‘He was just like always,’ he said.

  Mickey waited but decided to let the moment pass. Kem obviously didn’t want to say much in front of his sister though, Mickey suspected, more to avoid her anger than to protect her feelings.

  ‘How did they die?’ Kem asked. ‘Malina said they were stabbed.’

  ‘Hands bound, stabbed once. Billy Crane with a knife and Max Peterson with a weapon we’ve not yet managed to identify. Something like a spike, but we don’t know exactly what.’

  Kem looked up sharply, spots of colour suddenly rising to his cheeks, and Mickey opened his mouth to ask a question. Kem shook his head, just a tiny movement. Mickey shut his mouth again.

  ‘I must be going soon,’ Malina said. She sounded sad. ‘Back to work tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you like your work?’ Mickey asked. Henry looked curious, but took Mickey’s lead and allowed the conversation to drift away. He gathered up the photographs and clippings and tucked them back into the envelope.

  ‘It’s a job,’ she said. ‘My manager is a dragon, but …’ She shrugged. ‘It won’t last for ever. I can use the experience to get a better one.’

  ‘I must get back and get packed,’ Kem said. ‘I’ll be shipboard tonight.’

  ‘I still wish you would both leave for a while,’ Henry said. ‘It would be safer.’

  ‘And I told you, we don’t run. What would be the point? The past always catches up with you. You can’t outrun time.’ Malina smiled at Henry. She was really very pretty when she smiled, Henry thought. She had very dark hair and very deep grey eyes and wore just a touch of lipstick. ‘And do you like your job?’ she asked.

  ‘I like it most of the time.’

  ‘You never did tell me where you met.’ She tilted her head, expression just the safe side of flirtatious.

  ‘I did,’ Henry objected. ‘I told you we met in the war.’

  Outside the Steam Packet Malina took her leave, kissing her brother fondly on the cheek. Kem left them and headed back to his lodgings, turning the corner and then pausing to allow time for Malina to be out of sight. Henry wandered round a moment later.

  ‘My sergeant has to find a telephone,’ he said. ‘He seemed to think you had more to say.’

  They walked together down to where they could watch the Medway, the wide river grey and lazy on this quiet winter day, but Henry could sense the power of the undercurrents. He was always a little suspicious of rivers, never quite sure of their intent.

  ‘The weapon might be a fid,’ Kem said. ‘For splicing rope.’

  ‘A fid,’ Henry said. ‘And where would I find a fid?’

  ‘Any chandler’s. But a lot of folk make their own; you can carve them from wood or turn them if you’re handy with a lathe. Some are wood, some are made of metal. Some men use them like clubs. Or … some men use them like a stiletto.’
>
  ‘You’ve seen this?’

  Kem looked uncomfortable. ‘Our dad used to carry one sometimes,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t have the skill to stab with it. There’s no hilt, you understand, it’s long and smooth, even if it’s fitted with a handle. Nothing to stop the spike from going right in, should you thrust hard enough, so your hand can slip or you could find you couldn’t get a grip on it to pull it out.’

  ‘So you’d need strong hands. I can see that. And you’ve seen it used. As a stabbing weapon.’

  ‘Once,’ Kem said. ‘I was just a little thing. Four, five years old. Dad wanted me to go out with him and of course I wanted that too. I’d want to go with him often, before I knew what he was like. I was a boy, so … things were different for me. He didn’t have much use for women apart from … well, you know.’

  Henry nodded. ‘So you went with him.’ He shifted his weight, leaning more heavily on the rail overlooking the river. Peering down into the depths.

  ‘I went with him, just tagging along. At first it was exciting. Then I suppose I got a bit bored and tired, like kids do, and I think I started to whine. He had no patience with whining and he clipped me round the ear. He took me to this yard. It smelt like blood and shit. There were animals there and I realize now it was a slaughterman’s yard.’

  ‘He took you to a slaughterhouse?’

  ‘He said he wanted me to grow up tough. Like him. I saw a man poleaxe a pony, just lay it out like it was nothing. Then this bull was led in, great big animal it was, and the men in the yard started to call out for someone. The other men stood aside and this man came out from one of the buildings and he was carrying a fid, though I didn’t know what it was then.’

  ‘And he killed the bull with it?’

  ‘One blow, straight into the throat, and the bull went down. Its legs buckled and it went down. He was covered in its blood and me dad, he just laughed and he said, “Not lost your touch then, Cloughie?”’

  ‘Cloughie? You’re sure of that?’

  Kem was distracted. He’d been back there, small and scared. He nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m sure of that. Look, you, I’m not some soft sod, I’d seen animals killed and I’d gone shooting rabbits, I could skin and gut and butcher by the time I was a mite, but this was different. That’s what I remember. That this was different.’

  ‘How, different?’

  Kem fought to find the words, the explanation. ‘It was how he enjoyed it. Not just the killing – the adulation. I mean, this was a big animal, powerful, angry, and he finished it with just the one blow to the throat. Just like that. Like it was a ritual, almost.’

  Henry thought about that. ‘You’re sure your father didn’t just take you to see a kosher slaughterman? They—’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. They slit the throat and anyway, they have their own places and we’d not have been let inside, would we? We’d not be clean, or summat like that. I don’t know much about religion but I know they like to keep food and stuff separate, and that includes butchering.’

  ‘And did you see this man again?’

  ‘A few times, yes. He and my pa, they were thick as thieves. Me mam hated the sight of him, I know that. I told her about the bull and she went for me dad, like, scratched him all down the side of his face.’ He paused. ‘I thought he was going to kill her for that. Malina and me, we both tried to pull him off, but we were just little things, and finally Malina told me to run to the neighbours and fetch help. We got back and she was laying into our dad with the handle of a butcher’s steel and he was just laughing at her.’

