A Bespoke Murder Read online

  ‘Suppose she reports us to the police.’

  ‘Let her,’ said the taller man, spitting into the sea. ‘What use will that do? She’s got no idea who we are. The coppers would never find us in a month of Sundays. Besides,’ he went on, ‘the pair of us could be dead soon. I was determined to have at least one good shag before that happens. You should have done the same.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ confessed the other. ‘I just couldn’t somehow.’

  ‘What was the trouble – brewer’s droop?’

  ‘I thought it was wrong. And – no matter what you say – I still believe we might pay for it one day.’

  His friend laughed derisively. ‘Not a chance, Gatty – we’re in the clear, I tell you. If we do ever get back to Blighty, it will all have blown over.’ He slapped him on the back. ‘Now stop worrying about it, will you? Think about shooting Huns instead.’

  Given the circumstances, Marmion was amazed that Miriam Stein was prepared to be interviewed about the crime. Ruth was completely unequal to the task but her mother was determined that mourning her husband would not prevent her from seeking justice for the rape of her daughter. When he reached the Stein home, Marmion found that Stone had got there before him and taken charge. His wife and two daughters were also there, as were the rabbi and some family friends who’d come to offer solace. As he entered the house, Marmion removed his hat and was conducted along a passageway by Stone. Beside every door was a symbol that it was a Jewish household. The inspector was shown into a room at the far end.

  ‘Wait here, please,’ said Stone. ‘I’ll fetch Mimi.’

  Left alone for a couple of minutes, Marmion was able to take his bearings. He was in what had obviously been Jacob Stein’s office. The man was scrupulously tidy. Everything on the desk was in neat piles and the books were arranged carefully on the bookshelves that covered two walls. A framed photograph of the Jermyn Street shop hung above the desk, flanked by photos of Stein’s son and daughter. Seeing the smiling innocence on Ruth’s face, Marmion felt a mingled sadness and anger when he thought of the ordeal she must have suffered. His own daughter came into his mind. Had Alice been the victim of rape, he could imagine how enraged he would be.

  Stone eventually returned and introduced his sister-in-law. Though Miriam had clearly shed tears, she was bearing up well under the double tragedy. She sat on the little settee beside Stone. Marmion lowered himself onto the upright chair opposite them. He was not certain if Stone was there to offer moral support to his sister-in-law or simply to keep a watchful eye on him. Since the man was determined to stay, however, there was nothing that Marmion could do about it.

  ‘Allow me to offer my condolences, Mrs Stein,’ he began. ‘It’s very good of you to speak to me at such a trying time.’

  ‘What happened to Ruth was appalling,’ she said. ‘Somebody must be called to account for it.’

  ‘Both you and she have my sympathy. I have a daughter of my own. I can appreciate the anguish this must have brought you.’

  ‘We’re not talking about your daughter,’ said Stone.

  ‘Indeed not, sir.’ He took out a pad and pencil. ‘When you feel ready, Mrs Stein, perhaps you could give me the details.’

  ‘There are precious few to give,’ she said. ‘I had to tease them out of Ruth one by one. She was trying to block the whole thing out of her mind but I told her that she must face it. I also made sure that the doctor examined her this morning. Ruth feels somehow that she’s in disgrace but I keep telling her that she’s not. She was a victim.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’

  Miriam bit her lip then launched into her tale. It was necessarily short. She described why and when Ruth had left the shop and whom she’d encountered in the alley. Of the two young men, only one had actually committed the rape. They had told Ruth that they were going abroad with their regiment next day. Miriam explained how Ruth had behaved on her return and how the bloodstain on her stockings had aroused suspicion. After her daughter’s protracted stay in the bath, her mother knew that something was seriously amiss. Marmion waited until she had finished. Having to recount such unsavoury details had put great strain on Miriam. Stone patted her arm to show his approval then he flicked his gaze to Marmion.

  ‘We want this kept out of the papers, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miriam. ‘I promised Ruth that there’d be no publicity. She’d die if that happened. You know the sort of lurid headlines that they use.’