  Henry allowed the silence to extend. Across the water he could see Rochester Castle and the rain clouds moving in to obscure the view. Below, the river was busy, packed with barges and sailing vessels.

  He said, ‘And after you had moved to the cottage, after the war, did you see him again?’

  ‘Once. Dad took me out with him one day and we met this man in a pub. They got drunk together while I waited for them outside. I heard he got banged up, but not here, somewhere up north.’ He paused, dredging something else from his memory. ‘He’d been in the merchant fleets in the war,’ he said. ‘I remember Dad saying that but I can’t recall more.’

  ‘Your mother never mentioned him?’

  ‘No. After we left it was like a door closed and she wouldn’t open it again. If she’d still been alive she’d have played hell with Mali, for going back up there. She was dead against going anywhere near, and especially anywhere near the docks.’

  ‘And yet you work the boats.’

  ‘Got to earn a living somehow, don’t you? Beggars can’t be choosers. Look,’ he said, ‘I really do need to be getting off.’ He paused. ‘You need to talk to Tommy Boswell. I know Mali don’t think much to him because he was there that night and so he’s tarred with the same brush, in her eyes, but he’s not a bad sort. Grigor rated him as a friend and Tommy has good eyes and ears. Good as Grigor’s.’ He smiled sadly. ‘And maybe a more cautious mouth. And there’s another thing. Aunt Sarah, she might know more about this Cloughie. I know, after it all happened, she kept good track of our dad’s kith and kin, just in case any should want to cause trouble. She said even if our mother wouldn’t keep an eye out for herself, someone had to.’

  Henry thanked him and walked back slowly to meet Mickey at the station.

  ‘So, you’ve sent instruction to let the boy go?’ he asked, that being the reason for Mickey’s need to find a telephone.

  ‘Eyes will be taken off him, just for long enough for him to run. The Pritchards will follow if they can, but I’ve told them not to endanger themselves. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. What did the lad want to tell you?’

  Sitting in their compartment, Henry recounted Kem’s story.

  ‘A fid,’ Mickey said. ‘Come in a variety of lengths and thicknesses, as I recall, though I’ve never handled one. I’ve seen men use something similar in fights; long spike, wooden handle. Not sure if those were fids or something else, not being a waterman, but, as Kem said, they were usually being used as a club. Well, you live and learn.’

  Henry unwrapped the package he’d been carrying. ‘Kem directed me to a chandler’s,’ he said. ‘I chose something that looked as if it would best suit our killer’s purpose.’

  Mickey hefted it and felt the end. ‘Not sharp, but I suppose it could be made to be.’

  ‘The chandler told me that for normal use you’d want it to be pointed enough to divide the rope but not sharp enough to cut the fibres, but this could be modified. And this Cloughie or Clough, that fits with the boy Eddy’s story. The one bit of truth, perhaps.’

  ‘You think the sailorman was Clough?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s a place to start looking, at least. He has a record, there’ll be mug shots.’

  ‘But if he’s been put away …’

  ‘But what if he’s served his time and been released? The killings began a little under three years ago. He might well be back.’

  Mickey nodded. He said, ‘You reckon they’ll skip?’

  ‘No. I don’t think they will.’

  ‘You reckon they did it? That the rest is just misdirection?’

  ‘Now that, I’m not so sure about. What do you think?’

  ‘I think she is capable,’ Mickey said. ‘And I think she is capable of getting Kem to help. But why now? They both seem to have made lives for themselves and got over the past as well as anyone can. So what would rock the boat enough for them to seek these men out and kill them all these years later?’

  ‘It could be that they’ve only just identified their father’s murderers.’

  ‘Yes, but remember, we don’t even know that Billy Crane and Max Peterson were the killers. Billy Crane they recognized, Tommy Boswell they recognized from the photographs, but only Kem spoke about Max Peterson and he claims not to have known him, only recognized him as an associate.’

  Henry nodded thoughtfully. There was still a great deal to untangle here.

  L
ater, as the train took them back to London, he took out his journal and began to write.

  Where had he and Mickey met, Malina had asked. And he paused, pen poised against the paper, not sure if he wanted to write this down or not, but feeling that he must. Glancing across at Mickey he saw that his sergeant was in a half doze, gazing out of the windows at the cold, wet landscape passing by.

  It was January 1918, and as drear a day as anyone could imagine, grey and bleak and dark and foggy and chill, and a group of us, six in all, had been separated from our unit. I was a senior officer but it made little difference on such a day in such company, stumbling and wounded, half blinded by the mix of fog and smoke that drifted across the field.

  We could see fire up ahead, but that was not an unusual sight and we were tempted to ignore it, on the one hand, or to draw closer and get warm on the other, and then we heard the shouts and we began to run – or to run as well as wounded and weary men can.

  It was a tank, and inside were British men and the fire was all around them, and I could see one struggling to get out through a gap, but he couldn’t prise the gap open wide enough. The vehicle had been half blown open, the debris had fallen around them and, as the fire took, the men were trapped inside, those two who were still alive. We looked around for something to act as a lever to clear the debris from the hole and with two men helping me, and those inside doing what they could, we managed to clear a way and pulled them free.

  Both were black with smoke and so were we by then, hands bleeding. We struggled to get ourselves some distance away and sheltered in a blast hole. We sat there in the mud, staring at the smoke and flames rising higher. Mickey was hurt, burned, and we dressed his wounds and did what we could. The other poor chap, he was beyond help by the time we got him out and in the end we had to leave him there in the blast hole when we moved on.

  We wandered on up the line and eventually found ourselves at a dressing station. They took better care of the wounds and then directed us a mile back beyond the lines to what was left of a farm where they said a mustering station had been set up.