  ‘There’ll have to be a mention when the case comes to court,’ said Marmion, apologetically, ‘but the interest should have died down by then and your daughter, hopefully, will feel strong enough to identify the two men.’ He looked at his notes. ‘She gave only the sketchiest descriptions. Did she say anything else about them? Their height, weight, skin complexion, for instance? What were they wearing at the time?’

  ‘Ruth didn’t notice that. They were just … drunken young men.’

  ‘People with beer inside them tend to talk a lot. What sort of accents did they have? Were they from London or another part of the country?’

  ‘She didn’t say, Inspector.’

  ‘They must have called each other something.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miriam, ‘they did. Ruth remembered that. One was called Ol – short for Oliver, I presume. And he referred to the other as Gatty.’

  Marmion put his pad away. ‘That’s enough to go on.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound as if it is to me,’ argued Stone.

  ‘I can soon find out which regiments were shipped to France today, sir. Oliver is not that common a name. I’ll use a process of elimination. As for his accomplice, Gatty must be a diminutive of some sort. A thorough search will uncover his real name.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you, Mrs Stein. I’ll intrude no longer. What you’ve told me has been extremely useful. We’ll have to see if it’s related in any way to the other crimes that took place or if it was a separate incident.’

  ‘What can we tell Ruth?’ asked Miriam.

  ‘Tell her that her attackers made a fatal mistake in mentioning that they’re in the army. I know where to look for them now. Being a member of the British Expeditionary Force doesn’t make them immune from arrest – as they’ll find out in due course. Goodbye to both of you.’

  ‘Goodbye, Inspector,’ said Miriam.

  ‘I’ll show you out,’ said Stone, getting up and opening the door. ‘And I want to thank you,’ he added when they were alone in the passageway. ‘Miriam’s emotions are very fragile at the moment, as you can well understand. You handled that interview with sensitivity.’

  It was unexpected praise from an unlikely source. Marmion had the feeling that he might win over Herbert Stone after all. But he knew that there was a long way to go before he did that.

  Dorothy Holdstock was peeling potatoes in the kitchen when she heard a knock at her front door. After running her hands under the tap for a moment, she dried them on her pinafore and went out. When she opened the door, she was taken completely by surprise. Standing in the porch with a suitcase in her hand was her sister.

  ‘Irene!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re still alive!’

  Throwing their arms around each other, they cried with joy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Joe Keedy enjoyed questioning suspects. The process was a battle of wills that he usually won. Marmion had taught him a valuable lesson. Divide and rule. When more than one person was involved, it was important to split them up to avoid collusion. As a result of the names gleaned from Brian Coley, three men from Shoreditch were arrested at their places of work and brought in separately. Keedy interrogated each of them in turn. The first was the easiest to break. After an initial denial, he soon buckled and confessed that he had been in Jermyn Street the night before. A chimney sweep by trade, he claimed that he was accidentally caught up in the attack and had not actually entered the shop. When Keedy pointed out that items stolen from the property had been found at his home, he wilted completely.

>   The second man was a street trader, a fast-talking cockney who swore that he’d been nowhere near the West End at the time. His girlfriend would vouch for him. After ten minutes of verbal jousting, Keedy exposed his claim as an arrant lie and charged him. It was the third man who gave the sergeant the most trouble. Sidney Timpson was a wily character in his twenties who worked as a glazier. Keedy seized on the man’s occupation.

  ‘So you came to the West End touting for trade, did you?’

  Timpson frowned. ‘What you on about?’

  ‘That shop window you smashed in Jermyn Street,’ said Keedy. ‘It’s a clever way to get business, Sidney. You break someone’s window then offer to mend it.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a joke, Sergeant?’

  ‘I was never more serious. You were seen outside the premises of Jacob Stein yesterday evening.’

  ‘I’ve never even heard of the bloke.’

  ‘Do you deny it, then?’

  ‘Of course I bloody well do. I was out with friends in Shoreditch. You ask the landlord of the Lamb & Flag. He’ll tell you that we were drinking there until closing time.’

  ‘That was well after the incident in Jermyn Street.’

  ‘We were there all evening.’

  ‘Do you know a man named Brian Coley?’

  Timpson became defensive. ‘Not really – why do you ask?’

  ‘What about Tommy Rudge, the barrow boy?’

  ‘Yes, I know old Tommy. He was boozing with me at the Lamb & Flag. Tommy will speak up for me.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Sidney. According to him, he spent the evening with his girlfriend. That was before I got him to admit the lie. Then he named you as being with him and the rest of that mob.’

  ‘Don’t listen to Tommy,’ said the other, contemptuously. ‘He makes things up.’

  ‘Then the pair of you have something in common. Right,’ said Keedy, rubbing his hands, ‘where are we? You don’t really know Brian Coley and Tommy Rudge is a liar. Is that what you’re saying?’

  Timpson glared at him. ‘Yeah, it is.’

  ‘Then there must be some mistake in our records.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’ve been a bad boy, Sidney, haven’t you? Our records show that you’ve been arrested on three occasions for being drunk and disorderly. And the person who was arrested with you,’ said Keedy, reading from the sheet of paper in front of him, ‘was the man you don’t really know – Brian Coley. In my experience, you can get to know someone pretty well when you spend a night in a police cell with him. In any case,’ he continued, ‘you and Coley live in the same street. Can the pair of you really be such strangers?’

  Timpson was adamant. ‘I was at the Lamb & Flag.’

  ‘Nobody disputes that. You went there with Rudge and Len Harper – after you’d looted that shop in Jermyn Street. Both of them confirm that.’

  ‘What’s Lenny Harper been saying?’

  ‘It sounded like the truth to me.’

  ‘I know nothing about any mob in the West End.’

  ‘Then how come I have three witnesses who place you there, three close friends of yours who realise just how much trouble they’re in and who decided to come clean?’ He leant across the table. ‘Do you know what I think, Sidney? You were their leader. Coley, Rudge and Harper all look up to you. I think it was your idea to go on the rampage yesterday.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘You actually led the mob.’

  ‘Piss off!’

  ‘When they’d had enough to drink, you stirred them up into a rage then took them off to attack a shop with a German name over it. You probably threw that brick through the window.’

  ‘No, I never!’ howled Timpson.

  ‘I bet you were the first to clamber in, weren’t you – the first to grab what you wanted? It was your privilege as the leader.’

  ‘I wasn’t even there.’

  ‘Then why do three people swear otherwise?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘Ask them.’

  ‘It’s no good lying, Sidney. You were seen. That’s how I know that you were the one who poured petrol onto that fire.’

  ‘That wasn’t me!’ shouted Timpson, unnerved by the charge. ‘It was that bloke in the dungarees. He brought the can with him.’

  When he heard what he’d just said, he put his hands to his face and groaned inwardly. The game was up. Under pressure from Keedy, he’d just confessed the truth. There was no way out.

  ‘Good,’ said Keedy, beaming. ‘I’m glad that we sorted that out. Let’s start all over again, shall we?’

  Dorothy Holdstock was both relieved and delighted to see her sister again. Having had no official confirmation that Irene had survived the disaster, she’d been on tenterhooks as she waited for news. It had come in the best possible way – her sister’s arrival on her doorstep. Over a cup of tea, Irene explained how she’d managed to escape drowning. Playing down the role she took in helping others to get safely off the ship, she talked about the chair that she clung to as she waited to be rescued by a boat.

  ‘It sounds to me as if you owe a lot to your friend,’ said Dorothy.

  ‘Ernie has always looked out for me.’

  ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘Years and years, Dot.’

  ‘Is he the one who proposed to you?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Why did you turn him down?’

  ‘There were lots of reasons,’ said Irene, pensively. ‘First of all, I don’t want another husband. I had a wonderful marriage with Arthur and no man could ever replace him. Second, I discovered that I wasn’t the only female member of the crew that Ernie Gill had proposed to.’ Dorothy was scandalised. ‘And third, much as I like him, he really upsets me sometimes.’

  ‘How does he do that?’

  ‘Well, he has a bit of a temper and uses bad language. I think he could turn violent if he was crossed.’

  Her sister clicked her tongue. ‘You don’t want that,’ she said. ‘On the other hand, a proposal is a proposal. A woman can’t afford to be too fussy.’

  There was deep sadness in Dorothy’s voice because she had never received a proposal of marriage. Irene had been the pretty sister. None of the boys had been interested in Dorothy. Now in her forties, she was a tubby and rather unprepossessing woman who’d given up all hope of finding a husband and settled for being a pillar of the local church, an occasional babysitter and the manageress of a shoe shop. She lived in the little house that she and Irene had jointly inherited at the death of their parents and staved off loneliness by renting out a room to a blind old lady named Miss James.

  ‘How long can you stay, Irene?’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay indefinitely.’

  ‘What about your job?’

  ‘I’ve finished with the sea, Dot. It’s had one go at trying to kill me and that’s one too many. I want to keep my feet on dry land from now on.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ said Dorothy. ‘Though I do wish that I’d had all those adventures you enjoyed – sailing on a famous liner, going to America all those times, getting proposals. I mean, it’s so romantic.’

  ‘That’s not how it felt at the time. If truth be told, it was too much like hard work.’

  ‘So what will you do now?’

  ‘Look around for a job in London,’ said Irene. ‘I hope you don’t mind having me back.’

  ‘No – of course I don’t. It’s a real treat for me. Besides, you own half the house.’

  ‘Do you still have Miss James here?’

  ‘Yes, she’s no bother – keeps herself to herself.’

  ‘When did she first move in?’

  ‘It must be almost five years ago.’

  Irene smiled. ‘You live with someone for almost five years and you still don’t call her by her Christian name?’

  ‘No, she’ll always be Miss James to me.’

  ‘And does she still call you Miss Holdstock?’

  ‘Of co
urse,’ said Dorothy with mock propriety. ‘I don’t allow any familiarity under this roof.’ They traded a laugh. ‘Oh, it’s so wonderful to have you back again, Irene. When I heard the awful news about the Lusitania, I nearly had a heart attack. I went to church every day to pray for you – and it worked. Thank God you came home on my day off so that I was here when you knocked. I can’t tell you how marvellous it was to see you in the flesh again.’ They heard the tinkle of a small bell. ‘That will be Miss James. I’ll go and see what she wants.’

  Dorothy got up from the table and went off, leaving her sister to look around the kitchen and see how little it had changed in the past decade. Irene was pleased to be back in the house where she’d been born and brought up. It made her feel safe and wanted. Yet she was not simply returning to her roots. Moving to London would be the start of a new phase of her life, she told herself, and that was an exciting prospect.

  By the time he’d finished interviewing the suspects from Shoreditch, Joe Keedy had elicited two additional names of people who took part in the looting of the shop in Jermyn Street. One was a member of the bar staff of the pub where the mob had been drinking beforehand. Another was a newspaper vendor with a regular pitch near Piccadilly Circus. Keedy sent off men to arrest the pair of them. The other three, meanwhile, had been charged and released on bail. They went off arguing furiously, each accusing the others of betraying him.

  When Keedy went to Marmion’s office to compare notes with him, he found the inspector poring over a sheaf of papers on his desk.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ said Marmion, ‘how did you get on?’

  ‘I had them singing like canaries in the end.’

  ‘What did they tell you?’

  Keedy gave him an attenuated version of the three interviews. The most important development, he felt, was that all of the suspects had described the man with the petrol can and actually seen him pour the liquid out before using his cigarette to ignite it. None of them had known the man’s name but all said that he worked somewhere in the West End and knew the area intimately.